The murals beautifully adorned the walls depicting mages slain in various ways— skewered, slashed, squashed, burnt, and in several more ways killed in the more simplistic brutal manner of force.

A wooden sculpture of an old man was crucified in the center of the cathedral-themed chamber. This place is a space grafted between realities, a feat shared among gods.

Well, in the 13 Empyrean gods' case, at least demigods. If they were to become gods, they must first ascend into Aetherius.

The mana in this space is disturbing, they felt too stagnant. It's as if the air particles themselves froze in motion, ignoring the rules of physics while enacting a magical law that superimposes reality.

And with a sudden flash of blue, he appeared, teleported into this very dimension of his own creation.

Wearing his Mythril Mask like how it used eons ago, he walked in stride. His god name, the Faceless Believer, rang true. In his blue hooded archmage robes, he commanded a prestige that doesn't question but only enforce.

From the physical realm, he returned to his humble abode carrying a sack dripping with murky blood. He threw it in front of the wooden sculpture revealing the head of the Seeker in its half-burnt state, its eyes are hollowed as if someone scooped them with a spoon. Its hair is white like the purest of snow, and its blood is blue like the nobles of old.

It was a ghastly sight. Purplish blue veins bulging in its cheeks and a smell so horrible it might wake the dead.

The Faceless Believer snapped his finger undoing a part of the curse he inflicted upon the Scholar.

Tearing sounds of wood resounded as the wooden surface cracked and scatter like the scabs in wounds. From a weak groan, it became a breath— short even breathes.

There was calm.

The wooden sculpture of a crucified old man shackles a soul within, and with the Faceless Believer's permission, the curse laid the Scholar's head bare.

The Scholar stared blankly at the bloody head. The Faceless Believer watched in anticipation.

Will he scream? Cry? Break? Despair?

Alas, the Scholar only offered a sigh. This irritated the Faceless Believer to no end.

"Is that it? Won't you at least curse at me?"

"What kind of curse? Verbal or Magical? If you free me from this cross, I might indulge you." The Scholar sardonically said.

The Faceless Believer scoffed at the Scholar's newfound humor. He levitated himself with telekinesis, leveling his eyes to the Scholar, a rather familiar scene. The only difference is, that it was the Scholar who is on the receiving end of the derision! Contempt! And hate!

"The Seeker ran quite well, but in the end I caught him. The bastard burned his heart for a cataclysmic Tier 10 magic. If not for me decisively cutting off his head, I won't be able to show you this. It's truly a pity I can't crucify him along with you. Ah! But damn, he is thorough. At the last second that fucking Seeker was able to obliterate his eyes to ashes. His eyes would have been a great material for searching the Seer."

The Faceless Believer's voice is like that of a child showboating his achievements to his father. The Scholar can see the deranged happiness emanating from the slits of the so-called believer's mask— his eyes like that of a crescent moon.

"You defeated a demigod, congratulations." The Scholar said in an apathetic tone.

The Trimystery archmages are all demigods in nature, but such titles to label themselves are unacceptable. It is disrespectful to the concept known as God, the original, and the Aetherius.

That's why the Scholar's tongue is so much laced with poison.

"Not only did you defeat a demigod, but you also killed your brother~ simply by doing nothing. His suicide as your victory is an impressive feat."

"SHUT UP!"

The chamber shook, his mana boiled. The Faceless Believer screamed at the top of his lungs.

"Why!? Why does it matter!? You won't understand anyway!"

Hysterical and out of wit, the Faceless Believer cried dry tears of fury and irreconcilable madness. This is not the first time this happened. For once a day in a year, the Faceless Believer comes to this chamber, in his pathetic attempt to convince the Scholar of his point of view.

"He was your BROTHER!" The Scholar said with a firm voice carrying a hint of mana.

But the Faceless Believer will hear none of it. He removed his Mythril Mask, undone his hood, and dispelled the SHROUD spell from his face— finally revealing his true form— white hair, crystalline blue eyes, and familiar features.

"AND I AM HIS CLONE! A meager clone molded like a lump of clay for your purpose... A very long time has passed, and I had enough. I was hoping for you to admit your faults and say to me the truth. But you disappoint me. You knew who am I from the very beginning, did you not? Even with the mask and shadow magic, you were able to see through me. I should have known better. Now that I am coming off clean, I expect you do the same. Tell me, how many clones are there like me?!" His voice is hoarse and full of torment.

How many clones?

Confusion clouded the Scholar's eyes. This is just too disorienting. He has long known who was the man behind the mask, but to think that this is the motive that fueled his betrayal is too disheartening.

"Is that it? You wanted vengeance because you learned you are a clone?" Surprise and disbelief filled the Scholar's mind. His wise self was long gone, devoured by the time of his imprisonment, only the husk of the past is what's left of the old man.

"Tell me!? How many are still there, left!? Tell me!? Give me a number! How many clones were there?!"

Huh?

There is something wrong going on. Why is he so persistent?

"What do you mean by how many?"

The Faceless Believer clenched his fist, he is running out of patience and the rage he has been keeping in check for a very long time is about to erupt.

But still, in the end, he consoled himself. The Scholar can't die now, he still has some uses for this old man. The only thing he could do for now is to rant.

"Stop playing games with me old man. You don't know what I have gone through. Killing people sharing my darn face, slaughtering them just for the sake of my sole survival, and the fear that tomorrow it will be me! Trimystery has wronged many. It was Trimystery that betrayed me first, betrayed the people, betrayed their own-fucking code! I had enough of that. It is time I take matters into my own hands!"

