SWNOVELXO Chapter 9: Interlude 3.5: The Fool
Interlude 3.5: The Fool
The Fool came up with a plan.
The root of the problem for him was simple: He was poor.
Tragically, embarrassingly poor for someone who bore titles such as The King of Yellow and Black and Mysterious Ruler Above the Gray Fog.
But as they say; poverty breeds innovation.
Or in his case, remembrance.
The patent for the bicycle would soon be granted, and for a fleeting moment, he considered selling it.
But he shook his head.
It wasn't worth anything yet. The market, even the idea of mass transport by pedal hadn't taken root. Investors would be skeptical, manufacturers fewer still. To sell it now would be like trading a gold mine for the price of a single nugget.
Fortunately for him though, he still had the Werewolf Beyonder characteristic he obtained from that mission with Sharon and Maric. A Sequence 7 Beyonder from the Indulgence Faction of the Rose School of Thought. While his death had been unfortunate for the Rose School, it was a stroke of luck for him.
Unfortunately, selling it in Backlund was too dangerous. One misstep, and he might find himself being hunted by depraved High-Sequence lunatics.
Better to sell it outside Backlund…The Fool mused thoughtfully.
That's where The World—his Smurf account in the Tarot Club—came in.
"I'll have The World entrust Mr. Hanged Man to sell the Werewolf characteristic at Sea," The Fool decided, lips curling under the mist. "It's a neutral location filled with enough chaos to mask such a deal."
As for Mr. Hanged Man, he could offer a reasonable commission. Enough to ensure his enthusiasm, but not so much as to hurt The Fool's wallet.
"Let it not be said that The Fool isn't a generous God."
After deducting the costs and fees, he estimated the sale could net at least a thousand pounds—more than enough for a Sequence 6 ingredient if he added his change.
That left only a small gap to cover. And once the bicycle shares brought in their profits? He might even have a surplus.
Still, he felt a twinge of regret as he thought about Miss Xio.
She was only now being promoted to Sheriff, and her finances were already looking bleak. The next Sequence—Interrogator—Beyonder Characteristic he held seemed like it was going to remain in his hands for a while longer.
"A pity…"
Even more so now that Miss Magician was beginning to make contact with the Abraham Family—the ones who possessed the formulas for the Apprentice pathway. If their relationship grew close, then the Astrologer potion formula he held might not be as marketable as he'd hoped.
A sigh rippled through the gray fog.
It seems like The Fool is still going to be poor for a while longer… A self-deprecating chuckle left his lips as he prepared to leave the space above the gray fog.
But just then, beside his seat, radiant light rippled outward.
Its meaning was simple:
A prayer from a non-Tarot Club member…
The Fool frowned in confusion. "Did someone from Mr. A's gathering chant my name?"
Don't these people know better than to carelessly recite the Honorific Name of a hidden existence?…Luckily for them, The Fool is a benevolent god. Thinking as much, the Sequence 7 Magician connected his spirituality to the beam of light and—
He froze.
A clear voice, its tone knowing, echoed in his ears.
"The Fool that doesn't belong to this era;
The Mysterious Ruler above the Gray Fog;
The King of Heaven (Black) and Earth (Yellow) who wields good luck."
The Fool stared in shock at the white-haired gold eyed young man who had clearly, purposefully, translated the final line of his Honorific Name.
The Fool's breath hitched as he arrived at the only plausible explanation.
A Transmigrator.
A fellow countryman.
For a moment, silence filled the ancient castle, the only movement being the endless grey fog.
"…What are the odds?"
That a Transmigrator was in Mr. A's Beyonder Gathering the same time The Summoner became known.
…Could it really be a coincidence?
Having experienced the terror of the Spectator pathway in the form of Sealed Artefact 0-08, The Seer's wariness was as high as his anticipation and surprise.
The Fool carefully took in the scene he saw through the rippling light, and instantly came to a conclusion.
A noble family. His countryman had transmigrated into nobility.
But before he could think further, the white-haired young man took a step forward, as if sensing the invisible gaze from above the gray fog. He didn't bow or kneel as would be expected when facing a deity.
He simply smiled.
Then, for the second time, he recited the Honorific Name. And then in perfect mandarin, he spoke.
"Hello. I didn't expect to finally meet a countryman after twenty years, especially one that is a god." He tilted his head slightly, lips curling up as if he'd said something funny. "Or…perhaps I'm wrong? Even so, I feel that I must make it known that the vast difference in treatment is quite unfair, don't you think…The Fool."
