HPxLOTM: A Wizard's Path to Divinity

Although he had long known many of these secrets, Klein had never actually thought in that direction—after all, by Church decree, members of royalty, especially kings, were strictly prohibited from becoming demigods.

But if those mausoleums really were meant for advancing into the Black Emperor, that meant the Ruen royal family—no, King George III himself—was already a Sequence 1 Angel?

Then how in the world had he managed to hide it from the Churches all this time?

Images of those photographs and the expressions of the three major Churches' people flashed across Klein's mind again. So…so those photos were deliberately made public? Purposefully shown to the Churches? All to expose George III's plan?

Klein suddenly realized: this matter was far more terrifying and complex than he had originally imagined.

Just then, Azik took a thin glove from his coat—so thin it looked like it might have been made from human skin—and handed it to Klein.

"Remember this sealed artifact? Edward obtained it from that pirate admiral. Since it helped me recover fragments of my memory, I borrowed it for a time. But after I helped him hunt down a demigod, he gave it to me as payment."

"However, recently, I've come into contact with some…ancient beings, entities from the Fourth Epoch or even earlier. I no longer need it to retrieve my memories. There's no point in me keeping it, so it's yours now."

Klein stared in surprise at the glove.

This was the powerful sealed item that had enabled Sequence 6 Qilangos to become one of the seven pirate admirals.

Azik continued, "I've placed a seal on it so it won't be hungry by default. But every time you use it, you'll need to feed it the flesh and soul of a human being. Otherwise…it'll devour you."

"Thank you…truly, thank you, Mr. Azik."

Klein didn't hesitate to accept it.

He desperately needed something like this to bolster his strength.

Azik then said solemnly, "The coming days in Backlund may be extremely unstable."

"I know."

Klein gave a bitter smile.

"Especially for someone like me…who's just witnessed a full-blown 'royal scandal'. It's easy to imagine what kind of fallout that'll bring."

He paused and added more seriously, "So I plan to leave Backlund for now."

"Where will you go?"

"I haven't decided yet."

But Klein already had a vague plan in mind.

He was ready to advance to Sequence 6: Faceless.

To reach Sequence 5: Marionettist, he would need to consume the potion in the presence of a mermaid's song.

And where could one find a mermaid?

Naturally…he would have to go to sea.

After Azik left, Klein hurried to pack his things and prepare to leave. But suddenly, an urgent voice echoed in his ears—it sounded like Miss Justice.

He immediately took four steps counterclockwise to arrive above the grey fog, extended his spirituality, and tapped the crimson star representing Miss Justice.

"Mr. Fool, Edward—Tower—is being chased by an Angel! Please…I beg you…save him!"

The moment Audrey's voice rang out, Klein felt like he'd been punched in the face.

Edward again? Just a while ago he was provoking demigods, now he's got a freaking Angel on his tail?! Even if I had plot armour, I wouldn't be able to keep up with this insane power creep!

Wait a minute.

Edward had always been out there trying to help rescue him…

Could it be—was he targeted by that Angel because of me?!

That thought hit Klein like a hammer.

"I'll ask Mr. Azik for help!"

He sent a brief reply—"Understood"—then exited the grey fog and pulled out the bronze whistle, blowing it forcefully.

But no sound came out.

What?

He tried again—still no sound at all.

Was it broken?

Just as he thought that, a figure suddenly appeared in front of him.

The man wore a black, old-fashioned robe, a matching pointed hat, had curly black hair and eyes, a broad forehead and narrow face.

Over his right eye was a monocle made of crystal.

He looked at Klein with a faint smile, the crystal lens gleaming with ethereal light.

"Found you."

In that moment, Klein felt his entire spiritual body erupt into turmoil.

An all-consuming fear surged up like a beast swallowing him whole—a fear and despair more intense than anything he had ever felt, not even when facing a corrupted Lanevus.

He knew this man.

He was the shadowy figure who had once possessed Little Sun, who had tried to piggyback into the grey fog, who had seemingly attempted to usurp Klein's place.

Klein's first instinct was to Flaming Jump and escape—but he found he couldn't move at all.

Even his thoughts were beginning to slow down.

It was like…being locked in the gaze of a predator.

He could only watch helplessly as the man slowly approached, raising a pale, slender hand—reaching for his forehead.

At the same time, Klein could feel something foreign invading his consciousness—the man's will.

He'd felt something similar when helping Sharron battle a wraith.

But this time, it was worse. Much worse.

The wraith had merely hijacked his body.

But now, this was an attempt to replace him entirely.

A parasitic theft, the kind Edward had once explained—a terrifying skill of the Marauder Pathway.

A full-scale parasitism…was equivalent to possession. And in some ways, it was far worse than death.

Terror gripped Klein's soul.

