Boom! The highly alert Captain Eric of the "Red Glove," inexplicably shivered, watching the itinerant magician who had introduced himself as Merlin Hermes explode directly behind the astronomical telescope. Yet, no blood or bodily fragments spilled—instead, the shattered limbs swiftly vanished into the air, dissolving like soap bubbles. "..." Eric and the squad members who had turned to look were all left stunned, unable to comprehend how such a sudden transformation had occurred. A second later, Eric said firmly, "Evacuate!" He wanted to lead the team out of the apartment before the danger fully subsided. At that very moment, a new figure stepped into the open doorway of Room 403—none other than Merlin Hermes, who had just materialized out of thin air. The magician wore a tall hat and a black robe, appearing completely unbothered, and addressed Eric and his team: "The root of the problem indeed lies in that astronomical telescope." As he spoke, Caine walked to the balcony area and gently tapped the astronomical telescope with his right hand. Another sharp *thud*, and the telescope suddenly shattered into scattered metallic sparks, releasing a faintly malodorous dark green gas. After the gray-white mist briefly appeared and faded, the odor vanished and the dark green gas dissipated, restoring the room to normal. “...What on earth is going on?” Eric forced himself to set aside the image of the other person dying and then reappearing, carefully asking. As a seasoned captain of the "Red Glove," he had some reasonable conjectures about what had actually happened, but his question was primarily aimed at seeking confirmation. Caine smiled. “In short, the astronomical telescope has undergone some kind of anomaly, causing the room’s occupant to perceive things that shouldn’t be seen. If you’d like more detailed information, you’ll have to gather the clues yourselves—I’m not entirely certain myself.” Eric nodded slightly, turned his gaze toward his team, and signaled for them to continue their investigation. After a busy period, Eric said to Merlin Hermes: "The clues left inside the room are limited. We've established a few key points: First, John is a local resident who served in the war, and his mental state appears to have been affected by it. Second, he has long been an enthusiast of astronomy; after the war, he joined an academic organization called the 'Celestial Society,' though we haven't gathered any information about this organization prior to now. Third, John seems to be seeking a way to witness the true night sky." As he spoke the word "sky," Eric paused briefly, as though having received a warning from the upper echelons of the Night Church. After the war, a group called the "Celestial Seminar" was established...one seeking ways to witness the true night sky...Clayne, drawing on his recent "experience," now had a solid grasp of the situation, and nodded gently: "You all know that 'the night sky' signifies danger—danger so great that even understanding it is impossible." "We will promptly report this case to the Archbishop, designating the 'Celestial Seminar' as a hazardous organization," Eric said, speaking as though addressing a superior who did not directly oversee the 'Night Watch' personnel. Klein said nothing, merely sighed as he walked toward the door: "The war has indeed brought about irreversible impacts across all aspects..." Following the fall of the War God, the already fragile primordial barrier lost a significant portion of its support. The Goddess of Night had yet to fully grasp the concept of 'uniqueness,' and as for becoming an Elder Thing, it remained uncertain how long it would still take. Under these circumstances, the outer gods' encroachment on this world naturally deepened—this compounded with the widespread war-related traumas among ordinary people. Klein suspected that during the post-war reconstruction period, numerous cults dedicated to the 'stars' and various outer gods had quietly emerged throughout Ruin. If left unchecked, and allowed to grow their followers and undertake increasingly hazardous endeavors, the end of days would surely come sooner than expected. With each step, he walked out of Room 403, his form rapidly fading, becoming translucent, until he vanished entirely. Inside a hotel near Praia Street, Klein, who had already checked in, lifted the coffee placed before him and took a gentle sip. Taking advantage of the early hour, he stepped out once more and rode in a carriage to the outskirts of the riverbank district of Conston City. There stood a cemetery, with stone monuments rising like a forest of short trees. Wandering through the grounds, guided by his spiritual intuition, Klein located a specific monument. The name inscribed on it read: "Welch McGowan." This was his original self's university classmate, who had mysteriously died in Tinggen after acquiring the notes of the Antigonous family—an event that indirectly led to Zhou Mingrui's "transmigration." Welch McGowan's father, a banker in Conston City, had arranged for the body to be returned home and buried in this very cemetery. Klein gazed at the photograph on the monument for several seconds, then bent down, placing the white bouquet he was holding at the foot of Welch's grave. He was about to turn and leave when he suddenly stopped. Twenty or thirty seconds later, an elderly man carrying a black cane approached from the opposite direction. Caine recognized him—he knew this was Mr. Welch’s father, the banker from the Jianshai County who had once invited himself and his classmates for a grand dinner. Yet, compared to a few years ago, the man had aged considerably. Once a vibrant middle-aged gentleman, he now had a sprinkling of gray hair, and numerous wrinkles