"January 18th. Five straight days of attempts. I have finally come to terms with one fact: there is no going home through this medallion. The fog that activating it reveals is just like the crossing itself — it places an eternal layer of mist between me and the truth."
"January 20th. I dreamed again of standing in the grey-white fog. But this time I saw no shadow — only heard a voice."
"The voice said: 'What a pity. What a pity — you chose the wrong Pathway.'"
"When I woke, I was baffled. Why would the voice say I'd chosen the wrong Pathway? What does 'wrong Pathway' even mean? What would the right one be? I can't make sense of it."
The diary ended there.
Bernadette stared at the last page for several seconds, then flipped back to the beginning, murmuring: "Grey-white fog…"
She knew it perfectly well. Whether it was Mr. Fool's realm above the Grey Fog, or the fog that appeared every time He manifested — it was always that same boundless grey-white mist.
So the fog Father had seen when he activated the silver medallion — was it the Grey Fog, the Fool's domain? And the place he wandered into in his dreams — was that also the Fool's domain?
The reasoning was sound. After all, both of them were transmigrators from the same place.
But then — why hadn't Father seen the "Fool" at the time?
Wait.
What if the voice Father heard later was the Fool — but the Fool had said He didn't know Father? What was going on?
While Bernadette's head filled with questions, so did Vincent's. He couldn't remember every detail of the original novel, but he was certain of one thing: in the source material, Roselle had not seen any shadow, had not heard any voice.
The Grey Fog had been without a master at that time. Klein's soul had been hovering at its deepest point, not yet in control.
So who did Roselle see? Whose voice did he hear?
The thought brought to mind the Worm of Time he'd spotted in the Grey Fog before — just once.
Could it be that?
But if an Error Pathway Beyonder had entered the unmanned Grey Fog, shouldn't they have simply become its master on the spot?
Unless they'd died later for some reason — leaving the position vacant again. But the Worm of Time he'd seen had still been alive…
Bernadette said: "If I didn't already know that Father had switched to the Black Emperor and is waiting in a mausoleum on a nameless island in the Fog Sea — after reading this diary, I might have been even more convinced that the Fool is Father."
"That he lost his memories, and has been collecting his own diary entries to piece everything back together."
Vincent found that deeply relatable. "Yeah — that tracks completely. Without knowing the plot, I'd make the same call. No wonder the original story had Bernadette suspecting the Fool was Roselle for so long."
"Do you think the voice Father heard at the end was the Fool?"
"I just don't think Mr. Fool has any reason to hide a prior acquaintance with Roselle."
"Mm."
Bernadette folded the diary away carefully, murmuring: "I hope next week's Tarot Club gives me the answers I'm looking for."
...
Jowood District. Derlin's former law office — now a bar serving sour plum wine.
The door chime jingled, and a girl walked in — black dress, sixteen or seventeen, confusion written across her face. She approached the barman. "Excuse me… is this Derlin's Law Office? I'm looking for Solicitor Derlin."
The barman smiled. "As you can see, this is a bar. There's no solicitor called Derlin here. You must have the wrong address."
"That can't be right."
The girl — or rather Melissa in disguise — glanced at the address on her note again. She sniffed the air. "Was this place recently renovated?"
"That's right."
The barman shook his cocktail shaker with practised ease, then produced a small glass and poured in a sky-blue liquid, pushing it toward Melissa. "My latest creation, young miss — on the house. Tell me what you think."
"Oh — I'm sorry, I don't drink."
Melissa shook her head quickly. Both Benson and Klein had strict rules about this: no alcohol before adulthood, and even after, only with family or friends present.
"What a shame."
The barman tipped the glass back himself in one go, and continued: "I'm only hired help — I don't know much about the place's history."
"That's alright, thank you."
Melissa smiled warmly despite her disappointment, turned, and left the bar.
She'd actually learned of Derlin's disappearance a few days earlier. Passing near this address, a Sealed Artifact her teacher had given her had sent out a warning of danger. She'd left at once and commissioned a detective to investigate.
But after several days with no results, she'd decided to come have a look for herself first.
The moment she'd stepped inside, the warning had grown sharper — almost strong enough to make her uneasy. So she'd asked only a few brief questions before leaving quickly.
