Withered vines hung down, concealing the decaying wooden structures, and the entire ruin seemed frozen in the heavy silence of long-unvisited stillness. Aljere and several sailors wandered through the ruins, navigating the winter-withered landscape, yet found nothing of value. "Captain, this site has been visited by waves of adventurers—what could we possibly still find here?" finally broke the silence a mid-30s sailor, growing impatient. This sparked resonance among the others, who joined in: "The things we've learned with little effort, others would surely discover just as easily." "Exactly, exactly—let's keep going to the Farsak people!" "Captain, are you really planning to establish a base here?" Aljere slowly surveyed the group, silencing their complaints and drawing their compliance. After a few seconds of quiet, he spoke: "My intention is to use this location as a strategic ambush point for the Farsak people. First, we'll observe the terrain to determine if it's suitable." With this excuse, the sailors managed to muster some spirits, and the group soon ventured deep into the elven ruins. As they walked, Aljer's mind suddenly caught on, and he instinctively turned to look behind a towering tree. There, the soil showed slight disturbances—no older than a year. Aljer then shifted his gaze, as if unconsciously dismissing the observation, and naturally turned to look elsewhere. After exploring the elven ruins, they returned to their new camp. It was now near dusk, and the forest grew increasingly cold. After dinner, Aljer and the sailors left two sentries on duty and settled into separate tents. The crisp wind whistled through the trees, causing the campfire to sway gently. Just as Aljer had intended to leave the camp in the middle of the night, he suddenly heard a faint, ethereal song drifting from afar—soft and delicate, as though a lady was gently humming and recounting her inner thoughts. This brought Alger back to memories—memories of his mother, long gone, and of his childhood marked by constant mistreatment. An indescribable sorrow surged within him, overwhelming him so that he didn't immediately regain his composure. He stayed still for several seconds, then suddenly sat up, furrowed his brow, and listened intently. This time, he heard nothing—the gentle song seemed to have never existed at all. Alger narrowed his eyes, reached for his thick jacket, put it on, and stepped out of the tent to the fire. The two sailors on watch had just completed their patrol and were now drawing warmth from the flames. "Have you noticed anything unusual?" Alger asked in a steady tone. Both sturdy sailors shook their heads simultaneously. "Nothing." Alger relaxed slightly, turned around, and began to walk through the area on his own. At that moment, his peripheral vision caught something: the two sailors were standing too close to each other. If ordinary pirates were involved, that wouldn't be an issue—yet the men under Aljere had all received formal training from the Church of the Storm. They certainly knew that in such conditions, patrol officers needed to maintain a certain distance—not too far, not too close—enough to see one another, yet far enough to avoid being taken out simultaneously in a single assault. Aljere moved silently two steps, then casually turned and asked, "Have you noticed anything normal?" He slightly rephrased the question, making it seem unusually strange. The two sturdy seamen, in turn, shook their heads without changing their expressions, answering in unison, "No." No... Aljere relaxed slightly, giving a gentle nod. "Good." He then turned and walked slowly into his own tent. As soon as the seamen's gaze was broken, Aljere suddenly drew forth "The Poisoned Blade" and "The Gorgon's Glasses," and opened his mouth, ready to sing a song. At that moment, the ethereal, melancholy song that had just been heard returned, resonating once more in Alger's ears and piercing his spirit. It was an exceptionally ancient ballad, expressing profound sorrow and deep melancholy, as though pale, insubstantial arms were growing within the very core of Alger's being, continuously tearing at his essence. Alger's expression twisted, and patches of smooth, slightly dark, fish-scale skin emerged on his surface, his once-flowing deep blue hair standing upright in disarray, each strand now notably thick and robust. The thoughts that had previously existed within his mind were disrupted and fragmented by the song and the intense pain, no longer able to take shape. Alger collapsed to the ground, struggling and writhing, growing ever less human, on the brink of losing control. Suddenly, the song ceased, and a voice, slightly detached and composed, reached Alger's ears: "There is some elven bloodline... " "Then let it be. Make good use of Chastel's exceptional qualities." Aljer crawled up slowly, his forehead beaded with cold sweat, and as he did so, he noticed a figure had appeared inside the tent at some point. It was a woman—dark, lustrous hair, refined features, slightly pointed ears, deep, thoughtful eyes, and a gentle contour. She wore a rich yet simple long gown, and despite her lack of height, she carried an air of commanding presence. “…Are you Queen Highsiriam, the Queen of the Elves, the 'Queen of the Plague'?” Aljer thought quickly and asked proactively. The woman idly