At six in the morning, Gospel time, in the Sennheiser District on the second layer of Fanmula, Igola opened his eyes from where he was hiding inside the wardrobe.
He pushed open the wardrobe door and stepped out. On the bed lay the raised silhouette of a human figure—an "Igola figure" crafted from pillows, a quilt, clothes, and a dash of imagination.
Although it was neither a sorcery spirit nor a miracle, this little trick had saved his life multiple times. If he left a note on the bed saying "Good evening," it would convince any late-night intruder that the Swindler had foreseen their arrival and slipped away long ago through unknown means. After cursing under their breath, they would rush off to track down his escape route, giving the real Igola, tucked away elsewhere, the chance to make his getaway.
After all, Igola was merely a Swindler, not omniscient and omnipotent; how could he possibly anticipate every danger? But that did not stop him from cultivating an infallible, foolproof persona in his daily interactions. A little extra caution and a few backup plans were all it took to plant a seed in someone's mind.
What truly turned falsehoods into reality was never a swindler's eloquence, but the target's own imagination.
Interpreting the world was an instinct inherent to everyone. When information was lacking, one subconsciously used imagination to fill the gaps, which was why conspiracy theories flourished and rumors spread faster than truth.
People always believed what they wanted to believe.
Although the world itself was objective, everyone's experience of it was subjective. Mind sorcerers of the past could even establish religions, elevating themselves into "gods" within the subjective worlds of countless believers.
While Igola had little interest in that advanced awakened profession for Swindlers, making himself appear to a specific group as an "idealized mastermind who always foresees your next move" was as effortless as putting on makeup.
On his very first night in this strange city, Igola had begun preparing. When someone discovered the "Igola figure" on the bed, they would assume the real Igola had already left, never suspecting that this was a trap set every single night, while the frail, motionless, oblivious Swindler was hiding right beside them in the wardrobe.
This was the mind sorcerer's way of deception.
Even when giving it your all, you must appear completely effortless.
And a meticulously prepared gift must be handed out with absolute nonchalance.
In this world, whoever had the seed planted in their heart first was the loser.
As was his routine, Igola had to take a bath every morning after waking up. Fortunately, the suite had a bathtub—a steam whirlpool bath, no less.
In truth, the accommodations here were far superior to the employee dorms Annan had provided. It seemed the young lady really was a second-generation heiress starting a business venture, who would have to go back and inherit hundreds of millions in family fortune if she failed. Plots like that were quite common in Gospel dramas; Igola figured the root cause was that Gospel Country's luxury economy and consumerism were not developed enough—parents could actually manage to save money.
In their Blood Moon Country, by contrast, even capitalists could live paycheck to paycheck. Any random longevity package from a research institute could bankrupt the wealthiest tycoon on the spot. Gospel Country simply lacked freedom.
After giving himself a preliminary wash, Igola tested the water temperature with the tip of his toe, stepped in up to his calves, bent his knees to maintain balance, and eased down until the water rose past his chest, intimately brushing against his collarbones.
Warm currents seeped through his pores into his cells, swiftly relaxing the stiff body that had huddled in a wardrobe all night. His tense soul, fresh from returning from the Void Realm, also began to unwind as the lazy mist massaged the Swindler's aching brain.
The vast majority of people in Blood Moon Country suffered from mental illness, and Igola was no exception. A clever man like him felt the massive, crushing gravity of reality most acutely. His soul felt suffocated every second of every minute; he was engulfed in anxiety almost constantly.
Igola knew he was ill, but he could not save himself. The more skilled a swimmer was, the easier it was to drown in the deep sea.
Over time, perhaps on some overcast, drizzly day, he would suddenly come to an understanding about the "meaning of life," dress in his finest clothes, track down everyone who knew him, and deceive them one final time—wiping clean every memory of him from their minds. Once no one in the world knew him, Igola Bogin would vanish entirely from people's sight, leaving only his lingering shadow in the Void Realm.
Yet Igola, who had been destined to walk alone toward ruin, had instead picked up the habit of taking baths to empty his mind after being sent to prison. The taut strings had thus found rest, and his psychological ailment had been cured.
Shattered Lake Prison had saved him. Truly, the only way out for someone from Blood Moon was prison.
It was worth mentioning that before bathing with Yaxiu, Harvey, and the others in recent days, Igola would always take a bath by himself first. After all, being around two cloven-hoofed beasts offered zero relaxation.
*Knock, knock! Knock, knock! Knock, knock!*
Just as Igola was about to willingly slip into a mindless daze, an idiot came knocking.
That familiar triple knock: even though the other guy had not dropped his pants yet, the Swindler already knew what kind of foul air he was about to vent.
Igola decided to use silence to make him back off. But after a few seconds, he heard precision gears turn and alloy latches disengage—the door opened.
*Clack!*
The glass door of the bathroom was pushed open, and the steam eagerly coiled around the visitor.
"Scared me to death! I thought you ran away from home through the toilet."
Igola let out a long sigh. "First, this isn't our home. Second, how did you get in here?"
