The nighttime sea was a deep blue bordering on black, tinged with a faint crimson, carrying a calm and quiet that the daytime lacked.
The Blue Avenger gently rose and fell with the waves, gliding like a ghostly silhouette as it sailed toward the position of the Red Moon.
Alger Wilson stood at the bow of the ship, gazing at the distant waves. His surface remained as steady as usual, but inside he could hardly suppress his tension.
After all, no matter how many backup plans he had prepared, what he was about to face was still the main naval force of a great nation… He couldn't guarantee he would survive tomorrow's battle.
"May Mr. Fool bless us, and let everything go smoothly…"
Just as Alger thought this, rushed footsteps came from behind him. He didn't need to look back to know the sound came from the newly assigned liaison officer on board.
After all, the other sailors who had spent years at sea would never wear those stiff-soled leather boots that clattered loudly against the deck.
"Captain, we just received a message from the Sanctuary. They're ordering us to return immediately!" The liaison officer held a telegram transcript and spoke quickly.
—Due to the nature of this mission, each privateer ship participating in the attack on the port had been equipped with a radio, along with a liaison officer. Since these affiliated forces couldn't operate openly as a group, they could only gather again outside the Feysac port, making constant communication extremely important.
"Return?" Hearing this, Alger frowned. His expression didn't change much, but inside, turbulent waves were already crashing:
Could it be… the World has already succeeded? But that was a military harbor. Without us "cannon fodder" harassing the target, stealing sea monsters wouldn't be easy for the World alone…
Did Mr. Fool provide assistance? After reclaiming the authority of the sea, He was more like a Sea God than Kalvetua, with His power no longer confined to the Rorsted Archipelago!
As Alger wildly speculated, he took the telegram from the liaison officer. After a quick glance, he found only a single simple order, with no other information.
After a moment of thought, Alger called over his first mate. After showing the Sanctuary's telegram, he announced the order to return.
The sailors instantly cheered. Everyone knew how dangerous this mission was, and now that they didn't have to go die, they were naturally delighted.
But a few froze shortly after celebrating—because before departure, they had taken high-interest loans and lived in indulgence for several days. They originally thought death would free them from their creditors, but now they had to face that cruel "reality."
Alger paid no attention to the sailors' joys or sorrows. He walked straight back to the captain's cabin, sealed the room with spirituality, and began a devout prayer:
"Oh Fool who does not belong to this era…"
Immediately afterward, Alger's expression gradually became blank. Only after a long while did he mutter:
"Ambushed by angels…
"But still succeeded…
"And he wants a raise?"
Meanwhile, aboard the Trident—
Klein, who was about to "teleport" away while carrying the ice block containing the "strawberry," also heard Ebner's deliberate reminder:
"Don't forget that thirty-thousand-pound donation."
Klein's hand paused on the Book of Endless Transmissions, but for the sake of maintaining the Gehrman persona, he still nodded indifferently to show he understood.
Only Miss Sharon, who was attached to him, sensed Sherlock's stiff body for that split second.
...
In Silver City, lightning tore across the sky, illuminating the streets.
Derrick Berg stepped out of his house with the Storm Axe at his waist, heading toward the Twin Towers in the north of the city.
Along the way, he encountered many residents of Silver City—some busy with work, some escorting children to receive general education, some patrolling in groups to ensure no one died unnoticed at home only to turn into a terrifying evil spirit.
These people brought vitality to Silver City, and Derrick occasionally heard the laughter of children.
He couldn't help recalling life at the afternoon-town camp. The number of humans he met each day barely reached a dozen or two. Most of the time, he had to stay inside sturdy but cramped buildings, while outside lurked monsters dwelling in houses swallowed by darkness. Those creatures were cleared out repeatedly, only to reappear again and again from unknown places, making every explorer feel an instinctive powerlessness—as if true safety was forever unattainable, and they had to stay vigilant at all times, unable to relax even for a moment.
Fortunately, Silver City had a mature rotation system. A few days ago, Derrick had already returned with the first wave of explorers, although they were inevitably quarantined until today.
After several days of rest, he felt his mental state had recovered perfectly. He was ready to consume the potion and advance to Notary.
As for the main ingredients of the potion, one portion had already been acquired through the three-way trade with Mr. Tower and Mr. Moon, while the other—feathers from a Contracted Spirit Bird—had been specially approved by Chief Colin Iliad for him to retrieve from Silver City's treasury.
Once I advance, I'll be eligible to choose a mystical item that isn't of high sequence…
Derrick held a faint sense of anticipation as he quickened his pace toward the Twin Towers.
Although the materials vault and mystical items were kept in the round tower under the supervision of the Six-Person Council, Derrick's destination was the spire, which housed the merit exchange point.
Just as he was about to enter the spire, his spirituality stirred. He instinctively looked toward the upper floor of the round tower—where a woman in a black robe traced with purple stood behind a window, watching him.
She had silver-gray curls, light-gray eyes, and a strikingly beautiful face—none other than Shepherd Lovia, a member of the Six-Person Council!
Their gazes met, and Lovia's eyes seemed able to pierce through the soul. However, her expression did not change. She even gave a subtle nod, as if greeting him.
She's not greeting me. She's greeting the one behind me…
Suddenly, Derrick understood.
This came from the experience he had gradually accumulated under the guidance of the Tarot Club members.
He nodded back, about to look away, when Lovia Elder's voice suddenly sounded in his ear:
"I need you to bring a message to Mr. Tower. Ask him, 'Do you still remember the promise from 203 years ago?'"
...
Sunday evening.
Inside the villa at 28 Kingster Street, Backlund.
After a full day of "discipline," Ebner finally established a proper set of rules with the scepter infused with Desolate Matriarch characteristics, making its feeding schedule more "regular."
As the scepter's creator, this should not have been difficult, but because Ebner was currently in a period of "bad luck," and the scepter—affected by him—just so happened to be in the "rebellious" stage of its "human template," it had taken extra effort.
And the reason Ebner fell into "bad luck" was because, during his previous battle with the Glory, he had used the uniqueness of the Wheel of Fortune to force a roll of 1 on the enemy. Naturally, this came with backlash.
But the fact it was only "bad luck," and not "misfortune" or "calamity," was already an excellent outcome.
Even so, the fully digested Prophet potion meant that Ebner's advancement to Sequence 3 Cognizer still had to be delayed. Potion consumption carried significant risk; advancing during a period of bad luck was far too dangerous.
"Fortunately, this 'bad luck' will only last a week, so it won't affect anything major…
"But I should still avoid going out and just stay home studying mythical creature forms. I still lack some understanding of the incomplete mythical forms of the Planter and Demoness pathways—those two feminine paths."
Just as Ebner thought this, he heard a knock. His butler delivered an invitation to him.
It was from Hilbert Hall, the eldest son of Earl Hall, inviting him to a ball at the Hall estate tomorrow night.
"Well then… I wonder what interesting events will occur at this ball under the combined influence of 'bad luck' and 'calamity'?"
Holding the beautifully crafted invitation, Ebner couldn't help muttering.
...
At exactly three o'clock on Monday afternoon, inside the ancient palace above the gray fog, as one crimson light after another appeared on both sides of the long bronze table, a new Tarot Gathering began.
(End of this chapter)