around his eyes, mouth, and forehead. "Who are you?" Mr. Welch asked the stranger standing before the grave, his tone both puzzled and cautious. Caine sighed and replied, "Uncle, I'm a friend of Mr. Welch. I've just been passing through Conston City." Mr. Welch nodded slightly, his voice low. "He's a man who likes to make friends—I only know a few of them." This statement actually explained why he hadn't invited the guest to the funeral, and he expressed his sincere regret. Klein said nothing, merely glanced around. "Do you need any assistance? Or is there a wish you'd like to see fulfilled? I hope to offer you strength." Welch's father surveyed the room, offering a wistful smile. "Can you bring all the deceased here back to life?" Not impossible—though not exactly the same as the kind of revival you're envisioning... Klein sighed internally, shook his head. "Can you restore Conston to its original state?" Welch's father asked, with a further wry smile. Before Klein could respond, he exhaled and continued. "I don't necessarily need your help. For what I can achieve, I can do it myself. For what I cannot, I will only pray to the gods." As he spoke, the banker passed by Klein and walked to his son's grave, bending down to place the white bouquet in the earth. Klein watched his back, murmuring softly, as if to himself. "I will do my best." "Having said that, he turned around and left the cemetery. ........ Constanton, in a bar with a slightly vintage ambiance. A man dressed in a thick jacket approached the wooden board beside the counter, trying to find part-time jobs posted on the sheets of paper stuck to it. Suddenly, he spotted an unusual commission: "I'm a journalist seeking stories from various people about events during the war—ideally, firsthand experiences. In return, I can offer to fully fund your home repairs and reconstruction efforts, as I have the necessary resources." "Merlin Hermes." The man instinctively furrowed his brow, finding the commission rather odd, almost like a prank. "Can you read the text above?" a thin man sitting beside the board seized the opportunity and asked. Among the guests at this bar, only a few could read. Even if they wished to seek work or take on commissions, most could not understand what was written on the sheets posted on the boards, and the bartender could only remember the names of those who offered the highest pay. Based on this situation, the slender man, having attended a free school, had learned common Runes vocabulary and offered interpretation services at a rate of one-quarter of a penny per request—this was how he made his living. The man shook his head, indicating that he understood Runes, and pointed to Merlin Hermes's commission. "Is this genuine?" "Yes, the journalist is seated in that corner, wearing a high-crowned hat." The slender man warmly indicated the direction. The journalist had promised him one-quarter of a penny for every person he introduced. The man holding the beer fell silent and hesitated for about ten seconds before walking to the corner and finding the journalist named Merlin Hermes. "Will you really help me rebuild my house?" he asked, a bit nervous and concerned. The man lowered his gaze and looked at the table, saying: "I'm a native of Conston. I once had a respectable job. I bought a townhouse on Danchao Street. Then, the war broke out, and my house was reduced to rubble in a bombing. My eldest son—just entering elementary school—was buried beneath the ruins... We had to rent a two-bedroom apartment until the Fosac forces occupied Conston. They took my wife away, and she never returned... Recently, someone informed me to go and identify her body. I couldn't recognize her—she had decomposed so much that she no longer resembled herself. Yet, in the pockets of her remaining clothing, there were still our water bills... She always cherished our home while living in the rental apartment, and so did my little daughter. Now that I'm short on funds, I can barely make ends meet, but I hope, one day, to rebuild that house, piece by piece." "To be honest, I don't particularly enjoy sharing my misfortunes with others. I'd much rather stay silent. But if I can truly receive assistance in rebuilding, then I can..." Klein held a notebook and pen, pretending to take notes, and gently nodded. "Your wish will come true. You'll meet me at the ruins of that house on Danchao Street tomorrow." At the same time, he pushed a one-souler bill across the table. "This is for your drink." The man's eyes flickered, as though hesitating to refuse, but ultimately he took the bill. The next day, after sending his little daughter to the church school, he walked back along the familiar path to the well-known Danchao Street and there, he saw the familiar house. Its chimney, its windows, its front door, the wild grass growing on its walls—nothing had changed. It felt so familiar, as if at any moment a beautiful lady would open the door and lead her two children out to greet their father. The man stood there, unable to believe it was true. Yet even if it were merely a dream, he would willingly sink into it. ........... Days passed, and each time Klein fulfilled a wish, he opened the window of the inn, raised his hand, and tapped his fingers in the thin morning mist. In Welch's father's neighborhood in the elevated area of Constable, he had long been accustomed to waking early, often dreaming of his deceased son and relatives, and then stepping to the balcony to breathe in the morning air. Under the glow of dawn, he suddenly saw the tall chimneys and furnaces standing like a forest, and one building after another rising tall. The once-familiar city of Constable now stood before him, bathed in the warm, golden morning light.