There was no fear in his voice. Yet, The Fool didn't have time to focus on that as he heard some crucial information.
Twenty years…How? The Magician wanted to call the young man out for his obvious lie—he looked exactly that age—but held back as a possibility popped into his mind. Perhaps he's not a Transmigrator….but a Reincarnator!
There was a crucial difference between a Transmigrator and a Reincarnator. Both were foreign to this world, yes, but the method and timing of their arrival changed everything.
A Transmigrator was like himself was a soul from Earth displaced into an existing body. Thrust into the middle of life, memory intact, identity foreign.
A Reincarnator, on the other hand… was born into the world.
Raised by its rules, and sometimes shaped by its customs.
They lived their second life from birth, growing up within the new world's power systems, noble houses, and social structures—all while retaining memories of Earth.
This made The Fool's caution even higher. After all, being here longer meant more knowledge of the world, more experience too. How could someone here for twenty years not know the risks of praying to a hidden existence?
He drummed his fingers on the table as he thought about what approach to take with this countryman.
If he was being honest, he didn't have anything against the Reincarnator. In fact, he genuinely wanted to talk to him. What the young man had said earlier about the difference in treatment had even brought a smile to his face.
It's just that after experiencing the madness and horror of the Beyonder world, he couldn't help but be instinctively guarded.
But in the end, there was only one conclusion.
Bringing him up the gray fog.
After all, he was The Fool, a hidden existence, a god in all but name. Why should he be wary of a mortal? His own indecision would only make him look weak, suspicious too.
So, initiative had to be taken by him.
Besides…with the Reincarnator above the gray fog, he would be able to use Spirit Vision to check his sequence, and perhaps read his intent.
Let's just be careful with what I say, The Fool leaned back in his high-back seat, one leg over the other. After all, being here for twenty years, this fellow must have read a few dozens of Roselle's diaries…
That meant he might know secrets and information that The Fool didn't.
With that thought, The Fool allowed his spirituality to erupt in controlled waves. It instantly enveloped the radiant light beside his seat.
And in response, the light surged upwards. A beam of red light pierced through the gray fog, twisting and condensing until it took on human form.
Shrouded in mist, yet unmistakably clear in some places. His face remained veiled by gray fog—standard protocol for newcomers—but his defining traits stood out starkly:
White hair.
And Gold eyes.
The Fool's eyes narrowed, his Spiritual Vision activating the moment the young noble's projection began to take shape.
What he saw shocked him greatly.
The depth of the spiritual body was…lacking. Not unlike what he'd seen when Miss Justice and Little Sun had become Sequence 9s.
Why?
The Fool didn't think much deeper as he used his privileges over the mysterious space to look behind the young man. Specifically, his gaze landed on the stars embedded in the back of the man's chair.
Their shape shifted and contorted. A giant silver snake slithered in a perfect ring, its head biting its own tail. Segments of its body linked to glowing constellations in a wheel-like motion.
Snake of Mercury!
The Fool's pupils shrank slightly.
The Monster Pathways's Sequence 1.
The Fool once again inspected the young man's Spirit Body, and much to his relief, it still had the same depth as a Sequence 9.
I almost thought it was time for The Fool log off… Fortunately, it's not that Snake of Mercury I encountered in Dr. Aaron's dream, the one connected to that child, Will Auceptin. If it didn't ruin his image, The Fool would have definitely wiped the sweat off his forehead.
But just then, he seemed to recall something—a reminder from his spirituality and intuition, both of which were heightened in the space above the gray fog.
The Seer suddenly remembered what had happened to the half-Monster, Ademisaul, when he had looked directly at him.
He had said—
"It's the smell of death."
Then, he bled from his eyes and writhed in pain.
Could it be…Ademisaul was able to sense that the previous Klein Moretti had died? It was only now that he made the connection.
But he didn't have long to dwell on it, as the murmurings of the golden-eyed young man echoed through the ancient castle.
"…Error."
"Door…"
"…Fool…"
"Uniqueness…"
"Dominator… Spirit World…"
"Mysteries."
"Sefirah Castle…"
The moment those last two words passed the Monster's lips, the passive gray fog that filled the ancient castle seemed to stir alive.
The whole palace trembled.
Then, like a tidal wave, it rushed toward the dazed white-haired young man. The fog pierced through his Spirit Body, moving unnaturally fast. It burrowed into him, threading through his Astral Projection, seeping into the layers of his Body of Heart and Mind. Nothing remained untouched in his Soul.
