Klein's eyes widened, terrified that he'd misread it.
A thought surfaced—he remembered the commission Prince Edessak had given him. It was that commission which led him step by step to uncover Barron, which in turn led to the world inside the book…And in the end, those scandalous photographs of the royal family descended from the heavens, falling right into the hands of the three major Churches.
Connecting the dots, Klein suddenly formed a vague yet unnerving suspicion.
He quickly flipped through the newspaper from start to finish with meticulous care.
Nothing.
There wasn't a single word about the photographs.
It was as if nothing had happened in the outskirts of Backlund. As if those images—evidence of the Loen royal family's disgrace and conspiracy, of George III's attempt to ascend as the Black Emperor—had never existed at all.
Everything had been wiped away by an invisible hand.
A chill ran from the soles of Klein's feet to the back of his neck. His hair stood on end.
The suspicion took shape—clearer, sharper, more undeniable.
This "Great Smog of Backlund" that claimed tens of thousands of lives…might very well have been orchestrated by the upper echelons of the Loen royal family! And its timing was likely tied to the ritual for George III's ascension as the Black Emperor.
Edessak had been made the scapegoat!
But even after arriving at this conclusion, Klein only felt more lost. Why?
The photographs—Klein was certain—had been seen by Saints from all three major Churches. Based on the content alone, they could have easily deduced the royal family's machinations.
So…why had they remained silent?
The monarchy could control the press, could suppress the truth from the public. But how could they silence the Churches?
Unless…
The Churches themselves had chosen to look the other way.
Klein stood there, frozen.
For a moment, the entire world felt warped and absurd.
No—perhaps he was the absurd one.
I still haven't adapted to this world, he thought bitterly.
He turned again to look at the rows of freshly erected tombstones, at the grieving families, at the rows of urns stacked like lifeless archives of tragedy.
He stood in silence for a long while.
Then, Klein turned away and left Green Cemetery.
His face was blank—not sad, not angry, just cold and calm.
———
[Empress Borough. The luxurious estate of Earl Hall]
Audrey looked visibly haggard these past two days.
Edward had gone missing. His messenger couldn't reach him, and the Vanishing Cabinet no longer responded.
Had that been all, she might not have worried so much. After all this time, she trusted Edward's judgment.
But the problem was, at the same time, Mr. Fool had stopped responding to her prayers.
With the two events overlapping, Audrey couldn't help but wonder: When Edward fell into danger, was Mr. Fool also fighting some terrible, unseen evil god?
Had "He" been unable to respond because "He" was occupied? Or because…
No!
She shook her head firmly.
Mr. Fool was the saviour of the world—"His" strength was beyond question!
Maybe… maybe this is just a test for us.
Just then, there was a knock at the door.
Earl Hall stepped in. "Still no word from Edward?"
Audrey nodded slightly and forced a smile. "It's alright, Father. He's probably just caught up in something."
The earl gently patted her shoulder.
"How's Hibbert doing now?"
"Him?"
Earl Hall instinctively rubbed his throat. "The Church says he's physically fine, but…he's locked himself in his room, consumed with guilt. If you have time, please talk to him."
"Of course, Father."
"This whole affair has affected him deeply. I'm worried he might do something drastic…" Earl Hall sighed. "I've already sent a message to Alfred to return as soon as possible."
Audrey gave a faint smile. "Actually, I think this event has hit you harder, Father."
"How could it not? I literally died."
His deep blue eyes held a smouldering anger.
"And it was my own son who killed me."
"Father…"
Audrey reached out and held his hand.
"I'm fine now. That's what matters most," he said softly. "I've got work to do. The political scene in Loen is a mess—more than half of my allies and opponents are dead. And with the Great Smog incident on top of that…"
Earl Hall rubbed his forehead and sighed. "I have a bad feeling…Feysac won't let this opportunity slip by."
Then, he spotted the newspaper on Audrey's desk and casually picked it up.
"No need to keep reading these things. What's done is done. It'll only upset you."
Audrey's mood dimmed. "But still…that was tens of thousands of lives. Now they're just…cold numbers."
"Try not to think about it too much," her father said gently.
He turned and quietly closed the door behind him.
Audrey looked toward the shadows in her room.
"Susie, could you keep an eye on Hibbert for me the next few days?"
"Of course," the large golden retriever replied from the shadows.
"And also…"
Just as she was about to say something else, her vision blurred.
She felt herself being engulfed in thick grey fog.
Far, far away, in the depths of the indescribable, a figure sat upright on an ancient high-back chair, gazing down at her.
"Prepare for the gathering."
Audrey took a deep breath, forcing down the joy surging from her heart.
"Yes, Mr. Fool."
———
[Cherwood Borough—The Safe House of Xio and Fors]
After two days of nervous tension, Fors finally returned to her usual slacker state of mind. As for Mr. Fool not responding to her prayers—well, she didn't think too much of it.
