Nine places beyond the planet have become legends... isn't that what the stars are? Kline looked at the potion recipe in his hands, nearly frowning. He thought it was even more dangerous than the elevation ceremony of a Miracle Master. Although the "Box of the Ancient Days," the two "Zero" seals from the Abraham family, and several "One" level seals all possess the ability to transport people into the stars, making the ceremony seem manageable, Kline clearly remembered that the head of the Night Church's Ascetic Order, Arianna, had once warned him that the stars harbor an extremely perilous contamination—so dangerous that even understanding it could be hazardous for anyone below the level of an Angel. Few will remain uncorrupted by the celestial pollution, yet to become a Traveler one must wander through the stars—this has become an impasse, utterly unresolvable. Perhaps the Abraham family has records of safer spots within the stars, so one need not be entirely pessimistic. Moreover, one must verify the authenticity of this recipe through divination upon returning. Dorian won't deceive me, though that doesn't mean he won't be deceived himself. Klein shifted his gaze toward Dorian Gray Abraham across the table. "Where exactly do the exceptional traits of a Traveler manifest?" After a moment's reflection, Dorian, who had already recorded the name of 'The Fool,' replied: "Two such zero-level seals exist within our family. One has evolved into 'The Old Box,' another is said to be held by the Order of the Magi, a third resides in the War God's Church, and there's a fourth—one that has vanished since the Second Age, with no one ever having traced it again." "If we can exchange one of Abraham's family's relatively normal zero-tier sealings for the 'Box of Old Days,' then the 'Wanderer's' extraordinary trait won't be an issue regarding its source at all. But the promotion ritual—well, that's truly a headache. And fundamentally, the ritual seems to leave an imprint upon the stars; no matter how we adjust it, it always ties back to the stars. Kline controlled his expression, nodded gently to Dorian, and said, 'I hope by the time the Red Moon is full, you'll have found the answer.' With that, his form began to fade rapidly, reaching the very limits of Folshe's maintenance. Dorian watched as Germain Sparo simply 'departed,' and instinctively glanced down at the sheet bearing the title 'The Fool,' only to find it now becoming translucent and then vanishing. '...' Dorian couldn't find the correct answer among the family's records of various extraordinary abilities, so he turned to Folshe, opened his mouth, and prepared to ask a few questions. At that very moment, he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his chest, his pupils rapidly dilating. Oh no! The curse was about to manifest! Dorian quickly reached into his clothing pocket and pulled out a small metal bottle, opened the lid, and took a long, steady sip, finishing it off. Clink! His movements had been so hurried that the bottle's lid fell to the ground. Furse watched in silence as her teacher's face turned pale, clutching at his chest, momentarily unable to grasp what had just happened. As a former surgeon, she immediately formed a judgment and asked, "Does the teacher have heart problems? Do you have any special medication?" After asking the second question, Furse realized how eager and concerned she had been, and how it now seemed a bit foolish—clearly, the very bottle the teacher had just taken was the special medication! "Shall I assist you further?" Furse asked, noticing that the teacher's expression had now calmed. "I have the ability to record medical information." Dorian shook his head, indicating that there was nothing more. In his heart, he murmured: It's precisely because you didn't follow the plan and directly summoned Germain Spalro right inside the room that I didn't get a chance to take my medicine, and now I'm in this condition. ………… Sunia, the capital of the Rosted Islands, known as the "City of Generosity," Bayam. The "Blue Shadow Avenger" entered the harbor in the evening. After a period of disruption to maritime routes around Sunia Island caused by the Storm Church, the half-divine figure of the Fasak Empire finally intervened, resulting in the deaths of several "captains" and severe damage to the fleet. Alger Wilson and his crew, who had been ambushing the harbor from within the island's primeval forest, escaped this blow. After the Storm Church and the Roon Navy declared the campaign a success and announced the conclusion of operations, they returned to Pasu Island for rest and recuperation. Later, Aljer volunteered with both piety and fervor, speaking with both sincerity and passion, earning praise from the cardinals. Since he was familiar with the region of the Rosed Islands, he was undoubtedly assigned there to strengthen the naval forces of this vital colony. Of course, to avoid contradiction with his past identity and to leave room for future opportunities, Aljer and his crew arrived in Bayam under the guise of being recruited as pirates.