In the early morning, the Earl woke up at his usual time, took a walk through his garden and across the lawn. When he had finished admiring his favorite pure-bred horses and returned to the villa on the third floor, changed into his outdoor attire, his wife, Katharine, was already awake, giving instructions to her personal maid about the arrangements she had just thought of. "It's time for breakfast," the Earl said to his wife, smiling as he stood by the wardrobe. At that moment, he heard a commotion outside, growing louder and closer, and not fading at all. Gently furrowing his brow, the Earl glanced at his personal butler. Without needing to speak, the butler immediately walked to the window and pulled aside the remaining thin curtain. A sudden burst of light flooded the bedroom, clearing the room completely. The butler then turned his gaze to the window, scanned the scene carefully, and his expression suddenly grew serious. He turned back, glanced at the countess still speaking with the housemaid, and hurried over to Lord Hall, lowering his voice: "The procession! There are many people in the procession!" Procession? Lord Hall wasn't unfamiliar with the term. As a leading noble of Roon and a major shareholder of the Conston Coal and Steel Consortium, he had witnessed numerous worker gatherings demanding higher weekly wages and regulated maximum working hours. In the past few months, Beckland had also seen several protests and processions due to various issues, though they had all been swiftly quelled without causing lasting impact. His eyes scanned the face of his personal servant for several seconds, and with a subtle narrowing, Lord Hall keenly sensed that today's procession might differ from what he had anticipated. He moved silently forward, reaching the window. At a single glance, Lord Hall's gaze froze. Leveraging his advantageous position on the third floor, he saw that the road ahead was crowded with people, gathering in dense masses and flowing toward him, like a vast, enveloping cloud poised to blanket Beckettland. "Baguette!" "We want baguettes!" The collective cries of thousands, tens of thousands—perhaps even more—merged into a powerful, clear chorus, making Lord Hall's scalp tingle slightly. He had witnessed such crowds and heard such layered voices during the celebrations and Masses on the Memorial Square, but at those times, he had been only marginally part of the crowd, merely one element within the whole. Today, however, he was one of the primary targets of this surging tide. Unable to resist, he glanced back at the rear of the procession and noticed it stretched without end. Yet, with his extensive experience in managing affairs, he could draw sound judgments based on the subtle details he observed. The police and soldiers visible flanking the procession were few, appearing like isolated ripples on the vast tide of people—extremely small in comparison. Count Holbe believed that the procession in Queens would certainly be under the strongest possible control, with a large number of soldiers and police dispatched to ensure order. The current situation could only indicate one thing: the number of participants was simply too great! The troops and officers had been spread too thin. Could it be over one hundred thousand? Perhaps even more—processions driven by food shortages might soon escalate into riots and looting. The current sense of order might indeed stem from the presence of numerous organizers and leaders. For heaven's sake, hadn't MI9 and the major churches noticed any signs of such mobilization? How could a procession of this magnitude be organized so swiftly? Even if Beckland had already become a powder keg, it would still require many matches to ignite it. Count Hall's mind flashed from thought to thought, his expression growing increasingly serious. "Bread!" "We want bread!" The cries grew more unified, more powerful, as if a tsunami had surged through the city. At that moment, the servants and maids within the Count's manor noticed the commotion and hurried to the windows, gazing toward the main gate. Their faces instantly paled, as though caught in the flood they could not escape. "Bread!" "We want bread!" An endless chorus of voices converged, creating a heavy, suffocating pressure beneath the dark, dense crowd. Count Hall jolted awake, instinctively reaching for someone to send a telegraph to the royal family, requesting military reinforcements to quell the unrest. But upon closer observation, he noticed that many in the procession wore military uniforms—some of them disabled. "Bread!" "We want bread!" The soldiers maintaining order watched the procession with both alertness and sympathy, their rifles pointed skyward. Among those people were their former comrades, their parents and children, their friends and neighbors, and countless others—vital, living individuals just like themselves—who simply wanted to avoid starving. How could they not feel compassion, how could they not be moved by such a sight? This sentiment began in just a few soldiers and police officers, but quickly spread to nearly