Inse. Zangwei had gone to Beckland... and he didn't know how long he would stay there... Well... we could check in intervals. Klein leaned forward thoughtfully, wiping the content off the vellum and writing a new divinatory phrase: "The current location of Larnuus." In Klein's view, Inse. Zangwei was undoubtedly the culprit responsible for the deaths of the officers and for nearly ensuring his own permanent slumber. Yet Larnuus, the madman, was also a co-responsible party and must pay a bloody price! He recited the phrase seven times over, and once again entered the dream—yet the scene that unfolded when the hazy world cracked open was exactly the same as what he had just seen! A broad, slightly turbid river, one after another docks, buildings standing in close succession—architectural styles blending the prevailing Roonian with Gothic elements, crowded streets, a bustling scene, smoke rising from chimneys in constant abundance, magnificent palace complexes, and towering, iconic Gothic bell towers... Larnus is also located in "the Land of Hope," the great city of Beklanth! Klein opened his eyes, slightly puzzled, as he had hoped to pinpoint the exact location of Larnus, yet the result remained only a single, very broad and vague area. "This indicates that Lan'urush's sequence is much higher than I anticipated... No, perhaps he has gained tremendous benefits during the process of helping the 'True Creator' bring forth offspring—such as a touch of divinity, or something akin to the umbilical cord left behind in Meigoh's womb, hmm... though I suspect that latter item has already been taken by Inz. Zangweil." Kline's thoughts raced, murmuring his initial speculations. Having confirmed the approximate positions of his two adversaries, he then turned to a more practical concern: he still lacked the strength to exact his revenge! Even if Lan'uruis possessed only Sequence 7 or 8, the immense advantages he gained would make him no easy opponent—indeed, his skill in deception was well-known, and it was entirely normal for him to outmaneuver and defeat stronger foes who were even more formidable than himself. As for Inz. Zangwei, he was even more formidable: a half-deity of Sequence 4, wielding a terrifying "Tier 0" seal artifact. While my own journey across dimensions still harbors certain secrets, those secrets clearly have not yet translated into tangible strength, and I may not see any significant transformation for some time to come. The only viable paths forward are to steadily raise my own sequence and to gather powerful magical artifacts—two parallel efforts that must both be pursued with equal dedication. As his thoughts swirled, Caine decided to make an additional divination. After carefully choosing his words, he wrote solemnly: "My hope to grow stronger." Gently setting down the manifesting steel pen that had appeared, Caine leaned back against the chair's backrest and closed his eyes, silently reciting while entering a meditative state of deep sleep. In the hazy world, he once again saw the scene he had just witnessed—the river, the wharf, the chimneys, the crowds, the palace complex, the various machines, and the Gothic bell towers—seeing once more the capital city of the Roon Kingdom, Bekland! Then, the scene shifted, and he saw a majestic mountain piercing through the clouds, an imposing and ancient palace, the immense stone throne at the highest point, engraved with dull gems and gold, and the eerie vertical pupils composed of countless mysterious symbols. The scene shattered silently, and Caine slowly sat up, gently tapping the edge of the bronze long table. "Bekland has my hope of growing stronger..." "Was the second scene referring to the main peak of the Honaquis Mountains, and the treasure bequeathed by the Antigonous family?" "That 'strange pupil'—a series of countless enigmatic symbols from the Antigonus family's notes, which contaminated the 'Fate Puppet' and was passed on to me—is the key to unlocking everything..." Thoughts flowed through his mind. Cline decided against rushing immediately to the Honaquis Mountains; the hidden dangers there were so profound that even a sequence-4 half-god might not be able to withstand them. So, he would go to Beckland instead. Cline sighed, made his decision, wrapped his spirit around himself, and simulated the sensation of falling, leaving the mysterious space above the gray mist. Upon returning to the real world, he stepped out of his hiding place and walked toward the grave of Dune Smith. He gazed deeply at the photograph and inscription on the tombstone, then slowly drew a crimson moon on his chest before turning toward the gardens beyond. As a night watcher who periodically patrols Raphael's cemetery, he was well-acquainted with the routines of the caretakers and the surrounding environment. He moved effortlessly through the quiet, serene area, leaving no disturbance behind, following the sunken earth path and sheltered by the shade of trees, steadily heading toward the city center of Tingen. The night was so peaceful, the crimson moon so dreamlike, that Klein walked alone, his thoughts drifting freely like a wild horse, expanding without bounds—sometimes pondering his plans for vengeance, sometimes recalling the captain's unreliable memory, and the quiet, poignant undercurrent hidden beneath the lightheartedness of old Neil. Unaware of the passage of time, Klein gradually wandered into the nearest streets, turning corner after corner. It wasn't until he fully regained his composure and reestablished his focus that he realized it had been two hours since he began. He found himself standing on the street of Narcissus, directly across from the home shared by himself, his brother, and his sister. Instinctively, Kline returned here. Taking a step forward with a touch of delight, he suddenly paused, offering