From the Ship of Fools to Earl of Wugang

Inspector Douglas shook his head, trying to shake off the seasickness-like disorientation from his mind.

As a seasoned superhuman, he had seen many strange and unusual superhuman abilities, and techniques that could distort spatial perception and create path mazes were not uncommon.

However, the strange spirit creature in front of him was so unexpected and troublesome that he ended up suffering a loss he couldn't speak of.

It's as if he clearly saw his prey walk down a path, but when he took a step to follow, he found that the path under his feet had turned into a winding maze, and all the traces had been disrupted and rewritten in some violent way.

"'Awakening'? No, it's 'Mist'..." The inspector narrowed his eyes. "It seems he really is a superhuman, possessing a powerful summon equivalent to the first tier."

With the initial assessment of the situation, the inspector forcibly suppressed the urge to use "factor detection" and pulled a metal box from his pocket.

Upon opening it, several small items were neatly embedded inside: a standard badge of the Ninth Infantry, a piece of white chalk, and a silver nail.

These things look rather unremarkable, more like the personal belongings of a poor detective than the ritual implements of a clerk.

Fortunately, the "Path of Majesty" never pursues extravagance.

Douglas pressed the Ninth Bureau badge to his chest and said, "Harry Douglas, Senior Investigator of the Ninth Bureau of the Federal Security Service, confirms that he is conscious and is carrying out tracking mission number 7314."

As soon as he finished speaking, the silver emblem on the badge flashed.

It felt as if some unseen weight had fallen around them, causing the path in front of them to tremble.

The road had originally split into several overlapping directions: leading to the woods, to the surrounding houses, to the highway, and one absurdly looping back to his feet.

Douglas ignored him, squatted down and drew a square with white chalk, then made a dot at each of the four corners of the square.

"This is the northern suburbs of Flamingo City, the time is 5:42 PM, and the weather is clear. The main elements at the scene are an investigator, a spirit creature, and an escape target."

With each sentence uttered, the overlapping paths became a little more blurred, but the relief was limited—the traces were clearly unwilling to be so easily subdued.

Suddenly, an image flashed before Douglas's eyes: Ryan Hall standing five steps away, bowing politely to him, asking if he wanted to continue the chase.

The next instant, that figure reappeared deep in the woods, stepping over the bushes that were slightly warm in the sun.

The next instant, a taxi drove away at the end of the road, its license plate number sliding around like oil slicks on water.

The inspector's temple throbbed; he finally understood the troublesome aspect of this summon—its status was higher than he had imagined.

"What an annoying thing."

Douglas took the short silver nail out of the iron box and pressed it into the concrete pavement in the center of the square with one hand.

"There is only one road here. Time only flows forward here. The goal here has only been left once."

As the third sentence fell, the silver nail trembled slightly, and the three false paths—the woods, the highway, and the return journey—finally vanished.

But that was all. The path the suspect had taken to escape still broke off and disappeared completely after a dozen meters. This simple ritual could only weaken, but not directly resolve, the spiritual creature that was trapping him.

After the ceremony, the disorientation was pushed back into the depths of his chest, but Douglas's complexion was even worse.

If he encountered this illusion during his peak, he could simply use his own rank to forcefully disperse the influence of the surrounding spirits. The crushing power of "Path of Majesty" is simple, brutal, and effective.

Unfortunately, the inspector didn't think any further.

That said, so much time has passed, and he hasn't been attacked by the supernatural being in front of him or Ryan Hall, who has probably escaped.

Realizing this, Douglas felt somewhat relieved, at least no longer worried about being ambushed.

Fortunately, these projected spirits originating from the spirit world are ultimately unable to remain in the material world for long. They need to continuously consume energy to maintain their existence, and the gaze of the living and the erosion of time are accelerating their disintegration.

After about five or six minutes, the disorienting feeling of being torn into several parts of myself gradually faded away, and the path in front of me returned to normal—with no one at the end of the path.

The inspector scanned the area but did not find any trace of the fugitive.

The prey escaped, but he was certain it couldn't have gone far. The prey had clearly used force in haste, which usually meant it was already extremely nervous and easily frightened.

The inspector quickly pulled out a mobile phone from his pocket, ready to report the latest situation.

But what he didn't know was that this "frightened bird" had already made a decisive judgment.

"Please give me the most mundane and boring reason to explain my departure—for example, I suddenly received an urgent telegram that my partner in another city has run into serious trouble and I have to take a train overnight."

Inside the mansion, Edmund walked into the study, explaining to the butler behind him in a rapid-fire manner:

"Even if she sees my arrest warrant in the newspaper, I need to make her believe that it's just a business dispute, not that I'm involved in some terrible supernatural event."

It goes without saying that this is for the terms of the "Defender's Oath".

Thomas gave him a deep look, a look that conveyed the unspoken understanding of kindred spirits.

"Understood, sir," the old butler replied in a deep voice. "I will fabricate an urgent telegram record that will not reveal any flaws, and I will keep it as secret as possible if the police come to inquire."

He paused, his voice softening slightly: "Whatever you've gotten yourself into, Mr. Evan, I think we'll meet again."

Edmund nodded, took his things from the study, turned and hurried upstairs to his room.

He walked straight to the bedside, squatted down, and pulled out the black travel bag that he had stuffed into the bag on the first day he arrived at the manor and that he had been organizing every day.

Since his birth, he has never truly let his guard down for a single day.

Edmund stuffed the original handwritten letter from the Earl of Twilight Harbor, which he had just acquired, and a handwritten copy of information about Robert Young into the hidden compartment, and examined the revolver of the Veridiah M10.

This is his bargaining chip, and also his only way forward.

After packing, he grabbed his travel bag, turned around, and went downstairs.

As dusk settled, Edmund followed Thomas's directions through the back alley and along a path usually used to transport fertilizer, until he reached the fence at the edge of the manor.

Beyond the fence lies the real wilderness.

Edmund walked a few dozen meters when he suddenly stopped and turned back as if possessed.

Through the sparse shadows of the trees, he saw the gray-white stone walls of the manor, covered with ivy, appearing exceptionally serene in the night, like a sculpture guarding some beautiful past.

Here is a desk and a soft bed, ideas from his past life, and collaborators from this world. It is the closest he has ever been to "home" since he transmigrated.

A genuine sense of reluctance welled up in his heart, but he only lingered on it for two or three seconds.

"goodbye."

He murmured something to himself, then completely merged into the beautiful sunset.