All Edward could see was darkness—utter, absolute darkness. His consciousness sank into a void where even dreams could not reach, as though he had fallen into the deepest, most silent sleep.

He had no idea how much time passed before the formless blackness began to tremble faintly. A cold, thin breeze brushed across his face, stirring his numbed thoughts back to life. Gradually, he began to regain a sense of awareness.

When Edward finally forced his eyes open, he found himself surrounded by a heavy mist and the deep, tranquil light of night. Not far ahead lay a small town.

The town's most striking feature was a black spired church of ancient design. It had no bell tower, and its sharp roof was circled by flocks of pitch-dark crows.

Around the church stood scattered buildings: ordinary two-story houses, rough wooden huts, a bakery with a creaking sign, and a greyish mill driven by a waterwheel. Yet not a single person walked the streets. The entire town seemed to be slumbering peacefully beneath the quiet of the night.

"…"

After a brief moment of bewilderment, Edward roughly guessed where he was—the very same black town where, in the future, Klein would be exiled by the Goddess after being caught red-handed trying to steal the Antigonus family's notebook from the church.

Klein, I beat you to it this time…

…Although, that wasn't really something to brag about.

When Klein came here, he'd been accompanied by Mr. A, a Witch, and even Zaratul. Now, the town was utterly deserted—no sign of life, no danger. It was probably just a warning from the Goddess.

Unfortunately, that warning might not be very effective. When my rational mind is in control, of course I'd never dare act recklessly in a god's domain. But when my childish stupidity takes over…I honestly can't control what I do.

Edward sighed softly. He strolled through the not-so-large town, taking his time to examine its eerie calm. Eventually, he stopped before the strange black church—its rafters hung thick with corpses dangling from spirit threads—and the statue of the "Mother of the Sky."

Standing before the statue, he rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then transformed a small part of his flesh into a carving knife. With a few scritch-scritch sounds, he etched five neat Chinese characters into the base of the statue:

"Hello, Zhou Mingrui."

Nodding in satisfaction, he used [Hearth] to forcibly leave this place—one that even the Sefirah Castle could not connect to.

———

The digestion of his Wanderer potion had reached its final stretch. Even without travelling through the Astral Plane, a few more trips to distant stars would probably be enough to complete it.

The Deconstruction Scholar potion, however, was progressing far more slowly—unsurprising, really. He hadn't had much time lately to "deconstruct" mysteries or truths.

Edward sat cross-legged in his parlour, sipping the warm milk Endeli had just brought him.

At that moment, Dubois entered. Seeing Edward, he paused in mild surprise. "Boss, you're back."

He walked briskly forward and handed over an exquisitely designed invitation. "This is for Roselle's banquet tonight."

Edward opened it and read the flamboyant golden script written in Intisian:

"Hahahaha! Your dear Roselle has returned! Missed me, haven't you? The wine's ready—bring your own beauty, and tonight, no one leaves sober!"

"…"

Sometimes I really envy his mental state.

No matter how severe the ordeal, Roselle always managed to bounce back—returning swiftly to his usual flamboyant, carefree self.

It was a shame he couldn't maintain that spirit in his later years. Under the crushing weight of betrayal and despair, even Roselle eventually broke.

Dubois hesitated for a moment before saying, "Boss, I might not be able to accompany you tonight."

"Oh? Meeting another young lady, are you?"

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "I plan to advance to Psychiatrist tonight."

Edward straightened slightly, surprised. "You're fast. I thought you'd wait until you'd saved enough money to buy materials from me—but you've already prepared everything yourself?"

A faint smile tugged at Dubois's lips. "Mm. I got lucky."

"Tsk. Fair enough. Good luck, then. It's only a few streets away anyway—I'll walk to Roselle's myself. You go handle your advancement."

He watched Dubois leave, then rubbed his clean-shaven chin with a thoughtful hum.

That guy… definitely has secrets. To gather the materials for a Psychiatrist this quickly—did he join some Beyonder organisation?

"Well, that's fine too."

Stretching lazily, Edward rose to his feet.

"Alright then—off we go. Time to attend Roselle's banquet."

———

At seven o'clock that evening, in Roselle's mansion.

The lights were bright, the music lively, and laughter filled the air.

Watching the well-dressed men and women weaving through the crowd with wine glasses in hand and smiles on their faces, Edward couldn't help but feel a strange sense of déjà vu.

Oh right…noble banquets always looked the same.

"I hope my 'Chaos Banquet Physique' doesn't cause any trouble this time."

To avoid unnecessary complications, Edward merely greeted Roselle and Matilda before slipping into a quiet corner. There, he sipped a glass of sparkling wine and politely turned away the occasional noblewoman or lady who came up to strike a conversation—naturally, he had taken on the appearance of Klein Sparrow through shapeshifting.

"How boring!"

Bernadette's voice came from beside him. She was dressed in an ornate evening gown, her intricate hairstyle and delicate jewellery making her look every bit the little princess she was.

