Chapter 93: Champion of Courting Death

"Yes! That's him!" Anieda's arms, adorned with various pieces of jewelry, clenched the table tightly.

The hunched man was sweating, a short divination had drained a significant amount of his magic.

However, the image in the crystal ball froze at that moment, Ryan's face gradually obscured by a white mist, becoming blurred.

"Not good!" The hunched man instinctively shut off the crystal ball, immediately activated the room's protective magic, and signaled Anieda to get down. The moment they ducked, a wrathful, enchanting female voice swept through the area: "Who dares use the Great Divination to spy on my Chosen One!"

The two remained silent while down.

The deceptive magic circle set up by the hunched man worked, the Lady of the Lake scanned the area but did not find her target. She couldn't afford to waste divine power scanning for long, so the goddess left after an unsuccessful search.

Ten minutes later, the disheveled duo stood up again. Anieda was in disarray, her silk gown dusty and her stockings torn, her makeup smeared: "Well, at least we know Ryan is protected by the Lady of the Lake."

"Ah," the hunched man also got up, shaking his head: "I can't complete the Great Divination, President Anieda, take your money and please leave."

"No, if divination doesn't work, use Veritas! The Lady's clerical protection can only shield his future, not his past. I can give you more money!" Anieda pulled out five more divine gold coins, her nails digging into the diviner's neck in a frenzy.

The hunched man trembled violently, knowing he was in too deep. As a diviner of the Cunning Cult, he knew refusing Anieda meant death,

The lunatics of the Cult of Excess are capable of anything, their creed encourages all atrocities, attempting all sins. Followers of the Chaos Gods not only slaughter each other but even within the same cult, there's constant infighting.

Eventually, the hunched man shakily took the money.

Unlike divination, which attempts to predict a person's future, Veritas looks into a person's past.

Under Anieda's watch, the diviner once again reached out to the crystal ball.

Veritas couldn't be cast on sanctified beings, high-ranking clerics, or most dukes and above, as they usually have their pasts protected by court wizards. However, Ryan didn't fall into these categories, making Veritas barely applicable.

Ryan's face reappeared in the crystal ball, becoming younger as the White Wolf Knight's past unfolded before them.

"Yes, that's it, that's the one!" Anieda nodded repeatedly.

But as the divination regressed to Ryan at three years old, a golden mist obscured his past in the crystal ball.

"That's it! There! Hurry! I want to see what he really is!" Anieda's fingernails clutched the diviner's collar: "Hurry!"

The diviner had no choice but to continue, painfully channeling his life force into the crystal ball, aging visibly.

The scenes in the crystal ball shifted.

Surprisingly, the crystal ball's focus didn't remain on a young Ryan but moved away from this world, traversing endless cosmic voids and terrifying subspace storms.

Ryan, from beyond this world?!

"Ah! Aaaaah!!!" The diviner began to crystallize, his life force, soul, and all bodily energies were being drained by Veritas, turning his hands into crystal which then spread to his shoulders and engulfed his entire body.

Passing through infinite subspace storms, the crystal ball finally showed a planet enveloped in holy light before everything halted abruptly. The crystal ball exploded into dust under the gaze of a supreme being.

"No!!!!!!" The diviner's eyes shot out scorching flames, his body spontaneously combusting, the red flames consuming him in an instant.

Veritas continued to drain the diviner's energy.

His life force and soul? Not enough!

The entire village's life force and souls? Not enough!!

All the chaotic energy in the underground altar? Still far from enough!!!

Veritas continued to drain through the cultists and dark god's faith channels.

In the subspace, the domain of Cunning, a scream echoed. Tzeentch, the Changer of Ways, one of the four Chaos Gods, wailed as it found a quarter of its chaotic energy drained by the backlash against one of its followers' Veritas.

In a rage, the dark god turned countless followers into chaos spawn, but that's another story.

Anieda, shocked, watched as the diviner turned half to ash, half to crystal. Not only that, the entire village was blinded and reduced to idiocy, buildings collapsed in flames and earthquakes. Anieda barely escaped before the village turned to ashes and then collapsed into ruins due to the altar's destruction.

The president of the Aesthetic Society was speechless, unable to fathom why Veritas, always effective, failed on Ryan and resulted in such catastrophe.

Anieda could only conclude that Ryan had a deep connection with the Lady of the Lake, who spared no expense to protect his past.

Watching the village turn to ash, the Aesthetic Society president suddenly found the process pleasing and artistic. She stuck out her tongue, disdainfully saying, "Serves them right."

Then, she signaled her stunned coachman: "Let's go, we're heading back."

After traversing endless eternal subspace storms and the vast cosmic void, the physical universe, humanity's home planet, Terra Divina.

The supreme being, busy digesting the pure cosmic energy left by ancient saints, was momentarily awakened by the brief intrusion.

"Ryan?"

"My beloved son, Ryan, is in danger! Someone tried to spy on his past through dark magic."

"Ryan is the most precious and critical component of my plan to reverse corruption; he absolutely cannot be harmed."

"He needs the help of the Imperial Guard's Myriad Battalion!"

...

In Marinburg, Amber Road, number 53, in the living room on the first floor.

Veronica paced back and forth, her high heels clicking: "Vice President Jacob died in battle, and we've been wandering aimlessly, wasting so much time, and now this huge incident has occurred. How am I supposed to explain this to Councilor Sofia and Master Magarita?"

"At least we're not without gains." Ryan sat in a chair.

Their investigation wasn't fruitless; they learned from the tailor and his staff that the Aesthetic Society regularly hosts art salons, closed and internal, open only to members and great artists.

