From the Ship of Fools to Earl of Wugang

The afternoon sun shed its glaring incandescence from midday, transforming into a rich, aged ale that flowed onto the nearby concrete road, its warmth enhanced by the sheen of eucalyptus leaves and the texture of oak.

Edmund finished his day's work and deliberately slowed his pace, strolling along the country lanes around the estate, enjoying the warmth of the sun baking his coat.

This rare moment of leisure allowed him to relax, his free fingers tapping rhythmically on the edge of his pocket, directing the newly budding sentences in his mind.

“‘Ratched,’ he muttered, ‘in the local language, it should be assigned to a principality within the Union.’”

While conceiving his localized novel, he was also experimenting with "path intuition".

Spirituality permeates the environment as naturally as breathing, and the world becomes clearer.

The surrounding irregularities began to flow in his perception, weathering into his senses and guiding his next move towards a definite "present moment" amidst countless possible branching paths.

This sense of control is fun and fascinating.

He could even sense at will that if a second person came out of the side gate of the mansion and walked along this road to where he was now, it would take about ten minutes—and that number was constantly increasing.

Until a fork in the road not far ahead, a sudden figure caught his casual glance.

It was a somewhat tired middle-aged man, wearing an old gray trench coat, with a pipe dangling from his mouth, slowly walking towards us.

He didn't make any special movements, but Edmund felt an instinctive discomfort almost instantly.

The man stood perfectly in the middle of the road, as if the entire road was rightfully laid out just for him.

This is a posture that is used to "occupying all the space" on the road. It is not used to having someone walk alongside it, let alone having someone overtake it.

Whenever his gaze swept across the bushes on either side or the treetops in the distance, his natural movements suggested he was admiring the scenery. To someone unfamiliar with this custom, he would likely appear to be a tourist who loves his homeland and is full of enthusiasm.

But Edmund had seen many of Jacob's bodyguards and dirty workers use similar methods of observation during his crazy accounting career in the cult.

To make matters worse, the distance between them was shrinking, and the other person could see him.

In that instant, Edmund saw the other man's pupils dilate slightly as they fixed on him, and his lips pursed slightly.

Although the man skillfully concealed his surprise and resumed his nonchalant demeanor in the next second, that flaw was enough for Edmund to confirm his ominous feeling.

"Sir, could you please stop for a moment?"

The man in the gray trench coat stopped five steps away from him and reached for his pipe: "I am Harry Douglas, an investigator from the Ninth Bureau of the Federal Security Service."

Almost simultaneously, the information feed provided further context for the person in front of them who was feigning enthusiasm:

Harry Douglas, 44 years old, is an Inspector of the first rank on the "Path of Majesty." He is a senior investigator with the Ninth Bureau of the Federal Republic's Security Department, and has come here to track down a patient suffering from "Divine Ecstasy Syndrome" who escaped from the "Silent Audrey," a ship of fools.

He possesses a variety of skills, including "Elemental Detection," "Intimidating Strike," and "Majestic Posture," as well as numerous secret techniques. Although certain unforeseen circumstances have significantly reduced their effectiveness, his extensive experience makes him quite formidable.

This man is an official high-ranking hunting dog, and the other party has already recognized him.

The instincts honed during the Order’s years of survival came into play: Edmund swung his left arm, and the flowing light of the emblem sensed the call.

"Reveal your true form!"

A muffled sound, like tearing cloth, echoed through the air. To Douglas's astonishment, the shadow behind Edmund suddenly surged with agitation.

About three meters between the two, the shadows cast by the bushes began to distort, and countless layers of translucent gray-white film broke apart and reformed in the air.

A bizarre humanoid silhouette was forcibly "squeezed" out from the void.

It was a humanoid figure with blurred details and covered in dense gray-white textures. Its appearance immediately shattered the concepts of "reality," "illusion," and "direction."

Left foot stacked on top of right foot, heel on toe, one step in the mud, another on the stone slab.

Thousands upon thousands of moments of walking are compressed onto the same plane, as if the body itself were a corpse built from the concept of "road".

As a transcendent being of the "Path of Majesty," Douglas was used to being in control, and he subconsciously wanted to use his senses to "read" the thing in front of him.

But the moment his mental tendrils probed into the pattern of the footprints, a strong sense of dizziness struck his brain.

In his sensory disorientation, Edmund in his vision suddenly split in two, then in four.

Each Edmund took a step in a different direction, and every path seemed both incredibly real and utterly unreal.

The eerie presence formed by footprints did not launch an attack; it simply stood there silently, shattering the concepts of "tracking" and "direction."

"Damn it!" Douglas cursed under his breath, his body swaying as he nearly stumbled and fell.

Taking advantage of the chaos of those crucial few seconds, Edmund whirled around.

Without looking back at how the disgusting creature had entangled the hound, he activated "Swift Steps" and sprinted toward the manor.

The wind whistled in his ears, and only one question swirled in his mind: How did Douglas manage to get to this area?

If official investigators are able to pinpoint this location, it means that the "Evan Black" disguise is no longer safe.

Kill him? No, that would be the most foolish choice. He doesn't have many offensive capabilities, and killing a senior federal investigator would only bring trouble, leaving him with no room to maneuver.

He couldn't gamble; he had to escape before the authorities could round him up.

Edmund gritted his teeth, quickened his pace, and the desire for a "way out" overwhelmed his fear, transforming him into a fleeting shadow through the forest.

Edmund rushed out of the edge of the woods and saw the gray-white stone walls of the manor covered with ivy.

He slowed his pace, straightened his slightly disheveled collar, and strode towards the side door.

Thomas appeared in the shadows of the side hall at that time, as usual, seemingly inspecting the silverware.

Thomas.

The old butler keenly sensed something unusual about Edmund, but his expression remained unchanged: "Sir, you've returned early. Did something go wrong during your walk?"

“I’ve been recognized,” Edmund said bluntly. “Investigators from the Ninth Bureau of the Federal Security Service are on a country road less than two kilometers from the manor.”