Klein became a half-god and was able to initially control the "Astral Citadel," preventing its essence from seeping into the real world and affecting himself. Once that was established, he never considered such matters further—any such anomaly would immediately make him recognizable to extraordinary beings on the "Fate" path, posing a significant security risk. Now, upon receiving Wil昂赛汀's reminder, his thoughts suddenly clarified. When I was merely a subordinate of the "Astral Citadel," with limited rights, even the residual aura and projections it carried were enough to make a "Fate" path saint hesitate to look directly at me, and lower- to mid-tier extraordinary beings would perceive me as mythical creatures. Now, as someone who has gained initial mastery over the "Astral Citadel," I likely enhance this effect significantly—could it even influence angels, who themselves are complete mythic beings? The level of the "Astral Citadel" must now be at least Sequence 0. Indeed, based on my assessment, it might even surpass Sequence 0. Does it possess the characteristic of being susceptible to contamination? Klein's thoughts suddenly surged to life, as if lightning streaks had flashed across his mind. He quickly decided to return to the abandoned land and conduct experiments on the monsters from the depths of darkness and the enigmatic figures hidden within the historical mist, in order to test whether his ideas held merit. A gentle smile spread across his face as he addressed the one-year-old child nestled in the black infant carriage. "I think I now understand what you mean," he said. "Starting soon, I'll have someone send you ice cream regularly." The silver-embroidered Will. Aunseit slowly turned his head, gazing toward the side. "No, thank you," he replied. "I've been eating ice cream too much lately—it's actually affecting my growth." Klein raised an eyebrow. "The genuine, top-tier ice cream from the capital of Indis, Trier." "Then next week," Will. Aunseit hesitated before responding. After speaking, the soft, cuddly child rolled over and tucked his face into the small pillow inside the carriage. Since the "Sorceress" could only maintain the historical gap's image for a limited time, Crane said nothing further, instead leveraging his own nature to forcibly break free from the dream and awaken, then翻身 off the bed. Immediately afterward, he extended his right hand and repeatedly pulled at the air. After a few dozen motions, his arm grew heavy, and he dragged forth a woman dressed in simple linen robes, wearing a belt of woven bark, barefoot, with long black hair flowing over her shoulders and an ordinary appearance—the Head of the Night's Church, the "Servant of the Hidden," Arianna! At the same moment, in the Hillsdon district, within a house, Furse, seated in an armchair, seemed to be pulled by invisible threads, suddenly sitting upright with her body straightened and her forehead veins pulsing strongly. She felt her spiritual essence surging like a flood breaking its banks, rushing forward into the void beyond, and she could not contain it—she sensed it threatening to dry up. In the next second, the intensity eased somewhat, though it remained alarming, beyond what she could currently endure. Inside the hotel room, as the historical image of Madame Arianna came to consciousness, Caine spoke concisely: "I intend to collaborate with someone to confront a 'Wizard-King' of the Rose School." Madame Arianna nodded gently, indicating she had understood, but offered no suggestion. Seeing that the head of the austere monk order had not issued a warning, Caine felt more confident about his plan to hunt the 'Wizard-King,' and then continued: "I'm now preparing to launch an operation against the Dark-Wolf Cotar." Madame Arianna's mouth slightly opened: "With caution." ...meaning, don't underestimate the Dark-Wolf Cotar? Caine was about to ask a follow-up question when his consciousness suddenly blurred, and both the woman across from him and his image within his own gaze began to fade and vanish swiftly. — Under extreme fatigue, people sometimes develop sleep disturbances. ... In the desolate, pitch-black expanse beyond the abandoned northern ruins of the ancient city of Nors, where no one dwells. Cain carried his dimly glowing lantern, circled the area, and checked the surroundings. Then he found a stone to sit on, no longer shielding the seepage of the "gray mist" into reality. On top of that, he deliberately strengthened the projection of "The Source Fortress" upon himself. Once prepared, Cain swiftly transformed a hidden creature lurking in the darkness into a secret figure. The secret figure stepped out of the lightless zone, approached Cain under the lantern's glow, and fixed its gaze upon him. To the ordinary creature that had been transformed, Cain—wearing a black coat and a half-high hat—appeared only slightly more profound in his eyes and more enigmatic in his demeanor than before; otherwise, he remained much the same. After sequentially testing various types of monsters as secret companions, Caine confirmed that ordinary people, or indeed most extraordinary beings, were unable to detect the "Source Citadel" essence inherent within themselves. Then, he extended his right hand, pulling forth