The Strange Adventures of Hearn the Believer

"Quiet!"

The leader, who had remained silent throughout, holding a signboard to express his opinion, finally broke the silence that had been giving all the sheep a headache. He waved his hand and threw off his greasy apron, which was a complete eyesore. His entire demeanor changed abruptly. The kind-hearted sheep offal shop owner who had been evasive and difficult to deal with by customers a moment ago had instantly transformed into a ruthless wolf of Wall Street. His sharp red and black suit and taut muscles seemed to have been made for this role.

The surrounding scenery also changed. The bizarre scene of the Gypsy travel camp under the shadowy forest with a strange lamb restaurant at the camp gate finally returned to the familiar black and gray reception room of the sheep-headed people, with a blood-red six-pointed star painted on the floor in the center of the reception room.

Several male goat-men in suits returned to their respective positions, while a female goat quietly sat beside the leader goat on the sofa.

The Aries leader silently turned his gaze to the door that was being opened by another Aries woman. A moment later, a timid humanoid figure was led to sit on the sofa on the opposite side.

The Aries woman attending to him, with a poker face, began reciting a formulaic monologue.

"Distinguished guest, welcome to our shop. Your grand aspirations have guided you here. Do not fear us. We are merely a group of itinerant merchants who sell dreams. You may speak freely. After all, since the day of the Heavenly Cry, all things are vanity, all things are permissible, and everything in the world has a price tag, just waiting for your generous opening."

Chapter 99 After all, I'm not some kind of demon (Part 1)

What lies behind the curtain? Even in the world of common sense, this is a mystery that is difficult to deduce.

In the realm of the unknowable, this puzzle becomes even more unsolvable.

Mr. Hearn is now in such an unconscious world, ever since his consciousness was inexplicably immersed in the electronic sea world on the eve of Christmas, ever since he stepped into the other world called Thranheim.

At this moment, no matter how calm he appears, no matter how much he seems like a seasoned veteran of strange tales, he cannot prove that the risks behind all the bizarre and fantastical things he is encountering are zero.

He slept at home before Christmas, only to wake up in his pajamas and with a flashlight hanging on a coconut tree on a desert beach. He endured it and then crossed the desert to Silver City.

He was pestered by curious little girls to tell him stories when he went out, and when he turned around, he was already in the old forest of Rosetta Tree Sea. He was almost slashed twice by a little girl from the Mech race he had just met, but he endured it. So he made peace with her and brought her back with him.

He was asked to go to the port to pick up a ship in order to protect a white fox named Rosetta with a memorable, ghostly name. As a result, he encountered a dragon and an angel colliding and dying together. He endured it and even took the opportunity to pull the crew members who had fallen into the water ashore.

Now, he woke up this morning and made plans to have breakfast with his friend, Miss Lin Jing, but forgot she was a photosynthetic type and was indirectly stood up. He went out to find food but got lost on the street and ended up in this godforsaken place.

Forget it, the more I think about it, the angrier I get, and I can't take it anymore.

Mr. Hearn wasn't without temper; he was simply more reasonable and adventurous in ordinary times, readily embracing new things to console himself in the nihilistic spiritual world of late 2092, a time when everything on the surface had lost its mystery. In truth, he lived a rather carefree life, with no insurmountable psychological barriers or moral constraints, and his moral compass was flexible enough. Anyone he caught secretly plotting against him, regardless of race, gender, age, or even whether alive or dead, would be killed.

So now, he's using the hilt of a knife to pry open the curtain.

"really."

The believer sighed slightly, as if everything was within his expectations. Behind the lifted tent flap, what he saw was not what the tent should contain.

He glanced to his side out of the corner of his eye and saw the gypsy camp-like scenery in the old woods under the gloom vanish as easily as smoke. The law called common sense seemed as cheap as counterfeit goods on a street stall here.

The believer looked back one last time, and sure enough, the image of the goat heads had vanished completely. Without further hesitation, he drew his knife and stepped inside.

