"The main body has given you a return gift, but I can't just let it end like this," he mused before finally pulling out a stone tablet.
"I don't have the same power as the main body, but for now, this thing is under my control."
"I don't know how you came to understand sequences, but I can show you what a true sequence looks like."
Sasriel was being quite generous. In this eerie world, knowledge was akin to power.
Moreover, this was an era where sequences had yet to spread, making such knowledge even more precious.
"Just in time—I need this knowledge," Truman did not refuse. While this knowledge had limited use for him—since he could not follow the sequence pathway—the Ancient Sun God likely understood this, which was why Sasriel was willing to present the Blasphemy Slate to him.
"This is also part of the plan," Sasriel said. Truman nodded slightly.
Perhaps Sasriel did wish to repay him, but this also involved their ongoing collaboration.
For instance, the stars, the moon, and the pathways adjacent to them.
This was the Sun's side using leverage to draw in the other two factions.
"Oh..." Truman seemed to have thought of something. He looked at Hermes and sensed the boundless yearning in his heart. Nodding lightly, he said, "How much you can comprehend depends on yourself."
"Thank you, Angels!" Hermes bowed deeply at a ninety-degree angle, nearly kneeling before the two.
Truman once again grasped a cluster of dreamlike phosphorescence and handed it to Sasriel.
Sasriel blinked, nodded slightly, and showed no objection.
"Let's begin," Sasriel said, fully revealing the Blasphemy Slate. The hazy shadows surrounding it dissipated, exposing the gray-white stone tablet.
It was ancient and weathered by time, inscribed with a peculiar script that could be understood at a glance.
"Sun Pathway: Sequence Nine, Hymnist..."
Draped in the robes of a sage, Truman's ability to record knowledge had reached an almost terrifying level. Without any difficulty, he deciphered the Blasphemy Slate completely.
"Sequence Zero..." This was one of the few things that Truman treated with genuine seriousness.
"Come to think of it, I can create Blasphemy Cards now!"
A bizarre thought crossed Truman's mind, but he quickly shook his head. He was not that emperor who could even target witches. No need to steal the spotlight.
He looked up and saw Hermes still immersed in deciphering the slate, intoxicated by the knowledge.
"Alright," Sasriel announced at a certain moment. The Blasphemy Slate was once again enveloped in dense shadows before he put it away.
"Whew!" Hermes snapped back to reality and once again bowed in gratitude toward Sasriel and Truman.
"A complete divine pathway... and other sequence pathways leading to demigod levels..."
Hermes was not like Truman; he couldn't decipher all the information in such a short time.
Thus, he had to make choices—he gained full knowledge of his own pathway and acquired knowledge up to Sequence Four for others.
"Knowledge should be spread cautiously," Truman advised, his words carrying a hint of guidance.
"Yes!" Hermes, still reeling from the overwhelming influx of mystical knowledge, quickly composed himself.
"I, Hermes, swear to follow the Angel, even if it costs me my life! Human history will forever engrave the name of the honored Angel!"
Hermes dropped to one knee, bowing his head before Truman.
This was no longer just a simulated persona—it was the true Hermes speaking.
Truman was momentarily stunned before smiling and nodding. "You may also call me Dream."
"Yes!" Hermes etched the name into his memory.
"Go now. Your knowledge will allow humanity to truly possess the power to protect itself," Truman said.
Hermes was an excellent follower, but for now, he needed to return to the human city-states.
With the Ancient One's Gloves, Truman directly transferred Hermes back to the place where they had first met.
"Apologies, I may have disrupted your plans," Truman said to Sasriel.
After all, this knowledge was the Sun God's best tool for gathering human believers.
"This is the reward you deserve," Sasriel replied indifferently. "A god's power alone is enough to command human faith."
Hermes had only received such an abundance of mystical knowledge because of Truman. As Sasriel said, Truman's name was bound to be etched into human mysticism history, with countless humans becoming his anchors of faith.
"But your abilities resemble those of a Miracle Invoker," Sasriel remarked, glancing at the Ancient One's Gloves before his gaze swept over the Dream Book. "Be it fate or wishes..."
So, they suspect I have ties to the Lord of Mysteries? Truman suddenly understood.
The Ancient Sun God must have noticed inconsistencies in Ulysses's fate and inferred the Dream Book's abilities. This naturally led to thoughts of the Fate Marker.
However, Truman knew it had nothing to do with that. He did not deny it but merely smiled.
"Why not take me on a tour of your divine kingdom?" Truman was curious about the Sun God's divine realm. Besides, he expected to see some familiar faces there.
Sasriel gladly agreed—hosting a guest while slacking off a bit.
"Yo, Sasriel, who's this? He's almost as handsome as me!"
Before they had walked far, a knight with fiery red hair and clad in black armor approached.
He was young and striking, his expression as wild as his crimson hair.
"Medici!" Sasriel called sternly. "He is a guest."
"A guest?" Medici raised an eyebrow, casting a provocative glance at Truman—enough to make anyone want to punch him.
"Your act is quite convincing," Truman even sensed a level of mystical provocation. If two Sequence Two angels stood before him, the one he'd instinctively prioritize attacking would be the red-haired one.
"This isn't an act. He… is just naturally like this," Sasriel said helplessly.
Medici's expression shifted slightly. From Sasriel's tone, he could tell that he regarded Truman with great importance.
That piqued his curiosity.
He was about to say something when a terrifying storm interrupted.
It was an apocalyptic tempest of lightning—silver and white, so intense that it turned the sky above them into another world.
"Medici, stand right there!"
A voice like the roar of a giant beast thundered through the air as a humanoid calamity wrapped in wind and lightning appeared on the horizon. His deep blue hair billowed wildly in his rage.
"Here he comes, little brother," Medici didn't flee. Instead, he moved closer to Sasriel, forcing him to raise a hand and block the storm of lightning.
He couldn't exactly let his guest get struck by lightning, could he?
"Leodoro, you have offended an important guest of our Heavenly Kingdom! Your punishment—sing a song to calm the guest's fury!"
"You—!" The towering and rugged Leodoro's face contorted, teeth clenched in frustration. Even Sasriel twitched slightly.
"I believe this is truly his nature," Truman mused.
Hearing that furious roar just now, he could already gauge Leodoro's level as an Oceanic Singer.
If he started singing, the damage would be devastating.
The only reason Medici wasn't dead was that he was strong—and had the backing of the Ancient Sun God.
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