I loaded the Mysticism panel.

Pratt compiled the information and sent it to Harding, who then decided whether to transfer the individuals to the isolation shed.

This is something all the squads are doing at the same time.

The hoarse voice of another squad leader could be heard through two layers of canvas from the adjacent A-row tent area.

Occasionally, the sound of iron gates opening and closing could be heard from the direction of row C, indicating that refugees deemed to need to be quarantined were being transferred.

The problems began to emerge in a concentrated manner on the second day of the patrol work.

Richard pulled back the curtain of a tent in the third row.

Three families lived in the tent, five adults and two children.

The cots were laid out in a row, with a blanket hanging in the middle to act as a curtain.

Parts of the curtain were knocked askew, revealing a woman feeding her child porridge inside.

"Excuse me," Richard said in French.

Most of these refugees came from southern Flanders and spoke a mixture of French and Flemish.

His French wasn't fluent, but it was enough for basic conversation.

"What day did you arrive?"

The woman's mouth moved slightly.

"……Thursday."

Which Thursday?

"This..." She frowned.

"I don't quite remember."

"The water rose, so we left."

Richard wrote this sentence in the register.

As he walked further in, he asked two more families, and they gave him the same answer.

The water rose, so we left.

As for how the water rose, where it rose from, and to what level it rose... he couldn't say any of the details.

Catherine walked beside him, her mouth closed.

Nemesis's ability allowed her to recognize the tent from the outside.

Which people have more "dampness" in their bodies, and which people have almost none?

After identifying each one, she would mark it in her notebook.

Draw circles with darker colors and dots with lighter colors.

When Richard reached the fourth row of tents, he encountered an old woman.

The old woman sat on her cot, her back hunched, clutching a mushy rag doll rabbit in both hands.

"This is my granddaughter's," the old woman said in Flemish.

Richard could barely understand Flemish.

"Where is she?"

The old woman lowered her head and looked at the ragdoll rabbit.

He rubbed his fingers on the ragdoll rabbit's ear that had been sewn back on.

She was sleeping when the water rose.

"I called her twice, but she didn't move."

"I thought she was sleeping too soundly, so I picked her up and carried her to higher ground."

The old woman's hand stopped on the plush rabbit's belly.

"When I reached the embankment, I looked down at her."

"Her eyes were open."

"But inside the eyes..."

The wind picked up outside the tent, and the canvas thumped against the frame.

"...It's not her anymore."

Richard wrote down the passage word by word in the register.

Catherine stood outside the tent flap; she didn't come in.

But her hand slipped through the curtain and drew a circle in her little notebook.

The circle was drawn so deep that the pen tip almost pierced through the paper.

Richard closed the register and bowed slightly to the old woman.

"Someone will come to help take care of you."

He didn't know what else to say.

After leaving the tent, Richard stood on the muddy ground for a while.

The sea breeze swept across his face, making his cheeks and the tip of his nose numb with cold.

Catherine turned the notebook over for him to see.

The notebook was already densely filled with numbers and markings, with far more circles than dots.

Of the two hundred or so refugees in the B-row tent area, at least a third of them had such a strong "dampness" on their bodies that she felt something was wrong; all of them were concentrated in the third to fifth rows.

Richard turned to the next page of the register and went into the next tent.

A middle-aged fisherman lived in this tent.

The fisherman sat cross-legged on his cot, with an enamel bowl in front of him containing cold oatmeal porridge.

He wasn't eating, nor was he looking at the bowl.

His gaze fell on the empty bed at the other end of the tent, where the blankets were neatly folded.

"What day did you arrive?" Richard asked, sitting down on the cot opposite him.

The fisherman's gaze did not leave the empty bed.

"Before the water rises," he said in French.

"The well water in our village changed first."

Richard stopped writing.

"It's gotten saltier." The fisherman licked his lips, as if he could taste that flavor again.

"After drinking it, there will be a... sweet and fishy taste in your throat."

"It looks like blood, but it's not blood."

He finally looked away from the empty bed and at Richard.

"Everyone who drank that water had the same dream that night."

"What kind of dream?"

"Someone called our names in our dreams."

The fisherman's voice lowered.

"They called out to each one one by one, using the accent of our grandparents' generation."

"The person whose name has been called." The fisherman picked up the enamel bowl and then put it down again.

"The next day we went to the water's edge."

"Walk happily."

"He even turned back and said as he left..."

His Adam's apple bobbed up and down.

"It's my turn."

Richard wrote that sentence in the register and then drew a line under it.

Bowen went through the library in his mind.

In ancient Gallic rituals, those chosen as offerings would say a fixed phrase to their companions on the way to the sacrificial site.

Different tribes may use slightly different wording, but the core meaning is the same: It's my turn.

