Upon hearing Quevedo refer to it as a 'unique little gadget', Florent suddenly realized this world had yet to invent wristwatches...
Even after Quevedo crafted one, he still called it a unique little gadget...
However, Florent couldn't help but wonder if this idea had originated from Roselle...
He asked, "This clearly isn't meant to be carried in a pocket. Since you're the first to make it, why not give it a proper name?"
For some reason, Quevedo appeared slightly embarrassed as he replied, "Actually, this wasn't my idea. It was... um, inspired by Mr. Roselle. I heard about it from someone else..."
Florent nodded inwardly, 'As expected...'
He pressed further, "Governor Roselle truly is a man of vast knowledge. Did you happen to hear about any other inspirations of his?"
Quevedo, inexplicably flustered, stammered, "N-no. Anyway, we should hurry to the gathering. It's lucky you get to attend one on your first day. Let's not waste time."
Florent didn't dwell on it and simply agreed, "Alright, let's go."
Returning to the dimly lit basement entrance, Florent checked his pocket watch under the flickering candlelight. His vision, far better than in his previous myopic life, clearly displayed the time: 3:55.
Just then, the door creaked open. Erich and Karl emerged at a leisurely pace, the latter carrying a cloth-wrapped bundle, undoubtedly the mystical materials he needed.
Erich also held a package, though its contents were unclear.
Quevedo and Florent approached...
"Karl, did you find all the materials you needed?" Quevedo asked.
Then, noticing Erich's parcel, he added, "Huh, Erich, you needed materials too?"
Karl confirmed with a nod.
Erich who was now walking alongside them replied, "Yes. I know some ritual and sigil magic. These are for crafting. Can't you make talismans?"
Quevedo laughed, "I can, but my Spirituality isn't strong enough to inscribe effective sigils or rituals, so I don't bother hoarding materials."
He then led the group upstairs, specifically to the second floor where the gathering was to be held.
The second floor was unremarkable, just a long hallway lined with private rooms on either side. Quevedo, familiar with the layout, guided them to an unmarked door near the center.
Florent hadn't seen any room numbers and wondered how Quevedo knew which one to choose... until he noticed faint decorative patterns on the door.
Though easy to overlook in the dim light, they distinguished this room from the others.
The door didn't open immediately. Instead, a crack appeared, revealing a figure in an iron mask. Without a word, Quevedo handed over his pass.
Earlier, Florent hadn't gotten a clear look at the card. Now he saw it: a depiction of Quevedo in white robes, but grotesquely distorted, as if deliberately caricatured.
Whoever drew this clearly had a twisted sense of humor. For anyone, being forced to use an unflattering likeness as identification would be mortifying, especially in front of unaware friends.
The moment they stepped inside, Quevedo swiftly pocketed the card and smirked, "Don't think mine's the only ugly one. Yours will be just as bad."
Florent rubbed his forehead, "Who drew these? The owner? Does he try to make people look awful?"
Quevedo winced, "Not intentionally. He's just... terrible at art. Learned to paint after coming to Intis, but art is not his forte. He can't draw people properly, yet insists on sketching everyone."
Shaking his head, he added, "Worse, when accused of scribbling nonsense, he claims it's deliberate... Ask him whose card is whose, and he'll identify them perfectly. He even boasts about founding a new artistic movement..."
With exasperation, Quevedo concluded, "The guy is convinced Impressionism and Fauvism stole from him... He calls himself a 'pioneer of the Roselle era'... I know nothing about art, but even I can tell he just sucks at drawing."
After passing through a small reception area, Quevedo fell silent. With the group's sole source of chatter gone, no one spoke.
They wordlessly entered a spacious lounge furnished with tables and sofas, selecting one for four. Perhaps due to their collective inexperience in mystical circles, the atmosphere remained tense.
Florent glanced around. Unsurprisingly, other tables were equally quiet. In the vast room, even hushed whispers carried... Quevedo could pinpoint speakers by sound alone, though not their words.
Realizing their murmurs stood out, the whisperers soon stopped.
Minutes later, a black-clad, iron-masked figure strode onto a raised platform with military precision.
In a muffled voice, he announced, "Time's up. Let the gathering begin."
The platform also had seating. After speaking, the host sat while attendants placed small blackboards around him.
Servants wove through the crowd, collecting request slips from raised hands. Quevedo took a pen and paper from one and asked his companions, "Anything Mystical you're looking for?"
Karl shook his head. Erich stayed silent. Florent said, "Not for now."
Shrugging, Quevedo scribbled a line and handed the slip to a waiting attendant.
With that, idle chatter resumed among the four. The room, no longer silent, buzzed with low conversation.
Once all requests were compiled onto the blackboards, the host stood again...