Hearing Caine's reply, Amon smiled and shook his head, reaching out to open the door as he casually asked, "How did you come up with such a title?" "It has to be connected to one's own identity while also avoiding being locked in by the automatic responses of prayers—such titles are not common." Seeing that his position was now exposed, Caine had little need to conceal further, and he also hoped to seize any potential opportunities through such a conversation. At the same time, his thoughts raced through his mind, pondering how he might save himself: "I am deeply 'hosted'—there are certain thoughts about Amun that would be unfavorable to Him, easily detectable and sensed by Him... Today is Saturday, and Monday is approaching. If the 'Knight of Cups' doesn't show any significant signs and simply ends the Tarot gathering, the other members will inevitably feel anxious, uneasy, and puzzled. Among them, the one who holds the connection to the 'World' will surely attempt to summon a messenger to inquire about the reason. As soon as the messenger approaches me, she will detect Amun's presence. Then, using the 'Reappearance of Yesterday' incantation, she can restore my condition to its peak, and with Amun's full angelic strength, he will have a strong chance of rescuing me from his current form. Right now, my most crucial task is simply to persevere—survive these next two days! Ah, and if Amun currently cannot seize my fate, why did He attempt a peaceful negotiation just now?" Even if I agreed, He still wouldn't let me go to the misty heights where I could effectively purify and counter the parasites—freeing myself from His control through the "Source Fortress"... "Is agreement itself the switch, requiring no further process? "Amun deliberately omitted this point... "He's been deceiving me all along!" With a glimmer of hope, Kline decided to delay his departure for a couple of days, but Amun's focus remained firmly on that unexpected title. As he stepped out of the room, he rubbed his chin thoughtfully: "Have you ever provided protection for the magic and theatrical performances in Bekland?" "I've protected a master of illusions," Kline replied, now more engaged than before. "In fact, I myself am a magician and have performed in Bekland on numerous occasions." Amun, wearing single-lens glasses, nodded: "That's plausible." He then stepped out of the hotel room and descended the stairs to the street, where he moved with the smooth, unremarkable grace of a servant, following closely behind. Glancing around, Amun adjusted his single-spectacled glasses and sighed, smiling gently. "Indeed, it's rather disappointing." "What is disappointing?" asked Cline, quite puzzled. "I've already been caught by you—what more could possibly be disappointing? Amun brushed his silk hat gently at the top of his head, maintaining his earlier smile. "You may guess—it's a good bet. If you're right, I'll make your ending a little better." Cline didn't believe a word of His promise. To avoid revealing any further secrets, he simply shook his head. "Guess wrong." "Then it's rather dull," Amun remarked briefly, clenching his right hand and lightly tapping it against his single spectacles. Faint, ethereal forms of insects emerged from the pedestrians on the street, the trees by the roadside, the sparrows on the rooftops, the mice in the muddy corners, and the unseen creatures within the air, drifting like star dust toward Amon. The god-king's status instantly ascended to the level of an angel. At the same time, Clare's left hand lifted, and his human skin gloves suddenly became transparent—this was the "transmission" activating. —At this very moment, within Clare, only the "craving hunger" was truly real; everything else had been conjured by him, using the abilities of the Faceless Man and the gloves, fashioned from his own flesh and blood. …As the journey was about to begin, Clare paused, and asked instinctively: "Why not transmit within the room?" Amon's decision to take him out of Beckland was as expected—after all, it was a place where even an angel king needed to be cautious—but Clare could not understand why Amon had simply opened the door, descended the stairs, and exited the inn in a perfectly ordinary manner. Amon's gaze, passing over Caine, slowly curved at the corners of his mouth. "I've already answered you. Truly regrettable that you never sought aid from Palis." The "Hourly Angel" bore a clear smile, yet his black eyes showed not a single trace of emotion, leaving Caine shivering from head to toe. He—he was certain that I had a connection with Palis. Soloyasde—because of the incident last time? No, stop! Caine tried to meditate, focusing intently to avoid overthinking, so as not to let Amon absorb his thoughts. Amon glanced casually at the hurried pedestrians on the street, then looked up at the gray, overcast sky. "We'll have to wait until next time. For now, the most important thing is to bring you to that place." As he spoke, both Caine and Amon's forms simultaneously became translucent and vanished at the hotel's entrance—yet no one passing by noticed anything out of the ordinary. After passing through countless ethereal beings whose forms were difficult to describe and overlapping, vivid color blocks, Kline and Amun appeared above a vast sea. Beneath their feet lay a massive chasm, where the azure ocean was severed and cascaded vertically like a waterfall into the profound "Umbral," yet it could never be filled. This was the entrance to the divine war's sanctuary. Kline's mind stirred, and he asked, "Are you taking me to the 'Land Abandoned by the Gods'?" On Amun's single eyeglass, the majestic "waterfall" now shimmered clearly. With a relaxed tone, Amun nodded gently, "Yes. Once there, even your messengers will no longer be able to sense you through the bonds of covenant." The "Land Abandoned by the Gods" stood distinctly separated from the Ethereal Realm, accessible only through the "Source Citadel."