a historical image of himself from half a day prior, and guided this somewhat sluggish historical projection to focus its gaze upon him. This time, "Caine" observed a layer of gray-white mist enveloping his body, with intermittent glimmers of light within it, yet no distinct form emerging. He subsequently released the sustained projection, attempting instead to summon other extraordinary beings from the "Divination" path—such as the "Secret Companion Master" Rosagho—and repeated the experiment. "Hmm, with the enhanced projection, extraordinary beings from the 'Divination' path can indeed perceive certain anomalies directly. However, at least those below the rank of angel can only confirm my connection to the 'Source Citadel,' and cannot visually perceive that peculiar luminous gate—the very projection of the 'Source Citadel'—" Caine found this outcome quite expected. He took a deep breath, prepared to carry out a self-rescue, then reached out and pulled, dragging forth Enyuni—the one who had only recently become his secret companion. Enyuni lifted her head gradually, and in her eyes, the figure of Celine began to emerge, along with a faint, diffusing gray-white mist. Deep within the mist, translucent or semi-transparent writhing worms coiled and embraced countless luminous spheres. These spheres stacked upon one another, forming a luminous gate tinged with a hint of dark green and black. The gate now appeared far clearer and more substantial than before, with a refined texture, and its shape had changed—rising and elongating toward the top. It now resembled a tall, radiant human figure, while the surrounding gray-white mist served as the long, hooded cloak of that figure. The glimmers from the various spheres continuously flickered, as if Celine were being watched by a deep, mysterious, and lofty, almost terrifying presence—each sphere a single eye. With a thunderous crash, Caine's head automatically arched back, and streams of blood mixed with transparent, wriggling worms spurted out from his pores. The worms that fell to the ground rolled and struggled wildly—some quickly dissolved, while others eventually calmed down, crawled back into Caine's body, and reentered his pores. "Hmph... Much better than last time, when I'd simply passed out, completely forgetting everything," Caine murmured, rubbing his temple. The figure of "Winner" Enyuni, who had been maintaining the historical rift imagery, now collapsed under the impact of Caine's sudden disturbance and vanished entirely. This was one of the reasons Caine hadn't sustained severe injuries. ——Without Enyuni, he no longer needed to witness the strange gates changing, and thus wasn't subjected to continuous shock. After a brief pause, Caine stepped into the historical mist, reversed four steps, and arrived atop the gray haze. Watching the faint, ethereal dark light rise from within him, gradually dissipating, Caine finally exhaled in relief, chuckling to himself with a touch of self-mockery: "Almost self-contaminating, self-eroding... " He then planned to conduct further experiments using Rosagho and other Seers—those extraordinary individuals who accessed their powers through divination—under conditions where they did not directly experience the impact; he would observe whether, over time, they would be reversely contaminated by the "Source Citadel's" projection... Several soldiers on watch detected the scent of tobacco, instinctively sniffing the air and turning to look back. "Do you still have any tobacco?" one soldier, carrying a breech-loading rifle, whispered to his companion. His fellow soldier shook his head. "We've long since run out." "I don't know when the next supply will arrive... Without tobacco, I'm nearly going mad!" The first speaker pointed with his chin toward the outside of the fortifications. "Look—so many bodies, so many hands, so many feet. They used to belong to living people." Before sunset, the rebel forces launched a fierce assault, charging wildly against the various lines of Verlak, their desperate resolve startling even the steadfast Lune troops and their retinue. Though they came close to securing victory, they ultimately failed to break through the critical defenses, leaving behind a tide of dead and retreating in disorder. His comrade paused and said, "Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps the day after, we'll become like this too." Then, lifting his gaze toward the crimson moon, he murmured dreamily, "I don't know how Beckland is doing. I haven't received a letter from home in a long time... I wonder if they have enough food. Whether the sick can find doctors..." Just as the soldier had reached for his cigarette to curse the war and its relentless enemies, his eyes suddenly went wide, and with trembling hands he raised his right arm, pointing forward, "Alive! Alive!" One after another, the soldiers turned to look. Beneath the crimson moon, the wounded corpses left behind by the rebels rose one by one, staggering and wobbling, trying to reach the defensive lines. In the distance, a mysterious figure stood at the rear of the rebel forces, wearing a black robe embroidered with crimson patterns, arms gently outstretched. The spiritual vitality of the entire battlefield was rapidly flourishing.