That wasn't human at all, nor could it even be understood as a living creature.
The phantom shadow was a massive, iridescent cone covered in uneven scales. Four cylindrical appendages protruded from the apex of the cone, extending and contracting continuously like limbs. Two ended in crab-like claws, another in a red trumpet-shaped apparatus, and the last in a fleshy globe bearing three eerie eyes.
Lynch already realized his inspiration had made him see weird things again. The so-called Yith tribe was very likely a hidden, mysterious heteromorph race, just like the ghouls or Deep Ones.
Hidden race my ass. What the hell is this? Can a thing that looks like pure geometric shapes even be called a heteromorph?
Yet just as Lynch was inwardly complaining, the eyes on the globe turned in unison toward the three of them, each eye locking onto one person. Though the sight was somewhat comical, the pressure radiating from the mystery still gave Lynch waves of heart-palpitating dread.
Still, he wasn't overly nervous or worried—after all, a rank seven expert was standing right beside them. Instead, he studied the phantom shadow with a touch of curiosity. Seeing his reaction, the two ladies realized what was happening, and their gazes toward the visitor grew strange as well.
The visitor paid no mind to their rudeness, merely giving a calm nod. Lynch withdrew his gaze and properly inspected the two people sitting in the reception room.
One wore a golden priest's robe and appeared to be in his fifties, his expression devoid of emotion or any visible mood swings.
The other—the one with the phantom shadow behind him—was a remarkably mundane middle-aged man. He looked just like any ordinary middle-aged guy you could find anywhere in the city, without a single distinguishing feature.
“I am Hector, the supervisor of the Church of Wealth. I know what you are trying to maneuver through the churches, and I have received pressure from the diocese as well.”
Archbishop Hector's voice was flat, and his words were cold, completely devoid of warmth or sentiment:
“Those are my personal connections, and I will not allow official business to mix with personal affairs in the slightest. Thus, I ignored your pressure all along. However, this matter now is his personal request, unrelated to church business, so I brought him here.”
Refusing to play social politics, cold, and blunt—truly a devotee of wealth and money. Although Hector had brought the person Lynch was looking for this time, Lynch didn't feel the slightest fondness for him.
The archbishop seemed to share the feeling. Once he finished speaking, he stood up on his own. “Resolve the rest amongst yourselves.”
With a nod to President Gulman, he strode out of the reception room, leaving a thoroughly baffled Lynch behind.
President Gulman sighed helplessly and gave Lynch a reassuring pat on the shoulder, though his gaze carried a strange look, as if asking a question.
Lynch was somewhat confused, but before he could say anything, Miss Diana took his hand under the table and gave it a gentle squeeze.
Understanding her signal, Lynch nodded to Gulman's silent inquiry. The president smiled, then stepped out of the reception room, leaving the three of them alone with the representative of the Yith tribe.
Watching his departure, Lynch fell into thought. He suddenly understood what these people were doing, and a slight appreciation for the cold Archbishop Hector bloomed within him.
Both Hector and Gulman surely knew what these Yithians were. No sensible person would bring such a sensitive companion to visit someone's home, and meeting in a public place might cause unnecessary misunderstandings for Lynch. Finding a controlled environment like this was the best approach, reassuring to both sides.
Hector and Gulman had acted as textbook middlemen—responsible only for making the introduction, asking nothing else.
This caused Lynch to sigh with emotion. Sure enough, no matter which world one was in, navigating society was never about fighting and killing, but about social etiquette and worldly wisdom. Miss Diana truly lived up to her high-born upbringing, seeing through it in an instant. If not for her subtle warning, he might still be as clueless as the silly girl beside him.
So I listened to rumors, developed a prejudice against him, and chose the wrong approach?
Lynch already had some ideas in mind, but now was not the time. For now, he carefully examined the man sitting across from him.
In both appearance and attire, he was a thoroughly average Lande man—wearing rough linen casual clothes and a sunhat, his face weather-beaten and lined, no different from a factory worker in the Gray Fog District.
Could a man like this really be a mysterious heteromorph?
【Lynch, pay attention. This creature is very special. They come from the Mythological Era, yet at the same time they don't. In short, it's hard for me to explain to you. Ask it yourself and see if you can understand.】
Lynch grew even more confused, but maintained his composure on the surface, smiling at the Yithian. “I know about you—inhabitants of the Mythological Era.”
The man outwardly showed no reaction, but all four tentacles of the conical phantom shadow behind him went taut.
“Though you don't quite seem to be them either. It's a bit strange. Could you explain in detail?”
Swish. The two ladies looked over simultaneously, subtle worry in their eyes: What is he talking about?
Lynch himself was actually worried about his own mental state: Am I even making sense right now?
Yet the Yithian displayed an emotion akin to friendliness for the first time, speaking in an ordinary human voice. Only then did Lynch understand the origins of these beings and why they were virtually unknown.
These creatures were indeed heteromorphs born in the mortal world under the radiation of mysterious filth from the Dreamlands. However, even they did not know when they were first born. These entities—which could barely be called spirit bodies, having no physical form and existing as near-pure concepts—possess an innate ability for time travel. They merged with a strange, cone-shaped species during the early Mythological Era and lived in that period for a time, calling themselves the Great Race of Yith.
The catastrophe at the end of the First Age nearly wiped out all living things, but most of the Yithians survived. In the Savage Age of the Second Age, however, a war broke out between them and another bizarre heteromorph race. After winning initially and then losing, they were completely annihilated.
Yet what went extinct was merely the cone-shaped bodies, not the real Yithians. Their time-travel capabilities had allowed them to foresee this extinction long in advance. Thus, they performed a collective mind upload ahead of time, abandoning their original bodies and escaping to the future hundreds of millions of years later, occupying the bodies of an intelligent beetle species of that era to continue living.
They existed only in the ancient past and the distant future; the concept of Yithians did not officially exist in the present, which was why almost no one knew of them. In reality, a small number of Yithians still inhabited the mortal world, known only to the extremely few who had made contact with them and were capable of recognizing them—such as Archbishop Hector.
“Mind swapping,” the Yithian explained. “We can temporarily swap our future consciousness with that of a creature from almost any era, exchanging time periods. Once the duration expires, we swap back, though the original consciousness of this body has its memory erased upon return. We generally conduct historical research through this method. Thus, during critical historical junctures across various eras, some of our kin are observing and studying. What you call our tribe is merely a collective term for these scattered members; we have no fixed settlement. The close contactees willing to assist us have all sworn oaths never to reveal our existence, so it is entirely natural that you could not find us.”
Miss Diana instinctively pressed further, “Is the present also a critical historical juncture? Is something about to happen?”
“Of course.” An expression of surprise—as if saying, How could you even ask such a question?—flashed in the Yithian's eyes, though it quickly returned to normal. “As for what is about to happen... do you truly wish to know?”
Dammit, karma comes fast. Lynch grumbled inwardly. Just yesterday, we were playing prophets in the memories of the Third Age, and the karmic retribution arrives the very next day. Diana was silenced by the question for a long while before finally shaking her head softly.
“That is the wisest choice,” the Yithian said. “Thanks to our time-travel ability, we do indeed possess a method to avoid being targeted by the hounds. We are willing to help you, and can even offer you a small gift.”
“Then... what is the price?”
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