Nairn examined the two Amons before him.
One had a slightly stronger aura, the other slightly weaker, but both wore that iconic Monocle, and both had the same smirk at the corners of their mouths—the kind that made you want to punch them immediately.
This was no longer text on a page, nor an imagined image.
This was the god of deceit, the Angel of Time, a walking bug.
He was standing right in front of you, alive and breathing.
And there were two of them right from the start.
The air in the alley seemed to have solidified into amber, sealing the figures of the three in this eerie moment.
One Amon clone leaned leisurely against the wall, while the other stood at the alley entrance, blocking the only way out.
Their movements, expressions, and even the light refracting from their Monocles carried an unsettling synchronicity.
Unexpected?
Very unexpected—yet it also fit Nairn's pursuit of the unexpected.
A pleasant surprise?
Not quite—
It would have been better if the main body had come.
Nairn thought silently to himself.
He was advancing to sequence 1 and happened to need a Beyonder characteristic of the Error Pathway, a "Worm of Time".
Now that two mid-Sequence clones were delivered to his doorstep, what good were they? An appetizer?
He examined the two "Amons" before him as if admiring two interesting pieces of art.
In the end, how much power he could overdraw from the "Chaos Theater" depended entirely on how much "play value" he could generate.
And acting out a scene with this most charming villain in the mysterious world would definitely bring in an astronomical amount of "play value".
If the brat Amon truly thought he was invincible and wanted to find a beating, then he, "Big Brother Nairn," wouldn't mind teaching him a lesson.
If pushed to the edge, it wasn't as if Nairn couldn't forcibly demand the Sefirah to randomize a new, useful Sequence for him right now.
And what if it randomized something useless?
Then he would just randomize until he won!
Can't handle a demigod? Then directly unseal angel-level power.
Angel level not enough? Then use the Sefirah!
As for the "play value" needed for repayment?
Not to mention how much "play value" could be reaped from teaching this most charming villain of the mysterious world a lesson, the chain reaction triggered by this process alone would be enough to make Nairn filthy rich.
When overdrawing, by conveniently using the power of subsequent Sequences, combined with the support of the Sefirah, Nairn was fully confident he could turn the entire Northern Continent upside down.
Although he would still owe a massive amount of "play value" by then, in an emergency, one must prioritize the immediate situation—better to enjoy it first, right?
Of course, he didn't want to be forced into such a situation himself; that would be too pathetic, not in line with the elegance of being a "Director," and detrimental to the perfect unfolding of subsequent plans.
Just as Nairn was calculating how to play most interestingly, the Amon opposite finally felt something was wrong.
This person before him was too calm.
Calm like a bottomless Abyss; no matter how big the stone thrown in, it couldn't stir up a ripple.
His clones had already filled the entire alley with the Dread of the "Error" Authority; ordinary demigods here would have their thoughts fall into fallacy and their spirituality begin to disorder.
Yet the other party hadn't even blinked.
The atmosphere in the alley became viscous due to this eerie standoff.
Even Hainas Vansant inside the house had completely lost consciousness, slumped in the corner like a pile of mud, completely unaware that he had just walked through the gates of hell and was currently at the center of a standoff between two angel-level existences and an even more terrifying existence.
The weaker Amon clone, the one that had parasitized the "Magician" of the Secret Sorcery Club, was observing Nairn with great interest.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile hung on his lips—not born of joy, but a pure curiosity at discovering a new toy.
"Interesting," he spoke, his voice carrying a peculiar overlapping quality, as if many voices were speaking at once, "When did a person like you appear in Tingen City? I didn't notice at all."
The other, stronger clone, the Sequence 6 "Dream Stealer," appeared even more composed. He simply adjusted the Monocle on the bridge of his nose, and the eyes behind the lens flashed with probing light.
Nairn had his hands in his pockets, his posture relaxed, as if he were just chatting with a neighbor: "Perhaps you haven't been out in too long? The world is always changing, Mr. Amon."
He directly pointed out the other's identity without any concealment.
"Oh?" The "Dream Stealer" Amon raised an eyebrow slightly, "You know me?"
"The Angel of Time, the god of deceit, Amon." Nairn smiled, "Your name is louder than the signature of the Loen King in certain circles."
"Certain circles?" The "Magician" Amon repeated, seemingly very interested in the term, "For example—the circle you are in?"
