Chapter XX: The Little Monster joins the Aurora Club

68

In his left hand, Admissor carried the luggage prepared for him by the superintendent's wife, while in his right hand, he held a ragged rabbit sewn by the children of the workhouse. He wore a half-new formal suit crafted by the best tailor in Tingen, who had lost his left hand in a car accident years earlier. Without a regular job, he worked as a garment teacher at the workhouse, teaching the children.

Passersby occasionally frowned at his attire, but Admissor remained oblivious, thinking he looked neat and respectable.

"Pilgrimage Sect... Aurora... Aurora will."

He took a few steps, snorted, and pulled out the note Mrs. Dean had prepared for him: When you arrive at Backland station, look for a gentleman in a black hat, blue coat, and brown trousers, who will be in charge of receiving you.

His unfocused gaze swept over the crowd until it landed on a man meeting those requirements. The man, reading a newspaper, had been covertly watching him. When Admissor glanced over, the gentleman folded the newspaper under his arm and approached him.

"You're Admissor?" he asked quietly.

Admissor nodded, and the man lowered the brim of his hat, turning slightly to lead him. "Come with me; your dean should have informed you."

Admissor followed the neatly dressed gentleman out of the station, up the streets of Backland, and into a secluded lane, repeating this route a few times before stopping in front of a house.

The gentleman knocked on the door in a specific rhythm. After a brief pause, he knocked again, and finally, the wooden door opened. A very ordinary-looking girl greeted them and led them to a wall in the hall. With a flick of a wall lamp, a cabinet slid aside, revealing a dark passageway. Admissor couldn't recall it at all.

"This is a temporary base," the black-haired man explained. "You'll be informed of the headquarters' location once the handover is complete. You're here at the right time; we're short on personnel. Don't be speechless when you meet the others later."

After navigating a few turns and descending a flight of stairs, they arrived at a spacious underground area illuminated by dozens of candlesticks. The size of a tennis court, it was bustling with men in black cloaks registering arrivals and others like the black-haired man reporting to a hooded figure in a black robe, who appeared to be the leader.

The black-haired man approached the robed leader and said respectfully, "Mr. Z, I have brought the person recommended by the Patrol Sect."

Mr. Z looked up from his report, saw Admissor standing awkwardly, and waved the others away. He seemed to be waiting for something.

The black-haired man urged, "Take out your letter of recommendation!"

Admissor froze for a moment, then bent down to open his suitcase, retrieving a neatly folded letter and handing it over. Mr. Z examined the fire paint seal, opened it, and quickly glanced through it, confirming its authenticity before setting it aside.

"Your boss should have mentioned that while the Patrol Sect encompasses various paths for extraordinary beings, the 'Fate' path has no precedent for the advancement method. To avoid wasting your talent, she referred you to us," Mr. Z explained. "She vouched for you, and your organization has prepaid for your Sequence 8 potions. You can become a Sequence 9 Extraordinary today. As long as you fulfill your duties and accumulate credits, our Aurora Society won't deduct your potions. Do you understand?"

Admissor nodded, though he was still confused.

"So," Mr. Z continued, "almost everyone in the Aurora Society is striving for the Lord's glory, and we don't tolerate idlers. Your boss says you're capable, so tell me what you know."

"I..."

He had been asked similar questions repeatedly, and instinctively, he began to answer fluently but hesitantly: "I grew up in a welfare home supported by a charitable foundation. Because I was born with a spiritually high disposition, I couldn't lead a normal life and became a workhouse worker as an adult. I can read and write, sew bed sheets and quilt covers, cut simple clothes, make some furniture by hand, care for patients, and cook."

"Good, you're exactly what we need right now!"

Seeing Admissor's enthusiasm, Mr. Z raised his hand to interrupt. He gestured to a black-robed man at a nearby table, who began filling out a form and handed it to Mr. Z.

"By the way, we still need to go through some formalities," Mr. Z said, opening the ink and asking, "What is your faith?"

Admissor replied without hesitation, "Goddess of the Night."

Mr. Z's stamping action suddenly halted, and the basement fell silent, all eyes turning to him.

