The flavor of the wolffish canned goods was truly intense—not just unpleasant, but revolting, almost like biochemical gas! Kline crouched in the corner, steadying himself for over a dozen seconds before regaining composure. At that moment, he had underestimated the odor of the wolffish canned goods and failed to respond effectively, not immediately deploying his "paper man substitute" or creating an invisible air conduit to simulate underwater breathing. Now, he deeply appreciated how wise the decision had been to never open a wolffish can in public. Inhaling slowly, Kline exhaled, rose steadily, picked up his luggage, and walked step by step toward the dock. His first impressions of the city Nas were: first, that most buildings were white and extensively constructed from stone; second, that it was not too far north, yet the climate was quite cold—despite being April, temperatures hovered only around a few degrees Celsius; and third, that there were many whaling houses, where massive humpbacks were disassembled into skin, meat, fat, bones, and "gray amber." The latter two—serve as skirt supports for formal banquets and are premium spices, whether used as incense or incorporated into perfumes—belong to luxuries accessible only to the wealthy and noble. As for the skin, meat, and fat of the white whales, each has its own distinct uses: the skin can be fashioned into garments, the meat into food, and the fat refined into oils. On Nas and in the Galgas Islands, whale cooking has developed a unique cultural tradition, with diverse techniques and renowned restaurants. While passing by one whale-harvesting station after another, Kline observed numerous fat sections being transported by cargo carts toward a nearby factory belching black smoke—a hallmark Galgas facility where the whales' fat is refined into whale oil, bottled and stored, serving as exceptional fuel and vital for certain industrial processes. Quite distinctive... Kline exhaled a plume of white vapor, pausing to watch. After leaving the harbor and entering the city, the constant sounds of Fasakese speech reached his ears. Klein, who had long been fluent in the ancient Futhark language—the root tongue of the northern continent—was well acquainted with the speech of the northern barbarians. He turned his head upon hearing the sound and looked over, seeing a crowd of tall, golden-haired citizens carrying banners parading through the streets. The banner at the forefront clearly read their demands: "Oppose the overhunting of white whales—we need sustainable development!" Pfft—Klein nearly lost his composure; he was certain that the concept of "sustainable development" was ninety-nine percent invented by Emperor Rosel. Turning his gaze to the banners behind, he gained a clearer understanding of the parade's purpose: "We hunt whales for survival, not for pleasure!" "Humans are no nobler than white whales!" "The greedy demons must leave Nars!" At that moment, a group of police officers in gray uniforms, wielding shields, long pikes, and clubs, blocked the advance of the procession. After a brief exchange of words, the scene quickly turned tense. Many young people in the procession tossed open cans of wolffish, and others threw out bottles stuffed with cloth strips, now alight, while the police no longer restrained themselves, pushing back with shields and clubbing with batons. Klein clutched his nose, glanced at the flames spreading across the street, and noticed that most pedestrians showed no reaction—only a few remained onlookers, while the rest continued on their way to their destinations as usual. It seems this is something that often happens in Nys... Has the procession gradually turned into a confrontation? Indeed, the Fasak Empire lives up to its reputation. Klein mumbled a few remarks, then walked past the street and checked into a hotel at random. He still registered under the name Germain Sparo, with no concern that the reports about "Tracy, the Patient of the Disease" might cause the Church of the Night Goddess to treat him as an "Anonymous," since he had no intention of seeking out the mermaids who had become followers of the goddess along the whale-hunting routes. Instead, he intended to head straight for the most hazardous region at the easternmost edge of Sunya Sea. As for security concerns on the Galgas Islands, there was no need for him to worry at all—these lands were a colony of the Vaskar Empire, and the only legally recognized religious body was the War God Church, which held a strong animosity toward the Night Goddess Church. Originally, Kain had worried that he might encounter numerous "Faceless Ones"—enough to meet seven or eight just for a meal of whale meat at a neighboring restaurant—yet after careful reflection, he rationally ruled out this possibility. First, the exceptional individuals who follow the "Seer" path are rare—those surpassing Sequence 8,克莱恩 has only encountered three so far. Second, Sequence 6 exceptionalists are not common, even in this pirate haven; those with a bounty of 5,000 pounds are truly rare. Third, the "Faceless Ones" are well-prepared: they either board whaling ships to seek the mermaids, begin to venerate the goddess, sink to the ocean floor, or take on the role of researchers, or they possess exceptional intelligence and successfully advance, securing their safe departure—few of them remain in the Galgas Islands for long. Throughout Nars, aside from myself, there are no more than two "Faceless Ones." Klein adjusted his clothing, didn't immediately reach out to his "Star General," Gautheria, and with a pleasant mood, stepped onto the street, following the culinary recommendations he'd heard during his