Audrey and the others in the audience watched the scene unfold as if witnessing a grand magic performance—so astonishing that for a moment, no one seemed to know what had actually happened. A few seconds later, the scene turned chaotic, with cries rising and falling as the royal guards rushed up to the platform. Members of the cabinet and the upper house nobility either instinctively sought shelter or bravely followed the guards to inspect the situation. Audrey stared in mild astonishment, not overly surprised—only finding it slightly unreal: those matters and individuals given special attention by "The World" were now clearly under the gaze of "The Fool," and thus far, "The Fool's" intentions had never failed to materialize. This was the will of the gods. In other municipal squares across Beckland, Melissa, Bensen, and others also heard the explosion and then noticed that the king's speech had abruptly ceased. After a brief silence, the crowd gradually grew restless, murmuring and exchanging whispers among themselves. A growing panic for the unknown and the future slowly settled in their minds. ........... Outside Beckland, within the "First Site." King George III's consciousness had grown increasingly hazy, feeling an overwhelming, wildly frantic consciousness surging forth like a volcanic eruption, transforming his body and distorting the surrounding realities. Glimpses of a vast black throne appeared, and he saw himself seated upon it, wearing the imperial crown, majestic and surveying the world with regal authority, equal among the gods. He reached out, striving to grasp this future, yet countless curses and relentless attacks—originating from unknown sources—fell upon him, preventing any contact. "No..." His hands, which had once been solid and defined, now became translucent and dissolved mid-air, his consciousness utterly torn asunder, his body completely transformed. In the midst of this collapse, Thriss, already reduced to a mass of blood and flesh, was embraced by countless long, thick serpentine hair, spreading her shadow across the realm of order. Thunderous! Outside the "First Site," the forest suddenly collapsed inward, lifting vast amounts of dust that swirled through the air like the densest fog. Boom! A colossal depression formed in that area, connecting to the Tassok River and drawing in a rushing flow of water. Boom! The sky darkened rapidly, enveloped in an endless storm brimming with terrifying power. On the more distant peaks, two figures watched the scene in silence, neither speaking. One wore a robe of pure white—the "Immortal Mage" Catriona. The other, cloaked with a hood, faced a pallor as if drained of blood—the "Red Angel" spirit. After a pause of two seconds, Catriona, the "White Saint," gently exhaled: "We sought her out because the Primordial told us she has a strong tendency toward self-destruction." The "Red Angel" spirit listened silently, her expression slightly distorting: "I know now who has been interfering with my responses." Katharina thought of one answer after another, but couldn't settle on any, and ultimately chose silence. The "Red Angel" spirit spoke slowly, uttering a single word: "Night." Pausing, it suppressed its emotions and added, "Otherwise, I would have found Trilischik long ago." Without waiting for Katharina's response, the "Red Angel" turned and departed. His strength drawn from the past was rapidly waning! The beautiful, hidden angel had already reached the limits maintained by Cline and, after evolving into a singular, extraordinary world, naturally vanished. Within the half-collapsed ruins, Cline stood alone, facing the arms of the "Divine Calamity" Seara, the ancient Hermes, the projection of Emperor Roscel, the projection of William Augustus I, the projection of the Angel of Light, and an indistinct thunder that seemed to point nowhere—each of them capable of easily ending him. To summon the historical rift images of angelic rank would not be accomplished in mere attempts, even a few times over. Without hesitation, Cline's body momentarily became translucent, attempting to retreat into the historical rift. At that very moment, a vortex suddenly emerged within the gray-white mist visible to him—composed of countless transparent worms, extending slender, smooth tendrils outward in every direction. Chalatu! The true form of Chalatu had appeared! He has been waiting in the fissures of history for Caine all along! Now, Caine's entry into the fissures is irrevocable—he can only watch himself drawn into the vortex, pulled toward the center! He longs to snap his fingers, igniting another thousand paper cranes, yet no flame rises at all. Charathu, having already tested his strength, now fully understands Caine's reserves. Through the weight of his own dignity and the subtle mastery of his powers, he is no longer able to command the flames. Moreover, Caine's intuition tells him that the destination of the "transport" has been mysteriously linked to the vortex formed by the translucent, writhing worm. He cannot break free, nor does he have time to summon sufficient reinforcements. The Seer never performs unprepared acts. The vortex, formed by the translucent worm, rotates gently, welcoming Caine's "visit," while the slender, smooth tendrils advance toward him with an unstoppable grace. They wound themselves around Caine, yet they only caught hold of an ancient book with a deep-colored cover. A streak of blood remained faintly visible on the book's surface. *The Travels of Grolle!