"And by what? By becoming a hound of another, an obscure group that manipulates the good-hearted? Look at yourself! Look at what you have become..."

The Scholar stayed true to what he sees. He is not omniscient like the Seer, but he is sure— the man in front of him is a broken man walking a path to his self-destruction.

Silence momentarily ensued as the two of them stared intently at each other. Through their eyes, an understanding is formed and their bonds are finally shattered.

The Faceless Believer turned his back, slowly descended canceling his telekinesis, then lightly landed on the marble floor of the cathedral-like chamber.

Sadness occupied the Scholar's face as it slowly revert to its wooden form, the curse once again taking purchase of his freedom.

The Faceless Believer wore his mask and hood as it was supposed to be. He cast SHROUD on himself further hiding his features.

"For the cause~" His whisper echoed in the desolate chamber, forever haunting it with his maddening paranoia.

He walked forward and with a flash of blue, he disappeared.

Night has claimed the skies. There were stars high above. Like jewels to be admired from afar, the Faceless Believer watched until dawn came.

He touched his mask reminiscing of a life without it.

The Seeker represents freedom, agility, speed, and the dove. He is to be the next Seeker, which he is aware of even before he learned of the presence of clones like him.

At first, he isn't aware that he is just a clone. He had a happy life. When he learned that he is just a clone of his big brother, he consoled himself that it was all fine, nothing changed.

But when the existence of other clones was revealed to him, he almost went crazy. Especially after learning that these clones want him dead.

The head he presented to the Scholar was his big brother. The clone prior to him, the last Seeker. In his pursuit of the Seeker, his big brother, the Faceless Believer learned the Seeker's history. His big brother just kept on babbling, saying the purpose of Trimystery. Glory, whatnot, etcetera, bla-bla-bla...

I understand him. At the same time, I don't.

"Maybe he thought that he might be able to convince me of coming back to their side, but that's impossible. I am too far gone. There is no going back."

The Faceless Believer wasn't expecting his big brother to commit suicide. Only when he saw his death, did he finally realize the emotion he is suffering from.

It was Shame.

He still believes. The Faceless Believer still believes in Trimystery, their creed, passion, and duty.

The Faceless Believer doubted the Prophet a lot before all of this happened. But after the series of events that followed— "I can't help but be convinced."

"Excuse me, your excellency?"

Hmm?

A mage wearing dark blue robes approached the Faceless Believer. It seems that the mage overheard the Faceless Believer's muttering.

But the Faceless Believer doesn't care. He ceased his melancholy and focused on what is at hand.

They stood above the tallest of the tower of the Pillar Council, an extensive organization of Empyrea at the Faceless Believer's control.

"Report." The Faceless Believer imperiously commanded.

"One of our Diviners caught someone saying the word 'Trimystery' through their surveillance net, I believe it's another one of the renegades your excellency seeks. It has been 521 years since we last encountered them."

The Faceless Believer frowned at the mage's choice of words. We?

"We? So you've seen one?"

"N-no, your excellency. I meant that the Pillar Council has encountered them 521 years ago, I learned this after cross-referencing from our archives."

Invisible sweat gathered at the mage's back.

"Tell me about yourself." The aloof Faceless Believer walked at the ledge of the tower without fear of heights, he gazed at the countless towers that litter the horizon. His back turned from the mage.

"I am Archmage Horton. Capable of Tier 7 magic. Specializes on flame magic and divination."

The devil's in the details, he should remember that. Horton felt calm for such a simple question. He knows that the 13 Empyrean gods are not to be disrespected.

"You look relatively new for an archmage. How did you find me?"

"Sorry for disturbing your leisure time, your excellency. But I was sent here by the Emperor. I am from the Imperial Court and not the Pillar Council. I sincerely apologize for the misunderstanding. But please, I came here with an imperial edict."

The Faceless Believer frowned. The Emperor himself is one of the strongest among them, among the Empyrean gods.

'As decreed by the sole Emperor of Empyrea. With the seal of four other Empyrean Gods, we require you to investigate Harkhall City.

Choose to deny this mission and we will relegate it to another Empyrean God or Saint.

The rewards are as follows:

... # Gold... # Dragon Scales...

... # Elven Glass... # Orc Slaves...

... # Mythril...

Strong fluctuations of planar convergence are detected in Harkhall city. This is of grave importance for the cause. Please investigate the phenomena.

Diviners also reported the resurfacing of the word Trimystery, caution has to be observed in dealing with this operation.

Lastly, be reminded of the Silver Demon's presence in the Harkhall City. Its danger level is equivalent to SS+ and possesses a relative degree of intelligence.

May Aetherius guide you.'

It felt decades since the Faceless Believer saw an edict. The last imperial edict was last 57 years ago for the Fortune Teller in a bid to hunt a loose dark elf and an Archlich.

The Imperial Edict for the Empyrean gods is quite simple and lax. If the Faceless Believer chose not to do this mission, he only need to deny and stamp his seal on the edict.

Then the Imperial Edict shall be sent to another Empyrean god. If all the Empyrean gods deny the edict, it will then be relegated to a saint of the Empyrean god who last held the edict.

The 13 Empyrean gods are all equals. The Faceless Believer is just another Emperor with a different title, so he has a right to refuse.

But the Faceless Believer won't.

It is because if it involves Trimystery, then it is his obligation to have a hand in it.

The Faceless Believer touched the carvings of his Mythril Mask. If it is another clone, then all for the best— it's just another bloody body count to him. But if it is something else, then he will personally see to it that it shall be done in the justest manner he deems fit.