"Congratulations, Detective Moriarty, you now possess a powerful magical item. This way, you won't have to worry about your lack of offensive power in the future." Lynn smiled as he congratulated Klein, who was familiarizing himself with the Devil pistol. Then he asked suddenly, "So, is the name Sherlock Moriarty a pseudonym?"
Cough... Klein, who was studying the Devil pistol, almost choked on his own saliva. However, thanks to his Clown abilities, the Fool kept a straight face and replied, "A name is just a designation. Whether I'm called Sherlock or Morris, it doesn't affect our friendship, does it?"
Klein didn't want to lie, but he knew Lynn's observational skills. Since the latter had asked, he was sure to not believe any lie.
"Tsk... You pass. I knew you members of secret organizations were all mysterious." Lynn pouted, seemingly forgetting his own public identity as a member of the Moses Ascetic Order and the founder of the Eye of Secrets.
Detective, have you forgotten you are also a member of the Moses Ascetic Order? What right do you have to say such things? Klein couldn't help but think to himself, though he felt a sense of relief. His eyes fell on the Devil pistol in his hand again, feeling a bit troubled.
A story with himself as the protagonist... He had never written a book before. However, since Mr. Keeper said it could be made up, he thought of simply retelling the novels he had read and changing the protagonist. After all, it wouldn't be published... Just then, he noticed Lynn looking at him with eager eyes.
"Detective Moriarty, as your friend, I am obliged to be the audience when you need to tell a story!" Lynn said righteously.
Klein: ...
You think I can't see that you just want to watch my embarrassment.
How about I sacrifice the Devil pistol to the gray fog and only take it out when needed? No, if something unexpected happens and the Devil pistol doesn't work, it would be bad. Better to tell stories every day... Klein's thoughts spun but were eventually dismissed one by one.
Despite being one of the most annoying magical items with sentience, Klein was only at Sequence 8 and not yet proficient in controlling Sefirah Castle. He didn't know there was a skill called bargaining with magical items.
Fortunately, Klein didn't realize this. Otherwise, the Devil pistol might have ended up living a pitiful life like Little Hunger.
"Sigh..." Klein sighed, glanced at the eager Lynn, and nodded heavily. "Alright."
There was no other way. Among the people he knew, there weren't many suitable to be his audience. Lynn was one, and the poet friend barely counted.
However, Klein hadn't seen Leonard for several days. Though Klein had some idea of his whereabouts, having heard from Archbishop Crestet Cesimir that Leonard had taken on a bodyguard mission due to the involvement of a noble in the Demon Dog incident.
Since Leonard wasn't around, only Lynn could be his audience... Klein sighed inwardly, just as he saw the detective take out a familiar notebook.
If he remembered correctly, it was Lynn's drawing notebook.
Then Klein heard Lynn's eager voice:
"If you don't mind, can I illustrate your stories?"
Klein: ...
You just want to see me embarrassed!
Klein's mouth twitched as he looked at the detective who was clearly itching to draw. He sighed, "Draw if you want, but it can't be shared."
Klein didn't want to compromise, but he knew he couldn't stop the detective.
"Of course..." Lynn nodded without hesitation. He wouldn't spread the illustrations, at most using them in the future to awaken Mr. Fool's humanity when needed.
Ah, I'm so forward-thinking, going to great lengths to keep Mr. Fool humane... Lynn shamelessly praised himself in his mind, suddenly remembering his agreement with a certain big snake.
I wonder when Ouroboros will deliver Amon's surprise. Given Little Red's enmity, Ouroboros shouldn't oppose such a prank, right? Lynn thought uncertainly, deciding to increase his efforts and complete a few more paintings.
Meanwhile, in the Forsaken Land of the Gods...
"Snake, what brings you here today?" A man in a black classical robe, matching pointy hat, and crystal monocle, with black curly hair, black eyes, a broad forehead, and a lean face, smiled. As he spoke, he adjusted his crystal monocle.
This man was none other than Amon, the Angel of Time, the true and only son of the ancient sun god, and the fifth epoch's blasphemer.
And standing before him was Ouroboros.
Though both resided in the Forsaken Land of the Gods, the Angel of Time and the Angel of Fate rarely met, especially after Medici was stewed in a hotpot. They had been practically strangers.
Hence, Amon was genuinely surprised by Ouroboros's sudden visit.
"I come bearing a gift for you, on behalf of someone," Ouroboros said indifferently, without any expression.
"A gift?" Amon's eyes fell on the object Ouroboros was holding, which looked like a painting. Since the front was completely covered, Amon couldn't see what it depicted.
For some reason, though, Amon had a bad feeling.
"Yes, a gift." Ouroboros nodded and handed the painting to Amon.
Amon took it curiously, and upon seeing the painting's content, his expression froze.
The recent painful memories, whether from being blown up or sealed as a child and then having his face pinched by someone, flooded back. Amon felt an impulse to destroy the painting on the spot.
TN: Such pettiness... I love it!
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(Chapter End)