Chapter 14

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[Crimson Despair: Give me a dog.]

[Fallen Morning Star: Dream on, I don’t even have one. These hunting hounds aren’t mass-produced yet—only two exist, shared among us all.]

[Crimson Despair: …That’s really a pity. I’ve recently crafted some interesting things and planned to send each of you a gift, so you could experience the joy of flesh-and-blood magic without leaving home.]

[Fallen Morning Star: That won’t be necessary.]

[Pale Messenger: That won’t be necessary.]

Iris recalled the gruesome, barely censored picture that this friend had sent her last time. She strongly suspected that what they meant by "interesting things" were those sanity-draining trinkets they had fiddled with during their flesh-and-blood magic research.

[Fallen Morning Star: But I really liked the hair dye you gave me before—the red color with a metallic sheen was so cool!]

…Metallic red hair?

Iris: …Uh, does this other world have its own punk style too?

[Fallen Morning Star: Unfortunately, my brother found and destroyed them all. He thinks nothing related to the Abyss should appear here, so please don’t send me anything for now.]

[Crimson Despair: It’s just hair dye! I wasn’t sending Abyssal goods!]

[Fallen Morning Star: …Our Father and brothers are too strict. I just wanted red hair, but they think I’m truly falling from grace. I just don’t want to have the same blonde hair as everyone else—that’s so unoriginal.]

[Pale Messenger: Wait, you haven’t fallen from grace yet? Then why is your name like that?]

[Holy White Wing: Oh, I changed it after an argument with my brother and forgot to change it back. I’ll fix it now.]

Iris vaguely remembered this friend came from a scholarly family, and clearly, the household rules were quite strict. She sensed a vibe of a modern student rebelling quietly—staying up late to finish homework at 2 a.m. just to spite their parents. Rebellious, but not completely so.

After some thought, Iris offered a suggestion.

[Dark Saint: …Have you thought about achieving your goal in a different way?]

[Dark Saint: For example, tell them you’re going to shave your head… Compared to that, dyeing your hair would seem like no big deal.]

[Holy White Wing: !]

[Holy White Wing: …You’re a genius. I mean, this idea is fantastic! I’ll try it right away!]

Iris settled into a comfortable position on her bed, watching the words on the magic mirror. The pressure weighing on her heart felt like dust on a windowsill gently swept away. She didn’t know where her online friends lived or what lives they led, but this kind of chat, free from revealing identities or real-life topics, allowed her to briefly be her truest self.

No matter how many times she convinced herself otherwise, she was not Iris White—she was just a soul misplaced in this world.

[Crimson Despair: By the way, Dark Saint… are you a lady or a gentleman?]

[Dark Saint: Lady.]

[Crimson Despair: I said I would make you something from Behemoth’s flesh and blood, but… when I actually made it, I found it had lost most of its vitality. The item is more of a useless toy for you.]

[Crimson Despair: You could give this little thing to your followers—maybe it’ll come in handy.]

[Holy White Wing: Want to try our new invention? Just draw the corresponding rune, and both sides recite the agreed keyword. The hunting hound will deliver the item between parties—simple and fast.]

[Holy White Wing: [Image]]

The rune resembled a combination of an omega symbol, a cross, and a curved snake, encircled by a ring.

Crimson Despair messaged her privately, naturally inviting her to use the “Hunting Hound Express.”

Iris didn’t immediately agree. She drew the rune on paper and placed it in her backpack for identification.

[Unknown Teleportation Rune: A new teleportation rune not among the existing 377 runes. Mana consumption: medium.]

…So there are that many teleportation runes? Seems this isn’t as rare as she imagined.

If it were really rare, how could it casually appear in a book club chat group?

Encouraged by Crimson Despair’s excited invitation, Iris decided to try the “Hunting Hound Express.”

She used her mana to activate the rune on the paper; its glow turned a dazzling golden-red.

“An extraordinary item made from the flesh and blood of a certain monster,” she chanted.

A rift tore open in front of her, and a half black dog’s head poked out. Due to space constraints, only its mouth could fit inside. It placed a box it was holding in its jaws on the ground, then retreated as the space closed back up.

Iris approached the box, noticing it was covered in the hound’s saliva, so she wiped it clean before opening it.

