Translator: KJ

Whoooooooo──

A morning when a biting wind came howling through. In a prison somewhere in northern Robrus, enclosed by dull gray walls.

“.......”

At the checkpoint, the guard eyed the ‘ID’ with suspicion, glancing back and forth between the photo and the man in front of him.

Then, with indifference, he tossed out the name.

“Maxim Eduardovich Voronin. Occupation...... lawyer?”

“That’s right.”

A low and composed tone. That voice, which anyone would have accepted without question as a man’s, belonged to Yelena Yumanov.

She had disguised her identity as a man named Maxim.

“Go on i⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌n.”

The guard jerked his chin.

──BWOOOOOM!

The prison’s massive iron gate scraped against the ground as it swung open.

Clomp. Clomp.

Yelena walked down the dim corridor and arrived at a cramped visitation room. She sat quietly on the steel chair and waited.

Tick- Tick-

But however much time passed, the prisoner she had requested to see did not appear. Instead, the guard returned and relayed a message: ‘The warden is asking for you.’

It was what she had expected.

“Let’s go.”

Yelena went up to the warden’s office.

The interior was awash in red, and above the Prison Warden’s head hung a framed portrait of Varmil.

“Have a seat.”

The warden, ‘Petrin’, pointed to the seat across from him. Yelena sat down and asked.

“What’s happening with my visit?”

Petrin let out a small laugh.

“Counselor. You really came here to mount a defense?”

“Yes. I heard there’s a man imprisoned for stealing a single piece of bread.”

Pfft. A scornful laugh of disbelief slipped out of him.

“And? Is stealing a piece of bread not a crime?”

“It is a crime, yes, but does a man like that get sent to a Labor Reeducation Camp too?”

“He would, yes.”

“Just for stealing a single loaf of bread?”

The corner of the warden’s mouth twisted upward.

“Because the Party’s discipline has grown very strict. You intend to defend a petty thief like that?”

“And if I do?”

“If you do, then I suspect you’ll be turning up as one of the inmates here before long.”

It was a blatant threat. And in truth, Petrin was a man with considerable pull within the Party. The northern prison had jurisdiction over three or four Labor Reeducation Camps, which made him quite a power in these parts as well.

“Ah...... in fact.”

Yelena leaned the upper half of her body forward.

Her voice sank low.

“I didn’t come for some man who stole a single loaf of bread. I came to defend you.”

“......What?”

The warden’s brow crumpled. His whole face scrunched up as though to demand what kind of bullshit this was, but Yelena spoke a name.

“Do you know the name ‘Ivan Katrovich’?”

“.......”

The warden’s expression froze over.

Ivan Katrovich. The political rival gunning for Petrin’s neck, both at the Party’s center and beneath the surface.

Savoring the warden’s stiffened face, Yelena softly added.

“He intends to denounce you as a Reactionary.”

* * *

──Long ago, a Mana Poisoning incident occurred at a certain company in the Empire’s west.

The cause was an Illegal Mana Stone. An illegal synthetic mana stone had been used at the company’s worksite, leaking a toxic gas that poisoned dozens of employees at the time. Hermann was one of those dozens.

Otto’s younger brother Hermann had his mana circuits destroyed by the mana stone poisoning. He developed an incurable heart disease.

But because the man behind that illegal mana stone trafficking was an influential noble, ‘Gregor’, who had risen into central politics, the incident was thoroughly buried.

Far from receiving any compensation, Hermann was left to languish by the company without so much as proper treatment.

Otto, a soldier at the time, learned of it too late and brought Hermann back home, but by then, surely, it was already too late.

Hermann met a death that was, in effect, little short of murder.

And so, Otto resolved to take his revenge.

He took on his brother Hermann’s name and face. With the Revolutionary forces’ meticulous support and technology, he laundered his very identity.

Otto never made Hermann’s death known; instead, with the Revolutionary forces, he had the identity ‘Otto’ die in an explosion, and entered Empire Point under his younger brother’s name.

Before my Regression, his plan had clearly succeeded.

For the Empire had fallen, and the revolution had been achieved.

But in this life, he had been annihilated, his line snuffed out.

He was erased from this continent as nothing more than one among countless individuals.

What remained to me was─ to proclaim Hermann’s death to the world.

I prepared a press conference.

I would leave Hermann as nothing more than Hermann. I doctored the traces he had left and the supporting evidence to my own liking, and reshaped even the how and the circumstances of his death into a form that favored the Knight Order.

Otto had been a spy for the Revolutionary forces, but I could not allow a blemish to fall upon Sentinel.

No, a blemish itself is possible. Should a cause arise grand enough to demand it, I could readily endure even that.

Only, it could not happen at ‘the will of the Revolutionary forces’.

And that is why.......

.......

One day, at noon, under a clear sky.