Admissor, oblivious, added, "...Mrs. Dean said that whenever someone asks me this question, I should respond like that."

A collective sigh of relief echoed through the room as the tension dissipated. The cultists resumed their tasks, unfazed.

"...We're insiders, so you don't need to—Forget it. You won't understand until you're at Sequence 8," Mr. Z muttered, rubbing his forehead. He stamped the form with his other hand and pushed it toward the black-haired man. "Take him to the Eastern District to find Miss Maria, the head of the Pilgrimage Sect. She'll arrange where the 'monster' will work."

"Okay, Mr. Z." The black-haired man, looking pleased, bowed slightly and quickly led Admissor out through another door. After they left, Mr. Z rubbed his temples, picked up the half-read report again, and addressed the round-faced man with glasses before him.

"Your Excellency, it seems you have many opinions about our arrangements. However, this is the Lord's oracle. If you don't wish to work in the workhouse, we can contact the person in charge to transfer you to the welfare home."

Lanevus's mouth twitched with barely concealed sarcasm. "...What if I still don't want to? The two people who invited me to join the Aurora Society never said I had to volunteer."

"This is the Lord's will, and as his servant, you should follow it instead of deliberately disobeying and causing us losses." Mr. Z, sent to manage the personnel department due to a serious dereliction of duty during a divine mission, was less than cordial with the god-turned-recluse before him. "If you are unwilling, we won't force you. You can return to the headquarters to rest, eat, and drink as you please, but you can't leave the designated area."

"Oh, yes!" Lanevus scoffed. "I'd rather lie comfortably in my little villa than see you mingle with filthy people outside. You don't differ from them at all!"

With that, he turned and left, two guards trailing closely behind.

Mr. Z watched him go, displeased.

69

"Fors." Xio shook her sleeping companion. "It's time to wake up! It's already eight o'clock in the morning!"

The brown-haired lady, reluctant to leave the warmth of her quilt, snorted and tried to bury herself deeper. But Xio pulled the blanket away, letting the cold September air rush in. "Get up! Fors! You swore last night that you'd get up early today and write 5,000 words to submit next week! Why aren't you up yet?"

"Writer's business... It can't be called procrastination... How can you write a manuscript without recuperation?" Fors murmured half-asleep. After a long struggle against sleepiness, she finally opened her eyes, sat up, and yawned, moving slowly.

"I was so foolish, really. I never imagined that a playwright like Mr. Vaughan would condescend to attend that little gathering of best-selling authors last night." The female writer sighed, "When he saw me, he asked about my manuscript... There's still a month! Why add to my stress?"

"There are only nineteen days left," Xio replied calmly.

Fors suddenly perked up but quickly sank back into laziness. "Then I don't need to rush. Yes, yes! Xio, did you say yesterday that you were going to an extraordinary gathering today?"

Xio, aware of Fors's blunt change of subject, nodded. "Yes, it starts in the afternoon." She felt a flutter of nerves as she continued, "Fors, do you think the person who sold the 'Sheriff' recipe will be there? Can I find the Beyonder who does the purification?"

"Don't worry, it'll go smoothly." Fors reassured her friend and yawned again. "Xio, are you going out to buy breakfast? Please grab a sandwich with meat and an omelet from the cake shop around the corner, along with a newspaper. I'll start writing after I eat."

"You said the same thing last time, and then you spent the whole morning reading the newspaper instead of writing a single word."

Xio complained but donned her coat anyway. As she left, she turned back to say, "Get up quickly!"

Fors agreed. Once Xio left, she crawled back into bed and continued to sleep, only stirring when Xio returned with breakfast. She read the newspaper while eating and drinking coffee, then spent the morning leisurely before heading to the assembly without writing a single word.

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*Today marks the day Klein was assassinated by the hunters, and the ambassador is on the verge of being targeted as well.

*The internal job fair at the Aurora Club was thrown into chaos. Shouldn't faith be a choice between His Highness the Abyss Angel and the Lord? Why is there mention of the Goddess of the Night? If you had said you believed in the Angel of Temperance, we could all rally behind you!

-Oh, you naive fool on the path of fate—it's all going to be just fine.