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Inside was a bracelet, looking bizarre—at first glance, Iris thought it was a coil of dark red intestines.

If one kneaded monster flesh like clay, rolled it into thin strips, then bent them into a circle—that’s probably what it looked like.

As expected from Lady Crimson Despair’s creation, the aesthetic was wildly sanity-shredding.

Iris placed the bracelet in her backpack for identification.

[(Suspected Behemoth) Ring of Greed: A greedy beast feeding on desire, blood, and flesh. Every inch of its body inherits this nature; even as an item, these traits persist. Specially treated, it imposes no user requirements—anyone can use it.]

[Desire Erasure: Eliminates or distorts the strongest current desire of the designated target. Usable three times daily. Distortion effects vary randomly.]

[Flesh Transformation: The Ring of Greed can gnaw and store a certain amount of flesh and blood, retaining original properties. The user can alter the stored flesh into desired forms. (Note: Stored flesh cannot be used once vitality is gone.)]

[Note: The Ring of Greed may occasionally consume stored flesh as its own food. To avoid wasting precious materials, prepare ordinary flesh as feed or regularly offer it some desires.]

[Rest assured, the Ring of Greed will not gnaw its bearer without sufficient nourishment; it will simply go on selective strike.]

…Judging by this long list of effects, this was definitely a useful item.

The Ring of Greed felt slippery in Iris’s hand, like touching raw meat.

Though ugly in appearance, the effects made it a fine tool. She put it on and wondered: what tier of transcendent was Lady Crimson Despair who could create this?

Likewise, the mysterious Lady who bred the hunting hounds must be a knowledgeable transcendent.

…The skill level of this chat group’s members was impressively high. Could it be I’m the weakest? Iris grumbled.

[Holy White Wing: Have you all tried it? How is it?]

[Crimson Despair: The messenger is a bit shy; no matter how I coax it, it won’t come out of the space rift. Improvements needed.]

Iris thought for a moment and left her valuable customer feedback: [The Hunting Hound Express works well.]

[But items retain the messenger’s saliva—please improve.]

=

After the chat ended, Iris destroyed the rune and went to sleep.

That night, she slept soundly; by morning, the wounds on her legs had fully healed.

Captain Bella excused her from patrol duty, but that didn’t mean she had nothing to do—she still had to attend the family’s daily courses.

Before the last course ended, Raymond told everyone they didn’t have to go to class today—just gather at the practice field.

On the way to class, Iris regained the out-of-body feeling she’d had with the early risers. When she met Claire, her mind was still on breakfast—thinking the cafeteria bread was too dry compared to last night’s meal.

Seeing Claire startled her; her hair was tied messily, she looked listless, and her eyes barely open.

“Are you okay?” Iris asked.

Claire said slowly, “…I had a bit of insomnia last night. It’s nothing serious.”

“You look exhausted,” Iris worried. “Using transcendent arts consumes energy. Will you manage through class later?”

“Raymond’s lessons aren’t intense. If needed, I’ll slack off on the side. Anyway…” Claire rubbed her temples. “I heard you ran into cultists on patrol yesterday?”

Iris shrugged: “I thought I was going to die there. Thankfully, the Merciful Lord heard my prayers. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be seeing you now.”

Saying that gave her goosebumps.

Not long ago, she was faithless; now she could fluently mention a “Lord” whose whereabouts she didn’t know.

It proved how quickly one could change to fit in… Iris silently scolded herself.

Raymond arrived at the practice field and, after everyone gathered, announced that there would be no lecture today.

“The annual exchange competition is coming soon. As always, the family has registered all students present.”

Raymond smiled: “Besides local transcendent contestants, several neighboring dioceses are also joining. The bishop has high hopes for the White family to stand out among the competition.”

“In previous years, finishing in the top three guaranteed exemption from the Watchmen squad’s entrance exam. This year, due to more participants, the Church changed the rule—top three now expanded to top five.”

The students stirred.

The looser criteria made many think, “I might have a chance.”

Unfortunately, joining the Church, which seemed like a great opportunity to most, held no allure for Iris.

She raised her hand and asked, “Teacher Raymond, does the exchange competition add credits?”