"I told the maid that nobody answered when I knocked, so you might have died in the Void Realm, with part of your soul's head bitten off by a Fishcleaver Dragon, leaving you a helpless vegetable, so she opened the door to let me check if you'd wet yourself."
Yaxiu sat down on a little stool. "So feudally decadent—actual maids. This family system really is a cancer on civilization, though the maid outfits are pretty cute."
"Weren't we placed under house arrest, forbidden from leaving our rooms?"
"Don't know. When I woke up, I tried the door and found the lock was lifted. Maybe the young lady secretly acted cute with her mother last night while we weren't around?"
"Putting those trivia aside," Igola said, glaring at Yaxiu, "have you still not noticed that I'm taking a bath?"
Yaxiu blinked, realization dawning. He walked over, closed the glass door, and sat back on the little stool. "Sorry, forgot to close the door."
"You also forgot to shut yourself outside." Igola splashed water onto his face, completely abandoning his attempt to space out and reverting to his professional persona. "Speak. What do you want?"
"Can't I just come chat with you if there's nothing wrong? Am I the kind of person who only seeks you out when I need a favor?"
"Of course not. You're the kind of person who harasses me in the bath even when asking for a favor." The Swindler's lips twitched. "To use borrowing money as an analogy: ordinary people act arrogant only after borrowing money; you act arrogant before you've even borrowed a copper."
"There really is something I wanted to consult you about," Yaxiu said, scratching his head. "You seem pretty experienced, after all."
"You're consulting a Swindler?" Igola raised an eyebrow. "Even a believer seeking solace from a priest has nothing on you."
"When you're carrying the lives of others, and every single move you make could cause those who trust you to die terrible deaths... do you feel afraid?"
"...If this psychological pressure of yours stems from our trust in you during the prison break, then your reflex arc must be long enough to circle the Time Continent."
"No. During the prison break, I never had the slightest thought of being responsible for you," Yaxiu said, shaking his head. "Because you never trusted me, nor did I trust you. What we trusted were our own judgments, and we took responsibility for ourselves."
"What I'm talking about is: when someone trusts you unconditionally and is willing to hand over their life to you as a chip... do you feel anything special when you place that bet?"
The Swindler narrowed his eyes. "If they choose to trust me, that means they've made their own decision. I don't need to—"
"Do you really not need to?" Yaxiu interrupted, gazing through the mist, trying to find truth in the Swindler's eyes. "If I placed my life in your hands, could you make the bet without the slightest hesitation?"
The steam drifted upward, wrapping the silence in a veil.
"I understand now." Igola splashed water on his face. "You didn't come for a consultation. You came looking for comfort."
Bullseye.
When facing Denzel, Yaxiu could make rational decisions, could face death with unyielding grit, could play the defiant hero to the bitter end. But after leaving the Void Realm and calming down in reality, Yaxiu had realized what he had actually done—he had put both the Witch's and the Sword Princess's lives onto the gambling table.
Setting aside the fact that he never viewed them as possessions, the Sword Princess had said long ago that even if Yaxiu died, she could continue living her own life in her own world. The operators did not exist merely as appendages to Yaxiu; they had their own joys and sorrows, their own parents and friends, and their own lives.
Likewise, if an operator died, they would presumably be dead for real. Their portrait would gray out completely, leaving behind nothing more than a name in the handbook.
Whether breaking out of prison or escaping the Blood Moon, Yaxiu had never felt any psychological pressure when it was time to gamble his own life.
Yet after betting the Witch and the Sword Princess along with himself this time, fear had abruptly gripped him.
He was terrified that they would die, and even more terrified that he might survive while the others perished.
They were still an eternity away from the Three-Winged Sanctuary, yet every Spider Tower turn in the meantime required them to enter the Void Realm and engage in a life-or-death race against the Heroic Spirit Legion.
True, they had a car, and true, they could outrun them. But could they escape once, twice, three times, ten times... could they escape a hundred times?
If they failed to escape just once, if a single mistake occurred, if fate merely tripped them up...
Yaxiu closed his eyes, and he could almost see the image of them being torn to shreds.
Furthermore, this was no longer a problem that could be solved simply by Yaxiu dying.
Even if Yaxiu fell first, the Contract with the Sword Princess and the Witch would remain intact. Unless they ascended to a higher layer of the Void Realm, they would still have to run for their lives through the Void Realm—and compared to quitting while ahead, that Empress Heroic Spirit seemed far more inclined to wipe them out entirely.
Although the Witch and the Sword Princess had raised no objections, and Yaxiu's response at the time had indeed been the optimal move...
Still... still...
He was scared.
Suddenly, Yaxiu recalled his second-to-last question and couldn't help a bitter smile.
Sacrificing the world and billions of lives, or saving the world bearing the wishes of a thousand years... Right now, he could not even say "Entrust your lives to me" with a clear conscience.
