For a moment, Klein thought he had somehow time-traveled back, but the elegant gas lamps framed by brass railings and the silver-plated tin coffee pot that old Neil used to hand-grind coffee settled him firmly into reality. Was the time-traveling elder, the Emperor Rossel, really a fellow countryman? Did he write his secrets in a simplified Chinese that this world had never seen? With an indescribable sense of "meeting an old friend in a foreign land," Klein quickly scanned the three-page manuscript in his hands: "After writing the above, I read it through once and suddenly felt a deep sense of nostalgia. Even in Chinese, it seems unconsciously infused with a strong translation flavor. Forty years—how swiftly they've passed! My memories from the past now feel as if they were merely dreams." "January 1, 1884: The grand New Year gala was truly a marvel—Madame Florenal was absolutely enchanting." "January 2: My diplomats at the Foreign Committee were all such fools!" "January 3: My initial choices were too hasty. Now I see—whether as an apprentice, a seer, or a thief—each of these roles seems far better. Yet, alas, I cannot go back." "January 4: Why are my children so foolish? I've told them this a thousand times—don't be fooled by these charlatans. Indeed, perhaps even these charlatans themselves are being deceived. The key to the potion isn't merely to grasp it, but to digest it; it's not about excavation, but about embodying it!" And the name of the potion is not merely a core symbol—it is also a concrete image, a key to digestion! "On September 22nd, my alliance of opponents was formally established, from the north at Fyresk, the east at Ruin, to the south at Fenneport—my adversaries have finally come together. Yet I am not afraid. I will show them through facts that the gap in weaponry and experience cannot be closed merely by sheer numbers or lower-tier sequence holders. After all, I do not lack capable ones. As for the high-tier ones, hmm—have they forgotten who I am?" "On September 23rd, I lost contact with the ships searching for the 'Land of the Divine Abandonment.' I should consider inventing a wireless telegraph. I hope it won't be disrupted by the storm." "On September 24th, Miss Iskara proved more captivating than Madame Florenal. Perhaps I am simply longing for my youth." "Since it's a copy made by reproduction, and given the complexity of Chinese characters, each character has been significantly enlarged. As a result, the content on each page is relatively sparse—sometimes even blank on the back, which was preserved specifically for archival and research purposes. Yet even so, Klein was deeply moved, especially when he heard the crucial descriptions of the magic potions by Emperor Roscel, which gave him the exhilarating sensation of having discovered a 'solution' and uncovered an invaluable secret. 'Perhaps this is the guiding light for my future path as a remarkable one!' 'Yes, the three pages are diary entries from different periods. It's clear that Emperor Roscel always began writing the year in the first month of the year. The two pages from November and September, however, still remain undated.' 'Who exactly was the unfortunate person he discovered?' 'What exactly does "digestion and performance" mean?' 'Where exactly is the "Land Forgotten by the Gods"?' … One after another, questions surged in Klein’s mind, bubbling with excitement, making him eager to immediately gather and read through the entire collection of Emperor Roscel’s diaries! “Klein?” At that moment, the older Neil spoke with mild confusion. Klein snapped back to attention, quickly masking his surprise with a smile. “I thought I’d be the most special one—someone who would try to decipher and interpret these.” “Such a young man,” Neil chuckled, nodding enthusiastically. “I used to think I was the most special one myself.” Klein glanced at the three pages in his hands, double-checked that he hadn’t missed anything, and then returned them, casually asking, “Are we only looking at these few?” I want to see more of Emperor Roscel’s diaries! “Did you think there would be many?” Old Neil ran his fingers over the manuscript, deep lines etched on his face as he chuckled, "Every year, events involving the extraordinary and the mysterious are already scarce. Mostly, the extraordinary species are gradually fading out across our northern continent. Without them, there are fewer magical remedies, and thus, fewer extraordinary beings emerge. Over the past few centuries, giants, dragons, and elves have become mere entries in books. Even the sea folk have ceased to appear near the shores." Hearing this, Caine suddenly recalled a joke and laughed out, "I think it's time we established the 'Dragon and Giant Protection Association.'" Old Neil listened in bewilderment, only coming to grasp the meaning after a while. Once he understood, he tapped the table lightly, laughing heartily—though not quite with the grace of a gentleman. "Ha ha, Caine, you're truly witty! That's the tradition of our Ruin Kingdom—youths who are humorous are always welcome. Honestly, we shouldn't be so narrow-minded. How can we limit ourselves to dragons and giants alone? Why not simply the 'Association for the Protection of Magical Creatures'?" "No no no, how could we have forgotten those poor plants?" Caine shook his head. As he spoke, he exchanged a glance with the old Neil, and both said at once: "The Society for the