a wistful smile and self-mocking murmurs: "If I were to knock on the door now, Melissa would probably faint right there... Bensen would be so nervous he'd start losing his hair, and would then do his best to calm me down, invoking the name of the shaggy baboon..." Shaking his head, Kline gazed deeply at the familiar door and walked toward the Iron Cross Street. That's fine, that's fine... My future endeavors won't involve them anymore... The pensions from the Night Watch team and the police department will surely provide them with a stable middle-class life, even if Melissa doesn't find work and Benson remains unemployed. Silent for a while longer, Caine began to feel his own weariness. Yet, as a "dead" man, he had nothing beyond the clothes he wore, his yellow crystal pendant, and his Azk copper whistle—no gold pounds, no soules, no pence. Should I blow the whistle and write a letter to Mr. Azk, urging him to come and assist me? "Klein chuckled wearily," "Alright, let's not contact him for now. Perhaps Ins. Zangwei is still observing him quietly, and we'll reach out when the time is right. After all, as a 'creature of the old world'—a being who has lived through countless lifetimes and centuries—he should be able to understand the concept of resurrection. Well, tonight isn't too cold; I'll just find a place to sleep for now, and tomorrow morning I'll head to the Tinggen branch of the Beckland Bank to withdraw the money from my non-named account." ——Ever since the recent events have piled up, he hasn't had the chance yet to carry out the follow-up experiments for the 'sacrifice.' The 300 gold pounds in his non-named account remain untouched. "This will cover my expenses for quite some time yet... I'll buy another newspaper tomorrow to check the day of the week... The absence of any new requests from Miss Justice indicates that I haven't missed the gathering..." While thinking these thoughts, Caine found a sheltered spot, sat down, removed his coat, draped it over himself, and leaned against the wall to fall asleep. Not long after, he was suddenly roused and saw a police officer holding a short staff. The officer's shoulder rank bore only a single "V"—a junior rank, the lowest level. Caine glanced at him and confirmed his identity. The officer spoke firmly: "You can't sleep here!" "The streets and parks aren't meant for lazy, idle wanderers who don't want to work!" "That's what the Poor Law states!" Ah, yes. Caine paused, startled, but, mindful of his own status, chose not to argue. He took up his coat and resumed walking through the streets, continuing until dawn. Soon, he lowered his head and entered the Beckett Landtingen branch to withdraw 200 pounds in cash using his pre-set "password"; the remaining one-third of his deposit he left in the account as a precaution—when writing the ancient Hermes incantation as a password, there was no doubt that Klein had heard the "prayer" clearly. Next, he spent a total of 38 pounds to purchase two suits, two shirts, two pairs of trousers, two pairs of leather boots, two ties, four pairs of socks, and two sets of double-breasted wool coats for winter, two plain sweaters, and two thick pants, plus a walking cane, a money folder, and a leather suitcase. After all this, Klein checked into a hotel to bathe and change clothes, then took a hired carriage directly to the steam train station in Landtingen to avoid encountering acquaintances, and bought a newspaper en route to confirm that today was Sunday. It takes about four hours to travel by steam train from Tinggen to Bekeeland. First-class tickets cost three-quarters of a pound, or 15 shillings, second-class tickets cost 10 shillings, or half a pound. Third-class seats, which are very crowded and of poor condition, are much more affordable at just 5 shillings. After some thought, Klein bought a second-class ticket for the 2 p.m. departure. Holding his ticket and carrying his suitcase, he settled into a random seat in the waiting hall, still only just past 9 a.m. He was grateful that the Kingdom of Ruhn did not yet have a strict household registration system—three months’ worth of water, gas, and rent bills would suffice to prove one’s identity, and purchasing a steam train ticket was even simpler: just pay. Sitting in the waiting hall, thinking about leaving Tinggen later that afternoon for the capital, Bekeeland, Klein suddenly felt a sense of emptiness. He remembered his sister, who lived like their mother, and his brother, who loved telling dry, sarcastic jokes. He recalled the scene where all three of them were so full from eating that they lay motionless in their seats, none of them wanting to move. One by one, Klein suddenly laughed—his laughter somewhat strained—because he thought of Melissa, the "doll" who always moved like a turtle, and of Bensen’s sadly receding hairline. He suddenly felt a strong urge to look once more at his brother and sister. Only now did Klein understand why he hadn’t chosen an earlier train, opting instead for the one departing at two in the afternoon. He picked up his leather suitcase, hurried out of the waiting hall, and took a hired carriage back to the street of Narcissus. Then, he hid in the shadow of the house across the way, gazing at his own front door, several times trying to cross the wide street, but unable to make it. Klein stood there, stunned, and for a moment, he felt completely homeless—just as he had when he first crossed over. Suddenly, he saw the door of the house open and Melissa and Benson stepping out. One wore a black dress with a black lace hat; the other had a black shirt, black jacket, black trousers, black coat, and a black hat, both expressions equally blank, both subdued. Melissa had grown thinner... how wan Benson looked... Clain felt a pang in his chest, opened his mouth, but could utter neither of