This... within that strangely quiet stillness, the first thought that flashed to Derek Berg upon regaining awareness was to save people. Yet the two guards sandwiched between him showed no reaction at all, as though everything that had just happened had been merely his own imagination. "There's someone calling for help," the young Derek reminded the two Dawn Knights. The tall knight walking on his left, clad in silver full armor, responded calmly and evenly: "Don't be deceived." "That's just a normal reaction from extraordinary beings going through a moment of instability," he said. Is that true? Perhaps he simply wasn't ready to let go—let the instability spiral into monsterhood—and thus was screaming out for help... Derek thought, a touch of sadness stirring within him. As his emotions shifted, the phantom hum and rumble around him grew more distinct. After walking a few more steps in silence, the Dawn Knight pointed to a door on his left: "You'll stay here for the time being. We'll bring you food and remedies on schedule." As he spoke, he produced a small bottle of iron-black hue. This type of bottle was woven from the residual fibrous material of the black face grass, the chief food of the Silver City, and when it came into contact with liquid, it formed a thin film, creating a waterproof seal. Dairek took the potion and drank it in one go, feeling a refreshing coolness slide down his esophagus and into his stomach. Instantly, he became calm, the wobbling scenes before him stabilized, and the phantom sounds around him gradually faded. Clunk! With the iron door closing and locking behind him, Dairek entered his own room. The first thing he saw was a candle flickering with a soft yellow glow, followed by the clear recognition of a low bed, a chair, and a square table. Beyond that, there was nothing else—yet the walls, including the door, were intricately carved and adorned with complex, mysterious symbols and markings that seemed to form a complete seal. Derek's emotions were also dampened by the potion; he sat down without a single question, then lay upon the bed. No one knew how long it had been before he suddenly heard a sharp, vigorous pounding at the door—yet not from outside his room, but from the room next to it. Derek turned over and sat up, listening carefully, and within the rhythm of the impacts, he heard soft, piercing sobs of grief. His hair stood on end, and he leapt to his feet, assuming a strong defensive stance. At that moment, the pounding spread across the metal wall separating the two rooms, creating one after another of slow, dented bulges. Just as Derek was about to invoke the holy light, a sudden flash of brightness illuminated his space—his entire room seemed to have been transported outward, coinciding with a lightning strike. The pounding from the adjacent room ceased instantly, and the base of the tower returned to quiet. This was not absolute silence—rather, it was a quiet where footsteps could ripple out far and echo for a long time. Derek was speculating about what had befallen the extraordinary figure across the hall, when the metallic wall on the other side was struck again. Tap, tap, tap! It seemed someone was curling their fingers and gently tapping. "Who?" Derek raised his voice, asking with a touch of alarm. The tapping immediately ceased, and after a few seconds, a deep, yet notably aged voice came through, somewhat muffled: "Ah, so you're a young fellow." "Who are you?" Derek stepped closer to the wall, pressing his ear against the cold metal. The aged voice chuckled warmly: "You've been near the one who nearly lost control several times—today, though, he's finally gone." Did he truly lose control? Derek asked through the wall. "Then he's now a monster?" "No," the voice replied. "Not a monster. A corpse. The items here have sealed him." "The weathered voice sighed, 'I've been here for forty-two years. Yes, the guards have told me—there have been so many similar cases.' Darien asked in surprise, 'You've been here for forty-two years?' Normally, the breakdown of a special being unfolds in three stages: first, early signs appear—such as hearing or seeing things that aren't there; second, the body and mind begin to lose control, with occasional episodes of terrifying or bizarre behavior; and third, complete collapse, transforming the being into a monstrous entity. The transition from the second to the third stage is often rapid—sometimes, just after the onset of symptoms, one witnesses a once-normal special being transform into a monster dwelling in the depths of darkness. Therefore, a special being in the second stage, once brought to the lower levels of the tower, either stabilizes through treatments such as potions or rituals and leaves within a year or so, or quickly progresses to a state of breakdown and is removed and purified. It is simply impossible for anyone to remain here for forty-two years." The extraordinary ones in the first stage might only need a few days, or perhaps a couple of weeks, to eliminate the early signs and heal their departure. The hoarse voice chuckled immediately: "Indeed, I never expected to stay here for forty-two years." "I have shown no signs of losing control, yet they consider me quite dangerous, always on the