Protection of Magical Beings!" The moment the words left their lips, they smiled at each other in a natural,默契 way, and the earlier awkwardness between them began to fade. "Young people like you are becoming rarer and rarer... What did I just say?" the old Neil chuckled, his face creased with warmth. "Ah, yes—I remember now. The number of extraordinary and magical events each year is already small, and the number of devotees of Emperor Rosel who are mere dummies is even smaller. To have secured just three manuscripts is already quite an achievement. Well, there may be more out there in other cathedrals or dioceses..." He murmured a few words, then picked up the "note" that Caine had already placed on the table and glanced at it. "Handgun bullets, or rifle bullets, or perhaps high-pressure steam gun bullets?" "A revolver," Caine answered, stating the facts. "Alright, I'll go fetch it. By the way, do you have a sleeve pouch? As a gentleman, one wouldn't want to have his waist and below bulging in public." Neil offered a well-known male joke. "Hmm, no—I'll need to ask the captain to add it, then?" Caine smiled in agreement. Neil stood up and said, "No, just record it. This falls under 'matching items.' Follow me—'matching items.'" "Have you ever taught before?" Caine asked, amused. "Yes, I spent some time at the church's Sunday school and the free schools." Neil lifted the slip, then reached for the key from the drawer and opened the iron door leading into the inner room. The difference between the extraordinary and the ordinary wasn't really that great... Caine murmured silently, then turned his attention back to the three pages of journal entries on the table. King Roser indeed delved into the realm of the mysterious... His journal is priceless... To others, it's just a stack of papers, waiting to be deciphered at some uncertain time; to me, it's a treasure! I don't know where the rest of the journal is... I need to find more... Caine's thoughts kept swirling, restless, until Elder Neil stepped out from the inner room and closed the iron door. "Ten arrows for the hunt of demons, thirty pistol cartridges, one leather cartridge pouch, and one badge from the Seventh Unit of the Special Operations Department—check them off, try them out, and sign your name on the notebook." Elder Neil placed the items on the desk. The pistol cartridges were packed in a cardboard box, layered in three tiers, neatly arranged, just as the ones in Caine's home—golden-yellow, slightly elongated. The "Sorcerer's Bullet" is stored in a small iron box, shaped like a standard handgun cartridge, but with a silvery exterior that features intricate, dazzling patterns; at its base, it bears the small holy emblem of "black background with stars and a red crescent moon." The leather gun satchel feels sturdy, with a fastening strap and a badge beside it—about the size of half a palm—set on an iron-colored background, with silver-embossed text reading "Ahovia County Police Department" and "Special Operations Unit, Seventh Group," arranged in two nearly closed loops that encircle the emblem of "two swords crossed, embracing a crown." "Unfortunately, it's not the Night Watchers' badge," Klein said, half in admiration, half in inquiry. Old Neil smiled and only urged Klein to try the gun satchel worn across the armpit. After removing his coat, Klein struggled to secure the satchel firmly against his left arm at the armpit. "It's quite good," he said, and didn't remove it—instead, he simply buttoned up his formal attire. Old Neil studied him appreciatively and nodded with satisfaction: "Very well suited. After securing his belongings, signing the record book, and chatting a few more minutes with the older Neil, Caine finally bid farewell and departed. Halfway through his walk, he suddenly felt regretful, tapping his forehead: "I forgot to ask about more details regarding sequences and potions—all thanks to the Emperor Roser's journal..." To this day, Caine still doesn't fully understand the origin of the complete "Path" sequence held by the Church of the Night Goddess, specifically Sequence 9. Rosan had mentioned something about the "Unsleepers"—perhaps that was it. As Caine walked steadily toward the stairs, a figure descended briskly. Dressed in practical, form-fitting trousers and a white shirt left unbuttoned, the young officer exuded a clear poet's charm. He was the same dark-haired, green-eyed night patrol officer who had previously searched Caine's home and had already met him on the upper floor, though they had not yet spoken. "Good afternoon," the young night watchman smiled warmly. "Good afternoon. I think I needn't introduce myself, do I?" "Klein's quite witty," said the young night watchman. "No, I have a strong impression of you," he replied, extending his right hand. "Lennard Mitchell, the 'Midnight Poet' of Sequence 8." Sequence 8... truly a poet. Klein shook hands lightly with him, smiling and asked, "Do you really find me memorable?" Lennard Mitchell's green eyes were deep and thoughtful, his smile faint. "You have a distinct aura." ...so very gay in a way... Klein's lips moved slightly, managing a smile. "I don't quite feel that myself." "Having survived such an event—without immediately accepting our protection—speaks volumes. It's already remarkable," Lennard pointed ahead. "I'll be replacing the captain. See you tomorrow." "See you tomorrow," said Klein, stepping aside to clear the path.