Samuel held silver knife and fork in each hand, cutting off a small piece of foie gras.
He didn't immediately put it into his mouth, but instead lifted it slightly with the tip of his fork with great interest.
Apart from fish, he actually wasn't very fond of offal either, but in his previous life as an ordinary person, he had considerable interest in the "delicacies" that were highly praised online.
This was his first time eating foie gras; his previous understanding of it came solely from "web novels."
Open mouth, put it in, and then came great disappointment.
It completely lacked the exaggerated deliciousness described in novels.
"Isn't this... just average?" Samuel pursed his lips, "Am I really a country bumpkin who can't appreciate fine food?"
At the same time, Celt sitting across from him picked up a slice of crispy baked baguette. He didn't use a knife and fork, but directly brought it to his mouth, his movements casual and natural.
He took a bite, emitting a faint "crunch," and breadcrumbs inevitably stuck a little to the corner of his mouth. He didn't mind at all, his tongue slightly moving to lick them away.
"This is actually pretty good," he indicated to his main body.
After all, it's hard to mess up baked goods too badly; even a culinary wasteland wouldn't produce something too terrible.
Although the two shared one brain, after a period of getting used to it, Samuel had grown accustomed to this dual-operation feeling. Their actions wouldn't synchronize; they could each do their own thing.
They didn't interfere with each other, wouldn't disturb the other.
The schizophrenia seemed to be visibly worsening.
Samuel's gaze would occasionally lift from his plate, meeting Celt's eyes in the air. It was a peculiar experience, looking at another "self" yet not feeling a mirror-like sensation.
Celt's eyes were pale yellow with cat-like vertical pupils, completely different from Samuel's original black pupils. This was one of the specific appearance features he had chosen to visually distinguish the two bodies.
Of course, another reason was that it looked cool.
Putting down the knife and fork, Samuel didn't eat any more food from the table. He took a small sip of the champagne he also didn't find particularly good, then casually summoned *The Lunatic's World Travel Guide* into his hand, flipping it open with a light rustling sound to the page about the Fifth Prince, Allenay Odius.
His fingertip lightly tapped on the line describing [Special Law Rhyme: Royal Blood], his finger pad rubbing against the paper.
"Speaking of which, Celt, you're still using all my skills right now, don't have your own exclusive skills, do you?" Samuel raised his head, his gaze crossing the table to land on Celt.
"That's right," Celt nodded, swallowing the last bite of garlic bread and gently wiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin. "Ah, looks like it's version 2.0 now, time for my upgrade."
Samuel chuckled lightly, gently turning the pages: "That won't do. A clone should have some of its own unique features. Otherwise, it's no fun."
"A completely weaker version of myself, I've already experienced that once. Experiencing it again is meaningless."
Although their consciousness was the same, Samuel, deeply immersed in the role, still chose to talk to himself.
It was meaningless, but even meaningless things, as long as they amused him, he would still do them.
"These Law Marks and Law Rhymes are quite interesting. Let's experience them."
Samuel smiled, raising his hand to tap on the paper.
Before Samuel could say more, the Travel Guide flipped to a certain blank page by itself. Ink began to appear on the paper, writing out densely packed symbols that Samuel couldn't understand.
One line, two lines, three lines, one page, two pages, three pages.
A dozen seconds later, a full five pages of special symbols Samuel couldn't decipher appeared on the paper.
These characters were smaller than ants, densely cramming every available space on each sheet.
He activated the Travel Guide, copying Allenay Odius's Law Rhyme "Royal Blood."
"Would there really be this much? And this is just one."
Without needing to look, Celt already knew the volume of content through his main body's eyes.
"This should still be an incomplete version. Once it's inside your body, it'll probably need some time to evolve further," Samuel said while tearing these five pages from the book. "Besides this, which others do you want?"
"Me?" Celt leaned back slightly, pretending to think seriously, his fingertips lightly tapping the table, producing a rhythmic, faint sound. "For Law Marks, I also want Judge, Tuner, Messenger, and Prisoner."
"Just these four are enough. No need to make me too strong. If it's too strong, it won't be fun anymore. Cracked games become boring after a while."
"But honestly, I'm quite curious about what the functions of the last two are."
As Celt's words fell, the Travel Guide immediately produced a large amount of content again.
"What a coincidence, me too," Samuel smiled.
"Yeah, what a coincidence. How could something so coincidental happen?" Celt also smiled.
"Messenger, both Ethen and Allenay have it, but neither seems to have demonstrated it. As for Prisoner... well, it feels quite amusing for something like that to appear on a prince."
He thought of some of the brain-dead short dramas he'd seen in his previous life. Those rich young ladies and masters, while enjoying their family's privileges, would start spouting "I want to pursue freedom," "I want to break these shackles," with the slightest dissatisfaction.
Growing up eating the family's resources, but when it's time to contribute a little, they start chasing freedom.
He'd even seen many brain-dead fans in the comments proposing arguments like "They never said they wished to be born into a wealthy family; they were forced to enjoy this fortune," to whitewash those "tycoon CEOs."
The superhuman memory from the "Bard" identity allowed Samuel and Celt to clearly remember every fragment of such content.
Celt said in a recitative tone: "Ah, the poor may be impoverished, but they possess precious freedom. As for me, although I have money and power, can do whatever I want, can decide a commoner's life or death with a single word, I have lost that precious freedom."
"Oh, I suddenly start to fear death," Celt's tone paused, "Afraid to die, afraid that during the life flashback, those memories will be pulled out and re-watched."
Samuel shook his head with a smile: "Forget it. That kind of thing probably can't earn a Law Mark. There must be some other circumstance involved."
He continued looking at Celt.
"So, what about Law Rhymes? What do you want?"
"Let me think," Celt gently tapped his lips with the small silver knife, "Then Morning Star and Angel of Redemption. You know, I've always wanted to be a good person."
"Very well, then, as you wish." Samuel raised his right hand.
*Snap.*
A crisp snap sounded.
These papers moved without wind. The five pages Samuel had torn off immediately floated up. As soon as the content being written was finished, it would immediately detach from the book, joining the initial five pages as they floated, forming a small paper tornado on this relatively spacious dining table.
It began as a slow vortex, then its speed sharply increased. The papers made a rapid, rustling friction sound, their edges slightly curling from the high-speed movement, even stirring up faint air currents, churning the air above the center of the table.
"Don't get any grease on them. This stuff has to melt into my body later," Celt looked up, watching this paper tornado continuously spin.
The writing speed in the Travel Guide became faster and faster, rapidly producing pages filled with various symbols.
The commotion here was significant, but whether it was the few scattered other guests or the waiter who had been observing to see if the guests needed anything, they all acted as if they couldn't see it at all, showing no reaction.
As the last page of paper swirled into the paper tornado, the tornado immediately collapsed inward, coiling into a paper-like fruit that resembled an orange.
"Ta-da! Paramecia Devil Fruit, Paper-Paper Fruit," Samuel made a "grand entrance" gesture, "Come on, eat it while it's hot."
Celt raised his hand, catching this fruit.
After the high-speed friction of the paper tornado, this paper fruit was indeed a bit warm now.
He suddenly remembered the contents of the Sacred Text he had seen earlier at the Continuity Church. With a smile, he brought the fruit to his mouth.
"Well, now I'm becoming a creator too."
After saying that, he opened his mouth.
His mouth opened wider and wider, wider and wider, the corners of his mouth gradually tearing, his jaw almost dislocating.
His chin was level, while the back of his head had almost folded backward, the tips of his upper and lower teeth on the same horizontal plane.
Then he raised his hand and placed the fruit completely inside.