Mystery: The Silver Key

Chapter 37: The Mysterious Queen

The woman on the swing looked down at him: "What guess?"

Cyril looked up at the other person with some discomfort: "One of the four kings renowned throughout the five seas, the master of the 'Dawn,' the 'mysterious queen' of the seas."

After a brief pause, without waiting for the other party to ask, he began to explain the reason on his own:

"Your attire and demeanor suggest you are someone of high status, and your mysterious and powerful abilities perfectly match the fairytale magic unique to the legendary 'Mysterious Queen'."

Of course, there's also your appearance.

However, he only recited those words to himself.

The woman sitting on the high swing neither admitted nor denied it, but silently looked at him, her azure eyes tinged with purple.

After a long silence, and amidst Owen's tension, the lady on the swing finally spoke:

"A knowledgeable and greedy 'master of magic'—are you a descendant of the Abrahamic family?"

Cyril shook his head frankly: "No."

The mysterious woman opposite him gave him a deep look, then suddenly shifted her gaze to the nervous Owen beside her.

"Are you a descendant of Abraham's family?"

Irving's body stiffened almost imperceptibly.

The mysterious woman opposite smiled slightly: "Looks like I guessed right."

Cyril shook his head silently as he watched Owen's face gradually turn pale... He's still too young. If it were the "Joker," perhaps he could pull it off.

The mysterious woman chuckled softly, and asked with a hint of curiosity, "Why do you go and rob gangs? Hmm, perhaps 'steal' would be a more accurate word."

"Why did that Aurora Club's 'Listener' lose control? Although the 'Listener''s' mental state was unstable to begin with, it shouldn't have gone out of control just because of losing some money."

Glancing at Irving beside him, who was still pondering what to do if his identity was exposed, Sir Ryan took the initiative to assume the responsibilities of a diplomatic ambassador:

"Because they were poor, they went to the mafia to rob the rich and help the poor."

"As for the out-of-control 'Listener,' that was just an accident. He was probably stimulated by the idol of the 'True Creator.'"

"Robbing the rich to help the poor..."

The mysterious woman repeated the word, then gave Cyril a deep look.

Just when Cyril thought she was going to press the issue further, she suddenly changed the subject: "Your previous reason for recognizing me wasn't convincing enough. I spend most of my time in the Misty Sea and only recently came to Ruen."

As she spoke, an invisible pressure emanated from her, as if she were enveloped in viscous seawater, so oppressive that it was hard to breathe.

Cyril didn't actually feel that the oppressive feeling was that bad, but seeing Owen's pale face next to him, he could only make a pained expression as well.

To avoid Bernadette realizing he was faking it and thus provoking further questions, he quickly changed the subject, diverting her attention:

"I know the abilities of the 'Master of Prophecy' and the ascension ritual of the 'Sage,' and given that this is Backlund, it's easy to guess."

Upon hearing this, Bernadette's oppressive aura lessened somewhat, but not completely. In fact, Cyril could sense a dangerous aura brewing around them in places he couldn't see.

Clearly, his words had put Bernadette on her guard.

With a helpless twitch of his lips, he continued, "The 'Master of Prophecy' can glimpse destiny, and the 'Sage's' ascension ritual is to prevent a disaster involving high-level forces."

"Perhaps in six months, perhaps in a year, a disaster involving high-level forces will occur in Backlund."

A deep purple glint flashed in Bernadette's eyes, and after a moment, she frowned as she looked at Cyril:

"How do you know this information? What is the Abrahamic family plotting? No, the Abrahamic family today shouldn't be able to do these things."

Cyril shook his head slightly: "Of course not. I just recently joined a secret organization, a very large one, and pieced together some information from previous meetings and exchanges."

"I can't go into specifics; it's an inviolable constraint, not even for demigods or angels."

Bernadette looked at him expressionlessly, her gaze deep, as if she were pondering something.

Just when Cyril thought she could skip the question, she suddenly asked, "There are many secret organizations in this world, but once they reach a certain level, they can no longer be considered secret."

As Emperor Roselle once said: "Everything that goes by leaves a trace."

"So, which organization are you referring to as the secret society, and what are they plotting?"

Cyril shook his head with a wry smile: "I can't say, um... I can't even think about it."

As he spoke, his gaze inadvertently swept across Bernadette's face, wondering if she could glean any hints from his words.

Unfortunately, the other person was much better at managing their expressions than him, and he couldn't detect any emotion at all.

He paused, then continued, "Even Emperor Roselle, whom you just mentioned, was a member of this organization, while he was still alive."

When Russell was mentioned, Bernadette's usually expressionless face finally showed a flicker of emotion, but she quickly regained her composure and looked at Cyril with a half-smile.

Then, with a hint of casual curiosity, she asked, "Do you think he... Emperor Roselle is really dead?"

Cyril nodded slightly, then shook his head: "He should be dead, but not completely dead."

Bernadette's tone suddenly turned serious: "What do you know?"

As she spoke, the air became oppressive and thick again, filled with a strong sense of malice and voyeurism, as if countless eyes were trying to peek out from the dust and cracks.

Owen, standing to the side, swallowed nervously, his Adam's apple bobbing. He struggled to keep his balance and told himself that he could never go out with Sirion to rob the rich and help the poor again. Every time, something unexpected would happen, and he would always be the one who was more unlucky.

Xireen lowered his head, trying hard to control his expression so that the other person wouldn't notice anything unusual:

"I've seen the second blasphemous tablet. The 'Black Emperor' has the ability to resurrect. As long as no new 'Black Emperor' appears, He is not truly dead."

"The 'Black Emperor'?" Bernadette frowned slightly, her eyes initially appearing as a deep purple, then turning extremely dark, resembling the surface of the sea before a storm.

She was using "prophecy," peering into the river of fate, trying to gain some information from the fleeting inspiration she had just had.

In a daze, she saw a distorted, extremely discordant shadow, and as she tried to make out a little, an extremely majestic and profound gaze interrupted her.

Cyril looked at Bernadette with curiosity. He could tell that she had just made a prophecy, but what intrigued him was the strange feeling she had given him. For a brief moment, he felt that Bernadette seemed somewhat detached from reality.

The prophecies of "prophetic masters" are essentially peering into the river of fate. So, is fate actually a real dimension? Is it the absolutely rational world promoted by the school of life philosophy?

Bernadette's voice interrupted his thoughts: "You mean that Emperor Roselle, in his later years, skipped routes, and not even took adjacent routes?"

Cyril nodded slightly: "Yes, Emperor Roselle once used that organization's support to switch pathways."

"As for the issue of the extraordinary paths of the jump not being adjacent, doesn't death reject all of one's own characteristics? The resurrection of the 'Black Emperor' will not reclaim the characteristics of other paths as well."

He paused, then added, "This was all told to me by a senior member of the organization; he seems to be quite familiar with Emperor Roselle."

Bernadette narrowed her eyes slightly: "Him?"

Cyril nodded calmly: "Yes, an angel from the 'spectator' pathway."

As soon as she finished speaking, Bernadette's eyes turned purple again, and she stared directly at him.

After a moment, she said slowly, "Although you didn't act that sincerely, you weren't lying."

"I'm very satisfied with the information you provided. What kind of compensation do you need?"

"Gold pounds?"

Cyril's attitude toward her wasn't too surprising. A secret, unknown organization connected to her father, she would definitely try to establish contact and obtain more information, and she was the only channel.