In a room beside a church on the eastern part of the Southern Continent, during a certain night, Leonard's consciousness returned to the real world. He remained silent for several seconds, then picked up the coffee in front of him, which had grown noticeably cooler, and took a gentle sip. The bitter taste filled his mouth, gradually awakening his mind. "Old man, what exactly happened today?" Finally, Leonard couldn't hold back and asked aloud. Palis Soloyasda fell into a moment of silence before responding with deep emotion: "The 'Error' has fallen." "The 'Error'..." Leonard almost failed to catch which entity the old man meant. The next moment, he was stunned, nearly forgetting to lower his voice and asked, "Amon?" That was indeed a true god, in the standard sense! "Yes," Palis Soloyasda's voice seemed slightly more weathered than before, "more precisely, the core essence of Amon has fallen." Leonard didn’t have the heart to parse the subtle nuances in the old man’s words. He spoke in disbelief: “This… this can’t be right at all!” He had personally witnessed the anomalies just before and after the god’s fall—he knew that it was a change affecting the entire world, directly bringing forth terrifying monsters and hazardous regions. Yet just now, the only anomalies were: the doors and windows suddenly closing, and the feeling that he had momentarily forgotten something. The latter, in daily life, was something most people experienced—far from unusual. As Leonard's thoughts raced, his expression grew steadily serious: "Old man, was it precisely because of this injury that the 'Fool' had to choose to enter a state of slumber?" "He is to enter slumber?" Palis Soloyasda asked back. It seemed to him neither entirely surprising. Leonard nodded: "He summoned us today specifically for this matter." Palis Soloyasda paused for a few seconds, then said: "His decision to enter slumber is indeed connected to the previous divine wars and Amun's infiltration—though not because of injury, but due to contamination." "Contamination?" Leonard exclaimed, clearly astonished. Could someone at the level of the 'Fool' even face a contamination that proved difficult to eradicate? Palis Soloyasda resumed his reflective tone: "All things possess divinity; those who grow stronger through divine essence are forever bound by that very essence." "Point being, you're like that, I'm like that, and even 'The Fool' is like that—ah, perhaps we shouldn't call Him 'The Fool' anymore; He's now effectively half 'The Enigmatic Lord.' 'The Enigmatic Lord'... Regarding the deeper spiritual imprints embedded within extraordinary qualities, Leonard indeed understands more deeply than other half-gods of his level. Yet, when it comes to knowledge that might be inherently polluting if known—knowledge that could affect higher layers—he still has several shortcomings. Even though he's heard the term 'The Enigmatic Lord' from the old man before, he still doesn't fully grasp what it signifies. "Palaces Soloyasde's tone carried a touch of oddity: "How could a frail, aging angel like me possibly know such matters at the divine level? As for awakening—even the 'Fool' has no better method. How could I possibly have one?" Palace Soloyasde smiled and added, "If you can't accept this approach, then find someone who possesses the talent you're seeking but who is extremely poor, and trade them the money they desire for that very talent." "This is a bit like the devil," Leonard remarked thoughtfully. Palace Soloyasde chuckled warmly, "There's actually an even simpler solution: hire someone with the right talent to help you address your specific challenges." "Oh, I see it now, old man—why didn't you say so earlier?" Leonard suddenly saw a clear path forward. Palace Soloyasde gave a hearty laugh, "So simple, and yet you didn't think of it? I thought you had already ruled this option out when you came to me." Leonard didn't pay much attention to the elder's teasing tone. After giving it some serious thought, he found the suggestion genuinely feasible. Yet, soon after, a sense of guilt and unease settled in, as though he were avoiding responsibility. On this matter, I still need to do something personally... Besides hiring someone to write poetry, I myself must write some too. With this thought, Leonard suddenly stood up and walked toward the door. "Where are you going?" Palis Soloyasda asked, slightly surprised. Leonard furrowed his brows, his expression resolute. "To the nearby bookstore to buy some poetry collections." Since he was promoted to "Nightmare," he had abandoned his previous poetry collections, letting them serve mostly as decorative items. When he became a "Spirit Warden," he began gathering poetry suitable for his abilities, assigning specific spirit companions to read and recite them during battles, creating remarkable effects that complemented his own powers. Thus, when he came to the Southern Continent, he had brought not a single poetry collection