Mystery: The Ancient God is Actually Me

On the small photo of Fang, there are black and white, and the blurred facial features can hardly be seen in more details, but it comes from the instinctive intuition of the "diver", and he seems to never change. The sarcastic smile solidified at the corner of his mouth was deeply touching the hatred that Klein had branded in his soul.

The cold resentment gradually raised his head, and endless whispers and mocking sneers surrounded Klein's ears. Time seemed to turn back the clock, and he was pulled back to the morning when Leonard discovered Lanvus' provocative letter together. It's like a no-man's land.

Klein's trembling eyes kept moving on that photo, on Lanvus' face that had turned from round to angular, and he remained silent for a long time.

"Sherlock?"

Almost instantly, Klein's face returned to his usual softness, he nodded casually, and answered Mike's question accurately.

"No problem, of course I can sketch the appearance of this gentleman. In fact, I have already deeply remembered his appearance in my mind."

Speaking, he nodded his head very humorously, and never looked at the photo again.

Thanks to the human skin mask sponsored by "Mystery", if I hadn't worn it for a full day, the muscles on my face would no longer be able to move much. I'm afraid the expression on my face just now was out of control...

Klein looked at Mike, who was still not convinced, and Mr. Rand, who was suspicious about the situation just now, smiled reluctantly, and continued to explain:

"Actually, this is a type of criminal investigation. Lenburg University has a wonderful course called 'The Temple of Thought'. As long as you concentrate and memorize all the characteristics of the target, even after a long time, you can still learn from your brain. You can directly call out what you want from it.”

"Of course, its only downside is that most people act too scary when trying to mobilize their attention." At the end of the sentence, Klein smiled mischievously, rubbing his cheeks with his right hand in a relaxed tone.

Some Mike, who didn't quite believe it, nodded his head with a vague understanding, and said in a serious manner:

"It's really scary."

He hadn't heard of a similar criminal investigation course, or even the strange term "Hall of Thought".

Praise Emperor Roselle, fortunately he didn't plagiarize "Sherlock Holmes"... Klein smiled, and immediately made an excuse to borrow an empty room to sketch the appearance of "Patrick".

boom.

Klein stood alone in the empty office. The scene in front of him seemed to have changed in a trance. It was no longer dim and gloomy, and the sunlight outside the window gradually brightened. It was not like Backlund, who was always shrouded in haze.

This fantasy only lasted for less than a few seconds, and then instantly returned to its original state. Everything in the office was still dim and lost its bright colors.

He didn't have time to be sad, but moved very quickly to build a spiritual wall, and he was very familiar with arranging the ritual of praying for the power of the gods.

He wants to use the power of "The Fool" to sketch!

In front of the short candle with only one finger thick, Klein kept whispering to the slender flame, and the simple logo symbolizing "The Fool" on the candle instantly lit up.

This is the leftover Autonomy Ceremony candle he used last time in the sacrificial ceremony, so there is no need to waste any extra effort.

"I don't belong to the fools of this era. I hope you can help me present the image of the person in the photo just now."

Soon, Klein felt his left hand move strangely. It seemed to be possessed by a ghost. He grasped the pencil that had been placed on the side without jerky movements, and placed the paper with messy writing on the corner of the table. Quickly sketched the rough outline of the portrait.

In just 20 seconds, accompanied by a gentle rustling sound, the image of "Patrick" seen in the photo just now appeared on the paper.

After doing all this, Klein did not directly extinguish the candle. He just packed up the rest of the ritual supplies, and took advantage of the last light of the candle to quickly remove the citrine pendulum wrapped around his wrist. Silently recite:

"Patrick is Lanvus in disguise."

"Patrick is Lanvus in disguise."

......

After seven times of silent recitation, the citrine pendant that was still in mid-air suddenly spun, thinking about swinging violently in a clockwise direction, but after only a few seconds, the result changed. It seemed to be caught in some kind of puzzle and suddenly stopped. After he made his move and thought for a while, he slowly moved his body again, moving in the opposite direction, not quite sure.

What does this mean, is Patrick actually Lanvus?

Or is it that he is not simply Lanvus now?

Klein's brows were almost locked together, his lips pursed tightly, slightly pale.

Suddenly, his right hand holding the spirit pendulum suddenly trembled for no reason.

He thought of a terrifying possibility.

The "bomb" created by Lanvus is essentially to make Megaos conceive the child of the true creator, so what kind of identity did he play in this process? Hood Eugen's death seems to be Everything has been erased.

