In the city of Belthar, within a tavern. Roy, Byers, Phil, and Pascha gathered around a small round table, taking large swallows of Southwyl beer. They spoke little, merely smiling gently as they listened to the drunk patrons at the neighboring table recounting tales of extraordinary powers and mystical events. "Back then, er, I saw those Vassak people in Belthar—not only did they resemble bears, but they could hurl flames like javelins!" "Really? Are there indeed extraordinary powers?" "Hah! That's because you haven't seen it yourself. Once, I was so drunk I slept near the cemetery, and I saw members of the Night Church emerge with several ghosts—oh, the ghosts! They floated in the air, absolutely terrifying!" ... The drunk guests spoke with such fervor, weaving together stories they claimed were either firsthand experiences or secondhand hearsay, their faces flushed with excitement. "That's how they are—only when they're drinking do they become animated and enthusiastic; otherwise, they're quite dull and reserved." "Byers is a native of Belland, and he explained a bit upon seeing the situation, 'Since the coal resources started to dwindle, young people have gradually moved out of Belland to Conston and Beckland, and the atmosphere has grown increasingly somber, with the city itself growing more gray and worn.' This man, under thirty, once worked as a miner himself and survived the mine accidents that claimed many lives—his skin has since turned dark from the work. His exposed muscles aren't particularly pronounced, yet they convey a sense of being forged from steel. As one of the leaders among the group, Roy smiled and said, 'They're likely telling the truth—not exaggerating. The wars did indeed expose many people to extraordinary abilities, especially those who directly participated. As long as they're alive, they've all experienced such things. Moreover, this has brought about many new opportunities, enabling individuals who previously had no exposure to extraordinary powers or genuine esoteric traditions to become extraordinary themselves.' He spoke in a subtle, indirect manner, as if describing others' experiences—yet this was precisely their own journey. Bailey and Roy were soldiers who had participated in the Battle of the Beltdan defense. Phil had been captured and plundered by the Fosak people, but had survived by luck. Pascha and her former city companions had successfully lured several Intis soldiers during street fighting attacks. Each of them had witnessed the deaths of many friends and had gained extraordinary abilities for various reasons. Due to the chaos of war, they had either become separated from their units or chose to step back, remaining unknown to official authorities. Gradually, they came to know one another, forming friendships out of a shared desire to stay together and support each other. This time, they had come to Bailey’s hometown of Beltdan in search of surviving relatives and friends among the others. "The truth of this world goes far beyond our imagination," Pascha added, with her dark golden hair and deep blue eyes. She was only in her twenties, with a good set of features, yet her face lacked extra flesh, making her bone structure stand out clearly—she looked considerably older than her actual age. "From now on, we shall live different lives," Roy said, lifting his glass, his hairline displaying the classic Ruin trait. "To a brand-new future!" "...he was holding a wallet...might this be connected to the anomaly just now?" Philip, slender in build, glanced at it thoughtfully before saying, "Shall I take it over to examine it?" Roy paused, then gently nodded, "Be careful." Philip murmured an affirmation and stepped out of the small round table area, using the crowd's presence as a screen to approach the young man who had stopped rolling and was now only softly humming. He subtly extended his left hand, aiming at the ordinary leather wallet. "Ah!" Philip suddenly cried out, watching as his left arm snapped off at the wrist, landing with a sharp *thud* on the ground. Blood gushed from the severed stump, splashing onto the faces and bodies of those nearby. The scene froze—drunken guests first stared in stunned silence, then swallowed hard, turned around, and rushed wildly toward the exits and the corners. "Something's wrong...no one has attacked me!" Phil nearly fainted from the pain, yet he managed to hold on and relay his "experience" to Roy, Byers, and Pascha. Roy's eyes narrowed, and with decisive resolve, he said, "Let's get out of here!" He then turned to Byers and said, "Take Phil's hand and keep it safe. I remember a military doctor named Weber—I know he's from Belland. After retiring, he returned here and opened a private clinic. He, he can effectively treat injuries like this." The doctor named Weber was also a remarkable individual. During the Southern War, he steadily advanced, developing medical skills that surpassed ordinary reality—reportedly capable of suturing amputated limbs and restoring them to full flexibility. "Agreed," Byers replied without hesitation. He stepped forward, retrieved a wooden box, picked up Phil's severed hand, and placed it inside. At the