LOTM: Traveling between epoch

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Klein glanced at Mr. Hanged Man, who had just stabilized his condition, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Unaffected by an Angel? What else could the Seer Pathway offer—open a tarot stall and start deceiving petty nobles in East Borough?

With nothing pressing left to discuss, the members casually began to share the intelligence they had gathered since the last gathering.

Alger cast a meaningful glance toward Angel—no, toward Eli Walker, the supposed novice from the Church of Evernight.

"'Blood General' Ludwell has once again set sail toward the eastern waters of Sonia," he said gravely.

This was no ordinary pirate. Ludwell was one who had transcended base greed, a man whose actions, while bloody, adhered to a brutal code.

Eli nodded faintly. A 'kill, kill, kill' type is still preferable to those degenerates who burn, loot, and ravage indiscriminately. At least Ludwell's blade is honest.

At that moment, The Fool, sitting high above, offered a tidbit of his own.

"The Secret Order has lost a notebook… one bearing the insignia of the Antigonus family."

"The legendary Antigonus notebook? The one that supposedly holds clues to their treasure?" Eli's voice exaggerated, light and theatrical.

"It's unclear whether it contains anything of value," The Fool replied. "But I admit, I'm curious how the Church of the Night will react."

Alger chuckled, amusement flickering in his sea-colored eyes.

"That's only natural. After all, it was the Church of the Evernight Goddess that annihilated the Antigonus family."

Audrey's expression shifted to one of visible confusion. "But… why would they care now?"

"Because victors don't simply destroy their enemies—they erase them," Alger replied, with a smile that carried an edge of cruelty. "To the root."

Eli leaned back in his chair. Though he understood the principle—cutting evil off at the root—he had once been a sheltered student from an ivory tower.

In a world filled with Beyonders, absolute eradication always struck me as excessive. Most who escape annihilation are insignificant. They cannot overturn the world… yet institutions remain obsessed with the illusion of control.

"If you knew the Storm Church better, you'd understand. To them, enemies should be dealt with like a squall at sea: swiftly, harshly, and without mercy," Alger said with a sneer. "You're still too naïve, Angel."

Victors rule, losers vanish. Klein also found this mildly amusing, though his mind remained tense. If the Church is taking an interest in that notebook… they may come knocking on my door sooner than I'd like.

Audrey, seated with graceful poise, remained silent. The topic, after all, touched the very church she devotedly served. There were things best left unsaid.

"A storm isn't only destruction," Eli murmured. "It brings rain. Nourishment. Even calm after chaos."

Alger narrowed his gaze. "Do you actually understand the Storm Church?"

It was rare to hear anyone emphasize the constructive aspects of storms—least of all from an Evernight believer. For a moment, he couldn't help but wonder who the true worshipper of the Lord of Storms was.

"Can your Church truly claim to represent the Storm?" Eli asked lightly, resting against the high-back chair, fingers drumming in thought. "You don't even represent the Lord of Storms Himself."

"You'd best not say that in front of other Storm believers," Alger said, tone even. "Some wouldn't take it as calmly as I do."

There was no threat in his voice—just honest advice.

"This is the Tarot Club," Alger added. "We don't quarrel over faith."

"Thank you for your reminder." Eli inclined his head slightly, then changed the subject. "I'll share a small piece of news as well—though it might be slightly outdated."

"There are traces of Werewolves near the Bridge District of Backlund."

Klein's heart stirred slightly. The timing… the location… Bravehearts Bar is right there. If Sharon and Maric entered that zone because of Jason and Thale's sudden disappearance…

A Werewolf who advances is still a Werewolf.

Audrey sat upright, startled. "Werewolves?"

"That's not unusual," Alger replied calmly. "Backlund has everything—Werewolves, Vampires, Specters… it's a rather complete city."

"Backlund is the most prosperous city across both continents," he explained, seeing the astonishment in Audrey's eyes. "You'll find in it what you'll never find anywhere else."

How come I never noticed? Audrey thought, briefly unsure if they were still talking about her Backlund.

Seeing the silence descend, she took it as her cue to share.

She lifted her chin and smiled. "Yesterday, my etiquette teacher instructed me on how to faint gracefully and politely in various social emergencies…"

She paused, then let the amusement fade from her voice.

"But more importantly, news has begun circulating: following our defeat on the Byron Eastern Coast, the King, Prime Minister, and Parliament members are under immense pressure."

Eli gave a soft shake of his head. "As long as Loen itself isn't invaded, no one truly cares how many people die in the colonies… or who dies."

He let the words linger.

"They may lament the loss of colonial profits, but certainly not the people."

Over the past few weeks, he had attended banquet after banquet, and not once had he seen genuine concern etched on a noble's face. Perhaps a few minor Conservative families felt the economic pinch—but concern for the commoners? Laughable.

"Angel, you might be right," Audrey replied gently. "But war affects the entire nation, not just the elite. There are still people—some—who wish to change that outcome."

"I've overheard discussions at home. Some believe the current governmental structure is far too chaotic. When parties rotate, all internal staff are replaced. This inefficiency hampers war coordination—and public welfare."

"This election system is clearly too backward," Eli said drily. "In the Fourth Epoch, no such inefficiencies existed. Nobles ruled their territories, and appointments were hereditary. Simple, effective."

The irony in his voice was not lost on anyone.

Indeed, the Fourth Epoch—with its fusion of imperial and divine authority—remained feudal in structure. Emperors cared for faith and inter-dynastic balance, not whether their vassals grew too powerful or rebellious. After all, those with power had already rebelled. Those who hadn't, wouldn't—for now.

Beyonder nobles governed their lands, supported by memory, strength, and families of advisors. Even their worst was better than today's best bureaucrat.

Wild Beyonders and commoners wouldn't dare stir trouble in such territories—those were fiefdoms governed by mystical law. Blood sacrifices awaited those foolish enough to provoke their lords.

And compared to Backlund's modern gang-ridden slums? Perhaps order was stronger then. Fewer mystic gangs. Fewer misfiring revolvers in the night. At worst, you became a knight.

For the lower class, the difference was marginal. Lifelong farming under a mystical feudal lord may have been preferable to suffocating in factory smog, boxed in a coffin room, lungs blackened by soot and grease.

At least the nobles needed you alive. Population equaled tithe. Faith. Labor.

"Ultimately," Eli murmured, "it's always a question of choosing the lesser evil."

"At least hereditary nobles, in protecting their own interests, might care slightly more for their dependents than today's absentee landlords and elected figureheads."

"Angel," Klein thought dryly, "you've just proposed a regression to medieval tyranny."

The Great Emperor Roselle died too early… He never had the chance to fully enlighten this world.

No matter how flawed elections may be, they're better than hereditary despotism. At least now the poor have—however faint—a chance to rise.

No more manor sheriffs barging in and lashing you to till the fields. No more birth-bound servitude. Dignity and freedom matter more than order built on chains.

That is the progress of civilization.

To be human… is to choose.

The Fool looked at Angel.

Every era births those who wish to reverse time's current. Their imagination is still caged by the weight of the past.

"Angel," he said with a smile, "had you personally experienced life at the bottom during the Fourth Epoch—driven to exhaustion by your lord's steward—you might feel differently."

"That would indeed be… difficult," Eli replied, uncharacteristically shy.

"Heh," Alger chuckled. "Times have changed. Today's nobles own land, yes—but only its profits."

"If they governed directly again… well, even a fool might care more for his land if he had to manage it himself. Instead of floundering like a beached fish, blowing bubbles at parliamentary debates."

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