Despite the winter’s chill, the man wore a threadbare linen shirt, revealing his hairy chest. His eyes were covered with a white blindfold, while long hair hung to his shoulders. Wrapped around his neck was a brown shawl.

When Deus arrived at the older officer, and he began patting him up and down, the stranger’s lips curled into an eerie smile.

Who’s that? Shivers ran down Deus’s spine.

The way he’s smiling at me suggests he’s here because of me. Who knows about me? The Church of the Queen of Darkness and that mysterious cult.

Immediately, his thoughts turned towards the cult with the emblem of a snake coiling around a torch. While he couldn’t identify this symbol on any of his clothes or body and his feet weren’t gelatinous, his wariness wasn’t lowered in the slightest. After all, would an imposter so easily identify himself?

For the time being, it was likely the man wouldn’t take action. Otherwise, it’d alert the officers, and even if he killed both, it was sure to draw attention they’d rather avoid.

Should he tell them?

No, that was out of the question. The Church of the Queen of Darkness’s suspicion of him was already raised — any more, and they might take serious action immediately. While their resources to deal with supernatural means posed a risk to Deus, this could simultaneously provide an opportunity to deal with this man, if he were to use strange methods.

Why hasn’t he killed me already, if he’s powerful enough for his presence to go unnoticed by all? Is he probing my intentions?

Deus calmed his mind as he explored other possibilities, Perhaps they'd met him while I was asleep, and decided to lend a helping hand. It wouldn’t be unusual since they’ve similarly done so when I bled dry on the road.

However, he soon spotted inconsistencies with this

It’d be more likely for him to hitch with the first wagon. Is there any logic in switching to the second wagon? It’s a possibility — I’ll have to dig deeper.

“Sir, what’s that in your pockets?” asked the officer, interrupting his train of thoughts. He was kneeled on the ground, his hand placed on his trouser’s right pocket.

Deus feigned an expression of confusion, before snapping his fingers. He responded calmly, “Right, that would be my smoking pipe.”

The officer nodded and pulled it out. As he beheld its intricacy, his eyebrows mildly rose.

The smoking pipe was carved from some white mineral, while intricate tracery was engraved within, making it overt that it was of superior craftsmanship. While he retained this smoking pipe from before — unlike his blood-stained attire which he’d switched for a set of ragged clothes — it didn’t exactly match his persona.

Deus had to admit, this was a flaw he’d neglected.

The crouching officer reached for an etui in his pockets, and pulled out glasses. Wiping it with the hem of his uniform, he placed it onto his nose bridge to inspect the smoking pipe. Without letting his reaction show, he turned it around, examining it from all angles.

Deus narrowed his eyes. This’ll get me in some trouble. However, with the help of Sister Mary, it shouldn’t be all too much of a problem to help clear this ‘misunderstanding’.

The officer cleared his throat, and as he’d anticipated, asked, “Where did you get this from?”

“Oh, that’s a family heirloom,” Deus swiftly responded as his posture remained relaxed, “It’s been passed down for six generations.”

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The officer tilted his head upwards, directly meeting his gaze. Deus noticed that his brows were furrowed, while his body grew more tense. This added to the sifting atmosphere.

At this point, the younger officer had noticed them as well, his hand hovering over the pistol holstered at his waist. The pistol’s handle was wooden and meshed into an intricate metallic trigger and barrel, only faintly resembling what Deus was familiar with from Earth.

“Old man. Even if you’re hard of hearing, don’t take me for an idiot,” The young officer narrowed his eyes, “If you’re not going to respond, I’m going to assume the worst.”

Deus’s gaze darted to the blindfolded man, then back. Although he was sure he was the origin of this perilous situation, he didn’t want to agitate the officers.

What am I going to do if they can’t hear me or watch my lips move? Deus gritted his teeth, weighing his options.

The situation was about to escalate, and Deus knew he had to calm them. He lifted his hands with open palms, proving that he was unarmed. However, he wasn’t sure if they’d even be able to perceive this. When he was about to take the initiative to try talking them out of it again, Brother Zarael interjected.

“Gentlemen, calm down. I’ll explain this.”

A sense of relief washed over Deus.

Brother Zarael was about to approach them from the right, but the officer extended his arm, obstructing him. Brother Zarael’s pupils dilated, “What is the meaning of this?”

“Stay where you are,” hissed the young officer, “I’m sure I recognize this guy from somewhere.”

At this moment, even the blindfolded man turned his head to the young officer, indicating this must’ve been quite shocking to him. Deus didn’t hide his shock either, as it would perfectly rebut the officer’s claim.

For a while, silence hung in the air during which all awaited his remembrance. Although Deus was curious about the true identity of this body, he wasn’t willing to see it be exposed to all people present.

Therefore, he puffed his chest slightly to display confidence and responded, “Sir, with all due respect. I am a simple man, so I don’t know where you recognize me from. Please be realistic.”

As if none had heard what he’d said, the silence continued, which deeply unsettled Deus. What was he going to do?

When he noticed Brother Zarael’s moon-shaped chains slightly flaring up as if in reaction to some supernatural influence, Deus’s hope was roused briefly.

All of the sudden, the officer drew the pistol and aimed it at Deus. The man’s finger lightly pressed down on the trigger. The blindfolded man’s gaze had returned, staring and gauging his reaction to this threat.

Adrenaline rushed through Deus’s veins, and time seemed to slow down. He prepared to evade the bullet immediately.

In a flash, the man turned the pistol around completely, pressing its barrel harshly against his pale skin.

Bang!

Blood splattered at the crowd standing behind him, of which only Brother Zarael flinched as they landed on his face. The light emitted by his chains had now reached a blinding intensity.

As the officer’s corpse dropped onto the cobblestone road, Brother Zarael backed up instinctively, but bumped into Monte who stood behind him. Monte’s expression was as calm as ever as he responded, “Hey, be careful.”

The blindfolded man who stood at the forefront of the crowd noticed Brother Zarael’s awakening from this trance-like state, and turned to whip his shawl up into the air. The shawl didn’t fall straight to the crowd, rather drifting slowly like a feather as if extremely light.

“By the Goddess!” yelled Brother Zarael as he interlocked his hands and zig-zagged through the crowd, retreating to where the oil lamp’s light didn’t reach, his glowing chain exposing his location.

As the chain’s light grew smaller and the distance between them grew, their moon pendants suddenly turned semi-translucent and zoomed towards the blindfolded man.

Meanwhile, Deus’s stomach twisted, and his emotions were overflowing with a severe sense of dread. Again, it was as if the robed man with vestments of gold and red towered before him.

“Sir, it’s alright,” sounded a raspy voice below him, “There’s no reason to be nervous. If it’s an heirloom, that explains everything.”

Deus ignored the officer, his mind churning intensely as he inferred the meaning of this situation, His abilities are related to mind-control. If that’s the case, why hasn’t he taken hold of my mind?

There’s only one explanation: He’s trying to probe my identity and intentions. This implies the limits of his abilities — he can’t read minds, only control them to some extent!

What is special about my identity, and why would anyone feel the need to probe it?

Again, there’s only a single explanation: Although his legs aren’t gelatinous, he must be linked to the cult. Given the fact they haven’t killed me, they must not only fear the information I hold, but something else about me.

This is my advantage; my ambiguous identity!