—In this war, many pirates were enlisted and became effective reinforcements for the navies of various nations, much like the mercenaries of the mid-Quaternary period. As the sky still held a few rays of light, Aljer stepped ashore and headed directly to the Waves Church, where the "Sea Singer" Eyn Courtman, the "Accomplisher," was located. As a Sequence 5 "Sea Singer," he was qualified to meet directly with the Cardinal of the Storm Church, the senior steward known as the "Accomplisher." As he walked, Aljer suddenly spotted a familiar face. He was a middle-aged man dressed in a suit, with a tie, glasses, and a polished, refined appearance. Yet Aljere knew well that he was a devoted follower of the sea-god Cavitova—a former pirate who had now become a merchant thriving in both the worlds of the black and white markets. "Relf, long time no see," Aljere greeted the mixed-blood son of Luon, Fasak, and Rosted. Relf paused, as though momentarily unable to recognize him as the captain of the *Ghost of the Azure Revenge*. "Aljere? Our ghost-ship captain?" he asked, slightly surprised after a brief pause. Aljere smiled. "Have I changed much?" Relf frowned, responding, "Your demeanor has changed greatly—now you resemble the sea just before a storm breaks, with dark clouds gathering on the horizon." "Good eyes—though that's something I've deliberately cultivated. After consuming the 'Song of the Sea' potion, if I hadn't shown such changes, I'd hardly seem like a member of the Storm Church. Aljer sighed, "There's simply so much on my plate these days. Now, that's settled—I've been formally hired by the Storm Church." Relf's eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of caution rising in his mind, though he smiled warmly on the surface, "That's certainly a positive development, especially if there's no war." Aljer glanced at the area where Relf had just come from and asked, "When did this place suddenly become home to a school? I can see right away that it has four-story buildings, a concrete playing field, a well-kept lawn, and many children enjoying themselves. The children have darker skin tones, though not quite as bronze as the native inhabitants; their hair is only slightly wavy, not particularly noticeable. There's no doubt—these are mixed-race children." Ralph turned to look back, sighed, and smiled. "Didn't you donate to my charity fund at one point?" "Under divine guidance, I've established several schools on the island, specifically for these children who've faced discrimination—offering them education, meals, and boarding. Our childhoods haven't been bright, and I don't want theirs to be the same." As he spoke, Alger had been gazing at the school. Only when he finished did he turn away and say, "I thought you'd take at least half." Ralph blinked, surprised. "It seems I've left you with a rather unfavorable impression. What do you think of this school?" After studying Ralph carefully, Alger replied, "Do you think I'm someone who's ever attended school?" He paused, then added, "Could you tell me which street your charity fund is on? Perhaps I'll have something to discuss with you later." Thinking that the other had been hired by the Storm Church, Rellif dared not reveal any further connection between himself and the Resistance, and smiled gently: "We can accept the donation—nothing else is necessary." After providing the address of the charitable fund, Rellif returned home, ascended to the second floor, and knocked on the door of a particular room. "Lord Daniz, I have something to report." A deep, authoritative voice responded from within. "Come in." ........... Beckland, Joewood District. Dorian, who had rented a house here, walked to the window and watched the sun sink below the horizon as dusk settled in. Tonight, the Red Moon would become full, and the curse of the Abraham family would once again descend. Dorian had not shaved in several days; white beards now spread across his mouth, cheeks, and jawline, standing in stark contrast to his appearance as a middle-aged man. He gazed for a while, then lowered his head and recited in the language of the giant: "The fool of a time unmade..." After concluding the prayer, he returned to the center of the room, found a sofa, and sat down, waiting for the rising red moon, waiting for the moment of peak spiritual intensity. At that same time, above the gray mist within the ancient palace, Caine had settled into the seat befitting the "Fool," summoning a paper figure with a wave of his hand. Under the support of the power of the "Source Keep," this figure passed through the luminous points of Dorian's prayer and settled upon his body. Throughout this process, Caine deliberately chose not to reveal the effect, allowing the "Angel" to embrace Dorian silently and unobtrusively. He believed that if the "Fool" were to appear too prominent, it might unsettle the members of this ancient family, so he opted for a quiet, understated presence. The waiting always feels agonizing. Dorian would occasionally pull out his watch, snap it open, and glance at it, wondering how much longer until the peak period of spiritual intensity on the night of the full moon—something calculable through mystical knowledge. Finally, as the hours approached midnight, Dorian instinctively bent his back, hoping to ease the pain of the curse. Yet as time passed, silence settled around him—no distant hum, no murmured whispers. The deep crimson moonlight streamed through the windows, falling gently upon Dorian. He raised his head with a slight sense of bewilderment, feeling the stillness, serenity, calm, and quiet peace around him—nothing out of the ordinary. He then turned his gaze to the window, where the full crimson moon appeared holy, dignified, soft, and dreamlike, as though suspended above his heart. After a moment of silent contemplation, Dorian lowered his head, retrieved his watch, and glanced at it. "..." He lifted his right hand, rubbed his eyes, and then gently covered his face, holding it there for a long time without releasing it. His prematurely whitened beard gradually became disheveled, streaked with tears and nasal mucus.