"Dear Mr. Police Officer, I am a veterinarian... Well, you might not know what kind of treatment this profession receives in Backlund. In any case, it's a profession that's more sought-after than most doctors. After all, the pets raised by those noble families cost at least several hundred pounds, and you should understand that the entire savings of many self-proclaimed respectable gentlemen and ladies don't even reach that figure."
"So?" Listening to Snow introduce his profession, Dunn gently nodded his head, then followed his words and asked.
"So? A young, wealthy man with good looks having some luck with women is quite normal, isn't it?" Snow theatrically waved his arms, and a flashy air immediately overflowed from his expression.
Dunn was, after all, a veteran Nightmare who had seen many people's dreams and had rich experience with such situations. However, before he could react, he saw Snow suddenly deflate like he had lost his color, speaking in a tone like a drunk man who had had too much to drink:
"But who could have thought that woman was actually the mistress of a big shot from the Waltz Party! If I had known she had such a background, I wouldn't have provoked her even if you killed me, okay? I even suspect this was a trap they set for me! Let me tell you, those Backlund gangs are completely different from Tingen's thugs—they're truly cold-blooded killers who don't even blink when they murder!"
Watching Snow's emotions become increasingly hysterical, Dunn immediately comforted him:
"Since you're so afraid, then come with me to the police station. After confirming you have no problems, we will provide you with protection."
"Police station? That's good. Do you have single cells in your prison? It would be best if you locked me up where no one can visit me! Oh, of course, the food should be better—fish and chips is already the bottom line. You can't force a middle-class person whose monthly income exceeds 50 pounds to eat that pig feed..." Listening to Snow's words, Dunn's mouth twitched slightly. Although he knew that people's thinking could easily go astray in dreams, this was the first time he had heard such unrestricted demands.
However, he didn't relax his vigilance because of this. Instead, he continued to maintain the dream's development, leading Snow toward the police station along the way.
...
About fifteen minutes later, seeing the Captain and Leonard appear at the inn's entrance once again, Klein's anxious heart finally relaxed. It wasn't until the two of them walked back into the carriage that he couldn't help but ask:
"How was it?"
"His behavior in the dream was also very normal. There were no obvious contradictions in his words. I tried to give him many opportunities to escape, but he always maintained a submissive attitude. He would even hide directly behind me when danger occurred on the road, as if being by my side was the safest place. Well, this fits the expectations that ordinary people with some assets have of police officers."
"Right, only people with guilty consciences would seize the opportunity to escape, just like me..." Dunn's words undoubtedly reminded Klein of the previous dream, making him internally complain. Then he turned his head to look at Leonard.
Feeling Klein's gaze, Leonard shrugged and said:
"There were no beyonder items in his room, and no climbing traces were found on the windows. Although there was perfume in his suitcase, it was just ordinary men's cologne, not the essential oils or hydrosols needed for ritual magic. The only thing that could be related to mysticism was a silver antique small knife, but it only had three to four hundred years of history and wasn't any beyonder item. If I had to say there was something abnormal about him, it would be that he's too handsome! He's only barely inferior to me by just a tiny bit... Well, okay, I admit he's a tiny bit more handsome than me."
The characteristically frivolous words made the originally serious atmosphere become relaxed. As the carriage started moving again, the conversation of the group began to turn toward Klein's upcoming initiation mission...
Watching the carriage depart, Snow, who had already emerged from the dream, gently petted the little kitten that was licking its paws. Although he knew he had probably passed the test, he still didn't relax his vigilance and just casually lay on the bed, lazily spacing out.
"Hanass Vincent is dead, and I've intercepted the notebook. The two triggers that would have increased Dunn's mental burden have been removed by me. Now let's see how that incompetent playwright will rewrite the script..."
Just as Snow was contemplating, the image of a white steed formed from clouds suddenly appeared in his mind. As this steed galloped through his brain, echoes of whispers began to resonate in his ears:
"'Lord of the Mysteries' is just a novel. Many readers have read it, but none have been contaminated, nor have they been watched by high-level existences because of it. Therefore, I will not be contaminated or watched because of the knowledge obtained from the Lord of the Mysteries story..."
The voice was layered and repetitive, constantly stimulating Snow's nerves. Along with this process, his spirituality was rapidly draining like a burst dam. But strangely, almost every second, he would have spirituality equivalent to one-quarter of his current total spirituality drained away, yet his spirituality always maintained at a three-quarters state.
The whispers in his ears lasted for a full minute before finally stopping. Only then did Snow finally breathe a sigh of relief and withdraw from his semi-meditative state.
"It must be that damn quill again! This is really going to be the death of me. Can't authors play without me?"
Gently rubbing his throbbing brow, Snow slowly adjusted his mental state. The Lord of the Mysteries world was just that treacherous—without a sufficiently reliable golden finger, even the most overpowered transmigrator would have to kneel upon arrival.
Yes, Snow was indeed a transmigrator, and the most tragic type at that. Transmigrators in other worlds who were familiar with the plot could practically take whatever resources the entire world had to offer, but in the mysterious world... forget about plot advantages—knowledge itself was toxic!
Actually, transmigrating into the Lord of the Mysteries world would have been manageable, but the most tragic part was that the moment he woke up, sitting in front of him was a crazy beauty who pushed a green, bubbling, viscous liquid that looked like it had been scooped from Gul'dan's cauldron toward him, just short of saying "Drink this, it is your destiny."
It was only because his golden finger was powerful that he wasn't currently a member of the crazy beauty squad.
As for his golden finger, its origins were truly extraordinary. First, there was a Source Quality(Sefirot) called [White Horse Is Not Horse], and second, there was the corresponding sequence's Uniqueness—[The One-Foot Staff].
This Source Quality (Sefirot) and Uniqueness didn't belong to the original work's twenty-two pathways or even sequences, nor were they mentioned in the original work. They were foreign sequences originating from the Outer Deities in the starry sky.
If he had to give it a classification, Snow felt this thing was more like what was mentioned in the original work—the advancement methods used by extraordinary species before the Blasphemy Slate came into existence.
That is, the so-called "Cross-Pathway Potion Ingestion."
(End of Chapter)
---
TL/N: 1:白馬非馬 (White Horse Is Not Horse): This is a direct reference to the famous paradox by the ancient Chinese philosopher Gongsun Long, which argues that "a white horse is not a horse" due to the specific attributes ("white") differentiating it from the general concept ("horse").
2: 一尺之棰 (The One-Foot Staff): This references another ancient Chinese philosophical paradox, often attributed to the Mohist or Daoist schools (sometimes linked to Hui Shi). It states: "Take a staff one foot long. Cut away half of it every day. It will still not be exhausted after ten thousand generations." It illustrates the concept of infinite divisibility or the paradoxes arising from continuous division.