with him, and of his older ones, he only remembered a few that he used regularly. Unexpectedly, even now, as a senior steward, he had to revisit the poetry collections. Leonard silently sighed, his steps growing more determined. Palace Soloyasde had no idea that Leonard’s next move would be to purchase a poetry collection. It wasn’t until later that he tentatively asked, “Is this the behest of ‘The Fool’?” “Yes,” Leonard replied briefly, then stepped out the door. Palace Soloyasde remained silent once more before finally saying, “Beyond writing poetry, you must also pay closer attention to the campaign against the Rose School.” Leonard walked down the stairs and onto the street, observing the pedestrians passing by, and gently nodded, “Hmm.” At that moment, as he walked toward the bookstore, he felt as though he had once again returned to Tingen, back to the days when he was still ‘The Midnight Poet.’ Then, too, he had walked through the bustling streets, preparing to buy a collection of early classical poems from Roon and a volume of Roselle’s poetry. ………… Beckland, South District, Harvest Church. After regaining consciousness, Emlyn White found himself standing before a window. The sunlight outside has grown dim, and the grass is lush and thriving. Regarding the slumber of the "Knight of Cups," his feelings differ slightly from those of the other Tarot Circle members. Beyond the weight, sighs, sorrow, and bewilderment, there is a steady conviction that a favorable outcome is likely. Within the House of Blood, several Marquises and Counts have already reached an advanced age—though their lifespans exceed those of most half-deities of their rank, they now find themselves in the twilight of life. At this stage, they often choose to enter slumber, using this method to extend their lives, and the results are consistently effective. Thus, Emlin has long grown accustomed to and heard many such instances of slumber, understanding that it does not equate to death or decline. With the right approach, he believes the "Knight of Cups" has a significant chance of awakening. He gazed out the window, murmuring to himself, "The 'Fool' has fallen asleep. The divine prophecy of the Primordial is frequently disturbed—clearly, it can no longer offer consistent assistance..." After a brief silence, Emlin sighed silently, "Indeed, in the end, one must face it, bear it. This is the destiny of the Savior." As he spoke the word "Savior," Emlin smiled noticeably, a touch of self-mockery in his tone. He then repeated it silently in his mind: "It will have to be all on my own." Just as this thought passed through him, a voice from behind him—Father Utravskiy—resonated: "It's time to set out." Emlin turned to see the brown-clad priest carrying a great sword. The sword was longer than Emlin's height and nearly as wide as his waist. Combined with the priest's massive frame, an overwhelming sense of pressure seemed tangible. As a Count of the Bloodline, Emlyn merely felt a slight suffocation before returning to normal, and nodded gently: "Good." Today, they would set out for the Southern Continent to participate in the campaign against the Rose School. Just as he finished speaking, Emlyn suddenly remembered something and added promptly: "Wait another half hour." He needed to gather most of the Bloodline from Beckland to begin preliminary discussions about the pharmaceutical company. Bishop Utrofski said nothing, simply nodded: "Come find me when you're ready." After watching Bishop Utrofski enter the church deeply, Emlyn turned to the Bloodline members who would be accompanying him to the Southern Continent and said: "Notify all the Bloodline members in Beckland to come over—we have something to discuss." "Yes, Your Grace," the Bloodline members responded respectfully. When they had gone their separate ways, Emlin turned back to gaze at the altar and the Emblem of Life before the church— a simple infant surrounded by symbols of wheat, freshness, and flowing water. This sight suddenly made him feel dazed. He couldn’t quite recall when it had begun, but he had found himself spending less and less time in his bedroom, spending less and less time with the figurines, and his interest in studying history had grown more purposeful, more pragmatic. This transformation had not come all at once, but had unfolded gradually, day by day, month by month, so subtly that it went unnoticed—until Emlin realized he had already adapted to this new way of life. Emlin lowered his gaze, slightly lifted his chin, and smiled, shaking his head. "That’s the destiny of the Savior, isn't it?" ps1: Double the subscription period for a monthly ticket! ps2: Recommend a book—Lin Hai’s new one. I grew up reading his books. Truly, I laughed. Title: The Fox of the Forbidden Zone He is a born striker, never losing sight of the goal. He faces off against the adversaries on the field, and against this world as well. "I know," he says, "the goal is right there."