Raymond, seeing who asked, smiled even wider: “Of course, of course… Iris, anyone placing in the top fifty earns at least ten credits.”

Iris did the math: she currently had 53 points, needing 27 more to reach her goal of 80.

If she advanced to tier two, she’d gain 10 points; adding 10 for the competition, only 7 more needed.

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Raymond: “Any other questions? No? Then I’ll proceed to the next announcement.”

He scanned the room; no one raised a hand.

“Elder Cynthia has received the princess’s permission to return from the capital to Newt for recuperation. She plans to examine the family’s underage transcendent children during this holiday and select one as her heir.”

The announcement caused a brief stir that quickly died, replaced by a louder wave of discussion.

Claire hissed, “…Isn’t that just choosing her successor?”

Iris observed her classmates’ reactions: all showed eager anticipation, the atmosphere thick with excitement.

Most of these students, unlike her and Claire, were not orphans. Becoming someone’s heir meant, under the witness of the Contract God, severing ties with their biological parents and pledging themselves to a new family.

Iris noticed Claire’s look of yearning but not fanaticism.

She asked, “Many of them still have their parents alive, right?”

“But that’s Elder Cynthia,” Claire’s voice rose unconsciously. “She joined the Royal Knights at twenty, then was chosen by the Grand Princess as her attendant. Becoming her heir means access to the royal family. If the Grand Princess ascends the throne…”

Claire lowered her voice, but Iris understood perfectly.

Iris looked at those with living parents and casually asked, “Even if it means abandoning your own parents?”

“Even if it means abandoning your own parents,” Claire confirmed.

Iris responded with a simple “Oh,” then said no more.

After all, this wasn’t something for someone like her, who had fewer living relatives across two lifetimes than she could count on one hand, to consider. She didn’t want to get too entangled with the White family anyway.

Raymond didn’t conduct lessons but let everyone practice freely.

Iris found a target and began practicing, repeatedly casting magic missiles. She felt the resonance of her holy tattoos increase.

The resonance gained from the same spell diminishes with repeated use, so she needed to try more spells.

For some, advancing from tier one to tier two is straightforward—just pile up the usage.

…But the problem is, after using the same spell a dozen or twenty times, the resonance gain is almost zero.

Different spells yield different resonance; higher-level spells yield more. Simple spells like Glow give little resonance, while Fireball yields more.

Iris calculated: at this rate, to advance from tier one, she’d need to use at least eight different spells, each at least at the magic missile level.

Higher tiers demand even stricter spell requirements.

Where would ordinary people get so many spells?

Such knowledge costs money—sometimes money itself can’t buy it.

Iris already foresaw a love-hate future with money.

…Supporting oneself really costs a fortune!

When practice time ended, Iris returned to her dorm, changed into her carefully prepared old clothes, and headed to Golden Locust Backstreet.

She found a secluded spot to drink a transformation potion, changing her appearance to that of a male passerby.

Kai had raised the height too much in his potion, causing awkwardness and sluggishness in movement. Learning from that, Iris only increased her height by five centimeters.

She dirtied her robe further and smudged some soil on her face to look weary, then turned into Golden Locust Backstreet.

Iris left at a time that avoided the rush of workers; the streets were nearly empty.

After passing two aged gray-brick buildings, she officially entered Golden Locust Backstreet.

At first glance, it wasn’t much different from the main city, but the level of polish was worlds apart. Every brick and stone carried a heavy, exhausted aura.

Along the street, she often saw people sitting on the ground, wrapped in ragged blankets or scantily clad, leaning against walls. They didn’t beg or react to passersby; they simply existed.

They didn’t care about the world, just as the world didn’t care about them.

Further in, more pedestrians appeared, all hurriedly going about their business.

Iris brushed past laundry women carrying baskets and porters moving goods. She spotted a few noticeably different faces—strong men with weapons openly hanging from their waists. Ordinary people avoided them, and Iris pulled down her hood as she passed.

Annie’s abandoned granary was easy to find. After a few detours, Iris spotted the conspicuous building.

She knocked several times with no response, so she cautiously said, “Is anyone there?” and pushed the door open.

No sooner had she stepped halfway inside than someone swung a long staff at her!