A massive table dominated the room. Long rows of chairs lined both sides, all facing inward. At the far end sat an enormous chair, upon which a man was seated with an imposing, solemn posture. Beside him stood a humanoid figure, its form pitch black, almost shadow-like.
Moments later, the faces of two individuals became visible on the chairs opposite. Both were seated with refined manners, their posture calm and respectful.
Palmer Mr. A stood upright and spoke to Sherlock in a composed, unhurried tone.
"Lord Zero, how have you been? And Miss Celestial—how are you feeling?"
Miss Celestial flinched slightly before responding with a polite smile.
"Ah—yes, I'm doing well. And you?"
Sherlock had remained silent until now. Finally, he broke the stillness.
"Can you tell me about the current situation in Lekusberg?"
Palmer turned toward him.
"Lekusberg? Yes, the situation there has become unstable. A few months ago, several hostile factions opposing Mahoraga attacked the Parliament. From what we know, their primary targets were individuals of royal blood. For such an incident to occur in a city as important as the Empire's capital… it is deeply concerning."
He paused briefly before continuing.
"Prince Beniard, Richel Venakit, Menel Seketra, Charles Nico Ben—many were injured. But no fatalities were reported."
At the mention of the name Ben, Sherlock's expression hardened for a split second.
"I see. So… who is actually behind all this?"
Mr. A hesitated.
"From what I know, some powerful individuals from the Second World are involved."
Jinia, who had barely paid attention until now, found that last statement reminiscent of the fairy tales her grandparents used to tell her as a child.
Miss Celestial chuckled softly.
"The Second World? That sounds absurd."
Sherlock turned his head toward her.
"Do you really believe that—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
I need to know everything about this 'Ben' identity, he thought. Breaking Iffy won't work. Besides, everyone else knows her as Elinaz. Why the difference in names? And then there's the title 'Charles' tied to my own name… How awkward.
Through telepathy, Sherlock established a link with Diablo.
"Tell me—can I summon others here the same way I brought these two?"
"Yes, Master," Diablo replied. "You only need to think about them—their presence, their nature."
Without replying further, Sherlock cut the connection. He slowly rubbed the tip of his middle finger against the surface of the table.
Jinia and Palmer noticed the gesture carefully.
The Second World… Powerful individuals. Stronger than me, Sherlock thought. This is getting strange.
He shook his head internally.
What am I even doing? Focus. I need to concentrate.
---
Elsewhere—
Shafi entered his hotel room. He placed his long iron staff—decorated with golden and crimson patterns—against the wall, along with his bundle.
Suddenly, a sharp knock echoed from the door.
He opened it to find a young Manul male standing outside, wearing a sly grin.
"Master, I have an excellent collection. Try it for one night. Very high quality. Young souls—pure and calming. Full protection and privacy—"
Shafi cut him off with a calm, icy gaze.
"If I were hungry for flesh, I would've done it already. I wouldn't need you."
"Leave."
He slammed the door shut.
As soon as he lay back on the bed, an unnatural pull seized him. The surroundings began to twist and distort.
Shafi's eyes widened in alarm.
---
Inside Sherlock's Mind
The entire space trembled as if struck by an earthquake. At the far end of the room, directly opposite Sherlock, an unfamiliar chair appeared.
Everyone froze in shock.
A figure sat upon it, posture regal and absolute.
Moments later, a ghostly aura burst forth from the figure.
The pressure shook the very souls of everyone present.
Palmer's eyes widened.
"This is insane… Is that a god?"
The fog surrounding the chair slowly began to disperse, revealing a masculine silhouette.
A calm, cold voice echoed through the room.
"Fascinating… Anikeopila. This is my first time seeing such a thing. So it really does exist. It was never just a myth."
Jinia gasped.
"Anikeopila… really? Now I understand. That's what it was. But how is this possible? For millions of years, it was nothing more than legend."
Palmer didn't understand much, but he listened intently.
Sherlock spoke firmly.
"What is your name? And who are you?"
The man stepped forward, emerging fully from the mist. Black hair. His eyes were covered by a cloth adorned with elegant, intricate patterns.
"My name is Rayan," he said. "I am a traveler. And I must say—I'm pleased to be in such a special place. My vault of knowledge has gained something new today. This will make a fine entry in my diary."
Sherlock paused before replying.
"You may record what you witness—but you will not document the individuals present here, nor their actions."
Rayan smiled faintly.
"Very well. Then who are you? And who are all of you? What happens here?"
Palmer stepped in.
"This is a secret organization known as Zero Order, guided by Lord Zero."
Rayan nodded.
"I see. And what exactly does this organization do?"
Sherlock answered swiftly to stabilize the situation.
"We monitor global political movements and eliminate corruption."
Rayan's expression turned serious.
"A noble cause. A fine organization. I am willing to work with you."
Sherlock exhaled quietly in relief.
"Then you'll need a codename."
Rayan replied without hesitation.
"My codename will be Mad Dead."
Sherlock agreed.
Until now, Jinia hadn't found an opening to speak. Finally, she raised her voice.
"May I say something?"
Everyone nodded.
Her naturally sweet voice carried through the room.
"I'm searching for a Power Fruit. Will anyone help me? I'm willing to pay the price."
The atmosphere sharpened instantly—as if a blade had been drawn across the meeting.
Silence followed.
The topic was clearly being ignored… until Rayan spoke.
"I can provide a Power Fruit."
The statement stunned everyone.
Who is this man?
The same question echoed in every mind.
Rayan turned his face toward Jinia. Although the faces of the members were hidden—only their silhouettes visible—he deduced from her presence that she was a woman.