Constantine did not return to the inn immediately.
Instead, he walked.
Through narrow streets.
Across quiet bridges.
Past dim lanterns that flickered in the night air.
His steps were steady.
But his mind was not idle.
The information Relian had given him reshaped everything.
Rune magic was not something he could learn.
Not in the conventional sense.
Not through study.
Not through force.
It had to be given.
Inherited.
From something that did not belong to this world.
Which meant—
The scholars were never his target.
They were only shadows chasing something far greater.
Constantine stopped beneath a lone streetlamp.
The faint hum of the city surrounded him.
Distant voices.
Wind brushing against stone.
And beneath it—
The quiet processing of the system.
[New Objective Formed]
→ Locate individuals with confirmed Netherworld contact
→ Identify inheritance markers of Rune Magic
→ Extract or replicate knowledge pathway
Constantine spoke quietly.
"Probability of success."
[Unknown]
"Estimated leads."
[Insufficient data]
That was expected.
Relian had not given him answers.
Only direction.
But direction was enough.
Constantine returned to the inn just before dawn.
The room was unchanged.
Still.
Empty.
He sat on the bed and began organizing the information.
Records.
Hidden archives.
Accounts of survivors.
People who had encountered Nether entities—
And lived.
Such individuals would not be documented openly.
Their existence alone would be dangerous.
Which meant the records would be:
Fragmented Sealed Or deliberately obscured
Constantine closed his eyes beneath the blindfold.
Then spoke.
"Access absorbed archival skills."
[Activating: Historical Analysis]
[Activating: Restricted Text Decoding]
[Activating: Pattern Reconstruction]
Fragments of knowledge surfaced.
Memories from countless scholars he had absorbed in the Mirror Realm.
How they searched.
How they cross-referenced.
How they uncovered truths hidden beneath layers of censorship.
Constantine began forming a plan.
The next morning, he entered Ardelion's largest public archive.
The building was massive.
Towering shelves.
Endless rows of books.
Scholars moved like ants between sections.
No one paid attention to the blindfolded man walking calmly through the halls.
Constantine did not browse randomly.
He moved with precision.
First—official records.
Disasters.
Unexplained incidents.
Cities destroyed under unclear circumstances.
Then—cross references.
Eyewitness accounts.
Personal journals.
Footnotes.
Contradictions.
Places where official narratives did not align.
Hours passed.
Then—
A pattern emerged.
Certain events were recorded…
But never explained.
Incidents labeled as:
"Unidentified Magical Catastrophe" "Mass Hysteria Followed by Structural Collapse" "Spontaneous Entity Manifestation"
The language was careful.
Deliberately vague.
But consistent.
Constantine extracted names.
Dates.
Locations.
Then moved deeper.
Secondary archives.
Less regulated.
Older documents.
Here, the language changed.
Less filtered.
More honest.
And then—
He found it.
A fragmented journal entry.
The ink faded.
The page partially damaged.
But readable.
"…it spoke to me."
"…not in words, but in understanding."
"…I see symbols now, even when I close my eyes."
"…they burn into my thoughts…"
Constantine's focus sharpened.
Another line.
"…I cannot tell the others. They would kill me."
A pause.
Then—
"…I think I can recreate what it showed me…"
The entry ended there.
No name.
No clear identity.
But the implications were clear.
This person had been touched.
Had seen rune structures.
Had begun to understand them.
Exactly what Constantine needed.
He turned the page.
Nothing.
The record stopped abruptly.
Removed.
Or lost.
Constantine remained still.
Then spoke quietly.
"Trace document origin."
[Analyzing…]
[Archive Section: Restricted Migration Records]
[Document Age: Approximately 43 years]
[Region of Origin: Northern Territories]
Northern.
The same region where Veyrath had manifested.
The same region where the rune had been used.
Not coincidence.
Constantine closed the book.
Carefully.
Gently.
Then placed it back.
By evening, he had gathered more fragments.
None complete.
But enough to form a direction.
There were others.
People who had encountered Nether entities.
Some had died.
Some had disappeared.
But a few—
Had left traces.
And those traces pointed north.
Always north.
Constantine returned to his inn one last time.
He packed his belongings without hesitation.
His path in Ardelion had reached its limit.
The city of scholars had given him what it could.
Now—
The search would move beyond books.
Beyond records.
Into the world itself.
Before leaving, Constantine paused.
The room was silent.
Empty.
Just like the cottage.
The same realization lingered.
But this time—
It did not stop him.
He stepped out into the night.
The road awaited him once more.
And somewhere in the northern territories—
There existed someone who had been touched by the Netherworld.
Someone who had seen the truth behind rune magic.
Someone who could lead him closer to—
Veyrath.
And beyond that—
To the answer he sought above all else.
The Ugly God.