Steam Age: I Fight Against Divine Authority with Otherworldly Tales

Chapter 3 The Manuscript of the Truth Speaker

Suren pulled the book back into her mind, feeling somewhat heavy-hearted.

The power of the "Mirror Demon" is indeed formidable, but each time it is used, it intensifies the corruption.

The abnormal body temperature of the left hand and the state of the "Book of Secrets" are proof of this.

He urgently needs a way to quickly improve his strength in order to escape his current predicament.

Suren looked at the notification:

To: Suren Chern

You have been asked to complete the task by 8:3 AM on March 7, 1151 (Sacred Radiance Calendar).

Arrive at the 'Deathbird Monks' Guild, Loren Town Post' to report for duty and become a Deathbird.

Simple and crude, like assigning workers on an assembly line. Suren curled her lip. March 7th, which means she has to report for duty tomorrow morning.

While the path of the church is certainly dangerous and restrictive, compared to the uncontrollable and ever-evolving monster within him, joining the Deathbird and gaining supernatural power might be the most realistic way out for him at the moment.

He licked his dry lips, got up, poured himself a glass of cold water from the old kettle, and picked up a small piece of Anthony's bread to chew on.

"This name is really strange," Suren thought to herself. "How narcissistic must someone be to name a food after themselves?"

Anthony Fairfax, a genius of the Libra Church.

He once invented this nearly zero-cost, rapidly growing wheat using alchemy. It did allow the poor to barely make ends meet, but that was all.

Its texture is even coarser and choking than the worst rye bread; its only "advantage" is that it keeps you from starving.

Since alchemy is so amazing, why not use it to completely improve the lives of ordinary people?

Suren was somewhat puzzled, as the current state of the slums was only slightly better than the Victoria he remembered.

He stopped thinking about those trivial matters; tonight's bloody ceremony was far more important to him.

He took the letters and notes from his pocket and placed them on the table; perhaps these items could provide some clues.

Two of the three letters are exchanges between the leader of the "Classical Wisdom Society" and members from other regions.

This organization believes in a so-called "god of knowledge," a name that Suren strongly suspects is fabricated.

The third letter, however, caught Suren's attention.

"Dear Mr. Wilder:

With this letter, I extend my sincerest greetings and gratitude to you.

I have received the copy of the True Word Manuscript that you generously gifted me, and it has resolved many of my doubts.

Most importantly, regarding that "ultimate question" we discussed in the darkroom last time,

I have a new idea, and the Manuscript of Truth also corroborates this.

This enlightenment is entirely thanks to your crucial advice back then.

If this letter successfully reaches you, it means that the "ultimate question" has achieved the expected initial results.

Your most humble and loyal apprentice,

Sincerely, Alf Baker

The letter had no address, presumably it was sent after the ceremony was completed.

It seems that tonight's ceremony is what Alf calls the "ultimate question".

Mr. Wilder was destined never to see his apprentice's "results".

However, given the bloody outcome of the ceremony, Suren felt that Mr. Wilder was not acting with good intentions.

They're probably using Alf as a guinea pig; Suren has seen plenty of these ruthless lunatics.

Then Suren picked up the notebook, the cover of which was covered with crooked handwriting that read: "The Manuscript of the Truth Speakers".

The notebook had an unusually supple texture, with a smooth, almost body-warm feel that was not found in paper.

Suren's fingers paused; he was very familiar with this feel—it was made of human skin in the morgue of his previous life.

Part of this notebook was torn out, leaving only two pages.

Flipping through the notebook, the contents were strange, unlike everyday records.

What is Alf Baker's gender?

male. "

How many years has the Classical Wisdom Society been established?

13 years.

Where is the Fog Exchange located?

In the alley behind the Tulip Bar.

Suren frowned as she read the first three entries. The format of the text was too strange; it didn't look like notes at all, but rather like a question and answer.

The questions were handwritten, but the answers seemed to be engraved on the paper.

Suren looked at the remaining text:

What is the length limit for the answers in the True Word Manuscript?

A line of text. "

"Is Mr. Wilder's theory of deification correct?"

yes."

Is there a ritual that can obtain the sacred relic indispensable on the path to godhood?

yes."

"Will Alf Baker be able to summon the sacred objects used to achieve godhood through the ritual he is performing tonight?"

Can."

What is this? A notebook that answers every question and is completely accurate?

Suren tapped the table. Judging from these questions, the manuscript seemed to be as intelligent as the Book of Secrets.

Alf's question has many flaws, since people with the same name do exist, but the answer still points to the person he approves of.

Due to the limited length of the answers, most of Alf's questions are judgment sentences.

While these answers are all correct, they conceal a great danger.

His ritual did successfully summon the so-called sacred object, but it directly led to the tragedy.

The fact that only one record remains in the manuscript, and that it can be asked after questions about the ritual, indicates its great importance.

Suren looked at the last record, eager to see what other important information awaited him.

How to treat constipation?

"?" Suren felt like she was the one who needed treatment for constipation...

As night deepened, Suren, by candlelight, began to ponder how to utilize the "Manuscript of the Truth Speakers".

It appears to possess the characteristic of not lying, at least on the surface.

However, Su Lun had seen far too many of these strange tales disguised as so-called all-powerful wish-granting machines in his previous life.

You have to be very careful when dealing with this kind of thing; Alf is a cautionary tale.

It's like a cunning demon, only answering your questions without offering a single warning.

His gaze fell on the last absurd entry in the manuscript: "How to treat constipation?" The answer was truncated to a single line because it was too long.

This seemingly foolish question reveals that Alf may have been abusing it as some kind of "omniscient question-and-answer machine".

Alf completely lost his vigilance, while Suren would not make such a mistake.

He set a principle in his mind: no matter how he used the manuscript or what answers it gave, he had to assume that there was something hidden behind it and could not trust it completely.

A copy is best used as a tool to verify the authenticity of information or to supplement key information.

The questions you ask must be specific and unambiguous, and the answers must not be too long to be fully displayed.

After pondering it over in his mind, Suren picked up a dip pen, dipped it in ink, and began to write:

"Is joining the Deathbird the option that maximizes Suren Chern's chances of survival after comprehensively considering all objective factors and possible paths?"

To ensure the accuracy of the question, Suren added a whole host of preconditions, barely managing to cram all the text into one line, which also saved precious paper.

If the answer is "no", then you need to think of a better solution.

As Suren finished writing, text appeared out of thin air below the question, as if it had always been there:

"Yes."

Despite receiving the correct answer, Suren remained vigilant; this was only the first step.

The copy only serves as a guide; everything else must be done by oneself.

Suren also prepared a second plan: if things don't go smoothly tomorrow, she would use the power of the "Mirror Demon".

According to Suren's estimate, he could use his ability twice more.

Anyway, things can't get any worse than they are right now; it's all up to us, as he always has always believed.

Once the direction was decided, weariness crept in; my mind had been tense for too long, and now I finally relaxed.

He took off his coat and casually draped it at the foot of the bed. As he lay down, the old wooden planks beneath him creaked as if they were groaning.

Having long been accustomed to the soft, sinking bed, every muscle in my body was resisting the flat, hard surface.

But compared to facing ghost stories every day, life now is like paradise.

Of course, this is on the premise that we ignore the damned "mirror demon" still living inside our bodies.

He closed his eyes and stopped thinking about it.