Chapter 92: Alternate Identity Organization |
The moon had already risen, and under its light the East District, which had hardly any lamps to begin with, looked even darker.
The air smelled of cheap coal smoke, rotting garbage, and open sewage mixed into a foul stench.
But those filth smells dispersed once you got within a certain distance of Celt.
This place was dirty and remote, with trash and sewage flowing everywhere. Residents wore tattered clothes, their faces sallow and gaunt, looking as if they could turn feral from hunger and poverty at any moment. Gangs and criminals were everywhere.
There was little light, and it was almost impossible to see clearly.
But both Celt and Sereia had night vision, so it didn't affect them at all.
Sereia, being a soul-essence creature, naturally had no eyes. As for Celt…
If Morning Star couldn't see in the dark that would be a problem.
Sereia was held securely in Celt's arms as he walked into the slums. It was obvious the entire jellyfish had relaxed considerably; her tentacles gently swayed in Celt's embrace, as if trying to grab at something.
That is their nature. They are neither good nor evil, they feed on it, and they make their home where it is abundant.
Putting souls aside for the moment, the spiritual energy in the air mostly came from intense emotions, and intense emotions are more often negative than positive.
People are always prone to complaining, no matter what the situation.
This is one reason why grudges are more common than guardian spirits.
The air in the West District was clean, at least on the surface.
There were neatly trimmed lawns, salons spraying perfume, and well-dressed gentlemen and ladies keeping their true thoughts suppressed.
Emotions there had been distilled, leaving them rather bland.
Compared to the West District, the East District's emotions—though largely negative—were much more intense.
To a soul-essence creature, this was like a human entering a primeval forest; the air quality felt clearly improved.
Celt's steps were neither hurried nor slow as he trod on ground slick with sewage, each step producing a clear but unhurried clack.
Whenever his foot hit the ground, the sewage around it parted, so he didn't have to worry about stepping in filthy stuff.
He wasn't obsessive about cleanliness, but if he could avoid touching disgusting things, he preferred not to be touched by them.
He wasn't in a rush today and had nothing in particular to do. He'd simply come out for a stroll, and took Sereia along for a walk—to get some "fresh air."
Though saying he took her for a walk was a bit misleading—Celt carried her the whole time.
So this was more like going out for a "ride."
She didn't mind.
Nether-Floating Jellyfish were naturally mellow creatures; floating on her own was fine, but being carried by someone was certainly easier.
The new boss treated her well: a safe place to live, food and drink, and not having to float around herself. Sometimes he was a bit clumsy and lacked common sense; at first he couldn't even speak.
"How is it? Do you like it?" Celt bent down and gently tapped the jellyfish in his arms with his nose.
Sereia replied by waving her tentacles.
"Pretty good."
This area was saturated with pessimism, despair, numbness, and anger—negative emotions dense enough to spawn malevolent spirits.
Nether-Floating Jellyfish simply preferred calmer emotions; they weren't unable to tolerate negativity.
Her taste leaned toward mildness, but she could occasionally enjoy something spicy.
After all, her nature still leaned toward malevolent spirits.
She devoured souls, so don't expect her to embody truth, goodness, and beauty.
"Is that so? Good then." Celt smiled warmly.
He wouldn't deliberately create such an environment, but since it already existed, there was no reason not to make use of it.
Sereia's tentacles looped around Celt's arm and swung gently in time with his steps as he walked.
She was hardly heavy at all, like carrying a lightly inflated plastic bag.
Humming a little tune he made up on the spot, Celt strolled with Sereia.
The Tuner Law Mark granted him not only the ability to regulate people's emotions but also a passive form of absolute pitch.
It made it easy for him to compose pleasant melodies, and his voice's melody could merge with spirituality so that Sereia could hear it.
Sereia liked hearing it too, which made Celt feel that the passive effect was even more useful than the active skill.
Just as they turned a corner, Celt suddenly registered an extra bit of information in his mind.
It was data Samuel had uploaded to the Gafreus Cloud Network, like a shared file.
Although there were only two consciousnesses now, it still felt like a bit of ceremony.
After digesting the small new fact in his head, Celt nodded slightly.
Law Contract.
This was something Samuel had stealthily learned from Grill's little classroom.
He had casually shared it with Celt.
Interesting. Celt planned to establish a few for himself as well.
Now that he knew such a thing existed, and combining that with the procedure for forming a Law Contract with others, deducing a method to form one for himself was not difficult for him and Samuel.
He just hadn't decided what kind to set.
As for the principle behind a Law Contract, Grill had said he didn't know, but Samuel and the others had some guesses.
A Law Inscriber would etch themselves into the world, becoming part of the world's common sense.
This kind of manifestation, seeming somewhat like Restraint, might represent how a Law Inscriber appears in the world.
That suggested the rune systems seen occasionally before were probably something similar.
But this also revealed something else.
If this sheriff truly didn't know rather than having his memory manipulated, then the sheriff seemed unaware that Law Inscribers could carve themselves into the world.
Whether it was because the entire Public Security Bureau didn't know or because his level couldn't comprehend such matters was unclear.
After all, Ethen hadn't shown any sign of hiding anything; if it were merely ignorance, anyone could ask around and find out.
"Maybe I could form a Law Contract of 'Only allowed to do what I want,'" Celt said to Sereia with a grin, "but I don't think that would be very useful; I wouldn't get much from it."
He was conflicted.
If he set it too small it would be useless; if he set it too big he would hate living life boxed in by rules.
His steps lightened as he wandered through the filthy East District with Sereia.
