"When you've fully stabilized your last advancement, you can submit an application," Chris said. "We'll arrange for a mermaid to be transported here for the ritual."
Rowan smiled faintly.
"You can submit it now. I'm done."
Chris froze.
"…Done?"
Less than a month ago, Rowan had only just advanced to his previous stage after killing Zilingus.
Even geniuses took months, sometimes years, to properly stabilize each step.
Many high-ranking members of the Church remained stuck for decades simply because they could not finish internal stabilization.
And this child was telling him it was already over.
Rowan shrugged.
"Guess I'm talented."
Chris pinched the bridge of his nose.
He had spent three years at the previous stage before advancing.
Five years at his current one.
That was already considered exceptional.
Comparing himself to Rowan felt unhealthy.
"Fine," Chris said at last. "I'll submit the paperwork. The mermaid will arrive tomorrow night."
"Perfect."
Rowan dissolved into flame and vanished.
Not long after, a Night Watcher approached Chris with a grim expression.
"Mr. A is dead. There was some kind of curse on him. The moment he attempted to reveal anything, it triggered and killed him."
Chris frowned.
"So it wasn't your failure. It's mine for not considering that possibility."
A hidden curse on a fifth-stage operative meant the Iron Front's preparations in Backlund were far deeper than expected.
"Report this to the Archbishop."
Back in his room, Rowan examined his spoils.
Beyond Mr. A's own condensed essence, he had recovered fragments extracted from the souls Mr. A had been carrying.
Seven in total.
Each from a different path.
Dark authority.
Abyssal authority.
Gateway authority.
Storm authority.
Moon authority.
Blackened silence.
And one tied to suffering.
Seven distinct inheritances.
The maximum number Mr. A could maintain.
"No wonder even demi-gods struggled to catch him," Rowan murmured.
"Study first. Distribute later."
Rowan separated the fragments from the souls, then brought the seven souls and Adrian Crowe into his inner world.
With the original creator confirmed dead, he no longer bothered hiding the existence of his personal domain.
Inside it, external gods could not peer in.
He could use any magic system freely.
"Memory extraction."
One soul after another was stripped bare.
Formulas.
Abilities.
Ritual structures.
Hidden rules.
Knowledge from multiple paths flooded into Rowan's mind.
He already possessed the witch path's higher knowledge.
He already possessed everything tied to the Hanged Man.
What he wanted now were breadth and utility.
Among the most valuable gains were names.
Names of high-ranking cultists.
Targets.
Once he adapted appropriate tracking magic, finding them would be trivial.
And every one of them represented future resources.
The next night, Rowan returned to the Night Church.
Chris led him into a courtyard where a circular pool glowed faintly beneath moonlight.
At the center, perched atop a stone slab, sat a mermaid.
It sang softly.
The melody seeped into the air, coaxing emotion, blurring will, tugging at instinct.
Rowan felt nothing.
The creature turned.
From the waist up, it resembled a beautiful young woman.
Below, a massive scaled tail coiled through the water.
When it opened its mouth, rows of sharp, predatory teeth gleamed behind slick strands of saliva.
Rowan sighed.
"At least it's better than the ones in Hogwarts' Black Lake."
Chris drew the mermaid into a dreamlike trance, guiding its song into a steady rhythm.
"You may begin."
Rowan swallowed the potion in one motion.
Power spread.
Essence aligned.
Threads invisible to ordinary sight brushed against his perception.
A moment later, everything settled.
The fifth step was complete.
Rowan now understood why the ritual required a mermaid's song.
This stage granted the ability to manipulate spiritual threads.
To seize control of other beings.
To turn enemies into puppets.
The song prevented the practitioner's own body from locking up during the transformation.
For Rowan, it was unnecessary.
His body was far too strong.
But experiencing the process still had value.
"Consider it educational," Rowan muttered.
He had no intention of rushing further.
Advancing properly.
Understanding every step.
That was how he minimized the chance of ancient wills stirring inside him.
Slow was safe.
And Rowan had time.