He then stepped into a corridor composed of a cold, black, white, and gray color scheme. The black was the floor tiles, the gray was the walls, and the white was the pale, flickering light and the door at the end of the corridor. The end of the corridor was about twenty meters away, not far. The believer strode across the dark ground, the pale light illuminating his shifting shadow on the floor tiles. After a few breaths, he stopped at the end of the corridor, looked up, and saw a metal nameplate above the door with black background and gold lettering that read "77".

Got it, this is room number "77".

Knock, knock

The believer politely raised the hilt of her sword and tapped lightly on the white door.

The next moment, the white door opened inwards.

"Name?"

"Constantine Reeves".

"age?"

"17 is old."

"gender?"

"male."

Snapped!

A notebook, which would definitely be considered a nostalgic item by someone in 2092, was slammed heavily onto a dark brown tabletop by its owner. The dark red hardcover stirred up a few specks of dust as it touched the surface. The fountain pen, which had been used for writing, also failed to return to its sheath and was carelessly tossed aside.

The atmosphere became tense, and the conversation came to an abrupt halt.

The believer's absent-minded gaze swept across the room. Living in the late 21st century, he was, at heart, a nostalgic person, nostalgic for the time before his birth. Therefore, the interior of this room, with its vermilion wooden bookshelves, white walls, and warm yellow lighting—resembling a small bookstore from the last century—deeply appealed to him. Even the old-fashioned lamp on the table had the feel of a Western-style mansion imported from the Far East, not to mention the dark red mechanical typewriter beside him.

He had a pretty good idea of ​​why the woman in front of him, who was also dressed in dark red, had gotten angry. In order to ease the tension, he reached out as harmlessly as possible, picked up the pen and its cap that had been placed closer to him, and intended to put them back in their place.

If he didn't habitually twirl the pen between his fingers after picking it up.

A horizontal, angled carbon ink mark at a 45-degree angle appeared brightly on his plain white sword and the other person's dark red dress in the next moment.

Damn it, he forgot that this old relic can't be rotated.

The atmosphere of the conversation gradually shifted from tense to idiotic.

At least the believer noticed that the way the other person looked at him had changed from "Is this kid deliberately causing trouble?" to "Is this kid mentally challenged?"

""

""

"Ahem." The believer cleared her throat, trying to appear calm, breaking the unsettlingly stupid silence. She put the old bottle back on the table and said, "Sorry, it's my fault."

Having said that, he waved his hand and used some tricks that reversed the rules to clean the ink stains off both of their chests.

After that incident, the conversation seemed to be able to continue.

Regarding the believer Hearn and the woman before him who calls herself "the devil," or rather, the young lady.

The saleswoman, who called herself "Number 77," calmly received the believer after he knocked on the door. After he sat down, she openly revealed her identity: a devil who listens to the wishes of mortals.

Devil, angel, shedding hair, child of fire.

Thanks to the elective courses she had taken unintentionally during her university years, the little bit of extracurricular practice she had accumulated, and her experience of being deeply immersed in the world of Thranheim, these keywords were connected in the believer's mind the moment the other party introduced himself. He also realized in an instant the obscure metaphor behind the faces of those goat-headed men in red and black suits, and at the same time, he vaguely guessed the reason why he had accidentally entered this place.

I guess I hitched a ride on the side of the sheep-headed men's real customers, but then the leader of the sheep-headed men, for reasons of business acumen, professional ethics, or something else, handed me over to another colleague who happened to be free and had no customers.

The argument that "I'm just a small manager who needs to go into the tent to find the boss" was probably just something made up to appease him, considering that if he didn't leave, they wouldn't be able to open for business and would have to continue selling lamb offal.

The believer tactfully recounted her encounter with the sheep to the devil lady or young lady, who had long dark red hair and wore a dark red dress, and received a corresponding response.

"I understand. It's a hot potato, so I'm passing the buck." The believer nodded, suddenly realizing.

"If you insist on interpreting it that way, then so be it." Miss No. 77 didn't seem to care much about his analogy.

"So, that means Miss 77, you can take good care of me?"

"Well, I can't guarantee anything. It depends on the situation. For some reasons that don't quite suit my status, I can only do a limited amount of business." Miss No. 77's eyes darted around as she spoke. "And you seem to barely meet the criteria."