everyone. In past times, under the watchful eye of an officer's pistol, they would have mechanically carried out every order. Now, however, many of them found themselves thinking: "Who dares send me to fire? Then I'll shoot that person dead!" "Bread!" "We want bread!" The impact of the growing crowd's voices caused the Earl's face to pale slightly. He couldn't help but draw his gaze back, toward the guards and bodyguards gathering outside the house, and toward the Night Church's extraordinary protectors stationed beside him, noticing the distinct differences in their reactions. The guards and bodyguards outside were filled with fear, while the few extraordinary beings he had hired and concealed within the house now bore expressions of growing seriousness. The Night Church protectors, on the other hand, radiated sympathy and compassion. To the Church, he might represent as many as a thousand faithful, while outside there were tens of thousands—perhaps even hundreds of thousands—of supporters. Instantly, Count Holber grasped this realization, gaining a clear understanding of the consequences of his previously planned actions: Even with their full armor and strength, the relatively small contingent of guards would be utterly unable to withstand the sheer number of demonstrators. Should a conflict erupt, the Night Church's extraordinary protectors would offer no support at all, and his family's mere survival—escaping the Queen's District with the hired bodyguards—would be nothing short of a divine favor. For the first time, the Earl felt the power of numbers, the terrifying force of so many people gathering together. In an instant, he turned and ordered his personal servant: "Send telegrams to the Prime Minister and to the other nobles—say I am willing to lead and donate the vast majority of our grain! Tell them to remain calm!" As telegrams flew out and were exchanged, the nobles residing in the Queen's District learned the Earl's stance. The current Duke of Negen looked out the window with a serious expression, remained silent for a moment, exhaled, and then said to his male secretary: "Secure the manor, soften your position, and follow the Earl's lead. And above all, set the grain-trading merchants as an example!" Once the upper class had reached a preliminary consensus and established a response plan, the Earl finally felt his heart settle back into its accustomed place, allowing him to make his way to the dining room to join his family. As he passed through the dining room door, he instinctively glanced inside. His wife stood by the window, anxiously gazing outward; the eldest son paced back and forth continuously, appearing both angry and restless; the daughter stood beside her wife, remaining extremely quiet as the procession flowed forward like a tide. ………. The Misty Sea, "The Future." Gardelica stepped onto the deck along a bridge formed by shimmering starlight. "Captain, you absolutely have to intervene with Frank this time!" Chief Mate Nina rushed forward, shouting. Gardelica's melancholy and sorrow were instantly lifted; she furrowed her brows. "What has he done now?" Nina spoke with evident anger. "He asked me if I would ever have children—he wants to study how life is born and how the soul is formed!" "...Did you hit him?" Gardelica asked, pausing thoughtfully. "Yes!" Nina didn't conceal it at all. Cadrya immediately turned her gaze toward Frank, who stood a little ways off, ignoring his swollen nose and face: "You'd better focus on the fish's reproduction first." "Very well," Frank replied, scratching his head and obeying the captain's command. Cadrya then nodded to Hisdal, the pale, bloodless figure that had grown out of the shadow of the cabin: "All right." Hisdal visibly relaxed: "Yes, Captain." Disturbed by the crew's commotion, Cadrya finally returned to the present moment, gently rubbing her temple as she slipped into the captain's office. Then, she sealed the room with magic and produced the "Lamp of Wishes," which ranked among the top-tier items even within the zero-level seal. After making her preparations, Cadrya sat behind the desk, lowered her head, and recited in the Giant tongue the honored name of the "Knight of the Fool," reporting the matter of the "Mysterious Queen" to Him. Klein, slightly tilting his head to listen for a few seconds, then proceeded as per protocol into the gray mist. He sat in the high-backed chair at the head of the weathered long table—the seat designated to the "Fool," extending his spiritual presence toward the deep red star symbolizing the "Hermit." Originally, this "Grade 0" seal artifact was in the hands of the "Mysterious Queen"... it was formed by the extraordinary traits of the "Miracle Master" combined with a mysterious origin, making it unbreakable even by true gods... As soon as Kline finished hearing about the "0-05" incident, he immediately adjusted his perspective, magnifying the image of the golden, water-pot-shaped "divine lamp." Suddenly, the wick at the lamp's spout of the "Lamp of Wishes" ignited on its own! New Year's Day—Wishing everyone a prosperous Year of the Rat!