They sang in harmony, their probing words like the most precise scalpels, trying to dissect Nairn's Disguise and explore his deepest secrets.
Nairn understood in his heart; dealing with an existence like Amon meant any useless word could be a trap.
They were probing his origins, his foundation.
"My circle is very small, so small that it's only me." Nairn shrugged, answering in a flippant tone, "I'm just a plain, unremarkable playwright, occasionally moonlighting as a director, and incidentally adding a little splash of color to this dull world."
"Playwright?" The "Dream Stealer" Amon's gaze deepened; he seemed to have thought of something, "Tingen Citizen Mutual Aid Foundation—'oliver twist'—'the mechanism worker'—so it was all your handiwork. Using drama and stories to pry at reality; that's not something an ordinary playwright can do."
His tone was flat, but every sentence hit the key point.
Obviously, on the way here, this "Dream Stealer" had done his homework, perhaps even peeking into certain people's dreams.
"So, which Outer Deity are you exactly?"
Suddenly, the previously silent "Dream Stealer" Amon asked a shocking question.
His voice carried a peculiar overlapping quality, as if countless Amons were asking at the same time.
Existing Outer Deities, whether it was the "Universe's Dark Side" or the "Mother Goddess of Depravity," or others—Amon had learned about them through various channels.
Those Symbols were either filthy, depraved, or decaying, but none were like this.
It was both like the beginning of all things and the end of all things, a pure, undefined "possibility."
It wasn't at all like Nairn's symbolic aura, and it was far less troublesome.
Just now, he had tried to steal the threads of fate, but it felt like sticking his hand into a high-speed crusher; the chaotic narrative power that rebounded even caused this clone's spirituality to become unstable.
Even now, Amon still couldn't see through Nairn's bottom line.
The closer he got, he even felt a faint, familiar aura, as if in some ancient epoch, he had brushed past this aura.
What was that?
His mind raced, searching through the vast memories from the beginning of his birth to the present.
That aura—it was a bit like—
Countless guesses flashed through Amon's mind, and then, the corner of his mouth hooked up, throwing out another probing sentence: "There are countless Outer Deities in the Cosmos."
This was forbidden knowledge that would cause any Beyonder who knew the inside story to have a mental breakdown, and even cause a Saint's spirit body to shake.
Amon was observing Nairn's reaction. Any hint of spiritual fluctuation, any sign of mental abnormality, would expose his level.
However, Nairn had no reaction.
His expression didn't change at all, his eyes remained clear, as if he had just heard "The weather is nice today."
There was no sign of his brain exploding from learning forbidden knowledge.
This time, it was the two Amons' turn to be silent simultaneously.
The curiosity in their eyes carried a hint of gravity for the first time.
Immunity to the corruption of forbidden knowledge? This was no longer a question of Sequence level; this involved essence. Either it was an existence of the same level, or—it was something with a status at the concept of an "Outer Deity."
"You are very special." The "Dream Stealer" Amon finally spoke, breaking the silence. In his tone, the playful, cat-and-mouse emotion had vanished, replaced by a kind of equal, even slightly vigilant, solemnity.
"Thanks for the compliment." Nairn bowed slightly, like an actor taking a curtain call on stage, "Likewise."
The situation remained deadlocked.
Amon's clones were weighing, analyzing. The mystery and power of the existence before them had already exceeded the scope that a clone could handle. Continuing to probe might invite unnecessary trouble, and might even threaten the main body.
And Nairn was waiting, he was waiting for Amon to make a choice. To retreat now, or—play a bigger game?
He enjoyed the confusion on the god of deceit's face, enjoyed the rare fluster of this Angel of Time.
This feeling of playing the top "player" in the palm of his hand was simply wonderful.
"play value" was growing slowly but steadily.
Just as this eerie balance was about to be broken, a third party that had existed all along finally couldn't help but intervene.
"Ying ying ying, Master, look at me!"
A wronged thought rang directly in Nairn's mind.
It was the Chaos Theater.
The little theater felt it had been ignored.
It watched those two Amons eagerly, just like a kitten that had been hungry for three days seeing two delicious little dried fish.
"Master, Master!" Its thought became urgent, "He has such a fragrant aura on him!!"
"Fragrant?" Nairn paused in his heart, then reacted.
The "fragrance" the Chaos Theater spoke of was definitely not some perfume scent. For a Sefirah, the "fragrance" that could make it drool could only be the essential aura emitted by an existence of the same level or higher.