* At the most dangerous moment, Caine deliberately broke his finger, allowing blood to flow onto the surface of *The Travels of Grolle*, and then he vanished into the book's world, momentarily escaping the deadly trap laid by Chalatu. As soon as he entered the world within the book, Caine immediately reached out and grasped forward, pulling from the historical fissure a secret figure he had only briefly possessed. Hewen Lambis! —Caine had previously experimented with this method, knowing that true historical projections could be summoned here, since this was the "Source Citadel," and the world of the book naturally responded to the "Fool" without obstruction. Of course, if that failed, Caine had an alternative: he could summon "Justice" Audrey, who existed within the history of the book's world. In short, he needed a mid-to-high sequence member from the "audience" path to carry him into the vast ocean of collective unconsciousness, into the city of miracles, Leviathid, and into the Hall of Honesty. The sooner, the better—because Cline had no idea how long it would take Chalatou, a Sequence 1, to master the secret of The Grozsel Journey, nor whether Chalatou might forcibly descend into the world of the book. He had to act with every passing moment! As he moved through the vibrant murals, a voice resonated within him, echoing throughout the hall: "Here, the success rate of summoning '0–08' should be quite high... Using it to depict or inscribe something at the far end of the mural on the left—this could influence the real world... By arranging it strategically, I can cause Charatou to make a mistake, thus creating a safe path for me to escape... No, better yet—have Amun manifest and join the fray, drawing Charatou's attention. That would be easier to achieve... That explains why the goddess has 'lured' Amun to Beckland... The mural on the right represents the world of the book, and with '0–08', I can draw a temporary gate there, allowing me to exit..." While rushing forward, Caine continuously reached out with his right hand toward the empty space ahead. Five times, ten times, twenty times—when Caine once again drew strength from his past self, his right hand suddenly grew heavy, and he pulled forth a slightly dimmed classical quill. "0–08!" The next instant, Caine reached the half-massive pillar—so thick that only a few people could embrace it—bearing clear signs of temporal wear, once the throne of the "Dragon of Imagination," Angerwid. Caine circled the stone pillar and arrived at the end of the mural. He lifted the feather pen, "0–08," ready to begin writing. Previously, he had not experimented with using this pen here, fearing that any unexpected outcome might disturb Amun's brother and thus reveal his plans to prevent George III from becoming the "Black Emperor." But at this very moment, he no longer needed to worry about such matters—he could now focus entirely on weaving the developments he needed. Suddenly, the pen, "0–08," which was about to begin writing, vanished—before even reaching its limit! What on earth? Caine was startled. He immediately noticed that the phrase had not been amplified in the Hall of Honesty, and the surroundings remained profoundly quiet. Inspired, Caine slowly turned his body, and there, where once stood the weathered stone pillar, now rose a cross towering over a hundred meters high. Before the cross, a vast, indistinct human figure stood firm, bearing the weight of all, gazing with compassion upon the spirits. In the interior of the Hall of Truth, a row of black, back-supported chairs had been added, yet only one person was present—praying. This prayerful figure sat in the center of the first row, dressed in a simple white robe, with a light golden beard covering the lower half of his face. His hands were clasped before a silver cross pendant at his chest, his expression warm and serene. Adam. Adam, the Head of the Twilight Monks, the King of Angels. Caine had no recollection of when He had arrived. At that moment, Adam lifted his head, revealing eyes clear as a child's. He rose slowly, speaking calmly: "King George III has passed, Roon has been severely struck, and Indris can no longer remain a spectator—deciding now to launch an offensive, this great war has truly begun to sweep across the world. "Do you accept this outcome?"