journey, setting out to find delicious food. White whale slices, fried whale steaks, whole-skinned whale oil, roasted whale meat… Klein moved like a true traveler, sampling different dishes across three restaurants. Quite good—distinctive, with a pleasant fishiness that wasn’t overpowering, actually quite appetizing… Hmph. Klein covered his mouth, then stepped out onto the street, where the streetlights were sparse, but the lights from the buildings on either side were bright, somewhat easing the night’s darkness. A cold wind blew in from the sea, and Klein raised his coat collar. The sapphire cuff pin, once glowing, now settled deeply into his wrist, its light dimmed. Compared to a ring, a cuff pin better matched the persona of Germain Spalro, so Klein didn’t fault the "craftsman" for altering his original request. The flute that had solidified the ritual for summoning spirits of the spiritual realm perfectly aligned with Klein’s intentions—capable of lasting for over a year and a half, with a sleek, silvery-white finish, elegant and refined. When he received the recorder, Crane had imagined a scene of a wildly passionate and strong adventurer, standing by the ship's rail on a quiet night beneath a deep, serene moonlight, playing a mournful melody on the instrument. Unfortunately, the recorder emitted no sound at all—it could only summon Renette Tinihcor. With a barely perceptible shake of his head, Crane steadily walked through the vast, cold streets of Nars, eventually reaching the inn. The next morning, after adjusting his sleep, he arrived at Gray Amber Street and entered a grocery store named "The Passionate Whale Dance." Gazing at the white-haired store owner, who stood head and shoulders above him, Crane lightly tapped the counter with his fingers and said in the Fussack language, "I'd like a barrel of whale oil." The owner's face was etched with deep lines, yet he wore only a white whale-skin coat, and the subtle patterns on the fabric possessed a singular grace. "How much?" the owner asked, still taking large sips of his strong liquor, paying no attention to the disordered arrangement of the merchandise. "One and a quarter barrels." "Klein responded according to the agreed-upon signal. The boss slowed his drinking, pressing the brown-green bottle steadily onto the counter: "Shall I pour you a glass? The purest Nibpos—every woman in the hearts of every Fussac man!" Nibpos, a distilled wine native to Fussac made from potatoes or grains, is renowned for its high alcohol content and fiery, invigorating character. It is notably more affordable than Sunia's blood wine and thus favored by ordinary Fussac folk. "No thanks," Klein shook his head. The boss chuckled: "What kind of man doesn't drink Nibpos? "Is there no man left in Roon?" He took another slow sip and asked, "Who introduced you?" "Miss Gertmuse," Klein said, naming a name with a blend of styles. The boss suddenly exhaled sharply, and the rich aroma of alcohol immediately filled the room. He swayed to his feet, as if a white bear performing in a circus. After giving instructions to the staff, he led Caine all the way to a small room on the second floor of the back warehouse. "Let me see... let me see..." the owner mumbled, crouching down. Caine managed to suppress the twitching of his cheeks, recalling a well-known joke circulating throughout the kingdom of Luon: "Question: When are the men of Fsaak sober? Answer: When they're still in their mother's womb." After a while, the owner produced a clear crystal sphere. Then, the slightly tipsy "White Bear" turned his back to Caine, gently rubbing the sphere with both hands while muttering an awkward, ancient Hermes dialect. The room gradually grew dimmer, and all the shadowed corners deepened, as though radiating a peculiar allure. The crystal sphere quickly brightened, revealing the silhouette of a woman dressed in a classical black robe. She had a delicate oval face, pale skin, and deep black eyes with a hint of purple, exuding an air of mystery. Now I've finally seen the true appearance of a Tarot Circle member... Kline stepped forward and took the crystal ball. The "Hermit" Gauthier, facing the crystal ball, likewise clearly saw the "World" on this side: dark hair, brown eyes, slender features with sharp, defined contours. She paused, her gaze fixed, and after a brief hesitation, opened her mouth: "Germain Spalro?" She was struck by how much stronger and more accomplished this Tarot Circle member was than she had anticipated—the "World" was none other than Germain Spalro, a mad pirate commander! My earlier assessments of the "World" were entirely sound—reserved, profound, experienced, and resolute—so I wasn't exactly surprised. "Yes, Madam Gauthier," Kline indicated that his boss should leave the room. Only when the room had grown profoundly still did the "Star General" Gauthier speak again: "I'm curious—how did you recognize me? I've been very careful throughout the gathering." At that moment, when the "World" requested a private conversation, the very first words out of her mouth—"Star Above the Stars"—startled her quite a bit. Precisely because of this, she decided to accept the "World's" commission. "Secret," Caine smiled politely. Not wanting to make the other person think of Mr. The Fool, he added calmly: "Your eyes are quite distinctive." "Can I interpret that as a compliment?" Gauthier smiled, somewhat enlightened. She had assumed that the "World" had merely suspected she was the "Star Above the Stars" based on details like her eyes, but wasn't certain—so she used her words to probe, and her own reaction confirmed the truth to him. Caine said nothing further, but instead asked: "When shall we depart?"