After downing several gulps of wine, Perry Moreno's cheeks flushed crimson. His tongue loosened, and he muttered with a drunken grin, "John, since you've treated me so kindly... if you've got any questions, ask away. I'll tell you everything."
Just like that—his attitude shifted like a weather vane in a storm.
John didn't waste time arguing. He dove straight into the heart of his confusion: the tangled mystery surrounding himself and his sisters.
"You and your sisters were indeed placed in the welfare house by us," Perry admitted, his voice slurring slightly. "And yes, we used... certain techniques to bind the eight of you emotionally, since childhood."
Exactly as John had suspected.
His eyes narrowed with realization.
There had been so many children at the welfare house—why had he only bonded so closely with seven extraordinarily beautiful girls? At the time, he'd believed he was born with the makings of a ladykiller.
Now he saw the truth: it had all been orchestrated.
With the abilities of a cultivator, it wouldn't be difficult to manipulate a few naive, impressionable children into forging emotional bonds. It had all been part of the plan.
"Why?" John asked sharply, his voice ice-cold.
Perry took another swig of the potent wine, then shrugged. "It was William Moreno's idea. He's the one who gave the orders. Several of your sisters were actually brought back from Circle Mountain—by him."
"Circle Mountain?"
"Mmm," Perry nodded, squinting blearily. "Think of it as... a gate. A doorway to another world. One that belongs entirely to cultivators. But the door's been sealed for over twenty years now. No telling when it'll open again."
John frowned. "No, you're wrong. If it's been sealed for that long, how did the Ghost Tribe get out?"
He remembered his encounters vividly—once with Amy's father, and again with the Lord of Demon. If that gate had truly remained sealed, there was no way entities like that could have emerged.
Perry rolled his eyes dramatically. "Couldn't they have slipped through... over twenty years ago?"
"Uh…" John faltered. He didn't care much for the Ghost Tribe's timeline anyway. What mattered now was William Moreno. He was the center of the puzzle.
But when John pressed the question, Perry's answers turned vague.
"Who knows?" Perry muttered evasively. "Members of Grand Theft are always mysterious…"
Bang!
John slammed his fist on the table, causing the wine bowls to jump.
"Are you messing with me?!"
It was infuriating. Every time he tracked down a thread, the culprit passed the blame to someone else. Would William Moreno just point to the next person in line when he was finally found?
Was this some twisted chain of bureaucrats playing divine telephone?
John's fury surged.
"Easy, easy!" Perry held up his hands, his voice placating. "I'm not trying to deceive you. I swear. Even if I could find him, it wouldn't help. You still wouldn't get the answers you want."
John clenched his jaw. "And why the hell not?"
"Because…" Perry's eyes darkened, a flicker of sadness breaking through the haze of wine. "William has gone mad."
"What?" John stared at him, stunned. "Mad?"
Perry nodded slowly. "He's always been a brilliant diviner... perhaps too brilliant. Maybe he saw something—something no man was meant to see. That's why he put all of you together. It was part of his great plan. But whatever it was... it drove him insane."
John fell silent, his thoughts churning. It didn't seem like Perry was lying.
So that's it... The trail ends in madness.
Still, there was one more thing he had to know.
"What's the truth about the Nameless Divine Skill?" he asked. "Why can I use it both to save people... and to devour Demonic techniques?"
Perry blinked, then shrugged again. "That, too, came from William. He said it was crafted specifically for you. Said it wouldn't do you any harm."
"'He said.' And you just believed him? You're nothing but the messenger. How do you know it's safe?"
"Because I trust William. And I'll swear it on Gianna's name—I've never lied to you about this."
Gianna.
The name rang sharply through John's mind. If she were involved, she likely cleaned up more messes for Perry than anyone would ever know.
Still, John had to admit—thus far, the Nameless Divine Skill hadn't shown any signs of hurting him. If it had, well... it was already too late.
He asked a few more questions, but Perry grew more incoherent, dodging answers as the wine jar steadily emptied.
Eventually, the old Taoist leaned back, eyes fluttering shut as a deep snore escaped him.
John sighed, shaking his head.
There were still countless mysteries unsolved. But he had gained something: he now knew a few of his sisters came from Circle Mountain. He just didn't know which ones.
Not Queenie—that much was certain.
Queenie was born into the Yeats Family in the State of New York. But once she'd been taken to the welfare house, Grand Theft severed all her ties with her biological family. That's why John had found nothing.
He himself had only uncovered his connection to the Flaherty Family by pure chance, when he met Alexandra. Without that fateful meeting, he'd still be in the dark.
John stared at the nearly empty wine jar, then glanced at the unconscious Perry. He couldn't help but mutter, "Is this wine really that strong?"
He picked up the jar and took the last sip.
Strong was an understatement—it burned hotter than any spirit he'd tasted before.
But he was no lightweight.
One sip couldn't possibly—
Dizziness hit him like a truck.
His vision swam. He swayed. The room twisted violently, and realization hit too late.
"Damn it... when did that old bastard—"
Plop!
John collapsed face-first onto the table.
A moment later, the drunken Perry Moreno suddenly snapped his eyes open, revealing a mischievous gleam. He chuckled darkly.
"Hmph. Too young, brat."
Without another word, he hoisted John over his shoulder and disappeared into the night.