But he couldn't do anything.

He could only feel—with painful clarity—as the man's presence crept deeper and deeper into his being.

His vision blurred.

His mind grew foggy.

His senses dimmed…

Until, in one sudden instant—the parasitism stopped.

No—not stopped.

It felt as if nothing had ever happened at all.

There was no sign of the man with the broad forehead.

Klein was simply standing there, bronze whistle in hand, just about to place it in his mouth and blow.

Still no sound came out. Still, the whistle remained silent.

"Wait a minute…this scene…I feel like I've been through this already!"

Klein's heart began to pound. A realisation flickered at the edge of his mind.

In the next instant, without hesitation, he snapped his fingers and vanished into a plume of flame.

But when he landed, he realised he had merely moved from his bedroom to the living room.

And once again—his body had fallen into that same paralysed state.

The man in the old-fashioned black robe and pointed soft hat reappeared right on cue.

He smiled, his crystal monocle gleaming faintly.

"Found you."

Then he paused, his expression flickering with interest.

"Oh? Someone restarted time in here? How…intriguing."

The man—Amon, no doubt—mimicked his earlier actions, stepping forward, once again reaching out a pale hand toward Klein's head.

That same invasive, replacing feeling surged up anew.

Everything was repeating.

The exact same nightmare loop.

Klein once again experienced that devastating sensation of being gradually overtaken, erased.

"Time was reset…but by who?"

"Was that person trying to help me?"

"Will they interfere again?"

These were the only thoughts his feeble remaining awareness could grasp.

Then suddenly, Amon pulled back his hand.

He frowned ever so slightly and turned to the side.

At the door, unnoticed until this moment, stood a figure.

A woman in a hooded, vintage robe.

She had a beautiful, almost ethereal face—calm, expressionless.

Her eyes were pitch black, deep and vacant, lacking even the faintest shimmer of spirituality.

Amon—broad-foreheaded and sly—sighed and shook his head.

"Ah…so I troubled even you to show up. How truly rude of me."

A faint glimmer lit up the eyes of the woman's otherwise still face.

"Alright, alright. I'll leave. I'm leaving now."

Amon raised both hands, retreated two steps, and then his figure vanished into thin air.

In that instant, Klein regained control of his body.

But he didn't feel even a sliver of relief.

Because the woman—this utterly still and silent presence—remained exactly where she stood.

And she was giving him an even greater sense of dread than the parasitic horror from moments ago.

His heart thudded as he stared at her, unsure if he should thank her—or even speak at all.

Then the corners of the woman's lips curled up ever so slightly.

She smiled.

Klein was stunned.

Before he could even process what was happening, her figure had already faded, dissolving into nothingness.

"I'm…saved?"

His knees gave out. He staggered back a few steps.

"Who exactly was that broad-foreheaded man? What did he mean by 'Found you'? Was he really coming after me...no—after the Grey Fog?"

"And what exactly is the Gray Fog? What secrets does it hold to attract someone that terrifying?"

"And that woman—who was she? Why did someone of her level choose to protect me?"

"And the one who restarted time...who was that?"

A storm of unanswered questions flooded Klein's mind.

But he knew one thing for certain:

The only reason he couldn't answer them—was because he was too weak.

Because he knew too little.

He refused to believe that those two terrifying beings—man and woman—had acted without purpose.

"No more thinking. Just…get out of here!"

Klein shoved the whistle back into his coat and turned to leave in a panic.

But just then, a sharp pain pierced his chest.

His pupils contracted.

He froze.

Lowering his head in disbelief, he saw a pale hand—pale and slightly cold—thrust through his left chest, soaked in blood.

And then—

That hand wrenched back, dragging Klein's entire body with it—straight into the spirit world.

"Damage transfer…"

Klein only had time to form this thought before he felt his life force rapidly draining.

The damage transference failed—

His heart had already been crushed.

His breathing slowed.

Then stopped.

The hand violently yanked itself free, sending his body flipping over, weightless, as it plunged deeper and deeper into the Spirit World.

In the final instant before unconsciousness claimed him, Klein saw the face of his attacker.

A man in a double-breasted pure-black robe, wearing a soft cap.

One eye was blind. The other burned with cruelty.

He gazed down upon Klein with cold malice.

"The first."

In the next second—

Darkness.

Klein lost all sensation.

His body tumbled through the spirit world, falling…falling…deeper still.

Until at last, he descended upon a massive floating castle—

Jet-black. Gothic. Vine-covered. Towering.

Its spires pierced the misty void.

And standing atop the tallest point of the castle was a semi-transparent woman—colossal in size, as tall as the castle itself.

But she had no head.

From her drooping sleeves hung four radiant, golden-haired heads, each with red eyes and stunning features.

———

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