The deep red glow brought a warmth to Caine's heart, giving him the sense that he was no longer so alone—someone truly remembered him. As the overlapping prayers grew clearer, more real, noisier, and increasingly chaotic, Caine had already sensed that "The Source Citadel" was calling to him, and the resonance between them was steadily intensifying. When all the Tarot Circle members had finished their prayers, Caine vaguely felt as though he could step into "The Source Citadel" at any moment, his consciousness about to manifest there—yet he remained just one barrier short of making the transition. This issue was finally resolved after he fully absorbed the magic potion of the "Ancient Scholar." It was precisely because of this that he was able to seize the opportunity and return to "The Source Citadel" before Amun broke through the barrier of the God of Honor, Bradel. "In just two days, all the members of the Tarot Circle had performed a prayer—something quite remarkable, given that it wasn't expected. Some had no issues, while others clearly had been influenced by the goddess or by Will himself. My own good fortune naturally led to favorable developments—this made sense, and wasn't particularly troubling. Adjusting slightly in his seat, Caine's gaze grew deeper and more profound. Though when he first saw the light gate and the 'silken cocoon,' he had already sensed that he might never return to 'home,' it wasn't until he confirmed that this world was indeed his homeland that he felt a profound sense of hope fade—like dawn being completely swallowed by darkness." "Back then, when I was given the title of 'a fool out of his time,' perhaps that was a direct intuition from my spiritual awareness... deep within me, there might have been a subtle sense of it... Ah, yes—I remember I 'transited' while sleeping. But why, when I'm suspended within this 'silkworm cocoon,' am I wearing a T-shirt and casual pants?" Klein furrowed his brows, directing his gaze toward the gray-white mist beneath the "Source Castle." While searching through fragments of light emerging from the historical haze for an explanation, he diligently recalled every detail of that night. Eventually, Klein found the corresponding historical account: Zhou Mingrui, dressed in a T-shirt and casual pants, had set up the "turning-of-fortune ritual" before dinner, took four steps backward, and recited incantations such as "Fusheng Xuanhuang Xianzun." In Klein's memory, nothing remarkable had occurred at the time—but the scene in the historical record was quite different! After completing the four steps and the ritual, Zhou Mingrui's face suddenly turned pale, and his eyes grew dull and distant. Next, he moved with a slightly labored rhythm—eating, reading, watching TV, scrolling on his phone—as though going through a series of pre-set routines. Eventually, Zhou Mingrui reached the vanity, gazing at his reflection in the mirror—eyes dull and lifeless—and mechanically brushed his teeth, washed his face, then went to bed. Throughout this entire process, he never changed out of the T-shirt and casual pants he had worn when he left, simply covering himself with the blanket and closing his eyes. Not long after, the intense light and sharp vibrations concluded the corresponding historical segment. Klein reached up, rubbed his temple, and chuckled to himself with a touch of self-mockery: "So, after the transfer ritual, nothing at all changed—everything remained perfectly normal. It's just that, in my own perception, I have actually undergone a transformation...". In past times, Klein would have found this truth deeply startling and unsettling. But over the years, he had endured so many such shocks—so many times that even the very foundation of his worldview had nearly collapsed—that now, such a 'minor' occurrence no longer stirred a particularly strong reaction in him. However, once he realized this, combined with the Emperor's "transcendence" being triggered by acquiring a mysterious silver plaque, and the fact that the ethereal spirit suspended within the transparent "silkworm cocoon" atop the light gate was still carrying a smartphone, Klein began to form swift hypotheses: "Clearly, the master of the 'Source Fortress' is shaping reality, transmitting elements such as the 'Transfer Rite,' the mysterious silver plaque, and the anomalous smartphone. Anyone who receives these and performs the corresponding actions will be pulled to the misty realm at a certain moment, suspended before that light gate. This is a random selection—no specific individuals are targeted—and I'm not sure whether my experience counts as luck or bad fortune. Yet, why is it named specifically as the 'Records of Qin-Han Secret Practices'? Was this name arbitrarily assigned by the affected individuals, or does it truly trace back to practices originating in the Qin and Han dynasties?" "It's not impossible. If the prophecy of the stars aligning is true—and if it corresponds to the very first Creator—then He has been asleep within the Earth's core since times older than ancient ones. And the legend of 'the Source Citadel' suggests that certain parts of His body have evolved into it. This isn't merely a sanctuary or a life-support module. Those things were: the ancient sun god, Amun, and Adam's father, deliberately separated his negative persona; extraordinary beings near the earth's core or exposed to certain pollutants gradually develop a completely new self within them; after reaching the moon, Emperor Roscel's personality unconsciously shifted in certain ways; among the twenty-two extraordinary paths, many are