Facing her sister's question, Caine could only chuckle and say, "Muscle aches." He had originally assumed that, having consumed the sequence magic potion and become a remarkable being, he would have seen some improvement in his physical condition. But the harsh reality was that the "Seer's" skills were all concentrated on spirituality, mental faculties, intuition, and interpretation—leaving him slow to adapt to combat training. The original owner, who had spent years primarily reading and suffering from poor nutrition, had always maintained a moderately average physical condition. Thus, it was quite normal that today's "aftereffect" would manifest. "Muscle aches?" Melissa asked thoughtfully, as if genuinely curious. "I remember you came back home right after dinner yesterday and didn't do anything else. Surely, wasn't alcohol supposed to cause muscle aches?" Could alcohol cause muscle aches…? Oh, your question—your question actually makes me feel rather at a loss… Klein chuckled nervously. "No, it has nothing to do with alcohol. It happened yesterday afternoon. I joined the company's combat training." "Combat training?" Melissa was even more surprised. Klein quickly organized his thoughts: "Here's the thing—I've been thinking. As a historical and cultural advisor for a security company, I can't possibly spend my life staying in the office, in the warehouse at the dock. Perhaps one day, I'll need to accompany them to rural areas, to castles, to the original sites of cultural artifacts. Along the way, I'll have to climb hills, cross rivers, walk countless miles, and endure all sorts of natural challenges. That requires a solid, healthy physique." "So you joined combat training to build up your physical strength?" Melissa now understood her brother's point. "Yes." "Yes," said Cline. Melissa frowned, "But that's not gentlemanly at all... Haven't you always held yourself to the standard of a professor? A professor merely reads literature, contemplates problems, and remains polished and composed." "Of course, I'm not saying that's not admirable. I actually prefer men who solve problems hands-on—whether with strength or intellect." "Indeed, indeed, Melissa," said Cline, "You have a misconception about what a professor truly is. A true professor is not only polished and composed in conversation, but can also, when communication breaks down, raise his cane and use physical means to persuade someone." "Physical means..." Melissa was momentarily at a loss, but quickly grasped her brother's point and found herself unable to find words to counter it. Cline said nothing further, and with some difficulty shifted his legs toward the bathroom. Melissa stood there, looking for a few seconds, then shook her head and took two steps after him. "Do you need any help?" she offered, extending her arm. "No, thank you," said Kline, feeling slighted. "I just needed a bit of performance earlier." He straightened up suddenly, determined, and walked normally. Watching his brother enter the bathroom and close the door behind him, Melissa pursed her lips and murmured softly, "Kline is becoming more theatrical by the day. I thought his muscle pain was actually that bad." Inside the bathroom, Kline stood behind the closed door, his face contorted. "It hurts, it hurts, it hurts..." he breathed steadily, tensing his body, holding on for nearly eight seconds. Only after he finally made it down the stairs, finished breakfast, and watched Bensen and Melissa leave did the pain ease significantly. After a short rest, Kline picked up his cane, put on his hat, and walked slowly toward the streetcar station. …… The summer at Hoy University was lush with green trees, vibrant with flowers and birds, serene and peaceful. After walking along the river for a while, Caine turned onto the path leading to the history department and found the slightly aged, three-story gray stone building, where he located his mentor, Cohen Quentin's office. Upon knocking and entering, he was surprised to see Professor Azk seated in the mentor's usual spot. "Good morning, Professor Azk," Caine said, puzzled. "My mentor isn't here. We arranged to meet at ten in the morning by email." Professor Azk, a frequent colleague of Cohen Quentin and someone with whom he often disagreed over academic matters, smiled. "Cohen has an unexpected meeting at Tinggen University and will be gone; I've asked him to wait here for you," he explained. He had copper-toned skin, a medium build, dark hair and brown eyes, with a gentle facial structure and a sense of quiet depth that was hard to describe—always seeming to carry a certain weariness. A small mole, barely noticeable unless one looked closely, was tucked just below his right ear. After giving the reason, Professor Azk suddenly furrowed his brows and studied Caine carefully "Is there anything I've done improperly in my attire?" Caine glanced at himself with a look of bewilderment: tailcoat, black waistcoat, white shirt, black tie, dark trousers, and leather boots without buttons—quite ordinary, wasn't it? Azk smiled warmly and chuckled, "You needn't worry. I've simply noticed that you've been much more spirited lately, and that you've taken on the air of a true gentleman." "Thank you for the kind words," Caine accepted gracefully, then asked, "Mr. Azk, has the mentor found the book, *A Study of the Ancient Ruins at Hornachis Peak*, in the school library?" "Yes, I helped locate it," Azk said with a gentle smile, then opened a drawer and produced a book with a gray cover. "You're no longer a student at Hoy University, so you can only read it here—it cannot be taken away." "Very well," Caine accepted the academic monograph with evident delight mixed with a touch of apprehension. The book's design perfectly aligns with current design trends: the cover and spine are made of sturdy cardstock, with a pattern of illustrations that abstractly resembles the Honachis Main Peak. Klein glanced at it, found a seat, opened the book, and read page by page. He was