Pierre’s smile vanished. Everyone froze. Zara’s lips parted. Lato blinked. Even Vaylan stopped sipping his tea.

“No,” Pierre said quietly. “That’s not—”

Aries tilted his head, his golden eyes gleaming. “You thought you were clever. But as a former senior,” he said, his voice calm but cutting, “you should learn not to give away your identity so cheaply.” He leaned back slightly, his manner turning cold. “You’re all out of questions. Too bad. My final question then.” His eyes narrowed. “Where are The Answerer and The Wind-Sweeper?”

"Damn it." Pierre’s thoughts raced. "I didn’t expect him to still be alive. Now I’m forced to answer… But wait—how did he lie earlier? He should be dead."

“You lied!” he said suddenly, his voice rising. “You should be dead! You broke the divine rule—not just the geis, but the law forbidding you from revealing an apostle’s identity! So both pacts should’ve punished you!”

Aries’s voice dropped like a blade. “Be quiet and answer my question,” he said. “Unless you’d like to find out firsthand whether it’s possible to lie and survive.”

Pierre’s fists tightened on the table. “...It’s… It’s with Mother,” he said at last, reluctant.

“Ahh.” Aries nodded, his expression holding a hint of disappointment. “So the Viper of de Ficquelmont has it. Why am I not surprised.” He turned his head slowly, his gaze drifting past Zara without pause, ignoring Lato completely, and settled on Vaylan.

“I am not interested in the girl,” he said coolly. “Nor the cat. They can ask questions later. I’m sure they’ll be dull and stupid anyway.” A smirk tugged at his lips. “But you, boy… I have many questions for you.” Then, with a gentleman’s grace, he added, “But since you’re the guest… you may ask first.”

Vaylan, still sunk into his chair from food coma, blinked and sat up, gathering himself. “…What the hell is a pantheon?” he said. “And who are the Olympus gods everyone keeps talking about?”

Aries raised an eyebrow. “That’s two questions. Are you willing to pay for both?”

Vaylan nodded.

“Very well.” Aries leaned forward, resting his elbows lightly on the marble table. “Think of pantheons as groups. You mortals call them ‘parties’ when you climb the tree, don’t you? Individuals bound by a shared objective. Whether they hate one another or not is irrelevant. They align their purpose and move together.” He gestured lazily with his hand.

“That is what pantheons are. Gods of different floors, united by a common goal.”

“That’s a lie!” Pierre snapped suddenly. “We were taught that pantheons are collections of gods who bless or influence the same kingdom or family. The Olympus Pantheon are gods of the floors the Red Kingdom controls!”

“Hmmm.” Aries tapped his finger on the table.

“I see. You’ve been taught the orthodox doctrine.” His gaze sharpened.

“But if that were true… what would an Orange Prince such as yourself be doing, contracted to an Olympus god?” His voice dropped to a whisper, but his eyes glinted like daggers. “Are you confessing betrayal? Have you abandoned your kingdom to serve the Red Kingdom instead? Is that the admission of an exile?”

Pierre’s jaw locked.

Aries returned to his explanation. “Some pantheons only ever grant blessings to those from a particular kingdom—but that’s simply due to location. A god who resides on the Eightieth Floor is obviously more likely to bless someone from the Eightieth Floor, than from the Fifth.” He looked at Vaylan again.

“But I said likely. Not exclusively. They do grant blessings—and even gifts upon reaching the ninety-ninth floor—to those not born on their floor. Why? Because they believe that person can further their goal.” Aries lifted a hand. “As for the Olympus gods... listing all of them myself would take too long. So here.”

Suddenly, Vaylan’s system interface opened. A blinking envelope icon appeared in the center.

CLICK

“I believe that should satisfy the terms of your question,” Aries said smoothly. Then, without missing a beat, “My turn. I’ll ask two questions now.” He leaned in closer, his voice low and deliberate. “Why did you come from beyond the Veil?” and “And why are you climbing the Tree?”

Vaylan’s expression shifted. The only words he could remember from the voice that spoke to him in a dream echoed in his mind.

Climb.

“…Because a voice told me to. It said I’d find my origin. The truth.”

Aries’s eyes sharpened. “Even if that were true, that’s what the voice said, not you,” he murmured. “I asked why you chose to.”

Vaylan lowered his gaze for a second, then looked up, firm. “I want to know who I am. I want to know why I was born.” A pause. “I want the truth.”

Aries smiled. “Very good. I’m satisfied.” He leaned back. “Now. Your final question.”

Vaylan stood, his voice steady. “When will you show yourself?” He pointed. “Enough with the illusions.”

For a moment, nothing happened. Then—Aries laughed.

Not mockingly. Not cruelly. Almost… delighted.

“Hahahahaha… I knew your eyes were special,” he said, rising. “They’re better than that third-rate version the cat carries.”

The room began to tremble. The marble pulsed. And the air around Aries shimmered, like glass straining under pressure. Something was beginning to unravel.

Aries began to float again.

The marble table, chairs, and untouched food moved, then blinked out of existence like smoke swept away by wind. The room dimmed, but Aries shone brighter. His body pulsed, trembling with energy. Then, in a flash, he ignited—no flame, no sound—just golden, overwhelming light, so blinding Vaylan instinctively shielded his eyes.

When the radiance faded, something had changed.

Aries had changed.

His once short white hair now spilled down to his feet, flowing like silk in slow motion. His lean frame remained, the chiseled torso like something carved from marble, untouched by time, but below the waist, the illusion of humanity had vanished. His white pants were gone, replaced by two bipedal ram legs, powerful and poised to strike. From his temples, curling ram horns spiraled outward, majestic and terrifying. His eyes, once teasing, smug, now glowed crimson.

And when he spoke, it was no longer with his sultry, composed voice. It was deeper. Ancient. A guttural resonance that rumbled in the bones.

"I imagine," he said, "if I had revealed this form earlier… you might’ve been too scared to enjoy the tea."

Vaylan tilted his head, smirking. “The tea was steeped too little anyway. A bit too light for my taste.”

Pierre scoffed, taking a step forward. “Now this is a monster.”