The moment Melissa was out the door, the barman's smile vanished. He crossed his arms, leaned back against the shelves, and raised an eyebrow.
"That girl carries such an… concealed quality about her. Is it Night's work — or her daughter's?"
He reached up and touched his right eye. "Such a nuisance."
At the same moment, in the old Glinros family manor, Stephen was trimming the garden hedges alongside the elderly butler with the monocle, both of them working in the flower beds.
Stephen's gaze was distant — he was clearly planning something. The butler looked perfectly at ease, as though genuinely enjoying the peace of it.
Then the monocle in the butler's right eye gave a faint flash. He straightened, looked at Stephen, and said: "Someone just came by the bar asking for Solicitor Derlin."
Stephen blinked. "What?"
"Don't tell me you've forgotten." Amon adopted the look of someone disappointed in a student. "Before Solicitor Derlin died, didn't he say the Moses Ascetic Order would send someone to take his place, and leave a letter specifically for you?"
The reminder snapped it back. Stephen remembered: the reason he'd come to Backlund in the first place was because Queen Mystic had sent him to serve as Derlin's assistant. He never could have predicted how much would end up happening — or that he'd wind up parasitised by an Angel of the Error Pathway.
I'm just a Sequence 5 nobody. What have I done to deserve a game of cat-and-mouse with an Angel?
"Your chance has arrived."
Amon smiled pleasantly. "If the person who just came to the bar really is from the Moses Ascetic Order, I need you to make contact with her — and find out what she wants."
He added: "Of course, you can run at any moment. That offer still stands."
Stephen naturally wasn't going to refuse. "Deal!"
"Heh."
Amon turned the monocle between his fingers. "You really are eager."
...
In a hotel in Backlund's North Borough.
Klein was up early. He ate breakfast as usual at a nearby shop, then joined the stream of devout attendees heading into St. Samuel's Cathedral.
After prayers, during the offering, he slipped a prepared note into the priest's hand as he donated. The two exchanged a glance — neither expression changed.
A few minutes later, Daly Simone came and sat beside Klein in the front pew, beneath the vast Evernight aureole, and smiled with amusement: "Not bad — love the face. Almost caught my eye."
"..."
Klein twitched slightly and hissed quietly through his teeth: "Please, Miss Daly. Someone might be watching me right now."
"Relax. We've already swept the area — no suspicious individuals within the church."
"Phew."
Klein exhaled. His nerves had been wound tight ever since he'd picked up that note yesterday.
"Hey, Klein — you want to try using that face to flirt with Leonard?"
"..."
Klein pressed a hand over his eyes. "Miss Daly, I found the Sanguine."
"Oh?"
Her expression sharpened. "Tell me."
"Well—"
He recounted everything that had happened at the Harvest Church. "I figured — even if the Sanguine in there can't heal the Captain fully, maybe through him we could reach a Viscount-tier Sanguine?"
Daly listened, and her brow furrowed. "The Harvest Church? That might be a problem."
"Why?"
"That giant bishop is a Blessed of the Earth Mother — he was sent to Backlund specifically to spread her faith. Archbishop Anthony has given us clear instructions to avoid any conflict with that side."
She then added, with a flicker of reassurance: "As for finding the Sanguine — I've got a lead of my own on that front. No need to rush."
"Alright."
Klein didn't press. He knew perfectly well that no one in the world cared more about Dunn Smith than the girl in front of him.
"By the way, Miss Daly — the undercover assignment with the Demoness Sect. I don't think I can carry it through." Klein breathed in. "Based on my investigation, Prince Edessak isn't someone who does evil at will. I can't bring myself to justify assassinating a man like that."
Daly wasn't surprised. She frowned slightly. "Honestly, it was always a bit much to ask. Never mind the Prince's character — asking a Sequence 7 Witch to assassinate a Loen prince is essentially hazing you. The Church badly underestimated how wary the Demoness Sect is of outside women. They much prefer cultivating people from scratch."
"But here's my personal read on it: the real purpose of having you go undercover was to find out what the Demoness Sect is planning next. And you've already raised the possibility yourself — their request to assassinate the Prince might not have been random. They might have had a specific purpose."