"Oh?" The believer understood the implication in Miss 77's words. He pondered for a moment and tried to guess, "Does that mean you consider the appearance of your customers when doing business?"

Number 77 let out a sneer that was hard to decipher. The first half of the laugh was mocking, but the second half turned into a sense of helplessness.

"If it were just a pretty face, my sales wouldn't be so dismal. Besides, you weren't cooperating at all, were you? Just now."

"Hold on, why did you say 'just now' last?"

""

""

"I don't know. If you hadn't reminded me, I wouldn't have even realized it. I haven't used such a strange sentence structure in many years. Let's just forget about the last time." Miss 77 changed back to a business-like tone halfway through her sentence, "You have absolutely no intention of cooperating."

"what?"

"As the basis for information recording, you provided at least two pieces of false information in the initial three questions."

"It's such a pity, Miss No. 77. I didn't expect you to have such a keen eye. Since you've discovered me, I won't hide it anymore. Actually, I'm a woman disguised as a man."

"Let's end this boring riddle, Mr. Constantine Reeves, or as I'll call you for now. If you didn't seem like a decent person, I wouldn't bother doing business with you."

"Wait, what evidence do you have that I'm not 17, huh?" The woman was furious and jumped up from her seat.

"So all this time you're being uncooperative because you're hung up on your age?" Number 77 looked at him with utter astonishment, but quickly realized he was just being dramatic on purpose. "If you wanted to get some clues out of him, you didn't have to go through all this trouble."

"Hmm?" The believer sat back down with a slur, making a nasal sound.

"In the devil's world, equivalent exchange is the only law of contract that must be followed, and aren't you now on such a fair and just platform?"

"Fair and just?"

"Don't wear that suspicious look on your face. In this era of the Father God's silence, no one can defy the contract law set by the Shadow Son. Of course, it only applies to situations involving demons. White Hair's side is still using that outdated trick of prayer, which is sometimes effective and sometimes not. The benefits are often disproportionate to the costs." Number 77 gave him a disdainful look and then explained.

“Oh, the Holy Light is a whore, I understand.” The believer’s attitude softened. He now realized that he and these devils didn’t seem to have nothing in common. “I actually quite admire the law of equivalent exchange.”

“Then it seems we still have something to talk about.” Number 77 nodded.

"Is this how you do business with your customers?" the believer asked with a smile.

“We don’t usually talk about that stage. Thanks to a tiny bit of moral fastidiousness, I’m not too keen on doing business with people who are utterly wicked or who have the potential to become utterly wicked after they walk out of this door. They usually die within a minute or two of entering, which is why my business here is so dismal.” A hint of self-deprecation crept into No. 77’s tone.

"?"

The believer, Hearn, slowly removed her sunglasses, revealing her azure eyes, which scrutinized the other person as if they had seen some kind of magical creature.

Miss No. 77 coughed slightly, looking a little guilty, her gaze drifting to the bookshelves and walls of the room, her pale blue eyes avoiding direct eye contact.

The atmosphere fell into an awkward silence once again.

"Miss, may I ask how many orders you've taken before me?"

"665, how about that, are you scared?" Upon hearing this, Miss No. 77 proudly puffed out her chest slightly and replied.

"So how many orders did you close?" the believer pressed on, as if to verify his guess.

"0 orders." The reply was barely audible.

""

The instant he realized that the sheep's head and tendon clams he had just encountered were a scheme to lure him in and then slaughter him, the believer Hearn silently stood up abruptly, grabbed his knife, and headed out. When he reached the door, he realized that it was pitch black outside and there was no way out, so he tore open a warp portal, stepped into it, and disappeared.

"Wait, where are you going? Didn't I already say I won't listen? I really need your help, so please don't leave, okay?" Number 77 quickly chased after him, seemingly intending to stop him.

"Ok?"

Mr. Hearn's head reappeared from the warp rift upon hearing the sound. He emerged refreshed and waved his hand to close the rift leading to the outside world.

"Where did you just go?" Even Number 77, who had started off with a strong attitude, was starting to feel a little insecure about this eccentric guy who came and went like a madman. Strength is relative, especially when one side is stronger than the other.