their names. Unconsciously, he followed Benson and Melissa toward the nearest municipal square, where tents had been set up and a new circus was performing. Benson bought tickets and led Melissa inside, forcing a smile: "This circus is quite well known." Melissa nodded slightly without much expression: "Hmm." Suddenly, she slipped on her foot, her ankle slightly twisted, and was about to fall. Klein, who had entered with the tickets, opened his mouth to reach for his sister, but only managed to retract his hand, instinctively extended, and stood helplessly at a distance, amidst the flowing crowd. Bensen was startled and couldn't intervene in time, yet Melissa steadied herself quickly, pressed her lips together, and said nothing. At that moment, the clowns began to arrive—some balancing on moving wagon wheels without falling, others lying on massive balls, and others throwing tennis balls into the sky before catching them with comically awkward gestures. Melissa watched these performances with a calm expression, as if the clowns were not there at all. Bensen tried several times, shouting his appreciation, but failed to stir his sister's emotions, and gradually his own tone softened. Klein pressed his lips tightly, watching from afar, wanting to move closer yet hesitating. Suddenly, he reached into his pocket for his wallet and had an idea. Bensen and Melissa continued forward, silently observing the various acts. A while later, they saw a clown painted in various colors of oil—red, yellow, white—approaching. First, he tossed a series of tennis balls into the air. Then, when people's attention had been drawn to the sky, he seemingly materialized a bouquet of Spanish chrysanthemums from nowhere. The bouquet appeared before Melissa and Benson, its golden hue symbolizing joy. Melissa and Benson looked at the clown across from them with a slightly puzzled expression. The clown's face, adorned in a vibrant mix of red, yellow, and white, bore a high, exaggerated, comically cheerful smile that seemed fixed in place. (End of Part One) (End of Chapter) 215. Summary and Leave of Absence for Part One First, thank you all for your consistent support through the rewards and subscriptions since the series went live. I originally planned to share a thank-you note at the end of June, but since Part One was drawing to a close, I decided to combine the message and waited until today. This person, by their thirties, has seen a significant decline in energy—especially mental sharpness. Back in the early days of magic, my peak was five chapters a day, around fifteen thousand words, fueled like I was on a surge of adrenaline. But from the later stages of my life, my output has settled at roughly three chapters a day. This is even considering that, aside from sleeping and eating, I've been constantly thinking about and crafting storylines. As a result, I've developed abnormal mental states such as anxiety and depression—thankfully, I've managed to adjust in time. During the martial cultivation period, my body frequently fell ill, requiring a hospital stay of about fifteen days. Thus, I've had to compromise with my physical and mental condition, writing one chapter in the morning and one in the afternoon, resting in the evening to maintain health. I keep two backup drafts ready to ensure timely updates and reduce anxiety. Only when my condition is particularly good and my thoughts flow smoothly do I consider writing three chapters. The June updates—let me be honest—the life of this dog is entirely thanks to my accumulated drafts. For an entire month, I managed to write three chapters on only four days; the rest of the time, I relied solely on my stored drafts. Eventually, those drafts dwindled down to just two, hitting the bare minimum. Honestly, I can only say with a straight face that we're going to focus on quality now. Regarding character development, well, I won't go into too much detail—otherwise, I might end up being sent a knife blade. Of course, there are certainly aspects that fall short. First, when "gatherings," "events," "practice sessions," and "daily routines" begin to take on a cyclical, fixed rhythm, my sense of writing tends to wane, and I believe the reading experience does too. So, I've experimented with shifting the timeline—initially, the transition felt a bit stiff, but gradually it improved. Second, after Old Neil's passing, the overall tone shifted noticeably toward a more somber, grayish hue, and when I then returned to depict everyday life, it felt off-kilter. As a result, I've had to cut certain pre-planned scenes and accelerate the pacing. As for the mysterious elements, I originally planned for six to eight volumes, each with a volume title drawn from the sequence of magical potions. These don't necessarily have to align with the "Seer" path of Xiao Ke, but rather should resonate with the theme or metaphor of each volume. Finally, after the first part concludes, as per custom, we'll take a break, tidy up the outline, identify the entry point for the second part, and refine the overall plot. We'll rest for about one and a half days, resuming updates on the day after tomorrow at noon. Also, I'll update the "0–08" section on Weixin Gongzhong account shortly—this content won't be included under the work-related updates, as I'd like to avoid overwhelming new readers, so they don't lose half the joy of the first part. Recently, I'm planning to establish a dedicated section in the book review area for the "Seals"—any thoughts or suggestions you have about the seals are welcome, and I may incorporate them. Please try to avoid directly copying the SCP Foundation's examples. By the way, for the second part, the "Faceless Ones"—keep an eye out! And, after self-praise and self-criticism, don't we also need to give each other a little monthly ticket encouragement?