held a beautifully engraved golden wine cup, speaking calmly, “Didn’t you already meet me?” Aljer suddenly recalled the similar song he had heard on the island of Pasu, and the vision he had of entering a coral palace beneath the sea, where he had seen a high-ranking elf. “You’re still alive,” Aljer said, his voice low, after a brief silence. At the same time, he silently recited the noble title of the “Knight of the Fool” in his heart, unsure whether merely thinking it aloud would make any difference. The woman with her black hair coiled into a high bun replied without changing her expression: "An angel is rarely陨fallen unless it encounters enemies." "Then why do you need to divide your nature, place yourself in such an unusual state, and wait for an opportunity to revive?" Aljer had learned about this situation during his time at the Tarot Circle, and by asking now, he expressed both curiosity and a desire to delay. The elf woman, seemingly the "Queen of Calamities," hummed: "Because Leotheus has occupied the seat of the Storm's deity, and I am powerless against the 'tyrant.' Moreover, the elves are dwindling, and my anchor is growing increasingly unstable." While others might not know who Leotheus is, Aljer was entirely certain—his confidence in continuing this conversation in the real world was shaken. Just as he intended to inquire about the purpose of the "Queen of Calamities," Highshinam's arrival, the elf queen spoke up: "Do you wish to become a half-deity?" Did He wish to revive through my body? He thought he'd lure me in by offering a promotion to Level 4, with divinity as the bait? While Aljere was genuinely intrigued, a cascade of questions formed in his mind. Given that the "Knight of the Fool" could purify various forms of pollution, Aljere sensed a golden opportunity. It reminded him of a term once proposed by Emperor Rosel: "Cloak and Cannon!" Now, he might just absorb the cloak and return the cannon. "What would you like me to do?" Aljere asked, not showing excessive eagerness, in line with his natural demeanor. "Queen of the Cataclysms," Ghisnam observed him for a few seconds before responding, "When you're qualified and have the chance to encounter the book known as *The Book of Cataclysms*, retrieve something from it that others would overlook, and bring it to the West Continent." The West Continent... the legendary homeland of the elves? Aljere furrowed his brow. "Isn't the West Continent already gone?" Ghisnam gave a slight upward curve of her lips. "If it has vanished, it will surely reappear." "When the end comes, it will surely reappear," the elven queen said, pausing without waiting for Aljer to ask further. "You need not personally deliver that thing to the Western Continent, but you must entrust it to someone you trust. Though I am not particularly skilled in curses, I can still ensure that you die in agony should you breach your promise." "What if the Western Continent fails to reappear, or if entry proves impossible?" Aljer thought seriously. Highsinam, with her dark, lustrous hair and gentle features, seemed to drift into a quiet reverie, as though immersed in a cherished memory. After a few seconds, she spoke calmly, "If it truly fails to reappear, then the promise is nullified. Entry to the Western Continent may indeed require a spell or incantation, though I am not certain what exactly—it might be something you can inquire about from someone who exists." "Who?" Aljer asked, still puzzled. Highsinam glanced at him, her tone cold. "The 'Knight of the Fool' you silently recited just now." "I have a strong feeling that He is the key to whether this endeavor succeeds." Aljer's heart tightened, and he quickly lowered his head, responding, "I understand." Queen Ghisnam of the Celestial Calamity gently nodded, saying, "If you wish to become a half-god and fulfill this agreement, when the sun rises, go to that elven sanctuary." As her voice faded, the figure of the elven queen swiftly dissolved, like the fleeting visions often seen across the sea and desert. Aljer suddenly opened his eyes and found himself lying inside the tent, just waking up. His memories were a bit disordered, but he quickly clarified the sequence: he and his sailors had only recently learned of the location of the elven sanctuary, and had arrived nearby, but had not yet begun to explore. The earlier "explorations," the songs, the sailors' transformations, the appearance of the calamity, and the conversations—all had been dreams! It's no wonder I've been so careless... I knew I might encounter the Queen of Calamities, yet I hadn't made a prayer to the Sir of Folly in advance. Does the Queen of Calamities create this real dream through her angelic presence, or does she possess the corresponding seal that allows her to draw upon power even in a special state? Aljer listened carefully to the sounds outside the tent and found everything normal. He then sat down and prayed sincerely to the Sir of Folly. Within just twenty or thirty seconds, Aljer found himself above the gray mist, seeing the Sir of Folly seated at the head of the weathered long table. "Have you seen Hochinam?" the Sir of Suspension asked, after offering a greeting. The Sir of Folly, Kline, spoke casually. "Yes, but I'm not certain that it was indeed the Queen of the Elves," Aljer replied, with careful precision.