Furen quickly passed over the dazzling passage concerning the great philosopher Roselle. He noted that the development of philosophy in this world did not differ so much from that of his own. The philosophers' directions of thought and methods of resolution seemed almost identical; he concluded that brilliant minds always resembled each other.
Moving at his own pace, he read a few more chapters of A Brief History of Ancient and Modern Philosophy.
When he looked up, he realized it was time to go home. If he allowed himself to be distracted by Bethel Abraham's screams and lost control here in the National Library of Trier, obviously guarded by Beyonders, his fate would be sealed.
Furen didn't linger, simply walked out of the National Library in Trier at his own pace. The setting sun shone on the library's pristine white walls, reflecting a bright, but not dazzling, light.
Furen, who had been in the library for so long, relaxed slightly in the setting sun. After stretching, he signaled to the coachman who was looking for passengers.
Soon after, he managed to find a carriage. However, instead of going straight home, he said to the coachman:
"Take me to the nearest post office on Cothorne Street in the Kinhamston district."
The coachman, surprised by such a precise destination, stood frozen for a moment. But, a veteran of the road, he didn't ask any questions and replied confidently:
"Very well, sir. Come on up. I know Trier like the back of my hand. The nearest post office to the Kinhamston district is in the Hernke area. The ones in Hopetown and Winston are in the opposite direction from you."
Then he fell silent, waiting for his passenger's confirmation. When Furen nodded, the coachman cracked his whip and gave his horse a cheerful command that only they seemed to understand. The carriage began to move, slowly, at a steady pace.
Furen immediately noticed how different this coachman was from the previous one he had met. This one seemed livelier, more optimistic. Intrigued, Furen struck up a conversation.
The coachman told him that he had started working as soon as he was old enough to hold a whip. More than twenty years had passed since then. After years of struggling to earn a living, he had finally been able to buy his own carriage and leave the slums to rent a small row house in a modest district.
He was now in his thirties, but his genuine enthusiasm for life touched Furen more than he could have imagined.
Soon they arrived at the Hernke post office. The place was lively but not crowded. Furen didn't wait long before learning how to subscribe to newspapers.
Then Furen quickly looked up the zip codes for the Trier Business Evening News and the Trier Daily News. After paying for the books, Furen retrieved the receipts and left the post office.
As the last red reflections of twilight slowly dissipated, he saw the full scarlet moon rising over the horizon. A fleeting fear crossed his face, that of an unknown threat, but it vanished immediately. Glancing at his watch, he saw that the whole affair had only taken half an hour.
Finding the coachman waiting patiently for him near the post office, Furen thanked him and boarded again.
Even though Furen had made him lose half an hour, the coachman expressed no embarrassment. He spoke warmly of his past poverty and his pride in his work. Furen, amused by the man's clumsy sincerity, listened with interest and hinted that he would be generous with the pay. Only then did the coachman, reassured, stop insisting.
To the rhythm of hooves echoing once again on Cothorne Street in the Kinhamston district, Furen finally found the place he could, in this world, call home.
He gave the coachman double payment. The latter, stunned and embarrassed, tried to refuse several times, not knowing if he deserved such a sum.
Furen answered him with a smile:
"It's what you deserve. You didn't stop talking during the ride, but it wasn't an unpleasant experience. Keep it up, and I hope your life gets even better."
The coachman finally accepted with gratitude and left full of joy, looking for a new customer.
Furen, meanwhile, returned to the large, empty villa. The crimson moonlight cast an eerie hue on the walls. The silence hung heavy, and Furen felt his heart grow heavy: the full moon was approaching, and with it, the voice that haunted his mind.
Yet he did not give in to fear. He calmly entered his study, lit a candle, took his father's astrology notebook, and then went upstairs.
The third floor, before the terrace, housed a vast office with a large balcony. He lit more candles and, before the full moon reached its zenith, immersed himself in reading Martin's legacy.
Before beginning, he consulted the time table at the end of the notebook and adjusted his pocket watch. Then he began to read intently.
"...…In the mystical universe, each star is generally considered a deity, and the Seven Gods are the seven most powerful. So I will first study the seven stars that represent the Seven Gods:
"Venus, representing the God of artisans"
"the Sun, symbol of the God of the Eternal Sun"
"the Moon, of the Goddess of the Night"
"Jupiter, from Lord of Storms"
"Mars, from the God of War"
"Mercury, the God of Knowledge and Wisdom"
"and Saturn, from the Earth Mother Goddess..."
Furen immersed himself in his reading. Ten minutes before the full moon, he glanced at his watch. Without haste, he closed the notebook, took out his two mystical objects—the "Meteorite Dagger" and the "Angel Gate," as he had named them—and placed them on the table.
Then he sat quietly on the wide balcony. The cold floor soothed his restless thoughts. With his watch beside him, he gently closed his eyes and began to meditate.
These ten minutes, although short, seemed infinitely long to him.
(End of chapter)