The Fool's eyes widened in horror as realization dawned on him.
No—!
His hand lashed out instinctively, the gray fog in the surroundings responded to his authority, halting instantly.
But it was already too late.
The fog had already taken root.
The Fool immediately sent his gaze to the starlight representing his fellow countryman, trying to isolate the mist, to recall it—undo what had been done. But—
It was impossible.
The gray fog refused to respond to his will, and it wrapped itself around the Monster in a way that reminded The Fool of how Amon's avatar parasitised Little Sun.
A sinking weight filled his chest.
My control over the mysterious space—no, I should say the Sefirah Castle—is too weak…He clenched his teeth, knuckles white as guilt bloomed behind his heart.
Even if he hadn't seen Megose's corruption in Tingen from The Fool's perspective within the Sefirah Castle, he had witnessed it face-to-face—and from that alone, he could tell that the noble man had been corrupted.
Who could've expected that this space was at such a high level… that just knowing its name could corrupt someone so viciously? The only reason I'm fine must be because I'm the owner…Yes, owner—not master. The Fool thought bitterly, as he observed the white-haired man who now seemed to be slowly coming to his senses.
"I see…So this is what is meant by Believing in the might of deities, but do not trust 'Their' benevolence.'"
Of all responses that could have left his fellow countryman's lips, that was not what the Seer expected.
"I ask for your mercy, Your Excellency, The Fool."
Gone was the previous playful and amused attitude, now subdued, and the young man's head lowered.
Yes…This is how the relationship between a mortal and god should be. And this incident also shows The Fool's status as a god-like being. The Fool smiled a self-deprecating smile.
If he could have it his way, he wouldn't mind being casual with the Reincarnator, but this event made him come to his senses.
The Fool cannot lower himself to be carefree and friendly with a mortal.
As The World or Klein Moretti—rather his current identity Sherlock Moriarty—he could. But above the Gray Fog, the Sefirah Castle, that part of him had to be put away.
There was no longer room for familiarity or reminiscing.
So The Fool, leaning back in his high-back seat, with one leg casually crossed over the other, and fingers curled and propping up his cheek, looked impassively at the Monster.
"There will not be a second time."
"Your will is my will, Your Excellency. I spoke like a man, but I was standing before a god." Just like before, the young man's voice was calm, no hostility or resentment at being attacked by a fellow Earthling. "I thank Your Excellency for showing me that."
Rather…there was even a faint trace of anticipation? Gratitude? in his tone.
Goosebumps suddenly spread along The Fool's body. Is this because of the corruption? It has invaded all layers of his Soul, so is the Gray Fog slowly shifting his thoughts until he's completely loyal to me? Or rather… loyal to the owner of the Sefirah Castle?
He now has another reason—other than finding a way back to Earth—to get stronger quickly.
Mr. Fool had to become stronger to gain full control over the Sefirah Castle—urgently—before it completely rewrote his fellow countryman's soul.
Because if it stayed rooted in him like this, shaping his thoughts, shifting his loyalties, warping his identity to suit the desires of the Castle's master, then even if he someday removed the fog from the young man's soul…
Would he still be the same person?
Would he still be the same countryman? The same man who smiled so casually, speaking Mandarin with knowing confidence, who had called out the unfairness between them with a smirk?
Or would he just be a loyal servant sculpted by corruption? A doll crafted in the image of obedience? A devout believer who only resembled the man he once was?
Even if he lived, would anything of him remain?
By then, even someone on the Spectator pathway might not be able to help. And even if by some miracle —perhaps by an Angel— they could untangle such a deeply embedded transformation of will and self, they would also inevitably unravel the truth of who he was—who they both were.
The Fool's transmigration.
The noble's reincarnation.
No…If the chance appears…The Fool gritted his teeth, his morality and principles winning over his pragmatism.
If opportunity arose, and he encountered a high-sequence Spectator, he'd ask for their help—
The Seer paused suddenly.
Can't I just ask the Goddess?
The Fool didn't want to sound presumptuous, but he had a feeling the Goddess might have noticed the Sefirah Castle—if not when he joined the Nighthawks, or when he began creating Charms, then perhaps when he swore an Oath in Her name while touching the Holy Sword wielded by Her Sword, the Sequence 5 Deacon Creset Cesimir, promising not to spread the Acting Method.
If a Sequence 9 Beyonder—even if Fate Pathway have special inclination—could see the aura of the Sefirah Castle, how hard could it be for the Goddess who he praised almost daily.
