Silas had never heard the name "Count Andes," much less knew why the man wanted to cause him trouble.
"Why did Count Andes send you here?"
He pressed for an answer.
The werewolf Tyll opened his mouth, and suddenly a clear expression of terror appeared on his blurred face.
Immediately after, his originally semi-transparent soul rapidly turned crimson.
The glow was dazzlingly bright, as if the light of a blood moon was blooming from within his body!
Spiritual intuition warned Silas of danger. He released his grip and threw the soul mass away.
"Bang!"
Before the werewolf Tyll could even let out a scream, his soul exploded in midair.
Crimson points of light scattered through the air, like stars, quite dreamlike.
Yet they carried a certain vitality, showing a vague tendency to attach themselves to Silas.
Silas decisively pulled back, watching as those points of light extinguished completely.
Silenced?
No, it seemed more like some power behind him was trying to use his soul to corrupt me.
Silas shook his head.
Was it the evil god worshipped by the Rose School of Thought?
He couldn't figure it out for now.
His consciousness and his duplicated persona both generated thoughts simultaneously, making his head spin with dizziness.
Only then did he remember the prayer ritual was still ongoing. He hurriedly ended the ceremony and sent off Mr. Fool.
Setting aside Klein's regret above the gray fog at not seeing what came next, Silas extinguished the candles and noticed that the werewolf's Beyonder characteristic had already precipitated.
It was a dark green fang that had fallen from his mouth.
Sequence 7, the werewolf's Beyonder characteristic.
Silas picked up the characteristic, then waved his hand to release Kons, who was trapped in the shadows.
"Ah!"
Breaking free from the darkness and seeing the outside scenery again, Kons was clearly very agitated.
Earlier, when Silas had bound him without warning, he'd thought he was done for. His wounds had already bled quite a bit, leaving him extremely weak.
Silas walked up to him and placed his hand on the wound, using Blood Magic.
"Whoosh!"
Organs, tissues, muscles, skin... Kons felt the changes in his body. The horrifying wound the werewolf had created actually healed completely.
He saved me?
Kons found it incredible.
"Given that you tried to stop that werewolf, I'll let you go."
Silas said flatly.
He had already encountered this guy once before, investigating him using "psychological invisibility," and had confirmed that although he was from MI9, he hadn't participated in those matters.
Just an eager young rookie trying to establish merit, nothing more.
"...Thank you very much."
Before Kons could finish his words of gratitude, he saw Silas take out a glass vial from his pocket.
Opening the cap, the blood he'd spilled on the ground flowed into the bottle under an invisible force, filling it completely.
"I'm very good at curses."
He explained calmly to Kons, "I suggest you don't go spreading word about what happened today."
"I understand."
Kons's face paled a few shades as he nodded repeatedly. "I won't say anything."
Just as he made this promise, M's phantom appeared behind him. Her golden eyes flashed, leaving a mark deep in his heart.
The threat of a curse plus psychological suggestion, a double insurance to ensure he wouldn't leak information.
"Good that you understand."
Silas glanced at M's phantom, then asked, "Do you know who Count Andes is?"
"I've only heard the name."
Kons answered honestly.
"He's also part of Backlund's noble social circle. I've seen him a few times at balls."
"Do you know where he lives?"
Silas continued questioning.
Kons decisively shook his head. It didn't look like a lie, more like he genuinely didn't know.
Which made sense. For someone he'd only met a few times, how familiar could he really be?
"I see. You can go."
Silas said.
As if granted a pardon, Kons quickly stood up, bowed to Silas, then left with unsteady steps.
After today's events, he suddenly realized that a stable life might not be so bad after all.
Perhaps in a few days he'd have new ideas. But at least at this moment, this thought was completely from the heart.
Right now, Kons just wanted to get out of here quickly, return home, and see his family.
Silas didn't care about Kons's change of heart.
He walked over to the body of old Jack, crouched down, reached out, and used Blood Magic to treat Jack's horrific wounds somewhat.
Old Jack's relatives were all dead, so he had to shoulder the shepherd's duty and handle the funeral arrangements for his sheep himself.
This world had mystical forces.
If corpses weren't properly laid to rest, they could easily produce vengeful spirits.
The Loen officials had made special arrangements for this. Even paupers could be buried in public cemeteries.
Silas faced the corpse, feeling the changes in the "Shepherd" potion within him.
The potion had digested a bit more.
When he merged with the remnant soul of his sheep, when he bore the pain for his sheep, when he killed the werewolf that had harmed his sheep, he clearly felt the potion digest.
Silas roughly guessed the reason for the potion's digestion.
Because he had faithfully played the role of a "Shepherd."
Protecting the flock, providing shelter for the sheep.
If protection failed and a sheep died, at least he had to avenge the sheep.
How ironic, really. The death of a sheep had actually advanced his acting progress.
So, even for the sake of acting, he needed to find this Count Andes and the Rose School of Thought and demand an explanation.
***
Backlund, Queens District, in a villa.
The spacious room was filled with a heavy smell of blood.
The originally luxurious interior had become unrecognizable.
Oil paintings in golden frames were splattered with large amounts of blood.
Several fresh severed heads sat on the expensive walnut table, complementing the vase beside them.
Countless pieces of flesh covered the carpet, and shredded intestines were smeared on the velvet curtains...
One could imagine that when the crimson moon descended just now, a bloody and frenzied feast had taken place here.
"Wonder if that guy Tyll will mess things up."
A man licked the blood on his fingers and muttered.
His skin was extremely pale, with a few vague dark spots, looking almost like an actual corpse.
The madness and malice in his eyes overflowed, radiating endless desire.
"It doesn't matter. He'll instinctively create chaos under the moonlight."
On the other side of the room, where the décor hadn't been contaminated by blood and looked relatively clean, a middle-aged man in his forties wearing a black tailcoat sat in a chair, saying expressionlessly.
At his feet lay four or five men and women dressed as servants.
Their eyes were vacant, their faces stiff. Though they still had faint breathing, they looked like soulless shells.
Two other members of the Rose School of Thought had just enjoyed an indulgent feast under the crimson moon.
Their host, naturally, was the owner of this villa, Count Andes.