The crimson moon high above hung quietly in the darkness, illuminating the university town of Tingen as it gradually settled into stillness. Crane stood at his desk, gazing through the convex window at the quiet, deserted street of Narcissus, hearing the swift yet unobtrusive passage of a carriage in the distance. He picked up a silver-white pocket watch engraved with vine patterns, clicked it open, glanced at the time, then reached out to draw the curtains closed, allowing the warm, yellow glow of the gas lamp to spill more generously into the bedroom. Crane turned slowly, secured the door, and closed the valve. The entire room was instantly enveloped in darkness, with only a soft, faint red moonlight seeping through the curtains, bringing forth the atmosphere of a deep night rich with local folk tales. In this setting, Crane drew forth a small silver knife he had applied for, mentally forming a sphere of light, and entered a state of semi-meditation in advance. He gathered his spirit, following the previous practice, allowing the spiritual energy to surge forth through the blade's tip and follow its movement, weaving magically with the environment to seal the room. This was a precaution against possible unexpected fluctuations that might wake up Bensen and Melissa. Then, Caine set down the small knife and walked four steps counterclockwise, each step accompanied by incantations drawn from the Earth. The relentless cries and murmurs continued, the unyielding madness and pain pressing upon him; he struggled to maintain control, enduring the most difficult and perilous phase with his mind nearly fogged. The gray-white mist stretched endlessly, the deep red "stars" appearing at varying distances, and the majestic temple stood like a giant long dead—everything before him remained unchanged compared to the past, the accumulated stillness and antiquity of thousands or even tens of thousands of years pressing upon him. Not quite unchanged! Caine murmured silently, his gaze fixed upon a deep red "star" located nearby. That is the star symbolizing "Justice!" The deep red of this star contracts and expands in steady, subtle rhythms—small in amplitude, yet unwavering. Cain carefully extended his spiritual awareness, reaching toward the spreading deep red. As soon as contact was made, his mind resonated with a sudden hum, and he saw a blurred, distorted vision, hearing overlapping, ethereal voices of supplication: "O fool of a time unbelonging!" "You are the mysterious sovereign above the mist!" "You are the King of Good Fortune, clad in yellow and black." "I beseech you for aid." "I beseech you for your favor." "I beseech you to grant me a good dream." ... "I beseech you to grant me a good dream." ... "I beseech you to grant me a good dream." ... The woman's voice echoed endlessly, interweaving in layers, growing increasingly disconcerting to Cain's spirit—much like the moment he had just settled to sleep, only to hear a loud argument being pounded out from upstairs. He held back his emotions, calming his impulses through meditation, and carefully examined the hazy images that came into focus before him. There stood a girl in a white robe, with smooth, luminous golden hair, standing before four swaying flames, bowing with reverence and reciting continuously. From the distorted image, Caine managed to recognize her as the "Lady Justice." By now, he was certain that his envisioned ritual incantation was precisely targeting this moment, this very place—himself! This filled him with a deep sense of accomplishment, reinforcing his belief that his journey from scratch had been truly effective. I won't boast too much, he thought, now finding even the persistent, buzzing requests murmuring at his ears to be bearable. A thought struck him, and he attempted to transmit the "response" he had mentally formed through the subtle connection to the "Deep Red" star: "I know." …… The gray mist thickened, layer upon layer, and a distorted, blurred figure stood firmly at the deepest point. Deep red hues flowed across his eyes. His voice echoed continuously in the vast, empty world: "I know." "I know." "I know." ... Audrey Hall suddenly awoke, sat up in bed, her mind filled entirely with the images from her dream. She was certain she had dreamed of the Fool—the mysterious Fool standing high above the gray mist! "Is this a response to my morning prayer?" Audrey, now fully entering the 'audience' state, calmly analyzed. Though she didn't understand why the Fool hadn't responded immediately, but had waited until nightfall, she was deeply moved by the effectiveness of the ritual magic and the power of those incantations. In the past, she had prayed to the Goddess of Night, yet never received a reply! Even if the Fool hadn't yet become a deity, he was surely close to one. Audrey slowly inhaled, then slowly exhaled. Since the other side was an overwhelmingly powerful presence that could not be resisted, she soon set aside her concerns and began to think about what to do next: "First, fully absorb the 'Audience' potion—my performance as a performer has been quite solid." "Second, locate the