Reutern II came out to the Sentinel Knight Order.

There was no special reason. He was simply bored. Cooped up in his private chamber all the time, he had grown restless.

“......What’s this?”

But then, the plaza in front of the Order’s headquarters. People were swarming there in enormous numbers.

A clamor of voices. A jostling crowd.

Most of them were reporters carrying cameras and notebooks, and scattered among them were quite a few knights in full uniform and familiar nobles from the imperial palace.

“Huh? It’s Lord Reutern.”

Someone in the crowd spotted Reutern. Reutern gave him only a slight nod and asked.

“What’s going on? What’s everyone doing here?”

“Ah! My apologies! Please, go right in!”

He had asked purely out of curiosity, yet the people gave a startled flinch and cleared a space for him.

“No, I’m asking what you’re all doing.”

“Ah, yes. Understood. Everyone. Step aside! Lord Reutern is coming through!”

The man even stepped right up and opened a clear path for him.

“No, that’s.......”

“This way, please.”

Reutern walked along, following their lead for the moment.

As if shoved along from behind, he ended up in the very front row of the Sentinel auditorium.

“Huh? It’s Max.”

Maximilian was sitting at the center of the platform. Before he knew it, Reutern had plopped down into the empty seat beside Maximilian.

“.......”

Maximilian looked at Reutern without a word. Reutern blinked and replied.

“They told me to come in?”

“......Is that so?”

“Max, was it you who called me here?”

“......Of course not.”

For the moment, Reutern asked, lowering his voice to a whisper.

“So what’s this press conference about?”

Maxim⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌ilian answered, keeping his own voice low:

“Hermann is dead, you see.”

“And who’s Hermann?”

“.......”

Whisper, whisper. Whisper, whisper. A photograph was snapped of the two of them murmuring into each other’s ears.

“The knight you saw at that little theater.”

“Ohhh, that guy? How’d he die?”

“He was taken down by the Revolutionary forces.”

“Unbelievable.”

Maximilian stared at Reutern for a moment, then nodded.

“In any case, I’m glad you came. Since you, Lord Reutern, were involved in this matter as well.”

“I was?”

“Yes. It’s only fitting that you be present.”

He pulled the microphone over at once and launched into the briefing.

In the course of Hermann escorting Dominic, an ambush had broken out, and Hermann and his field officers had been overcome by Dominic. Dominic himself was hunted down and killed at the end of a pursuit, but Hermann’s body had yet to be recovered.......

Reutern II stroked his chin and, with a grave expression, only nodded.

“......Lor⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌d Reutern, a few words from you as well, please!”

A reporter shouted. Maximilian smoothly passed the microphone over to Reutern.

“Uh.......”

“Anything you’d like to say will do.”

“Uh, right. Ahem, ahem.”

Clearing his throat, he took hold of the microphone. He strung together whatever grand-sounding phrases floated up in his head.

“This incident is nothing if not a most tragic and regrettable affair. That so capable a talent as that heroic knight...... And yet, to the Sentinel Knight Order, which quelled this crisis early and averted still greater harm...... To those who so unfortunately lost their lives, I hereby extend my condolences.......”

Click! Click! Click! The reporters pressed their camera shutters. Reutern threw out his chest with the most solemn expression he could muster.

“M⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌m.”

Beside him, Maximilian gave a quiet nod.

Reutern II.

He’s a variable that hardly even qualifies as one, but handled well like this, he makes a fairly useful tool.

The same goes for this affair. A handful of words tossed out on the borrowed weight of his authority will lend the version of events we’re putting forward a legitimacy and credibility that no one would dare contest.

“......Lord Reutern. That new accessory of yours is quite splendid.”

Maximilian said it with a small smile.

“Hah! You’re only now noticing it?”

Pleased that his necklace had finally been acknowledged, Reutern broke into a high-spirited smile.

.......

Beneath a gray sky, a green field where stillness had settled.

At ‘Sention’, where they say only the Empire’s heroes are laid to rest, the knights of Sentinel had gathered.

[ Hermann von Berg ]

Today was Hermann’s burial ceremony.

Though the coffin itself stood empty, it was in preparation for the day his body would someday be reclaimed.

“......Hermann. All you ever did was struggle, and now you’re gone.”

Mia gently set a single white chrysanthemum down before the headstone. And she was not the only one.

Many of her fellow trainees including Mia, senior knights such as Leon, Tiana, and Hannah, and even the high-ranking senior knights who were the very pillars of Sentinel.

They stood lined up in silence, and nothing but a solemn stillness hung over their faces.

“Idiot.......”

Always shoving himself to the front, throwing himself into every mission harder than anyone. A noble who treated commoners without the faintest prejudice, who drove himself tooth and nail, who burned himself to ash.

He blazed so fiercely it was dangerous, and deep down Mia had worried about him. And in the end, this was how he burned out, for nothing.