And right now, besides Amon, who else could make the Chaos Theater so uncomposed?
More accurately, it wasn't Amon the person, but what Amon carried—that unique thing.
The Uniqueness of the "Error" Pathway!
Nairn understood instantly.
The Chaos Theater was an activated Sefirah, but essentially, it was still an "empty shell."
As a dignified Sefirah, it had no matching high-level Beyonder characteristics, not even a Uniqueness; was this reasonable? This was unreasonable!
Look at Amon!
An activated "Error" Uniqueness! And it even carried two sequence 1 characteristics!
That was the thing the little theater coveted most.
It also wanted a Uniqueness!
It also wanted something that could constitute the Uniqueness of the [Path of a Thousand Faces] or the [Path of Chaos]!
That's right, the Uniqueness of Nairn's two Pathways still had no corresponding Uniqueness to support them to this day.
Just like an emperor without the Imperial Seal, it always felt like the name wasn't right and the words weren't smooth.
For the Chaos Theater, this was simply putting a whole piece of top-grade Wagyu beef in front of a cat that had been hungry for three days.
That was the thing the little theater coveted most, the puzzle piece it dreamed of.
"What do you want to do?" Nairn asked in his heart, his tone somewhat amused.
"Eat—eat it—the Uniqueness—" the Chaos Theater's voice carried a childish longing, like a child who couldn't walk when seeing candy, "Master, it smells so good, I want to eat it—if I eat it, I can give you a better Uniqueness! Both the Path of a Thousand Faces and the Path of Chaos can have them!"
The little theater's voice was full of longing, a kind of covetousness for a high-level existence born from instinct.
Master, go for it! Seduce him, swallow him!
The Uniqueness of our two Pathways hasn't even appeared yet! Master, you have to think of a way!
Nairn laughed inwardly; he naturally tacitly allowed his own Sefirah to improvise.
After all, don't look at how he calls it "little theater" every other word, full of intimacy.
That's because he is its Master, and it isn't picky about how its Master addresses it.
But if it were replaced by another existence, an existence that could truly glimpse its Sefirah essence, what kind of true name should be used to address it at this moment?
That would be [Chaos Theater]!
Nairn's consciousness moved.
"Granted."
In an instant, an Authority that could not be described in words was forcibly mobilized.
That was the Authority of [Narrative]!
That was the Authority of [Variables]!
Following that, a grand Symbol concerning [existence] and [Possibility] descended with a boom from Nairn's body—no, from a dimension higher than reality!
Hum!
The space in the alley did not distort, the light did not change, everything was exactly the same as the previous second.
But the playful smile on Amon's face completely disappeared for the first time.
He felt it.
An infinite, Abyss-like chaos was spreading from the Nairn opposite.
That was not energy, not spirituality, but a more essential "information."
This chaotic torrent of information ignored space and distance, ignored any defense, and directly poured back up along the Connection between his two clones and the main body, a Connection so hidden that even an angel of the "Fate" Pathway could not peek into it!
His thinking stagnated like never before at this moment.
It was as if he saw countless scripts, countless stories, countless possibilities.
In one of the scripts, he was never born.
In another script, he was devoured by the Celestial Worthy at the beginning of his birth.
And in another script, he successfully stole the Authority of the Mysteries, but in the next second, the ending was modified by an existence named "Nairn," turning him into a funny Clown.
These "possibilities" turned into the most terrifying corruption, intending to rewrite and erase his "existence" itself from the root!
A life-and-death crisis!
A true life-and-death crisis!
Not the kind of death that could be resurrected by a "Worm of Time," but a kind of—if truly contaminated and devoured by this chaos, the possibility of never being able to return, an eternal extinction!
On Amon's eternally unchanging face, the emotion known as "horror" appeared for the first time.
His two clones flickered violently at the same time, like old light bulbs with poor contact, likely to go out at any moment.
The Monocle on one of the clones' faces cracked with a clear "crack" sound!
This power—the essence of this power—
He suddenly remembered the nemesis that had run through the fourth epoch, and even more ancient epochs.
The old ghost who also held part of the "Mysteries" Authority and regarded the whole world as a playground!
Could it be that he had escaped?
An absurd yet uniquely reasonable thought sprouted wildly in Amon's consciousness, which was on the verge of collapse.
"Celestial Worthy—that old ghost?!"