When Richard stepped out of the tent, he added the interview transcript to his report to Pratt.

On the morning of the third day, Pratt called the four of them together again.

"Today's patrol will be the same as before. This morning, I'll take you to revisit the tents marked in red in the third to fifth rows to check for any omissions."

"I'll be doing a divination session this afternoon. You guys can observe and learn from me."

The morning patrol was similar to the previous day.

The difference is that today they specifically checked the tents marked in red from the third to the fifth row.

Two refugees who were marked in red yesterday have had their concentrations drop today, falling below the warning line.

Pratt had Richard change the label in the register, downgrading it from red to yellow.

The concentration was even higher for three people than yesterday. The fisherman's concentration was so high that Catherine frowned as soon as she stood outside the tent flap before it was even opened.

The three were transferred to an isolation shed that same day.

In the afternoon, Pratt found a relatively sheltered corner at the head of the B row of tents and placed the copper dish on the ground.

He took a tarot deck from the inside pocket of his trench coat.

The card is worn white from wear, clearly an old companion that has traveled with its owner to many places.

"We'll be doing a divination later, and you guys will assist us."

He glanced at Richard.

"Can you read the Stone Method?"

"meeting."

Pratt didn't ask any more questions.

"Use yours or mine?"

"Use my own." Richard took out the set of runes that had been with him for over a year from his canvas bag.

He could distinguish the weight and feel of each of the twenty-odd pebbles even with his eyes closed.

"I flip the cards, you shuffle the stones." Pratt shuffled the cards in his hand.

"After I finish turning each set, I read the interpretation aloud."

You simultaneously scatter a round of reading stones and use your method for cross-validation.

If both sides match, move on; if not, start over.

Catherine stood two steps away, her small notebook open.

Edmund stood at the corner of the tent, holding the cross, his gaze sweeping back and forth across the passageway.

Maggie crouched further out, her back against the red brick wall, her hunting knife resting horizontally on her knees.

Pratt squatted down next to the copper dish, placing the cards face down on his knees.

"Group One."

He flipped through three pages.

The cards showed faded patterns in the gray light of November.

The first card is the Moon in upright position.

The second card is the reversed Hanged Man.

The third card is [Death, Upright].

Pratt stared at the three cards for a few seconds.

"The Moon is in its upright position, and something ancient lies hidden beneath the surface of the water."

The Hanged Man (reversed): The thing that was trapped is starting to loosen; the rope that was originally binding it is slipping.

Death, upright, signifies transformation; a certain cycle is restarting.

Richard grabbed a handful of talismans and scattered them onto his copper dish.

The three closest objects in the center of the disc are: a water droplet, a spiral, and a skull.

The water droplet and the spiral are close together, and the skull is pressed against the center of the plate.

"A drop of water spirals in, and the unfinished matter is repeated."

The skull is pressed against the center of the disc, related to death, and in a central location.

He looked up at Pratt.

"The direction is right, there's something old underwater."

What was previously suppressed is loosening, and the cycle related to death is starting to turn again.

Pratt nodded slightly. "Continue."

He took back the three cards and reshuffled them to reveal the second set.

The Tower (upright position).

【The Star - Reversed】.

[Judgment - Right Position].

Pratt's finger paused for a moment on the edge of the Tana card.

"The tower is in the correct position, with structural elements at the foundation level, and it is under pressure."

The Star reversed indicates that the system originally used for guidance and purification has failed, and the direction has gone wrong.

The Judgment, upright position, signifies that what was buried is rising again.

The mole on the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Something is going underground, and the things down there are responding."

Richard scattered the talisman stones again.

In this round, two things landed in my mind: a hammer and concentric circles.

The hammer is angled at the edge of the dish, with concentric circles closely aligned with the center.

"The hammer has veered to the edge of the disc's center. The action isn't happening now, but the direction is clear, and the concentric circles are in the center."

He stared at the pebble with concentric circles drawn on it.

"This is a well."

The two people looked at each other.

Pratt didn't rush to make a final summary; he looked at the relative positions of the three cards in the second group again.

The tower is on the left, the star is in the center, and judgment is on the right.

Read from left to right: Structural stress, guidance failure, the dead rise again.

Richard's interpretation of the stone suggests that the direction is set and the core is a well.

Both methods are aimed at the same goal.

Pratt took the tarot cards back.

Richard also picked up the rune stones one by one and put them back into his pouch.

"Who taught you how to read stones?" Pratt suddenly asked.

"...a senior colleague."

"You taught very well."

Pratt stood up, his knees snapping open.

"The direction has been set. There's a well down there. The well and the water are related to death, and also include some kind of ancient covenant."

"You guys finish up today's patrol first."

I'll go talk to Harding first. We'll start doing ether detection along the pipeline tomorrow to verify how accurate the divination is.