inherently contradictory—such as the "witch" and the "hunter." "Perhaps the original creator itself was a collection of contradictions, capable of only being eased through slumber..." Klein had certain speculations, but could not verify them. He wasn't even certain whether the original creator mentioned in the prophecy from his past life—the one who would awaken at the convergence of the stars—was indeed the same being who, in the current era's mythology, had fragmented into all things. This required more clues and more evidence, not merely his own conjectures and imagination. "I'm not a 'speculative dreamer.' "Klein made a self-deprecating remark and turned his gaze upward, toward a near-gray void, with wisps of gray-white mist drifting in certain areas, "There are still so many things to verify—whether the so-called 'Chernobyl' was indeed one of the human-built shelters activated before and after the initial awakening, whether the characteristics of the twenty-two extraordinary paths truly stem entirely from that 'First One,' whether the positions of the stars are currently normal or not, whether the end-of-the-world event in late 1368 corresponds precisely to the stars realigning into their correct positions, whether the origin of the first 'Defiled Stone Tablet' is known, and what exactly lies on the moon... " As he reached this point, Klein's fingers paused mid-motion and softly murmured, "And whether the homeland of the elves, the legendary Western Continent, still exists—why no one can reach it anymore..." To Klein's question, there followed a long silence. He slowly leaned back, resting his arms against the armrests. Several minutes passed before Caine closed his eyes, forming a thought—or a decision: once successfully resurrected, he intended to stay in the Land of the Forgotten Gods for some time, seeking answers to lingering questions. As the Emperor Rosel had once said, many answers lie within this land. Indeed, the "profane" Amun has wandered here for over a thousand years, seeking history beyond the First Age. Moreover, continuing eastward from this land might lead to the legendary Western Continent. Caine turned his gaze toward the ancient palace, gazing into the distance that seemed to stretch without end. For him, staying in the Land of the Forgotten Gods for a while was also a strategic move—at the very least, it would draw Amun's attention, eliminating the need for Him to dispatch distant avatars to search for Germain Spalro in Ruin and Bekland, which would otherwise pose a significant threat to the people he knew. "Good thing the Amun duplicates who sensed my softness have already been eliminated, and the corresponding intelligence—due to its discreet nature—hasn't been passed on... If that hadn't happened, Amun would have directly threatened my life with the lives of Bensen, Melissa, Leonard, and the 'Justice' lady, and the outcome would have been disastrous... Heh, the Yellow-Black King, lord of fortune, finally shows some substance. Heh, even if I wanted to leave the divine abandoned realm, I can't now—there's no choice but to forcibly breach the place where the Dark Angel sleeps." Kline shook his head and smiled, feeling that even if he managed to revive, his journey ahead would be fraught with peril. An ancient scholar being pursued by an angel king—how could he possibly last long? Most importantly, the "Goddess of Night" is still digesting the uniqueness of the "Death Path," and her ability to penetrate the lands abandoned by the gods remains limited. Once the "Hourly Angel" Amon, who holds the mistaken authority, is properly prepared, achieving what has been accomplished today will become nearly impossible. "On one hand, I need to seek out other possible forms of assistance. Once I've successfully revived, I'll attempt to invoke the names of 'Lord of the Storm,' 'Eternal Blaze,' and 'God of Knowledge and Wisdom' through my spectral forms, hoping they can channel their power to the land abandoned by the gods—since they originally shared the ancient sun god's essence, they certainly won't want Amun to claim the 'Source Citadel.' Having settled on the arrangements for the future, Caine glanced around, responding to each of the deep red stars: "The Tarot session will proceed as usual." He hoped that the Lady of the Hermit and the Sir of the Tower might offer inspiration, enabling him to revive himself far from Amun. Of course, a well-crafted excuse was necessary, and Caine had already thought of one. After making his response, an extraordinary quiet settled over the gray mist. Caine sat on the chair of the Fool, momentarily at a loss. After a moment of stillness, he leaned slightly forward, supporting his head with his right hand, gazing steadily ahead. On the weathered long table, a variety of delicious dishes and elegant candles appeared, and the high-backed chairs around the room gradually assumed a more contemporary appearance. One after another, figures materialized. Some were middle-aged men with deep, resonant voices and silver strands beginning to appear in their black hair; others had Eastern features, with short hair reaching to their ears, and were nearing their mid-fifties; some were young people enjoying meals while browsing on their phones; others were lively, cheerful girls laughing and chatting nonstop. Following them, new figures gradually emerged—Dun with a higher hairline and deep, thoughtful gray eyes, and Dail with blue eyeshadow and blush. They smiled warmly, gathered around the glowing table lit by candlelight, and engaged in lively conversation, occasionally savoring the dishes.