They all call me Great Master

Just before dawn, when everyone was half asleep, Left Cantor Potterman from the Death Poetry Society arrived as promised.

This man, dressed in a hooded cloak, passed through Dar Alley like a ghost and came before the gate of No. 2 Cork Street, lifting his head to gaze at the imposing Death Serpent Banyan with a look of awe in his eyes.

In the once-holy land of the Death Poetry Society at Atobur, there also had been a similar plant.

Its existence had always been a symbol of the holy land of the Death Poetry Society, and it was once one of their essential insignias.

Many old-school members of the Death Poetry Society still reverently refer to it as The Sacred Tree.

As for those new faction bastards?

How could the holy land have been destroyed if not for those bastards?

How could the president have been gravely injured and concealed, and how could the entire Death Poetry Society have lost its foundation?

And The Sacred Tree...

It had been burned down and completely uprooted afterward.

It was never again teeming with life.

Potterman's eyes, filled with nostalgia for the past and brimming with hatred, soon became invigorated.

'It's different now!

Everything is different now!

The emergence of the Death's Child, as foretold in the prophecy, will change everything. The Death Poetry Society will not only rebuild the holy land, but it will also make the glory of 'Death' shine brightly once again!'

Looking at the Death Serpent Banyan before him, even as the Left Cantor of the Death Poetry Society, Potterman became emotionally stirred at this moment.

Because of the prophecy of an old friend!

Potterman initially had not believed much in such prophecies.

However, as time passed, one event after another unfolded, all telling him that the prophecy was true.

There were just a few deviations earlier on.

That didn't matter much.

Aren't prophecies always like this?

The important thing was, it was now back on track.

As for the losses and consumption during this process?

Those were normal.

'Death' itself underwent processes.

How much more so for those who followed Death?

All these were permissible.

The only important thing was to find the true Death's Child!

Thinking this, Potterman took a deep breath, straightened his attire, and then knocked lightly on the gate.

An Invisible Hand opened the gate,

as well as the door to No. 2 Cork Street.

The Left Cantor of the Death Poetry Society, without hesitation, stepped inside the room, and with the door closing behind him, Potterman took off his hood, revealing a face handsome enough that even the brown beard on his chin did not make him appear unkempt.

On the contrary, it gave him a mature charm.

Moreover, he was elegant in his manner, walking with an air of grace.

However, his forward march halted abruptly.

Because—

Kuliqi.

Ordered by Arthur to temporarily reveal himself, Kuliqi, who was lying at the corner of the hallway, was spotted by Potterman.

Almost instantly, Potterman saw beyond the cream-colored Labrador's exterior to recognize the true being inside: the Death Hound.

Potterman was stunned.

Then, he smiled.

'Isn't it only natural for the Holy Son of Death to keep a Death Hound as a pet?

No need to be surprised!

All these are normal practices!'

The Left Cantor of the Death Poetry Society reassured himself.

At the same time, he became even firmer in his belief in his friend's prophecy.

Walking up to the Spirit Medium Parlor, the Left Cantor of the Death Poetry Society bowed slightly and softly greeted—

"Good evening, Arthur.

I am truly pleased that you agreed to meet with me.

You may not know what we have endured just to make this meeting happen."

"Oh, what have you endured?"

Seated inside the Spirit Medium Parlor, Arthur stood up in response to his words and went to the kitchen to boil water.

Potterman stood at the entrance of the Spirit Medium Parlor, looking at Arthur's back in the kitchen, and started to smile bitterly.

"You're asking even though you already know."

All of this is within your and your grandfather's control, isn't it?

We never thought that you are the true 'Death's Child' we have been desperately seeking!

Nor did we imagine that your grandfather could conceal Destiny, leading us to focus on Horton, that counterfeit."

As he spoke, the bitterness in the smile of the 'Death Poetry Society' Left Cantor grew even more intense.

Because, he remembered the words of his own friend—

'Once Destiny was concealed by Lord Charlie, that moment generated fifty-seven thousand six hundred and twenty-two possibilities, of which fifty-seven thousand six hundred twenty lead to dead ends.

Only two paths are paths to life.

One of them is extremely difficult.

The other, however, is easy.

The easy one, is unreachable for our Peeping.

And our Saint Heir chose the difficult one, which we could peer into, all because of a lady.

Perhaps, this is what love is!'

The 'Death Poetry Society' Left Cantor could hear the helplessness in his friend's voice when he relayed these words.

And he understood his friend's helplessness very well.

Because he felt the same.

Although Arthur's choice led them to discover his true identity,

they couldn't feel happy about it at all.

There was always this feeling as if 'love' was brutally mocking 'death.'

And it was 'death' that approached willingly.

The only consolation, perhaps, was that the lady did not reject 'death.'

If it weren't for his friend's intervention, he would probably have contacted that lady by now, inviting her to join the 'Death Poetry Society.'

'Do not interfere with His Highness, the Holy Son's love.

We only need to ensure the safety of His Highness and that of the lady.

The rest?

It's best just to observe.'

Remembering his friend's words, Potterman quickly adjusted his mood, his eyes looking at Arthur's back, shining with fervor and palpable expectation.

'Indeed, the rumored 'Death Poetry Society' Right Pastor who possesses the 'Prophecy' ability, also has a kind of 'Retrospection' ability.'

Arthur, who had anticipated this, showed no panic.

And no excitement.

Everything was under his control.

He let the boiling water settle momentarily, controlling the temperature with extreme precision, brewing tea for Potterman.

As the tea, filled with the aroma of beans, began to spread throughout the Spirit Medium Parlor, Arthur looked towards the 'Death Poetry Society' Left Cantor opposite him.

His eyes were calm, devoid of any fear, hate.

Only calmness, and a bit of…

Helplessness.

Potterman stirred his teacup with his fingers, and upon seeing such a look in Arthur's eyes, he immediately admired his old friend from the bottom of his heart.

Before, he used to misunderstand this old friend of his.

Always thought his friend was too arrogant.

But now, he realized he was wrong.

He had overcomplicated a simple matter.

And made himself become complicated from a simple person.

In reality, none of these were necessary.

He just needed to discuss things properly with his friend.

And then?

Just do as his friend had advised.

For example, at this moment!

Without any hesitation, the 'Death Poetry Society' Left Cantor took out a scroll from his bosom and said—

"'Death Poetry Society' holds three Rituals and The Seven Great Arcanums, and this is one of The Seven Great Arcanums, 'Sound of Death.'

Having said that, he placed the Arcane Scroll in front of Arthur.

Then, without waiting for Arthur to speak, the 'Death Poetry Society' Left Cantor directly spread out the scroll, striving to let Arthur take in the words on the scroll…

At a single glance.