The masked clown had belonged to an ancient secret order.
Not one of the Seven Churches.
Not aligned with any officially sanctioned faith.
According to what Rowan Mercer had pulled from him, the group followed a single supernatural discipline, though even mid-ranking members did not know its true name. They only knew the internal designations used along the path.
The lowest rung were known as Seers.
Above them came Clowns.
Then Magicians.
And beyond that, the Faceless.
Their greatest strength lay in foresight.
At the Seer stage, the body received a modest physical enhancement, while perception sharpened dramatically. Intuition became clearer. Visions of possible futures began to surface.
Clowns developed extreme coordination and balance, precise bodily control, heightened agility, speed, and respectable strength. They excelled in technical combat. Facial expressions and body language could be manipulated at will, making lies far more convincing. With instinct alone, they could picture an opponent's next move in their mind and react ahead of time. They could even project an image of themselves directly into another's perception.
Simple materials could be weaponized. A sheet of paper, for example, could be flicked into the air and hardened into a flying blade.
Magicians refined everything further.
Their hands became unnaturally nimble. Their movements, frighteningly efficient. Even without supernatural power, one who devoted themselves to the craft could become a world-class illusionist.
More importantly, they gained access to fast casting.
No chanting.
No elaborate preparations.
No drawn-out rituals.
A single motion was enough to trigger a spell.
Among their known techniques were damage redirection, flame displacement, compressed air shots, paper decoys, fire manipulation, illusion crafting, false water-breathing, skeletal softening, and animating paper constructs into temporary soldiers.
The Faceless, one step beyond Magician, inherited all of that at greater potency.
They also gained the ability to change their appearance entirely.
To become anyone.
The order maintained a low profile. Their talent for divination made them difficult for church operatives to track. Still, their upper echelon had issued a standing directive.
Recover anything related to the Antigonus family.
That was why the clown had come to Tingen City.
Months earlier, a moronic member of the order had mistakenly sold a priceless Antigonus notebook as an ordinary antique. It ended up passing through the hands of a deranged occultist group, then into Tingen, and finally into the possession of a university history student.
People died.
Unnatural phenomena surfaced.
And that drew attention.
Specifically, it drew the attention of the Night Church's special operatives.
The six people Rowan had seen fighting in the warehouse belonged to that division.
The clown had been promised a priceless reward.
If he successfully retrieved the notebook, the formula needed to advance into a Faceless would be given to him.
That promise alone was worth killing for.
To investigate discreetly, he rented a house owned by the infant's parents.
Rowan's parents.
They had recently moved to a new home and leased out their old place. The clown had been the first tenant.
During his stay, conflicts arose.
Petty disputes. Annoyances. Resentment.
So when the operation night arrived, and success or failure no longer mattered, the clown decided to settle a small score.
He killed the baby.
In his mind, it was meaningless.
If the mission succeeded, he would leave that very night.
If it failed and the notebook fell into church hands, he would still leave.
Either way, no one would trace an infant's death back to him.
Parents might blame themselves.
They might not even call the police.
In this world, the Seven Churches were the acknowledged custodians of order.
Everyone else existed somewhere on a spectrum of cult.
Some mild.
Some catastrophic.
This particular order leaned toward the mild end.
But "mild" only meant they did not routinely massacre cities.
Killing a normal person on a bad day was hardly worth mentioning.
As for groups like the Aurora Society…
Most of them were either insane.
Or pretending not to be.
Mass slaughter was practically a hobby.
"About what I expected."
Rowan stood alone in the woods, having already digested the essence extracted from the clown's corpse.
Two seconds.
That was all it took.
He was now, by this world's standards, a Magician.
When supernatural practitioners died, their condensed essence separated naturally from the body. These remnants were typically refined into potions.
They were not meant to be swallowed raw.
Progression was supposed to be gradual.
Step by step.
Even then, failure was common.
Failure meant madness.
Loss of self.
Transformation into something like the stitched abomination from the warehouse. A creature driven only by instinct and slaughter.
Skipping multiple stages and directly consuming the essence of a Magician without any ritual had a success rate so low it was practically zero.
No sane person would attempt it.
Rowan was not bound by those rules.
His existence already surpassed what this world considered a true god.
The hostile fragments inside the essence barely had time to stir before his body purged them completely.
There was never any real danger.
Even consuming something far higher on the path would likely succeed.
Still, Rowan chose caution.
Not because he feared failure.
But because he wanted to understand this system properly.
Blending in meant fewer surprises later.
"Let's see what a Magician can do."
He raised two fingers, mimicking a gun, and aimed at a distant tree.
A thread of newly acquired power surged outward.
"Bang."
The trunk jerked.
A small hole appeared.
Rowan walked over and inspected it.
"About the same as a normal handgun."
Not impressive.
But useful.
More importantly, it was native to this world's rules.
Subtle.
Unremarkable.
Perfect for staying under the radar.
Once he learned how to convert his own vast energy reserves into this world's usable format, the same technique would not remain so modest.
Rowan stomped the ground.
The earth collapsed inward, forming a deep pit.
He tossed the clown's corpse inside and buried it.
Afterwards, he searched the body, collecting a small amount of local currency.
Instead of heading home, Rowan took a brief tour of Tingen City.
He located a bookstore.
Forced the lock.
Selected stacks of children's primers, language guides, and introductory texts.
Left payment on the counter.
Then, carrying the books, Rowan returned to his house.