"Are you accusing me of forcing you to reveal your secrets?" Elaria Moonfest asked in an odd tone.
"My dear Queen, you're overthinking it. Sincere honesty is the foundation of trust, isn't it?"
"We're both elves. Whatever I intend to say, I'll share whether you ask or not. And what I refuse to say, even persistent questioning won't change that."
"I understand your doubts—you believe my refusal to accept your help means I distrust you or am dissatisfied in some way."
"Well, it's true I don't fully trust you. After all, you're merely angels. And the ones who might come for us... are Gods."
"That's precisely why I'm being cautious."
"But that doesn't mean I distrust you entirely. We elves have limited resources. We cannot afford instability."
"Let's proceed with caution and grow steadily."
Eli Walker, as if releasing a floodgate, waved a hand to summon a chair and seated himself, chatting animatedly with Elaria Moonfest. He had never been particularly serious by nature. Wasn't this preferable? Did he truly wish to become a second Klein—solitary and somber on his lonely ascent toward the supreme divine throne?
"I didn't expect you to be this... lively." Elaria reclined slightly on her throne, studying Eli with interest.
She truly hadn't expected that the elf, whom she had always encountered quietly fishing, could talk this much.
"Have you ever met a reserved elf?" Eli said, gesturing to himself.
"To be honest, it hurts quite a bit."
He had felt invigorated during the battle, but once it ended, the pain had set in.
He had insisted on consuming the Sea King's characteristic while his mental state was still unstable. Aside from attracting the full ire of the Church of the Storm, he had only hoped to grow slightly stronger.
In terms of pure combat prowess, the current Eli couldn't compare to the Sea King he had slain. He could only focus on improving his core attributes.
"You're the first elf who's ever cried out in pain in front of me," Elaria said while idly swirling the golden wine in her glass.
"I'm cooperating with your psychological therapy and mental guidance, Your Highness."
"You dragged me into a dreamscape the moment I returned. Weren't you afraid I might lose control?" Eli shrugged.
He wasn't ungrateful. Elaria was, after all, an angel. Her initiative in stabilizing his spiritual state was far superior to any attempt at self-regulation.
"You adjust remarkably quickly," she noted with a trace of relief.
"People from our era are pretty resilient under pressure," he responded lightly.
"Are you willing to tell me now?" Elaria asked, a playful gleam in her eye.
"Next time. My fish is on the hook." Eli flashed her a grin, and his form shimmered before vanishing from the dream. In reality, he tugged forcefully on the fishing rod, hauling something up from the seabed through brute strength alone.
"Hmph~" The Calamity Demoness snorted softly before dissipating along with the illusory dream.
Fifth Epoch
Backlund — A Mansion in the West District
Eli Walker had already finished preparing the Sequence 9 Secret supplicant potion.
Bennett Maynard—his current vessel—had always been an enthusiast of mysticism. Now an adult living independently, he naturally had no shortage of basic ritual materials.
The ingredients for the Secret supplicant potion were also relatively easy to acquire. The Aurora Order, unlike the orthodox Churches, did not tightly control the Pathways they administered.
After all, regardless of who you were before imbibing the potion, once you did, you became a believer of the True Creator. In their eyes, all were family.
"The ability of a Secret supplicant doesn't seem all that useful to me," Eli muttered. He had grown used to soaring through the skies, delving beneath the earth, calling forth lightning, and summoning storms.
It was disorienting to essentially start over from scratch.
"It tastes rather sweet." He took a shallow sip before finishing the potion in one go. As expected, nothing remarkable happened—a Sequence 9 potion wasn't even potent enough to induce hallucinations at his current spiritual threshold.
The potion contained much knowledge—but most of it had clearly been added later by human hands. It referenced the True Creator and the honorific names of entities like Ouroboros, the Fate Angel. Reciting them carried irreversible consequences.
"Feels like one of those phishing scams," Eli sighed.
From his perspective, over half the knowledge embedded in the potion was dangerous—likely to cause spiritual contamination if pursued recklessly.
This, too, was expected. Much of the content had been summarized and sanctified by the True Creator's adherents.
"Arrodes, anything interesting going on?" Eli turned to the mirror on his desk.
The surface shimmered faintly, soon displaying a scene: Martin, the personal butler, was busy sorting through banquet invitations and planning the upcoming week's social calendar.
"I wasn't referring to this kind of thing." Eli tapped the table. Such noble gatherings weren't particularly stimulating—usually just a waste of time.
"You'll find this one interesting," Arrodes replied. The silver subtitles glinted before the image zoomed in, focusing on one invitation.
"Oh?" Eli leaned in. It was from Councilor Mahett, which surprised him.
"And?" he asked, raising a brow.
"This councilor has a charming young noblewoman at home," Arrodes replied, the subtitles taking on a mischievous tone.
"Who tweaked your sense of humor like this?"
"Myself."
"You really do get me." Eli chuckled and lightly clapped. He decided he might as well indulge in the luxurious lifestyle of a nobleman—and offer his loyal service to the God of the Fallen Domain in the process.
"But... is this identity's reputation really that clean? I've already been involved in some rather unsavory affairs, and yet I still get invited to private dinner parties?"
Although Councilor Mahett belonged to the New Party, if Bennett Maynard's name had been thoroughly tainted, he would hardly be welcomed at such elite functions.
"Did the Demoness choose to cover it up?" Eli asked.
"That lady was only having some fun. She didn't want to draw your Mother's attention or interfere with her own future plans," Arrodes replied coolly.
Even a Demoness wouldn't want to go around Backlund assassinating nobles by the family tree—it would eventually provoke the royal family and Church alike.
"Then there's no issue. I've seen his memories. Before Bennett Maynard met the Demoness, he had no particular interest in women—just a bit of rebellion."
With that understanding, Eli began to faithfully act the role of a Secret supplicant, praying daily as if checking in for work:
"Lord who created all, Omnipotent and Omniscient God.
You are the source of all greatness, the beginning and the end.
You are the God of Gods, ruler of the vast Astral World."
He prayed devoutly, sensing the spirituality of the potion begin to digest gradually.
This had been part of his plan all along. Since a proper Secret supplicant required a deity to worship, why not choose the most powerful one?
Moreover, this particular god had already fallen, and His honorific name now amounted to little more than an empty symbol. The City of Silver's residents had prayed for millennia without receiving an answer.
Why not use that very silence to hasten digestion?