Sereia swayed gently, radiating rhythmic spirituality outward, seemingly imitating Celt's hum.
Celt patted her umbrella-like bell.
"Sweetheart, do you know what a Law Contract is?" he asked.
Sereia moved slightly to indicate she didn't know.
She was just a jellyfish; such high-level terms were beyond her.
"No worries if you don't." Celt chuckled softly.
At that moment a light appeared not far away.
It wasn't bright, no brighter than a candle.
Two men wearing police uniforms emerged at the other end of the corner.
Both were similarly equipped: one hand holding a portable oil lamp, the other holding a handgun.
They seemed to be night patrol officers.
No—patrol officers probably wouldn't be armed with handguns, at most batons.
"Evening, it's not appropriate to be wandering around here so late," one of the "patrol officers" said. "Please explain why you're here."
After a pause, he continued:
"Also, it seems you two didn't file a report."
A report? What report?
Celt heard a word he'd never encountered before.
By this point, the two men had already leveled their handguns at Celt.
The one who had spoken first kept talking.
"Since that's the case, we may need to ask you both to come with us."
Unfazed by the guns pointed at him, Celt repeated the word the "patrol officer" had just used.
"Both?" Celt glanced down at Sereia in his arms.
He'd just verified that ordinary people couldn't see her.
"You are sheriffs." Celt looked back at them.
"Now it's our turn to ask questions," one of the armed officers barked. "Are you a 'beast tamer'?"
If he were a tamer of the Nature Law, the two officers would breathe more easily.
Nature Law tended to be gentler and less dangerous.
Though only relatively speaking, everyone likes more security measures.
"Um… no." After thinking a moment, Celt chose not to pretend to be a tamer.
He was taking care of a child and didn't want to teach Sereia to lie.
The two officers grew noticeably more wary.
Anyone walking around at midnight with an extraordinary creature did not seem like an upstanding citizen.
And regardless of the man's own strength, the Nether-Floating Jellyfish in his arms was not something these two junior officers could handle.
Not to mention that Celt could control the jellyfish easily.
They were questioning him out of duty, and they had no idea of the possible consequences.
Watching the officers' guarded expressions amused Celt.
Did they think he was some secret, powerful wild Law Seeker? Afraid he would silence them?
How cute.
At that moment, an idea struck him.
When you're out and about, you give yourself an identity.
Since that was the case, why not make up a whole alternate identity organization for himself?
Celt wore a gentle smile as he regarded the two wary sheriffs.
"Calm down, sirs, don't be afraid."
He infused his voice with the Tuner's extraordinary effect, making his words sound very soothing.
"Good evening. I'm 'Chord' of the Theater. Pleased to meet you. You can just call me 'Chord.'"
He made up the organization name on the spot and chose a codename by casually picking and slightly altering one of his existing Law Marks.
He liked the Tuner name; it had a certain feel, so he simply used "Chord."
"The Theater?" The two sheriffs exchanged glances.
The name was concise and seemed harmless enough.
But precisely because of that, they became more worried.
If the other party had used some grandiose name, they'd have been less unnerved—there are eccentrics everywhere.
But this kind of name made them feel the other person was hiding something big.
Moreover, organizations called the Theater often made people uneasy.
There was no denying the name easily suggested an association with Absurdity Law.
And Law Seekers of Absurdity were notoriously difficult to manage.
They had already had many troubles with Absurdity seekers.
"Alright, Mr… Chord." The sheriff didn't lower his gun and kept it trained on Celt. "And the creature in your arms…"
"She's not a pet." Celt interrupted and corrected him.
He glanced down, then looked back up and spoke matter-of-factly.
"She is an 'instrument.'"
Indeed, something that followed Chord could be called an instrument.
It made sense.
At the same time, he communicated with Sereia through spirituality.
"From now on, when we're out, tell people you're an 'instrument.'"
Sereia, puzzled, moved.
Isn't she Sereia?
Celt noticed her confusion.
He lightly pressed her bell; it was springy, a pleasant texture.
Then he smiled and explained.
"Since we've made up an organization, there's no reason to use real names when we're out."
"Then I made it up for nothing." Sereia dimly waved a tentacle to show she understood.
Her memory was decent; at least she could remember a few of her names without trouble.
The sheriff slightly raised the hand not holding a gun, indicating he would remember as well.
"Alright, then. It seems you and your instrument haven't registered," the sheriff said. "I don't recall any Law Seeker in this area being licensed to keep extraordinary creatures."
"You might not know: keeping extraordinary creatures requires special registration. Nether-Floating Jellyfish are a dangerous, mid-to-high-risk extraordinary creature of registration level two, hazardous and not allowed to be kept among permitted extraordinary creatures."
"Officially permitted extraordinary creatures must not exceed danger level four."
He had noticed Celt used the feminine pronoun "she" when describing the jellyfish, so he addressed her as "miss."
Celt glanced down; Sereia didn't sense it, but Celt could feel she was looking at him.
She couldn't understand Liastanian; aside from direct spiritual communication, she understood no spoken language.
But she could clearly sense the officers' guarded emotions.
"She's that dangerous?" Celt asked softly.
"She's venomous," the sheriff warned.
"I see…" Celt considered. "That's actually good, then—an extra bodyguard."
"After all, I'm just a frail 'Tuner,' purely support, I always need some muscle."
"This isn't a joke…" the sheriff frowned.
"Who said I'm joking?" Celt declared righteously. "If I were joking, why would I keep such a dangerous extraordinary creature?"
The two sheriffs became more convinced that the man before them was an Absurdity-crazed lunatic.
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