Chapter 139

“…This won’t do.”

The psychic parasite muttered with grave determination.

“Can we not call for support from Argeyirion?”

“It’s impossible. The Ten Towers are focused on this city. If we recklessly use spatial magic, we might be traced immediately.”

Even if the spatial coordinates of Argeyirion Headquarters were discovered by the Ten Towers, it wouldn’t lead to an immediate assault. Argeyirion resided in a space between outer dimensions, and safely reaching there required more than just coordinates—it demanded breaking through countless defensive magics.

But their adversary was the Ten Towers. If their coordinates were exposed, a large-scale purge would likely commence within a month.

Nastiorn began contemplating whether it was time to abandon Algos City and the psychic parasite altogether. There seemed to be no solution in sight.

‘The alliance between the Theistic Order and Blasphemia.’

Who could have ever imagined such a situation?

Nastiorn wasn’t merely standing idly by. Through continuous observation and espionage, he realized that among Panoptes’ operatives, only Blasphemia was under Ortes’ control.

For a moment, Nastiorn hoped that exploiting the long-standing enmity between Argoth and Blasphemia might prevent the bizarre cooperation between the Theistic Order and Blasphemia.

To begin with, why was Amimone Magic Tower vacant?

It was because an Amimone-originated investigator named Argoth had been accused of colluding with Argeyirion.

Currently, Argoth only possessed the authority to ensure the smooth progression of the Tower Master selection battle, without any power to investigate other subversive elements in Amimone City.

Every surveillance mechanism installed across the city by Panoptes hunted for shadows of Nastiorn and the psychic parasite. Even if they evaded the mechanical surveillance network, members of the Theistic Order remained.

Nastiorn felt as though the entire city itself was his enemy.

To be precise, all infrastructure in Algos City was connected to Amimone Magic Tower, whose magic core was currently managed temporarily by the Selection Committee.

And since the majority of the committee was dominated by Blasphemia—firmly under Ortes’ influence—the notion that the city opposed them was almost a factual statement.

While Nastiorn reflected on how things had come to this, the psychic parasite repeated, “This won’t do.”

“There’s no proper way to reverse this situation.”

The psychic parasite calmly acknowledged their disadvantage. Even in the field where it believed it could uniquely overpower Ortes—through overwhelming numbers via countless hosts—it had been outmaneuvered.

As long as Ortes could utilize Blasphemia and Panoptes, the human resources at his disposal were nearly limitless.

If they were outnumbered and outclassed, defeat was inevitable.

The discussion returned to square one.

How could they turn the tide?

“If things continue like this, the trap prepared by Argeyirion will also be useless, won’t it?”

“Yes. Our collaborators may already be arrested before the final battle even begins.”

That was exactly what happened. The list of traitors spread to ensnare Hydra Corp was manipulated by Ortes, who somehow managed to identify and detain only the real traitors from the list.

Though the list didn’t include every traitor, Ortes captured others who had interacted with those named.

By this point, half of Haltos’ plan had already been neutralized.

Someone once said, “Our enemy turns gold into traps instead of wisdom.” Nastiorn couldn’t help but recall the past failure stories passionately recounted by Argeyirion’s officers.

Perhaps it was time to admit defeat and retreat. Leaving Algos City, returning to Argeyirion Headquarters to perfect the false god’s deception, and setting another trap might be wise.

But another saying came to mind: “Once you let your enemy slip, you may never meet again until they reveal themselves.”

Such a dangerous entity couldn’t be allowed to roam free. They needed to inflict wounds severe enough to incapacitate him for a while.

In the midst of Nastiorn’s torment, the psychic parasite presented an unexpected plan.

“Just once. We need to approach undetected by Blasphemia. Is it possible?”

“…”

Seemingly absurd, yet the only option available.

***

“They’ve disappeared, Senior.”

This was Niobe’s reply. I had provided her with sketches of all the potential physical hosts for the psychic parasite, but none of them were seen in Algos City anymore.

“Strangely, I can’t track them.”

This was Demos’ response. I massaged my temples and asked,

“Can’t the saints resolve this?”

“The divine has no limits, but humans do. What must we do to make the saints more accurate and cover wider areas?”

“Use more divine energy?”

“Yes. Either the target is so far away that even a hunting priest’s expended divine energy cannot reach them, or they’re hiding under the influence of some powerful other ability.”

“How powerful must it be?”

“Hmm… If they’ve thrown themselves into an outer dimension or sought refuge under the shadow of the Ten Sages within the Ten Towers?”

“Hmph…”

Demos went on to enumerate various scenarios that increased the difficulty of tracking. If the psychic parasite’s magical power diminished significantly, it would naturally become harder to find. Jokingly, he mentioned that if the target was already dead, the hunt would be considered complete, and the saint’s effect would vanish.

But they couldn’t possibly be dead. My life since falling into this world had never resolved so easily.

My neck tightened uncomfortably.

I wanted to settle this before fleeing. While Amimone Magic Tower might soon belong to Cnemon, leaving like this left behind concerns for future retaliation.

“Well, there’s nothing we can do. Please keep searching until the Tower Master selection ends.”

Demos, who had been nodding absentmindedly, suddenly asked,

“What do you plan to do once you obtain the Proper Tower?”

“Huh? It’s a gift for Mr. Cnemon, isn’t it? Not something I can touch.”

A look of puzzlement crossed Demos’ face. Hadn’t I explained this?

Ah, this was personal, so perhaps I shouldn’t speak too freely.

“Who devised the plan to bring down Amimone Magic Tower?”

“It was me.”

“And who personally executed it?”

“I did, since I brought it up.”

“…Then why does someone else get the credit?”

“Hehe. As I said, it’s a gift.”

***

After the Theistic Order’s arrival, Carisia minimized contact with them. This was due to Ortes advising her to “keep her distance.”

Thus, the Theistic Order’s impression of Carisia remained superficial: an exceptionally skilled magician, the nominal CEO of Hydra Corp, and Kine’s caretaker.

Demos and other members of the Theistic Order assumed that Ortes, being a Blasphemia agent, avoided unnecessary attention by placing Cnemon and Carisia as formal figureheads. In essence, they were seen as commanders of Ortes’ power.

While Demos didn’t agree with this mainstream opinion proposed by Glaupicos’ wise priests, he couldn’t overturn it alone.

He sensed no ambition for power in Ortes. If anything, Ortes resembled a corporate employee handling day-to-day tasks. Though whenever he mentioned this, both the Pope faction and the Saint faction united to mock him, so lately he chose silence.

This was why he quietly slipped out of the nightly meetings held by the Theistic Order priests dispatched to Algos City. These discussions often revolved around whether Ortes was plotting something, a topic about which Demos had nothing to add.

As Demos paced in the yard of the building entirely rented by Hydra Corp, two figures approached from afar.

One was familiar—a man with squinting eyes and a vague presence.

The other was unfamiliar but distinctive, thanks to his long white hair, a rare sight.

It appeared that Ortes had come to greet Carisia after her summons to Blasphemia. Though technically formal, it was still an interrogation, evident in the weariness on Carisia’s golden-eyed expression.

Just as Demos turned away, Carisia’s golden gaze locked onto him.

Instantly, Demos felt as though ice needles were coursing through his veins. A chilling sensation rose from within, accompanied by an excruciating pain that tore at his chest.

An irrevocable acceptance of fate, akin to confronting death.

His body, saturated with divine energy, screamed in protest. It recognized the invader as something that could never coexist.

He had felt this sensation only once before.

When he was younger, during the twilight years of believing he could change the world alone.

It resembled the despair he had felt before the Ten Sages.