...Amun knew my intentions. Kline's hope, just kindled a moment before, was instantly extinguished by the cold reality. For now, he had no other means of saving himself. At that moment, Amun, standing in midair, murmured to himself: "If it weren't for the Steam Church destroying my tomb in Beklan, we could have used the 'Deepness' as a stepping stone to reach our destination directly—without all this hassle." ...Caine, slightly uneasy, shifted the topic: "Does the 'Deepness' connect to the 'God-Abandoned Lands'?" "No," Amun shook his head, his expression relaxed. "But I can leverage some of its properties to travel to any place." "I've heard the 'Deepness' has undergone some unfavorable changes," Caine thought, cautiously probing. Amun turned his head and glanced at him, his curiosity unmistakable: "You actually know about this." "Yes," Caine replied, not elaborating, afraid that this 'Theft-Path' Angel King might detect that he could read Rosel's journal. At that moment, Amun suddenly smiled: "You? Exploring the 'Deepness'?" “What’s so funny about that?” Kline had always been deeply interested in the recent transformations occurring in the Deep. Seizing this opportunity, he aligned himself with Amon, hoping to learn more. As soon as he finished speaking, a fresh idea struck him: by engaging in dialogue with Amon, he could uncover deeper historical secrets, rapidly absorb the ancient scholar’s potion, and see if this would strengthen his control over the Source Citadel, thereby resolving his current predicament. The thought flashed through his mind, but Kline quickly suppressed it, deciding not to dwell on such matters. In response to Kline’s question, Amon chuckled: “When you go to the Deep, you’re like a beautifully wrapped gift, delivered precisely to the person who desires it.” “…The Cosmic Umbral Face?” Kline was first startled, then thoughtfully offered a hypothesis. Amon nodded: “He was once the sole surviving primordial deity. Now, hah.” Amon didn't finish his words. With a leap, he darted through the roaring wind from above, landing in the vast, ethereal chasm. Meanwhile, Caine lost the wind's support and plunged downward. After an unknown length of time, a surge of seawater rose like a fountain, hurling him and Amon across to the other side of the break. As soon as they entered the "Sanctuary of the Divine Battle," the bright sunlight struck them directly, and suddenly, Caine heard a series of murmurs—wild, frantic, almost delirious—echoing in his ears. These murmurs pierced his eardrums like fine steel needles, searing into his mind and filling every thought with sharp, overwhelming pain. The "spirit insects" that composed his mythical form began to transform, as though giving rise to a consciousness alien to him—one that was falling, decaying. The murmurs of the "True Creator!" Caine could manage to withstand them for a while, but not for long. He simply couldn't proceed far within the "Sanctuary of the Divine Battle." At that very moment, he saw that the single-lens spectacles worn on Amon's right eye absorbed all the surrounding light, making it exceptionally bright, glowing with a fierce white radiance. Then, profound darkness enveloped the sky. Amon had directly stolen the daylight of the "Divine War Ruins!" In the darkness, Amon's incarnation carried Caine to an island, having him rest against a stone pillar. Soon, Caine entered that hazy dream world, where he saw the projection of a black monastery and, across the cliff, the majestic, mythic image of the "Kingdom of the Giants." Amon, wearing a black silk hat and crystal spectacles, appeared beside him, with a relaxed smile, pointing to the frozen twilight of the "Kingdom of the Giants" projection and saying, "That is the entrance to the 'Land Forgotten by the Gods.'" Caine thought for a moment and then voiced his question: "Isn't it necessary to be at a specific location in order to enter the dream and activate the entrance?" "He couldn't help but feel a fresh spark of hope, imagining that if Amun could simply spend a couple of weeks or so lingering in the 'Divine War Ruins.' "Agreed," Amun didn't dispute Caine's point, speaking casually, "if you wish to open the entrance, you'll have to sail continuously all the way to the core of this ocean of ruins—this journey might take over a month, and you'll face countless dangers that you can't currently endure. I won't have to." "Because you're the Son of the Maker?" Caine guessed. "Not exactly," Amun said, inserting one hand into his pocket and turning toward the main door of the black monastery. "In places like this—chaotic, with broken order and shifting rules—there are so many opportunities to leverage." As he walked, the 'Hourly Angel' glanced back at Caine: "The Sequence 0 path of the 'Thief' has a rather abstract name: 'Error.'" This is the name my father bestowed. He once used a peculiar word, of unknown origin, to denote it: "bug." Translated, it means the charioteer of fate, the insect that feeds on time, the flaw in the rules, the embodiment of all errors.