He gave it brief thought, hesitating slightly, She won't just have him thrown in the Chanis Gate, would She?
As a former Nighthawk, The Fool was aware that the Chanis Gate was not only a storage for dangerous Sealed Artefacts, Beyonder materials, and potion formulas. It was also a place used to hold heretics, mutants, cultists, and members of secret organizations.
His reasoning was based on the fact that the Goddess's Honorific Name didn't hint at purification, an ability well known to be associated with Beyonders of the Sun Pathway.
The Evernight Goddess stands higher than the cosmos
and more eternal than eternity. The Lady of Crimson, The Mother of Concealment, The Empress of Misfortune and Horror, Mistress of Repose and Silence.
Based on Her Honorific Name, it wouldn't be wrong for him to assume that she would make his fellow countryman rest for eternity in Chanis Gate.
However, I might be wrong. Sealed Artifact 3-0782—the Mutated Sun Sacred Emblem—belonged to the Sun Pathway and was capable of purifying both corpses and spirits. My clearance level wasn't high enough, so there might be a Grade 1, or even Grade 0, Sealed Artifact of the Sun Pathway… The Fool speculated, recalling the very artifact he once used to court death—and win benefits in the form of potion formulas.
After some deliberation, the Seer decided to hold off on reporting to the Church of Evernight until all hope was truly lost. He was soon going to advance to Sequence 6: Faceless, and when that time came, there might be… changes.
The Fool turned his attention back to the golden-eyed young man, who had remained silent with his head slightly bowed. This countryman is quite flexible, adapting to his position quickly. Seems his years as a noble taught him a thing or two.
He could also tell the young man wanted to speak. Feeling curious, he said—
"You may speak."
The young man slowly lifted his head, but didn't look directly at The Fool. ""Then…if I may, Your Excellency,"
The Fool smiled slightly and said, "Just call me Mr. Fool."
The Monster paused briefly, before nodding, "Then, Mr. Fool, are there others who gather here." He made a show of looking at the seats surrounding them.
The Fool hummed lightly, nodding gently, "Yes. People like you. Individuals I picked for various reasons. They hope that I can hold a gathering at regular intervals—to facilitate the trade of formulas, ingredients, information, and missions."
"I agreed to it."
"I see…" the young nobleman nodded, then after a beat of hesitation, added in a respectful tone, "May I…join as well?"
The Fool offered a faint, amused smile. "Pick a card from this pile." A deck of tarot cards materialised before the Monster. "The cards you see placed on the table —Justice, The Hanged Man, The Sun, The World, The Magician—have already been chosen."
"I understand," the white-haired young man replied, gaze settling on the deck.
He extended a hand toward the cards, fingers brushing over the surface of the top card. And then, without drawing another, he flipped it.
A serene, ancient garden. A man and woman stood together, hugging. Between them hovered an angel, wings spread wide in blessing.
The Lovers.
For the first time, the young man let out a small chuckle, "How fitting."
The Fool tilted his head slightly, surprise and confusion flashing in his eyes. He'd expected Wheel of Fortune given that he was of the Monster Pathway, perhaps even The Emperor, considering the young man's noble standing.
But The Lovers?
He thought briefly of Roselle. Could it be…? No. Surely not. This countryman couldn't possibly be like that mad emperor, jumping from bed to bed, penning ridiculous entries in his diary about tasting a Demoness…
The Fool felt his lips twitch and glanced at his fellow countryman. He didn't have the typical black hair and blue eyes of Intisians, and his mannerisms were more in line with Loenese.
Anyways, now was not the time to think of such things.
"Three in the afternoon on Mondays." The Seer reminded, "Remove all distractions."
The young man gave a slight bow of his head in silent acknowledgment.
And with that, The Fool tapped the table, the connection severed without resistance, and the noble's Spirit Body dissolved into red threads of light, returning to the material world.
A deep sigh sounded in the Sefirah Castle.
The Magician's posture slackened, "I messed up…"
It wasn't that he hadn't expected this, rather, as a mortal playing God, he had long mentally prepared himself to one day face such a situation.
But knowing and experiencing were two different things.
Especially when, to put it vulgarly, the fuck-up was this bad.
His own golden finger— the one he'd relied on since his transmigration, the one that had bailed him out of crisis after crisis—was the very thing that had betrayed him.
It was like a slap to the face. Not as hard as the one when his Captain died, but still—a slap nonetheless.
And it was enough to make the gears in his mind start spinning.
Having read dozens of web novels before his transmigration, The Fool was well aware of certain tropes.