He was, after all, a suspected deity. What kind of god could respond to prayers at every moment of every day?
Xio had spent the day cooped up with her indoors but eventually couldn't take it anymore and left, saying she was going out to gather news.
"Ahhh…"
Fors lay sprawled on the sofa, manuscript paper in one hand, a fountain pen in the other. Not a single letter had been written.
She felt like all the creativity she'd used to write in that bizarre book world had completely drained her of inspiration for the next year.
She glanced at the time and yawned. "If it weren't for the Tarot Club starting soon, I'd definitely sneak in a nap…"
No sooner had she muttered this than she felt the call of the Fool. A tide of crimson surged over her, engulfing her completely.
———
[Azik's Rental Apartment]
Ever since Mr. Azik had returned, Priscilla had moved back from the Aurora Order's hideout.
She now lay barefoot on the bed, waiting for the Tarot Club to begin.
Medici leaned against the headboard with one leg crossed over the other, grinning.
"That dumb little gathering you're always joining—honestly, not much to look at. That brat got dragged off to see his 'Lord' by Ouroboros and hasn't dared respond to you since."
Priscilla put her hands on her hips. "If you're so amazing, why don't you go save Big Brother Edward!"
"I'm not your damn unpaid labour. Why should I risk my neck for him?"
"Hmph! That's just an excuse for being useless. You're scared of Ouroboros, admit it!"
Medici chuckled. "You little brat…are you trying to switch to the Hunter Pathway?"
"Blehhh!"
She stuck out her tongue and made a face at him.
Just then, a thick grey mist rose in front of her eyes, and a wave of crimson light washed over her.
Medici watched as she froze mid-gesture. His brows lifted slightly and he sneered, "Oh, there's no mistake. That aura…that presence…and calling himself The Fool…"
"That little raven—he's going to be overjoyed when he finds out. Heh…now this, this will be fun."
——
Meanwhile—Aboard the Blue Avenger, sailing the Sonia Sea
The Hanged Man, Alger, finally felt his two days of anxiety and uncertainty melt away as he received the Fool's summons once more.
——
[The Forsaken Land of the Gods—City of Silver]
Derrick had successfully entered the grand palace once again.
——
[Afternoon Town]
The previous night, Edward and Bernadette had found a mostly intact house to stay in, setting up a tent inside and turning in early.
The existence of Amon had placed a heavy burden on both their minds and bodies. The moment their nerves relaxed, exhaustion came flooding in like a tidal wave.
The next morning, after a simple breakfast, they resumed their Mandarin lessons.
With Bernadette's exceptional comprehension, she made a sudden breakthrough in integrating what she had previously learned. As a result, Edward's potion digestion process also progressed rapidly.
This confirmed something Edward had only suspected before—when it came to knowledge transmission, it wasn't just about how well the teacher explained it, but also about whether the learner truly understood and internalised it.
Which meant that all his previous attempts over the last two days didn't accomplish as much as this one burst of real comprehension.
After lunch, the two of them—plus one cat—took a walk around the ruins of Afternoon Town, which had once been inhabited by both humans and giants.
They discovered many remnants from ancient times, most of which bore a stylistic resemblance to the cultural artifacts they had seen in Moon City.
Standing at the highest point halfway up the mountain, they overlooked the desolate town below. It was still possible to imagine that, long ago, this had once been a bustling and prosperous place.
Now, only silence remained.
Lilith darted around, bouncing from place to place, inspecting this and poking at that, quickly covering herself in a layer of dust and dirt.
"Ugh, no mice here either," she grumbled, shaking her fur to rid herself of the grime.
"Daddy used to say that in this world, the only thing that is eternally reliable is strength. Strength doesn't just mean power—it also means longevity. Only with a long enough life can one avoid being buried by time."
"No matter how powerful a nation, no matter how splendid a culture, they all fade with time. Only living on is real."
Bernadette turned to Edward. "Maybe…that's one of the reasons why he changed so much in his later years."
Edward thought for a moment and found her guess to be quite plausible.
When the emperor had first "transmigrated" into this world, he seemed to carry a playful mindset. He invented, built a nation, transcribed books, wrote poetry, and reshaped the world—almost like a player immersed in a simulation game.
But as his understanding of this world deepened, as he learned of the true nature of things and of the apocalypse looming in the future, he must have realised that all he had done in those decades—compared to the angels, the gods, and the end of the world—was utterly meaningless.
And so his mindset shifted. From a playful "invincible transmigrator," he became a mad and paranoid tyrant in his final years.
Edward said quietly, "You're right. Very few people in this world can reach the high Sequences and gain long life. For the vast majority, perhaps the traces left in ruins like these are the only proof that they ever lived."
"As for culture, science, and civilisation—well, even after more than a hundred years, what Roselle left behind may have impacted this world even more than the gods ever did."
Bernadette stared at Edward, her voice soft but firm. "But for me…what matters most is that he lived."
Then stop staring at me like that!
———
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