verge of becoming a monster." Dariq furrowed his brows, curious and asked: "What exactly happened forty-two years ago?" At that time, his parents had not yet been born. The hoarse voice paused thoughtfully: "I once served as the leader of an exploration team." "We discovered a ruined city halfway between our camp and the Silver City—by our own pace of travel." "That city was similar to our Silver City, clearly bearing the marks of a giant civilization, and it worshipped a deity—the All-Seeing, All-Powerful Creator of all things." "Unfortunately, they were destroyed, long before we arrived—many, many years ago." "Something similar, Darike wasn't unfamiliar with. He immediately speculated, "You've encountered some strange occurrences there, which is why you're believed to be prone to sudden breakdowns, aren't you?" "Almost exactly so," the elderly voice chuckled. "After reaching the core region, we found that the city was attempting to reshape its faith, creating deities it imagined could save it. Yet this proved futile—those very statues of the gods were destroyed, scattered all over the ground." His tone suddenly grew serious: "But, but, we met a person there." "This is the first living being the Silver City has encountered in over two thousand years!" "Indeed, beyond the Silver City, deep within that endless darkness, there are still people alive!" Darike instinctively asked, "Did you bring him back to the Silver City?" "The older voice came after a pause: 'Don't you feel the tremor?' 'For years, our city of Silver has been exploring its surroundings, seeking other humans like ourselves—only recently, twenty-four years ago, did we finally succeed!' This was indeed a profoundly moving revelation. Yet—yet—I often see Miss Justice, Mr. The Hanged Man, and hear about the kingdom of Luon and the seven divine beings. Isn't it obvious that beyond Silver City, there are people, city-states, and nations? Dariq scratched his head, feigning surprise with a lack of experience: 'I—I didn't notice that just now.' 'Indeed, it's astonishing—how could there be anyone beyond the people of Silver City!' '...' The older voice remained silent for a while before adding, 'Has the education in Silver City truly deteriorated so much?' "Before Deric could speak, he sighed and continued on his own: 'We had invited him to visit the City of Silver with great caution, and after some consideration, he agreed.' 'We monitored him and escorted him all the way, but near the time he reached the City of Silver, he suddenly vanished.' 'We searched everywhere around, and couldn't find him at all. Once we returned to the City of Silver, one after another, my team members began to lose their minds—every single one! All of them!' 'The Council of Six suspected that we had all been contaminated by something, that he wasn't human at all, but a demon, a monster. So they confined me here, checking on my condition periodically, yet never telling me what was wrong, nor allowing me to leave.' Deric exhaled heavily. 'Do you remember what he looked like?' "...He was ordinary in appearance, with no distinctive features. His clothing was similar to ours, except that I remember he was male—otherwise, I can't recall anything about him at all. However, the elders should be able to see him clearly through their extraordinary means, directly from the vague, fragmented memories I have." The elderly voice recalled the details for several seconds, speaking with a slightly painful tone. Dairek casually asked, "Did he mention his name? Did he share any information about his background with you?" The elderly voice responded with a soft "Hmm." "He told us his name was..." Pausing briefly, he added, "Amon." In the poorest areas of the east, an ordinary bedroom can accommodate ten people. The journalists were amazed by the precise distinctions in rights—such as floor space, daytime usage, and nighttime usage. Poverty does not discriminate between men and women; in these areas, people of different genders are often forced to live in close quarters, with disputes so serious that they could go to court. Whether male or female, residents face constant threats of violence. “…dirty, crowded, and foul-smelling—this is the most immediate impression… I suspect each of them suffers from serious parasitic infestations… In the most dilapidated neighborhoods, since the houses were built decades ago and were never connected to a proper sewer system, feces, urine, and vomit are scattered everywhere. Each house has only one shared bathroom, or one public toilet per entire street…” “They work tirelessly until utterly exhausted, yet can only barely afford to eat, with no savings at all. As soon as they lose their jobs for just a few days, they sink into a crisis from which they cannot recover on their own… I believe, as long as they are given a little hope, they would not even fear death…” Michael wrote in his field notes. Moreover, the homeless men driven out at night, wandering like the dead through the streets, the women standing motionless at street corners or inside bars, and the wine-drinkers who indulged in heavy drinking, often resorting to violence, showing no interest in the future at all—left a profound impression on the journalist. He grew increasingly silent.