But the atmosphere of the real Creator encountered during the psychic at that time, the Beyonders and surveillance lurking near the dock union, all of which pushed Klein to gradually come up with a bold conjecture.

Lanvus still carries part of the breath of the true creator.

pat.

The crystal yellow crystal fell on the desk and rolled for a while. Klein's right hand, which was still trembling, slowly lifted up and touched his cheek, it was wet.

Under the ice-blue eyes, a drop of tear slipped quietly and accumulated in the gap between the back of the hand and the cheek, without any reflection of light.

............

"Old man, why did the church suddenly step up the training of the red glove candidates?" Inside the Serenity Church in Winter County, Leonard walked quickly in a quiet and uninhabited corridor, his voice barely audible.

He changed his usual lazy look, fastened the buttons of his formal suit, and buried his lips almost in the collar.

"How do I know, I'm just an old man who is restricted from even moving and can only live with the kid. How can I guess the meaning of your senior leaders of the Church of the Night." The old voice sounded in Leonard's mind, and it seemed Weaker than usual.

This is the goddess of the night where the goddess of the night used to be. Even in the fourth era where Soropasde was recognized as a nobleman, it is not a place where he would enter freely.

On the contrary, this is the first time He has entered this church, which exudes tranquility everywhere.

Leonard, who couldn't get an answer, clicked his tongue subconsciously, feeling the cold wind pouring in from the corridor window, and unconsciously quickened his pace again.

"But what if it's about Ince Zangwill? I can't just stay in the sanctuary and wait for the other deacons and bishops to bring back that bastard's head."

As he spoke, he unconsciously clenched his fists in his pockets, his green eyes darkened.

"Heh, have you forgotten what I told you? You will never be qualified to face Zangwill without reaching the level of a demigod, but you have just been promoted to 'Nightmare', and you haven't even gotten rid of the potion completely. Influence."

"Think about your captain, don't want to practice acting, get lost in the dream, can't tell the reality is the final ending of most 'nightmare'." The old voice ruthlessly reprimanded his parasitic object, trying to dispel him. thinking of committing suicide.

What a joke, the boy's former colleague had a "secret" aura on him. Looking at the aura he felt when he went to the cemetery for the last goodbye, that guy didn't seem to want to see Ince Zangwill continue to exist. in this world.

He appeared in front of that person now, was he planning to give a gift?

On the surface of Leonard's spiritual body, a dazzling golden ball of light rose and fell silently in the shallow ocean of spirituality, and the constantly flashing brilliance seemed to imply his thinking.

In fact, it is not impossible. If that person can successfully return to his throne, surrender himself, and deprive Amon of the "uniqueness" and sequence-one characteristics together, it is not unacceptable.

After all, He didn't think that one would kill Amon.

In the dark corridor, Leonard, who was pointed out sharply, stopped trying to communicate. His slender and lush eyelashes drooped down, completely covering the green behind him, and his pace was still fast.

Next is a course on some high-order common sense~www.wuxiamtl.com~ on the second floor of the basement of the church... Leonard shook his still unruly black hair, thought for a moment, and turned into the downward corridor .

The tall figure gradually disappeared into the darkness, and the deep Yonglong corridor once again returned to silent silence.

Suddenly, the darkness next to the thin light trembled, and a woman with a beautiful appearance, black hair and black eyes, wearing an all-black lady's suit and a simple coat, with her hands wrapped in red gloves, appeared little by little at the entrance of the corridor. Profound.

She stared at the darkness below, nodded coldly, and then disappeared again.

............

On the outskirts of Tingen, Raphael Cemetery.

With black hair, blue eyes and a high nose bridge, Frye held a lantern in one hand and a paper bag in the other, scanning the empty cemetery.

In the spiritual vision of the "corpse collector", the corpse purified by the church staff had almost no spirituality left. As dusk approached, Frye strolled in the cemetery at this time, as if he had come to the autumn maple forest that had been withered. Although quiet and beautiful, but because he lost the breath of the undead itself, it was difficult for him to mention the nature.

In the last inspection, nothing was found, and he always looked very cold. The fair-skinned Frye did not go directly to the gate, but slowly walked in the other direction of the cemetery, step by step.

In the evening of the setting sun, he slowly pulled out bunches of pure white lilies from the paper bag in his hand, and lightly decorated them in front of the three tombstones that were not stained with much dust, and took away the dried bouquets.

On a distant dry branch, a black crow watched all this silently, its scarlet eyes were mechanical and godless, as if it had long since died, like a puppet.

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