"Maybe you can pull that thread on your own and see where it leads?"
Klein blinked, then nodded slowly. "I understand."
"Whatever you do — prioritise your own safety. Be careful."
"I will."
He gave a firm nod, but his gaze drifted to the great Evernight aureole overhead, and the Lord of Chaos's words from last night echoed through him: "The Evernight Goddess and your Fool have a rather close relationship."
One thing was certain: the "Fool" he'd become had no connection with the Evernight Goddess to speak of — he barely knew Her.
So the "Fool" the Lord of Chaos had referred to — was it the previous holder of the title?
And if the Evernight Goddess truly had a close relationship with the original Fool — and found out that Klein had taken the seat — what might She do?
Forget it. Thinking about it only makes things worse.
A few minutes later, Klein changed his appearance and clothes, slipped out of the cathedral among a group of departing worshippers, split away partway, and stepped into a department store. In the bathroom, he divined that no one was following him — and then steeled himself, reversed the four steps, and climbed up to the Grey Fog.
Settled into the ancient, fog-draped hall, his first act was divination: is anyone watching me from the shadows? When the topaz swung counter-clockwise, he covered his eyes and sank back against the chair. Only then did he truly, finally, let himself breathe.
He rested for a moment, then looked toward the depths of the fog, toward the faint crimson star that represented Miss Justice. He extended his hand, let his spirituality drift outward, and brought her image into the hall.
"Mr. Fool — I've already asked the Lord of Chaos the question as you instructed."
Even though he already knew the answer, Klein's heart still hammered.
Audrey continued: "The Lord of Chaos's answer was that He knows — but…" She lowered her head. "He also said that if you want the answer, you'll have to come ask Him yourself."
Come ask Him myself.
But I already did — just through a more discreet route.
Klein shook his head, then assumed the appropriate air of mystery and said simply: "Understood."
He sent the image of Miss Justice away, then immediately produced pen and parchment and wrote: "The person who sent this note knows my true identity."
Seven repetitions. He let the topaz hang free. It swung — clockwise, slow and steady.
Klein's stomach dropped. He rubbed his fingers together, and wrote again: "The person who sent this note knows that I am the Fool."
He took a breath. Let the topaz hang.
Counter-clockwise.
"So — that person knows my identity as a transmigrator. They don't know I'm the Fool."
Not a total disaster.
Klein produced another fresh sheet and wrote: "The identity of the person who sent this note."
He leaned back, closed his eyes, and slipped into the dream state.
In the hazy, dark space of the divination dream, a man with black hair and dark eyes appeared — in a loose jacket and trousers, walking through a dim and quiet corridor, producing a piece of paper and writing several Chinese characters: I see you.
He slipped the note under the door, and his figure was gone.
Click.
Dream shattered. Klein opened his eyes.
He pressed two fingers to his temple and held the image from the dream in his mind, then reached up with one hand — a photograph materialised, floating before him.
"Black hair. Dark eyes. Yellow skin…"
Klein instinctively reached out, his finger moving toward the hovering image, something almost warm stirring in his chest. Even if nothing about the person's intent was clear yet — the appearance alone made Klein feel, involuntarily, a kind of kinship.
But kinship felt by him didn't mean goodwill from the other side. So he wrote a fourth divination: "Making contact with this person would be harmful to me."
He repeated it, staring hard at the topaz as it hung still.
This time — nothing. No clockwise rotation. No counter-clockwise.
"Too little information to produce a result… or does this mean contact is neither harmful nor beneficial?"
Klein considered for a moment, then produced a final fresh sheet of parchment and gripped his pen.
He wrote:
"The current location of that person."
He closed his eyes and entered the dream again. The blurred, dark world showed him the same man, this time sitting inside a space that resembled a carriage — a hired cab, by the look of it. Nothing distinctive. No way to determine where it was.
About ten seconds later, the dream broke.
Klein opened his eyes, the topaz still resting in his fingers. He sat quietly, turning it all over.
...
While Klein was divining Bernadette's location, she was at Bravehearts Bar — Xio had sent a message via Invisible Servant to arrange a meeting.
To be continued…
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