"Is investigating the Aesthetic Society still useful? Bert's trail is underground!" Veronica said irritably.

"You're wrong, Veronica! If I were Bert, I definitely wouldn't hide underground at this time." Ryan spoke softly, deeply pained by the witch hunter master's death: "Don't forget, a three-thousand-man expeditionary force has already departed. If Bert is sane, hiding underground is seeking death."

Veronica nodded, knowing followers of the Blood God were never adept at hiding or fleeing.

"And on the surface, with the city on high alert, only one organization has the capability to provide him shelter, the Aesthetic Society!" Ryan slammed his cup on the table: "So, everything comes back to the Aesthetic Society."

"…Mr. Ryan, Ms. Veronica, I'm ready." Amelia appeared.

The girl had changed into a standard maid outfit: a white apron decorated with ruffles over a plain white dress and black short leather boots.

A normal maid's uniform was not the minimal clothing some might imagine but a modest, nun-like attire, with Amelia's golden hair tied under a white headscarf.

"Mr. Ryan, shall we begin?" Amelia, now in her maid attire, revealed her natural beauty.

Amelia was beautiful, her demeanor more like a clear mountain spring than the overt allure of Garlan's witches and sorceresses. Her clear blue eyes and pretty oval face, fair skin, and a blend of beauty and strength made a perfect combination.

She wasn't stunning at first glance, but she was exceptionally comforting, sweet and refreshing.

"Let's start!" Ryan nodded.

So, Amelia brought out a plethora of tools and various paints, beginning Ryan's disguise.

"Hmm~ So the handsome Ryan is going to disguise himself as an artist to attend the art salon? My great knight, are you sure you understand art?" Veronica watched Amelia's makeup work with interest, as Ryan's face gradually changed from a standard handsome Aachen to a rugged Southerner's appearance.

"Yes, I'm portraying an artist from the southern kingdom of Liguria." Ryan hummed without disturbing Amelia's work: "Though I don't understand art, I'm well-versed in the dark♂ arts of the Pleasure Cult. I'm sure I'll blend in easily at that kind of art salon."

Veronica and Amelia caught the undertone, with the maid's cheeks flushing, her hands not stopping, and Veronica sarcastically remarked, "Oh, I do believe you in that regard, after all…"

Stopping there, the witch's face reddened further, turning away, leaving Catherine curiously looking at her mentor, somewhat understanding.

"By the way, Amelia, did you see my surname on my scabbard?" Ryan changed the topic to Amelia.

"Yes~ Mr. Ryan always carries that sword… on his back, and your full name is written on the scabbard." Amelia spoke softly: "And the special story of the knight order's establishment, it's all on the scabbard. Since Mr. Ryan did so, I assume you didn't intend to hide it, so I secretly read it during our journey. Um… you won't mind, will you?"

"I always thought no one in the wilds of Nord would understand Gothic." Ryan commented casually: "It's okay, you stay here, it's safe, no one will harm you, and, just call me Ryan."

"Thank you! Mr. Ryan… Ryan." Amelia was delighted, clearly getting what she wanted.

With the girl's skilled hands, Ryan's disguise was completed.

"How long will it last?" Ryan examined his reflection in the mirror, pleased, for he now closely resembled an unforgettable figure from his memory.

"For a day, as long as it's not exposed to flame or corrosive acid, there won't be any problems." Amelia spoke softly.

"Excellent!" Ryan donned a black tailcoat, flamboyantly pinning a rose to his chest: "Done, ready to go."

Ryan attempted to approach Veronica, who disdainfully rebuffed him: "Don't come near me with that face."

"Alright, I'm off."

At 8 PM, outside Marinburg, at the Aesthetic Society's Violet Estate.

The Violet Estate was bustling today, hosting artists from across the continent for an art salon organized by the beautiful Anieda-Clausner. A crowd of citizens and minor nobles and merchants, who couldn't enter the salon, gathered at the estate's entrance.

"Look! That's the Southern painter Dürer!"

"My God! The artist Rubens from the Empire is here too!"

"That's the famous sculptor, Angell!"

Regardless of the guest, Anieda-Clausner warmly welcomed them at the entrance, wearing a green low-cut evening gown, her beauty undiminished by the cold winter night: "Welcome, masters."

"Wow! I didn't expect the great architect Foster to come too!" someone exclaimed: "Wait! Master Foster seems to be accompanied by a young man?!"

"He looks like a Southerner!"

"Who is he?"

Descending from the carriage, the elderly, white-haired, somewhat unsteady Foster was helped by Ryan, who whispered: "If it weren't for Schultz's request, I wouldn't want to attend this boring salon with a knight who's always fighting."

"Thank you, Master Foster!" Ryan said respectfully.

"Stay close to me, remember, a qualified artist must never be left alone or excluded from the conversation." Foster, with his numerous wrinkles, was a master architect of the last fifty years, having overseen several renovations of the human empire's palace, a rare authority in architecture.

"Oh! My God! It's Master Foster! You're most welcome!" Anieda's eyes sparkled: "Your presence makes this estate shine."

"You're welcome." Foster, deserving of such praise, merely nodded in acknowledgment.

"And who is this?" Anieda curiously looked at the young man beside Foster, noting his black hair and rare black eyes, his body sturdy.

"Introduce yourself." Foster gestured.

The young man stepped forward politely.

"Hello, President Anieda, my name is Van, Van-Darkholm. I'm an artist, a performance artist. I'm hired to fulfill their fantasies."

"Their dark♂ deep♂ fantasies."

The protagonist may not understand art, but he understands philo♂sophy.

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