“......Oh.”

Ju⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌st then, the knights’ gazes converged on a single point.

──Trudge.

Coming up the cemetery path through the scattering drizzle, Maximilian Ebenholtz.

A uniform crisper than usual, and golden eyes sunk into a cold stillness.

He laid a chrysanthemum before the gravestone. With his eyes quietly closed, he offered a brief moment of silence.

“The Deputy Commander is coming.”

Following someone’s whisper came Deputy Commander Chiron.

Chiron laid a hand on the shoulder of Maximilian, who had come ahead of him, then offered a flower at Hermann’s gravestone. He clenched his teeth, then quietly turned and looked over the knights assembled before him.

“......All of you.”

Chiron’s grief-laden voice cut through the damp air.

“I believe that, through this incident, each of you has felt something.”

His gaze settled on each of the knights, one by one.

A knight’s death, at the hands of the Empire’s enemy.

The sacrifice of a young recruit.

“──Sentinel.”

Chiron clenched his fist.

“Sentinel does not compromise.”

A plain, unadorned resonance echoing across the field.

He did not lift his voice, nor cry out loud, and yet those words, those very sentences, imprinted themselves vividly into the ears of every knight.

“Though our comrade has lost his life.”

Chiron raised his clenched fist.

“We will overturn their malice by our own will.”

Every one of the knights looked at Chiron.

─Plip. Pit-pat.

A drop of water trickling down from the sky touched Chiron’s face. It traced a mark like a tear.

“......We will forge this sorrow into rage, and tear the Empire’s enemies to shreds.”

───Shhhhaaaaa.

The faint rain met the knights’ shoulders and scattered apart.

Sentinel, having lost one of their own, only sank into a heavy stillness, without a single word.

* * *

With Hermann’s burial ceremony over, Maximilian returned to his office.

“Sir. A letter has come from the East.”

A letter from Yelena had been delivered.

“......Hm.”

It was a report on the recent developments concerning the ‘Labor Reeducation Camps’ said to be sprouting up like mushrooms all across the Eastern Alliance.

‘Reeducation camp’ was a generous name; in reality, the place was little different from an extermination camp few ever came out of alive.

Yet there was a clear difference from the Empire’s camps.

Where the Empire’s camps had been operated for the sole purpose of ‘exterminating’ particular races and Reactionaries, the East’s Labor Reeducation Camps worked their inmates without end.

Reclaim this barren land in payment for your crimes- such was the meaning of it.

[ The purges in Robrus are being carried out against the nobles, the bourgeoisie, and the power brokers of the military. ]

Yelena’s neat handwriting continued.

[ But Varmil’s hunger for power is immense. The Suspicion Sickness and Paranoia born of it appear to be spreading even to ordinary citizens. The situation is such that, at the slightest pretext, the Secret Police LKGD drag every last one of them off to the camps....... ]

As he read down through her letter, his eyes suddenly stopped.

“Suspicion Sickness.”

Varmil Makstun had contracted the Suspicion Sickness.

Before my Regression, it had been a well-known fact.

Even after the Empire fell, Varmil clung to his own power, and the Labor Reeducation Camps were kept running for a full ten years after the war.

To me, this is bizarre.

Ezenheim, which shares nothing but the single cause of humanity’s annihilation, tormented by Suspicion Sickness and Paranoia merely out of fear that its own power might be threatened?

There’s no way.

The way those things think must surely run on a track entirely apart from any human lust for power.

“......Labor.”

All at once, a hunch flashed through my mind.

“Labor.”

They forced merciless labor on the prisoners. They dug into the earth, they shaved down mountains.

Across the East’s vast, untouched frontier they had raised dozens, hundreds of Labor Reeducation Camps, and were wringing out the labor of tens of millions as they dug away at ‘something’.

“.......”

Ezenheim.

History had judged the East’s leader, Premier Varmil, to be a man afflicted with severe Paranoia and Suspicion Sickness. The Labor Reeducation Camps, too, had been an atrocity that sprang from that very trait of his.

But why, of all things, had the Suspicion Sickness and Paranoia led to Labor Reeducation Camps?

Why had he crammed not only the powerful but countless civilians as well into those places?

Feeding in so vast a multitude of human beings, what in the world had he been trying to unearth, or to build, deep, deep beneath the soil of the East?

“The Underground City.”

At some moment, Edmon’s voice rose up inside my ear.

‘......The underground cities they dug. Do you remember?’

The starting point of my Regression.

‘We thought they’d gathered there to survive, but it was to develop dimensional gates. We were deceived by those devils.......’

The hint that Edmon, grown old, had murmured as he set me free.

“Time to arrange a trip.”

There’s no time to be sprawled about in this office.

It seems, after all, that I’ll have to make my way to the East once more.

~~~

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