"I really don't get why Daddy loves holding banquets so much!"

Her eyes darted mischievously, and she whispered, "Mr. Sparrow, why don't you sneak out with me for a bit?"

Edward's heart almost stirred, but his face remained perfectly calm. "No, thank you. I'd rather not have your father come after me with a vengeance."

"Don't worry about that."

"Oh? And why not?"

"Because he can't beat you!" she said with a proud grin. Then, as if realising something, she added, "Besides, can't you just make a fake version of me to stay here while we sneak out?"

The little girl tugged at Edward's arm playfully. "You're bored too, aren't you?"

He sighed. "But you've already met the little mermaid, and your father's back now. Where else do you want to go?"

"Anywhere's better than here!"

As she said that, Bernadette suddenly froze and pointed ahead, her expression full of surprise. "Eh? That person—that's that person…"

"What's wrong?"

Edward followed her gaze and saw a young man in a long coat, escorted by guards, entering the hall with a broad, familiar smile. He embraced Roselle warmly before the two began chatting and laughing.

Wait a second—wasn't that the King of Intis?

The instant he saw her, Edward immediately recalled that infamously bizarre "Genius Plan" involving constant gender-switching. Seeing her now, speaking so closely with Roselle, a thought flashed through his mind:

Why bother switching genders back and forth? Why not just hook up with Roselle directly?

After all, Roselle was destined to usurp the Intis throne sooner or later. If they got together and she simply abdicated in his favour, they'd cut out the middleman—the Church—and everyone would be happy!

A mischievous smile crept across Edward's face.

Should I…give them a little push?

Bernadette stared at him warily.

"Mr. Sparrow, why do you suddenly look… scary?"

———

On the other side of the ballroom, Roselle was enthusiastically regaling the King with tales from his two-month voyage when he suddenly shivered. For no apparent reason, a chill ran down his spine. He raised his head and scanned the crowd quickly, but found nothing out of the ordinary.

"Your Majesty," he said with a laugh, "it seems that in the two months I was away at sea, you've gotten much closer to holding true power."

Dorian Sauron smiled faintly. "Oh? What makes you say that?"

"Isn't it obvious? Before this, there's no way you could've so casually left the palace to attend a mere viscount's banquet like mine."

"Heh."

Dorian chuckled softly, not offering further explanation.

After all, with Vermonda Sauron's faction gone, she had reached certain agreements with the remaining royal relatives—indeed, she was far freer than before.

"Any new inventions lately?" she asked lightly.

"Nothing brand-new," Roselle replied, "but I'd like to further promote the steam railway system. That would require Intis—no, your—stronger support, since the initial investment will be quite heavy."

He then elaborated on his grand vision for a nationwide railway network—its construction, cost-benefit analysis, and the vast future advantages it would bring.

Dorian nodded repeatedly as she listened. Though she had been forced into the throne, she had learned much over the years, and she could clearly see the enormous potential such an undertaking would bring to the country.

Of course, it would also provoke significant opposition.

As they talked, guests came up from time to time to exchange greetings.

Those who recognised the King's face showed polite surprise, but quickly masked it, while inwardly they raised their estimation of Roselle even higher.

Until now, most of his fame came from his identity as the "Son of Steam."

But tonight—it seemed he was about to make waves in politics as well.

"Ah, right," Roselle said, clinking his glass against the King's with a grin. "About that officer post in the army—thank you, Your Majesty, for helping me get it."

Dorian smiled gently. "Compared to what you've done for Intis, that's nothing. But you know my situation. All I can give you is a nominal post—how far you go from there depends on you."

"Hahaha! I don't need to go far. I just want to gild myself a little, maybe earn some merit later and bump my title up a notch. You wouldn't believe it—my father's dying words to me were to earn our Gustav family a count's title someday."

"Then I wish you luck," said Dorain, raising her glass.

They both took a sip of wine. Then Dorian spoke softly, "I'm feeling a little tired. Could you arrange a room for me to rest for a while?"

Roselle immediately caught the implication behind her tone.

"Of course—"

He suddenly paused mid-sentence as a flicker of intuition brushed across his spirituality.

Instinctively, he turned his gaze toward a certain corner of the hall—where a well-dressed middle-aged man was raising his glass and smiling at him.

Roselle's eyes lingered for only a moment before he looked away naturally. "Your Majesty, allow me to have someone escort you to the guest chamber. I'll fetch a bottle of my finest aged wine."

Dorian Sauron smiled knowingly. "Alright."

Once Roselle left the banquet hall, he headed straight to the wine cellar.

Deep within the rows of racks, he picked up a thirty-year-old bottle of his prized collection, uncorked it deftly, and retrieved two crystal goblets.

Then, with a grin, he said quietly—

"Lord Zaratul, I'm here."

———

[Note]: Don't forget to VOTE. It keeps me motivated.