The rapidly ballooning psychological burden had soon left him suffocating. In the past, Yaxiu certainly would have chosen to endure the agony of that trust alone, pretending nothing was wrong. After all, that was how he had been raised: venting only caused worry, and no one wanted to swallow your blood and tears.
It was Freya who had changed him. That brief period of living together had shown Yaxiu how an ordinary person survived in a society as cruel as Blood Moon. And the most important lesson was—if you're sick, seek treatment.
There was no shame in seeing a psychotherapist. Perhaps that was Blood Moon Country's greatest contribution to advancing civilization.
While there were no psychotherapists around, going to a Swindler was practically the same thing; after all, there was no essential difference between comfort and deception.
"'Don't be afraid. They entrusted their lives to you because they trust your judgment. Even if you made a mistake, they wouldn't resent you, because you did your best. The world won't blame someone who tried their hardest, and the unfairness of fate shouldn't be your burden'... Is that what you were hoping I'd say?"
Yaxiu looked up, only for a wet hand to suddenly grab his collar and yank him right before the Swindler's eyes.
"You'd rather let a Swindler lie to you than face reality yourself." Disdain dripped from Igola's eyes. "Even among my clients, you rank in the lowest tier."
*Smack.* Igola shoved Yaxiu away, sending him tumbling onto his backside.
"Go ask Harvey for a few candies—that's the medicine for your symptoms." Igola didn't even look at him. "I'm a top-tier courtesan-grade Swindler; I don't entertain clients as rotten and festering as you."
Yaxiu sighed. "There's no need to be so harsh..."
"Gambling with other people's lives? I've been doing that since I was thirteen," Igola said coldly. "I won plenty, but losing was just as normal. Because of a bad call on my part, one of my partners was caught by 'Fire Crab.' I only saw him again in the most grotesque news tabloids—he'd been turned into an avant-garde piece of abstract art, crafted with clothes hangers and chairs... What do you think went through my mind back then?"
"Vengeance?"
"No. I only wished he had received and acted on my final message, ending his own life before Fire Crab reached him."
Water dripped from the ends of Igola's hair, merging into the bath and vanishing. "That is the fate of a decision-maker. Even if you are calm enough, hardworking enough, you still cannot prevent sacrifice. Even a god cannot save every mortal in the world—who do you think you are?"
"Enduring sacrifice, accepting sacrifice, getting used to sacrifice—that is the only path. There is no alternative. Did you think a little comforting from a mind sorcerer would magically grant you the iron heart of a decision-maker? Mind sorcerers aren't master enchanters; we can't make a *ding* sound and level you up."
"What you need isn't comfort, and it isn't deception. It's growth."
The Swindler looked at the dejected cult leader, yet another portrait emerged in his mind.
At the end of the world, a mysterious man in a dark red trench coat looked down alone upon the world...
"There is another very simple method, as long as you're selfish enough," Igola said. "Just like me. As long as you're selfish enough to treat everyone as pawns, selfish enough not to care what anyone thinks, selfish enough that your own pleasure is all that matters, you won't feel the weight of responsibility."
"For orphans of the Blood Moon like us, that should be an effortless path of progression, shouldn't it?"
A spark lit up in the cult leader's eyes. "As long as I'm like you..."
"That's right, like me..." Igola gazed at his own blurred reflection in the water. "You only need to care about yourself, value only yourself, love only yourself..."
"—As long as I have as much decision-making experience as you do, I can grow into a captain who can face the weight of responsibility with composure!"
Igola blinked. *Huh?*
Yaxiu stood up and patted the dampness off his rear. "The difference between you and me is that you already have extensive team experience, while I don't. So I should find ways to build my own leadership experience and become a steady decision-maker."
"And how do you plan to build that?"
"I already have an idea," Yaxiu said. "Coming to you was the right choice after all. I won't bother your bath any longer."
"I don't know what your idea is, but it certainly won't be as simple as the 'selfish progression' I mentioned," Igola said coolly. "Why make things so complicated?"
"Because being selfish isn't that simple," Yaxiu said, opening the bathroom door. "If even you can't manage it, how could I?"
"Who says I can't?"
"You didn't answer my question."
Igola froze, listening as Yaxiu's footsteps faded into the distance.
*'If I placed my life in your hands, could you make the bet without the slightest hesitation?'*
"A seed..."
The Swindler let out a breath. Although he had already soaked for quite some time, he decided to stay in a bit longer to empty his mind; otherwise, thoughts and reflections would turn into the rain and sunlight that helped the seed sprout.
*Knock! Knock! Knock!*
An unfamiliar knock, yet Igola had an ominous premonition.
Sure enough, the bathroom door swung open once again.
"Aunt Bogin!" Lisi appeared before the Swindler, hands on her hips. "I have something very important to discuss with you... We need the wisdom of a Swindler!"
"Have you really not noticed that I'm taking a bath?"
Lisi froze, then had a sudden flash of realization and obediently shut the bathroom door.
Igola felt tempted to summon the Book of Gospel right then and there just to check the degree of blood relation between Lisi and Yaxiu.
Chapter 322