Curse of the Ghouamidth

Faithless gazed at the crimson moon, which in turn seemed to be watching him. He gave a faint, playful smile and spoke in an alluring tone:

"Basically, I have two faces—the golden angel, the Phainon, and the jester."

A deep, gravelly voice with pitch-black eyes replied:

"My apologies to Lord Sullivan… The Phainon power Master mentioned is a sub-power, representing balance between good and evil… and it makes you a philosopher when you fight, far from madness."

He continued in the same tone:

"As for the jester you mentioned—it represents the madness you're in… In more precise terms, your madness is your power, but in its pure form. You must change your form to give the jester his unique flavor."

Sullivan snapped his fingers and revealed a mirror showing Faithless, who recoiled in shock at his transformed appearance.

His hair was black with white streaks, slicked back methodically. His eyes were deep green, hunter-like in gaze. He wore a pair of glasses attached to a chain wrapped around his neck. His features were sharp and handsome, with a strong jaw and prominent cheekbones. His neck was half raw flesh, half flayed skin, oozing as if bleeding—but without a drop.

Even his clothes had changed. He wore Victorian garments—an open black coat that looked like it was burning, a short cloak attached to the coat, and a white shirt beneath it. A gold pocket watch hung from his vest.

'Is this me? I look radically different from before,' Faithless thought, stunned.

'I look like a hunter,' he added quietly.

Sullivan spoke, his tone cold:

"Thanks to Lord Jasper for this information. Now, the title 'Two-Faced' has become clearer: your first face represents philosophy, and the second, madness."

He adjusted his hat and continued:

"Your current face is the true mirror of the jester."

While listening, Faithless noticed a strange hint—like the mention of an unknown system or power source.

He gently brushed his wife's cheek and spoke to Sullivan in a low, mysterious voice:

"Having two faces carrying mysterious power isn't inherited—is it a curse?"

Sullivan placed his hand on his own cheek, elbow on the table, with hair strands partly obscuring the gray glow of his eyes. He spoke with regal composure:

"Everyone has an explanation for their power… except you. Yours stems from the Ghouamidth."

He tapped the table again:

"Because your power is from the Ghouamidth Realm, Mr. Phainon."

Faithless was shocked by the revelation. He placed his palm on his forehead and murmured internally, his voice faint:

'Ghouamidth Realm? I heard of that when I was in the guise of the Phainon… when King Cradel said the golden Phainon was imprisoned there.'

He continued softly, removing his glasses. His wife, Nier, noticed and began to stroke his hair to soothe him:

'How did this strange overlap occur—between the world I live in and the realm Sullivan mentioned… so many revelations.'

Sullivan spoke again, placing both hands on the table while looking at the columns:

"In your world, gaining power typically means inheriting it—or being cursed by an ancient cathedral."

Faithless, his tone stunned, brushed his hair back and said:

"So by your analysis, you're telling me my power doesn't belong to any of those three systems in my world, yes?"

Sullivan replied, smiling calmly:

"That's correct. You are an exceptional case."

Faithless was caught between shock—his power didn't belong to this world's systems—but also hope, as it would assist him in taking revenge on the kings…

While he was distracted, Nier placed her whole palm on Faithless's face. He was stunned by the sudden gesture. She lifted his head gently and looked toward Sullivan, speaking in a mysterious, lovely tone:

"Lord Sullivan, please… don't overwhelm my beloved with too much information. I don't want him to go mad."

Faithless heard her taunting voice. He tried to lift his hand to remove it, but his limbs remained frozen. Sullivan spoke softly:

"I'm not giving too much information, Lady Nier. I am only helping him understand things."