Immortal artifacts with sentient wills…
Systems that weren't created for the host, but tools meant to revive long-dead masters, their loyalty never truly with the host.
Or worse, ancient monsters sealed within those systems, slowly recovering, using the protagonist as a vessel, a pawn, and source of nourishment. They would grant power and save the host from death—but only to cultivate them like ripe fruit.
Then, when the moment was right… harvest everything.
Naturally. he had long considered this ever since he first grasped the value and benefits of the Sefirah Castle, but it wasn't like he could do anything about it, given his current strength.
Even now, that remains true. All he could do was grow stronger and prepare himself for the inevitable.
Still, this incident had offered him some clues—some relatability—regarding the nature of the Sefirah Castle
It's akin to a Sealed Artefact. It enhances my divination and anti-divination, shields me from the gazes of deities as long as I remain here, completes rituals… and most importantly, allows me to resurrect myself.
And as with all Sealed Artifacts, there were negative effects. In this case, it would be the return of the Master of the Castle.
As for others… even mere knowledge of it was enough to corrupt them.
Staring at the endless, rolling Gray Fog around him, The Fool couldn't help but feel a deep chill, as if unseen eyes lurked in every swirling current.
He quickly shook the thought away. Letting it take root, allowing it to become a psychological shadow, would be dangerous—especially when the inevitable confrontation came.
The Fool turned his attention to the fellow countryman he had permitted to join the Tarot Club.
From a certain perspective, allowing him in had been a major risk, especially to the persona of The Fool. After all, he routinely asked the members to collect Emperor Roselle's diary entries.
It's almost like holding up a sign saying: I've recently transmigrated and am trying to understand this world.
But that, of course, was only one interpretation.
To someone like the white-haired Reincarnator— a man who had spent over twenty years steeped in this world's culture, nobility, faiths, and possibly Beyonder world. It could also be seen as something else entirely.
He might instead believe that The Fool had transmigrated long ago—perhaps during the mysterious First Epoch, the Age of Chaos; or the hardly detailed Second Epoch, the Dark Epoch. Maybe even that he was one of the forgotten Ancient Gods, vanquished as humanity surged during the Third Epoch—the Cataclysm Epoch.
In that telling, The Fool was only now beginning to stir from a millennia-long slumber, injured and sealed until fate allowed him to return. Upon awakening, he would have heard of another Transmigrator's exploits—Roselle Gustav—and thus began gathering his diaries to understand what had transpired during his long absence.
And as a fellow Transmigrator , he would naturally take interest in Roselle's thoughts and actions.
As for how The Seer came up with such an intricate story…
Well, unlike the inhabitants of this world, whose thoughts were confined by the logic and boundaries of their reality, Transmigrators and Reincarnators carried something alien with them: culture, reasoning, imagination, and media from Earth.
They could think outside the box. They could make conjectures that others would dismiss as madness, because their minds weren't shackled to the framework of this world's knowledge.
But just because there existed a second, more mythic interpretation of The Fool's reasoning for wanting Roselle's diary entries, it didn't mean the first would be forgotten.
Still, The Fool wasn't overly worried about being exposed.
For one, the sheer magnitude of his power—when the Castle had trembled and the Gray Fog surged forward to submerge the nobleman—had likely left a deep impression. The man would think twice before even considering turning against a god who could obliterate him with a whim.
Secondly, corruption. The white-haired Reincarnator's thoughts and identity hadn't been fully twisted yet. He still held onto hope—perhaps even belief—that The Fool will remove it.
Finally, and perhaps most importantly, they were both outsiders.
Even if transmigration was arguably more unnatural than reincarnation, which still fit within the cycle of life and death, that shared alienation formed a quiet bond.
In the end, The Fool had considered it all carefully before letting the nobleman join. It would also allow him to keep an eye on him. To make sure the corruption didn't have unexpected developments.
That's enough for tonight.
He would sleep, and perhaps with a clearer mind in the morning, he could begin thinking of solutions.
With that final thought, The Fool gave one last lingering glance at the Sefirah Castle, and then returned to his body.
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A/N: Holy Moly! I didn't expect 4k words when I decided that I'll do a second interlude for The Fool. Also, I feel like I should make it known that The Fool is not aware of Abel's perks, and as such his reaction is normal. So take into account Abel's perks if something feels strange, obvious, or missing, and if it still doesn't make sense, I guess you can blame me, the author.
Also, who else feels like I made Mr. Fool seem like a mastermind villain? I really didn't mean to do it…believe me.