same time, Pasah used the magical ointment she had previously purchased to initially stem the bleeding from Phil's wound and applied some bandaging. Then, the group of four left the bar. With several inquiries helped by passersby, they finally located Weber's clinic. The clinic had not yet closed, and the glow of its gas lanterns spread out, casting a soft, yellowish light. Roy politely rang the doorbell, and heard a series of clear chimes echoing inside. Yet, after several minutes passed, no one came to greet them. "Drunk?" Pasah glanced at Phil, who was in obvious pain, and made the guess with some hesitation. Roy shook his head: "I remember Weber isn't a heavy drinker. Besides being somewhat romantic, he has no other bad habits. Perhaps he's... " As he spoke, the medium-built man with weathered features gently pushed the door open and found it not locked, merely slightly ajar. As the door swung open, Roy, Byles, and the others saw two figures hanging in the center of the clinic. Brought gently into motion by the wind blowing in from outside, the figures swayed slightly. One was a man in his thirties wearing a white coat, the other a young woman dressed in a nurse's uniform. Both were bare below the waist, their eyes bulging, their mouths slightly open, their tongues protruding, suspended by invisible ropes from the ceiling. Their expressions combined fear and despair with a profound sense of bewilderment. "Webb..." Roy recognized the man who had been strangled. Roy, Pascha, Phil, and Byles all felt a sudden chill run down their spines, unsure of what had happened, or what further horrors might unfold. Crash! A chair fell over from beside them, startling Roy and the others who had momentarily gone still with shock. They turned toward the sound and saw a woman holding a baby suddenly standing up, speaking in a mixture of alarm and confusion: "They're having an affair..." What connection did this have to their own experience? Roy took a deep breath, feeling that they should not stay any longer. He quickly ordered: "Let's go!" He did not send Pasha to comfort the woman nor attempt to obtain the disinfectant and bandages from the clinic. Bayles and the others swallowed hard, turned swiftly, and left the clinic with great caution. For Phil, the sense of the unknown completely overwhelmed the pain in his left hand. "What on earth is going on?" he asked, his facial muscles trembling as they turned onto another street. "I don't know!" Bayles replied, his voice slightly unsteady. Roy glanced around, took a breath, and said: "Stay calm. This should be a terrible, extraordinary event beyond our imagination." "Yes, everything is simply too strange—this must be the reason." Pascha nodded in agreement. "Then what should we do?" Phil asked anxiously. Roy thought for a moment and said, "Try to leave Belland." "Also, analyze our previous encounters and identify the underlying patterns." "We can't guarantee that such unusual events won't happen again. Only by understanding these patterns can we ensure our safety." "Agreed," Byers calmed down and agreed with Roy's suggestion. As they walked, they began to form clearer ideas. "Webb was having an affair when he was hanged, and before Phil's hand was severed, he tried to take the wallet—this was a case of theft..." Pascha summarized the commonalities between the two incidents. ...Roy suddenly had an inspiration: "Could it be that they've only faced these strange fates because they committed illegal acts?" "How could that be?" Byers and Phil responded in unison. As soon as he finished speaking, they suddenly formed corresponding hypotheses, their expressions growing more serious. "Perhaps, there is an invisible enforcer—this might be the very essence of this extraordinary event," Byrne mused. Roy nodded thoughtfully. "That seems very plausible." "From now on, we need to be mindful of our actions," he added. Pasah and the others nodded in agreement, maintaining a heightened vigilance as they walked along the street toward the city's outskirts. Not long after, they reached the municipal square, where a number of people had gathered around the evening notice boards. "Notices?" Roy and the others exchanged glances, suspecting that the official authorities were signaling their response to this extraordinary occurrence. So they approached, gathering around the gas streetlamps to read the announcements posted on the wooden boards. At the center of the board, a white sheet of paper was affixed, with a yellow sheet beneath it, apparently providing supplementary details. As they quickly scanned the announcement, Roy, Pasha, and others gradually grew increasingly startled, as though beginning to grasp the root of the matter. After reading the printed text, their eyes settled on the yellow sheet: "Seize all foreigners, using every means possible." Seizing foreigners... Roy and the others felt a sudden tightening in their chests, instinctively glancing at the citizens surrounding the bulletin board. Seeming to sense their gaze, those citizens swiftly turned around and directed their attention toward them. Under the dim, yellow glow of the gas lamps, their eyes shimmered with an unusual brilliance.