Hearn sat down at the table again, casually pulling out two chilled cans of cola from the subspace. The crimson cans proved that they didn't contain blue toilet cleaner. As he made the cans, he gestured to the other person with his eyes, asking if they wanted one too.

"Thank you, I think I also need to replenish some sugar."

Perhaps it was her personality or something else, but Miss 77 didn't stand on ceremony with him. She seemed to have some other worries. After gently rubbing her temples, she casually took the Coke and skillfully pulled open the metal cap.

Two faint sounds of carbon dioxide vaporizing after the lid was opened rang out in the room one after the other, and a moment later...

"Phew, although it's not very healthy, drinking some does help regulate my mood when I'm feeling down," the woman said, putting down the can of cola and relaxing.

“Same here, but why not Pepsi?” Miss 77 asked, holding the Coke can in confusion.

"Huh? You actually drank toilet cleaner?"

"Screw you! I just prefer the blue packaging."

"Then you can buy a blue one, pour it out and wash it several times, and then pour the red one in every time you drink it."

"Which mental hospital did you escape from, you precious bastard? Why does your thought process sound so much like that of a lunatic I used to know?"

"Oh? What's your old friend's name? Maybe I know him? Don't let my appearance fool you, I actually have quite a large social circle."

"I was just saying. Although I know the principle of birds of a feather flock together, to be honest, the probability of you knowing that guy is about zero."

"Probability, in the end, is just a difference between 0 and 1," the believer retorted, still somewhat unconvinced.

"Ha—impossible. Although he came from humble beginnings like me, from a very lowly world, back then he was single-mindedly focused on revenge, and his environment was an extremely isolated and desperate place. The last time I dealt with him was on his final journey to seek revenge, which was essentially a farewell. At that time, he had very few friends, and I happened to know them all. Later, he became a high-ranking figure, so high that it was almost impossible for him to return to the lowly world. Therefore, the probability of you knowing each other is almost zero."

"He sounds like a ruthless hack-and-slash king, but revenge is just a process of going from negative to zero," the believer sighed. "But even so, some things have to be done. After all, it's a sin to advise someone to let go."

"Ha, 'Advising someone to let go is like being struck by lightning,' I quite like that saying. You two might actually have a lot in common, but that's all in the past. He used to say similar things occasionally back then. Let me think... oh, I see—revenge is inherently a pointless process. Every step an avenger takes is a self-destructive act, yet even so..."

“Yet even so, it is so captivating,” the believer replied softly.

Upon hearing this, No. 77 remained silent for a moment. She then re-examined the unfamiliar visitor before her. In her eyes, this No. 666 guest was a refined and easy-going young dragonman. His handsome appearance could easily evoke natural attraction from the opposite sex. His amber-colored dragon horns were an obvious sign of his pure-blooded Gozan dragonman status, and his long black hair also indicated his Far Eastern bloodline, except for his azure eyes, which were not quite like those of his own kind.

The believer then took the opportunity to sized up the unfamiliar and dubious Demon No. 77. The girl had the appearance of a girl in the delicate age range of late teens and early twenties. She wore a dark red dress with a close-fitting black silk garment underneath. Her deep red hair and well-proportioned figure, which showed obvious signs of exercise, were somewhat related to the image of a demon. However, it was her pair of azure eyes that made him somewhat uneasy.

“Yes, he said the same thing. Maybe you two really do know each other.” That last sentence clearly revised Number 77’s opinion of him somewhat. She stared at his face and suddenly changed her words, “Later, he became the Shadow Saint, one of the two extremes of the dualistic theory. Have you ever had any dealings with him?”

"No, I've only heard of the Lord of Light, I've never seen any Shadow Son."

The believer answered righteously and firmly.

Chapter 100 After all, I'm not some kind of demon (Part 2)

Thanks to a small conversation with her friend, a man who once held one of the two poles of the world, the atmosphere between Hearn, the believer, and Miss Devil Number 77 became more harmonious.

The believer extracted some dubious information from the brain of the little goat-headed devil he had just killed. After thoroughly consuming it, he felt that his perspective had never been so broad. Therefore, he sought confirmation from Miss No. 77 in front of him.