deeply engrossed when suddenly he noticed a cup of coffee had appeared beside him—rich and aromatic. "Added with sugar and milk," Azk said, placing a small silver tray down and pointing to the milk jug and square sugar box. "Thank you," Klein nodded gratefully. He added three squares of sugar and a spoonful of milk, then continued reading without tasting his drink. The book *Studies on Ancient Remains of the Honachis Main Peak* is not particularly thick, and by midday, Klein had finished reading it and identified several key points: "First, the biological settlements around the Honachis Main Peak and its surrounding areas have clearly developed into a civilization, forming an ancient kingdom." "Second, based on the murals, their physical forms are indistinguishable from those of humans, allowing them to be initially regarded as human beings." "Third, they revere and fear the night, and as a result, personify a deity whom they worship, calling this deity the sovereign of the night and the mother of the sky." "Fourth, most surprisingly, no tombs belonging to this nation have been discovered throughout the entire region, creating a striking impression that its inhabitants do not require burial—indeed, they may never die—contradicting the content of the murals. In the murals, the people of this kingdom believe death is not an end, but that deceased relatives continue to protect and guide them in the night. Therefore, they keep the deceased family members at home, on their beds, and by their pillows, for three full days." "After that, the murals come to an end, with no further depiction of burial practices. Klein sipped his coffee and continued writing in his notebook, jotting down his reflections: "Mother of Heaven, such a lofty title—yet the ruler of night clearly overlaps with the goddess of night. Is this the very source of the contradiction?" "In the ancient ruins found throughout the main peak of Horanich and its surrounding areas, all displays and arrangements have been preserved in perfect condition, with no visible damage to the wall paintings. It seems the site remained undisturbed until it was discovered. On the tables, there are plates with dried, decayed remnants. In some rooms, even a bottle of wine has nearly turned into clear water." "What about the people of this land? They appear to have fled their homes in a hurry, leaving behind nothing but a trail of haste—never to return." "Considering the absence of any burial sites, this becomes even more puzzling." "Mr. Joseph himself noted that when he first discovered these ruins, he initially believed the inhabitants had vanished instantaneously." Klein paused his pen and directed his gaze toward a illustration. It was a black-and-white photograph taken by John Joseph on his third visit to the summit of Horanich, captured using a new camera model. In the image, the palace stood majestic, with walls partially collapsed and overgrown by vegetation, exuding a grand scale. As he flipped to this photograph, Klein suddenly recalled the palace he had seen in his dreams: the two visions aligned in style, though the one in his dream was located at the very summit, even more magnificent, and featured a colossal seat unlike any human structure at the highest point, with countless translucent maggots gathered in a cluster, slowly moving in unison. He could now confirm that his dream was directly connected to the ancient ruins of Horanich's summit—this must be the land of the Night, as mentioned in the Antigonous family's notes. Klein gave a barely perceptible nod and closed the book. At that moment, Azk sat across from him, gently touching the small, inconspicuous black mole beneath his right ear. "How did it go? Did you make any discoveries?" "There are quite a few, you see—I've filled up quite a few pages of notes." Klein smiled, pointing to the desk. "I don't understand why you've suddenly become so interested in this." Azk sighed, then said, "Klein, during my time at university in Beckland, I've studied a bit about divination. I must say, I've noticed some inconsistencies in your fate." "What? Divination? Talking about divination with me? As a diviner, I find it rather amusing to look at you, Azk." "What inconsistencies?" Azk thought for a moment. "Have you been encountering a lot of coincidences lately?" "Coincidences?" "Thanks to Mr. Azkour's kindness, Cline didn't resist the questions and instinctively began to recall: If there were any coincidences, the most obvious one was that, during the pursuit of the kidnappers, traces of the Antigonous family's notes—missing for several days—were found right across from the room where they were hiding." Moreover, Riel Biber, instead of escaping Tingen, hurriedly sought a place to digest the powers granted to him through the notes, allowing the sealant "2–049" to easily track his movements—an occurrence that seems somewhat contrary to what one would expect. Although Mr. El Hassan explained it well, I still feel there's an element of coincidence. Hmm, when Selena finally attempted to read through Heinrich Vanzant's secret incantations after secretly observing them, she waited until the birthday banquet, and it was precisely then that I discovered it—another coincidence. Otherwise, Heinrich Vanzant wouldn't have died so suddenly. Azk smiled and shook his head. "I can only detect one inconsistency. Beyond that, I see nothing. You should know, I'm not truly a seer." That was saying exactly the same thing as nothing at all... Azk seemed rather odd indeed—pretending to be a mystic in front of a mystic like me. Klein exhaled, taking the opportunity as Azk stood up, gently pressing his fingers against his brow, then opening his spiritual sight. At first glance, Azk's aura filled his vision completely, appearing perfectly balanced and normal. Unfortunately, I can only perceive the deeper ethereal essence and the surface of the stellar spirit when I'm above the gray mist... Klein lightly tapped his brow and rose smoothly, thinking calmly.