Psychological Chain Guild." "Third, see if I can obtain the 'Mind-Reader' potion recipe from the Fool, or any clues about the Psychological Chain Guild." "However, each divine entity possesses its own complete sequence chain, and may not be aware of recipes from other sequences. Moreover, such a newly formed extraordinary organization as the Psychological Chain Guild might not necessarily command the attention of the Fool himself..." …… Severing contact, Kline sat comfortably at the head of the bronze long table. He was enveloped in a gray mist, leaning back against the chairback, his hands clenched tightly against his mouth, reflecting on and reviewing the just-concluded process. At this moment, in this world shrouded in gray mist, he was the only living being—silent, save for the stillness around him. "It seems we can only transmit information outward, not harness the power here through this means… Then it appears my earlier workaround won't work after all." Kline gently tapped his lips, silently summarizing. His original plan had been: if the incantation and ritual proved effective, to see whether he could bind himself and this gray mist world together, thus leveraging the mysterious space's inherent strength. Then, he could simply turn to himself, making requests, thereby circumventing the limitations, enigmas, and dangers, and fully utilizing the potential of the misty realm. For instance, he could first perform the ritual, asking himself for a spell's grant, and then, upon entering the misty expanse, respond to that very request, bestowing the gift upon himself. "Perhaps I've been too idealistic... My understanding and grasp of this hazy world are still far from what I thought they would be." Caine shook his head in self-mockery, preparing to leave. At that moment, he noticed the deep red 'star' symbolizing the 'Hangman' beginning to contract and expand, and heard the ethereal, formless voice spreading out in waves. "It's as if I've just coincided with the 'Hangman' conducting his ritual," Caine mused, nodding thoughtfully. Seated at the head of the bronze long table, he extended his hand and gently pointed toward the 'star'. Spirit flowed out, touching the continuously contracting and expanding deep red. He heard the 'Hangman's' low, resonant prayers and saw the blurred images. In the vision, the 'Hangman' wore a pure black robe, standing before four flames, with spiritual energy forming walls around him, shielding against external influences. Caine didn't respond immediately. He simply watched and listened, quietly. "…You are the King of Good Fortune, of yellow and black." "I beg for your assistance." ...After completing the plea, the "Emblem of the Pendulum" waited a moment, then, seeing no response, began to dismantle the spiritual barrier, extinguish the flames, and clear the altar. In the end, he brushed his hand across it, and a shimmer of water spread out, instantly reviving the table that had served as the altar. "Water magic... a gift from the storm... Indeed, the 'Emblem of the Pendulum' is at least the 'Navigator'..." Klein nodded slightly, and as the image faded, he transmitted the sense of response precisely as he had envisioned, into that deep red mass. ... Algier Wilson was now in the capital city of the Rosedale Islands, known as "The City of Generosity." He had not joined the crew to the famed "Red Theater," but instead remained at the inn, closing the doors and windows, attempting the ritual described by the Fool. With practiced ease, he completed the invocation and patiently waited—yet received no response. "It seems this attempt hasn't been very successful... The Fool will have to try something else..." He felt both relieved and slightly disappointed. Once the aftermath was settled, Aljer planned to head downstairs for a "Ricard"—alcohol helped unleash the abilities of the "Furious People," so the deputies of the "Storm Sovereign" all particularly enjoyed this drink. As he opened the door and was about to step out, his vision suddenly blurred. Before him stretched a phantom, boundless gray mist, and in the deepest part of the corridor, a faint figure sat, as if seated upon a lofty throne. A familiar, resonant voice echoed silently in his ears, undulating through the air, leaving him momentarily stunned and his head slightly dizzy. Aljer's eyes suddenly deepened. When he looked around again, he found everything unchanged—still the creaking floorboards, still the aged walls with their candleholders, still the somewhat dusty corridor. I understood... faint echoes still seemed to resonate in Aljere's ears. His face grew serious, he clenched his fists and lightly struck his chest, yet he failed to utter a word of reverence to the Lord of the Storm. After a long silence, Aljere's expression returned to its usual calm, though his gaze grew a little more profound. ........ "This 'transit ritual' is truly a must-have for both home and travel—so subtle and magical..." Klein murmured silently, then closed the door and walked toward the bed. His task tomorrow would be to accompany Old Neil to the underground marketplace for extraordinary artifacts.