Fairy Round Table Realm, Poem of Eternal Mist

When Ritsuka inquired about the price, a calculating glint flashed in the fox-woman's eyes: 'Logically, it should be seven hundred gold coins... but considering it's an interdimensional transaction, ten million QP will suffice.' She tilted her head, examining the storage pouch at Ritsuka's waist. 'Other merchants would ask for three times that amount, you know?'

Ritsuka gritted her teeth and pulled out half a stack of QP tickets shimmering with quantum light from her Mystic Code, her fingertips trembling slightly as she handed them over. Koyanskaya snapped her fingers in satisfaction after inspecting them, and the container vanished in the distorted light. 'Looking forward to your next visit~' Her final words drifted on the night breeze, 'Don't forget, Morrigan's eyes are watching you through every mirror.'

In Oxford, the fairy kingdom, the Caligula Casino stands like a giant jewel embedded in the night, its scale even surpassing the fairytale castle hotel of Las Vegas in pan-human history. Although it has few floors, each floor boasts a ceiling height five times that of an ordinary building, and a perpetual waterfall of champagne flows beneath gilded arches. Ritsuka is tightly wrapped in an outfit that blends the armor of Jeanne d'Arc Alter and the battle robes of Nobunaga the Demon King; a faint magical glow surges beneath the fabric—thanks to the phase shift of her Mystic Code, the guns hidden in the spatial folds go unnoticed.

Inside the casino was a Tower of Babel, a symbol of debauchery. Beneath crystal chandeliers, bunny girls draped in sheer veils swayed their hips at the roulette tables, the clatter of coins from slot machines blending with the clinking of dice into a mesmerizing symphony. Ritsuka moved stealthily among the intoxicated patrons; her wristband detector showed four red dots moving through the VIP room on the sixth floor—they were preparing to leave.

She darted into the VIP-only elevator lobby, the cursed banner of Jeanne d'Arc Alter materializing in her palm. The creaking sound of steel deforming as she pried open the elevator door with the tip of the banner was perfectly masked by the jazz music playing downstairs. The elevator shaft cables were slick with oil, and Ritsuka, as if merging with a Heroic Spirit herself, rapidly ascended along the steel cables, black flames coiling around her fingertips to form a non-slip barrier.

The sixth-floor ventilation duct was filled with a mixture of incense and cigar scents. As she climbed above a room bathed in violet light, she peeked through the grille at her first target, who was sipping wine with her back to the vent. It was a wind-clan butterfly fairy, her jeweled wings shimmering under the light. Ritsuka's movements were lighter than a cat's; the moment the silenced pistol touched the grille's gap, the butterfly fairy suddenly turned alertly—

Forgive me—

The gunshot, compressed by the silencer, sounded like a sigh. The instant the bullet pierced the fairy's forehead, Ritsuka saw the shadow of the ventilation duct reflected in her pupils. Blood splattered on the French windows, like spider lilies suddenly blooming. Ritsuka's stomach clenched; the nausea she felt years ago, when she shot dinosaurs in the North American mystery, surged back into her throat.

Three other red dots were moving in the next room. She slithered like a gecko across the ventilation duct connecting the two VIP rooms, the optical camouflage of her ninja cloak activating perfectly as she emerged. Just as two of the fairy shareholders, who were sipping wine, collapsed, the third happened to be bending down to pick up a fallen lipstick. The bullet had only pierced her femoral artery, the spurting blood spreading irregularly across the Persian carpet.

"Help—!" The wounded fairy had barely let out a scream when Ritsuka rushed over and covered her mouth. At this distance, she could clearly see her own reflection in the other's eyes—the headband of Jeanne d'Arc Alter on her forehead was seeping with blood-red magical energy.

Ritsuka: 'Oh no—I'm sorry…uh…'

The wounded soldier's screams tore through the air like alarm bells. Just as Ritsuka pulled the trigger, the Desert Eagle in her palm suddenly trembled ominously—the barrel exploded like a ripe pomegranate, hot metal fragments digging deep into her right hand, blood mixed with gunpowder residue gushing from the lacerated opening. The excruciating pain made her vision blur, and the sound of the guards' boots surged in like a tidal wave.

"Kill them without mercy!" The leader's roar made the crystal chandelier vibrate.

The impending death awakened a deep-seated imprint within her bloodline. Ritsuka's bloodied left hand suddenly grasped the cursed banner that had appeared in the void, the charred holy marks on its surface seeming to sear her palm. [This is the roar of a soul steeped in hatred. Roar, my wrath!!]

'LaGrondementDuHaine!'

The flames of vengeance surged from the tip of the flag, the black and red flames coiling around the charging guards as if they possessed a life of their own. Their armor melted into molten iron in the intense heat, their screams swallowed by the explosions. The bulletproof glass of the entire floor turned into crystalline dust in the shockwave, and the banknotes flying everywhere were ignited into ashes.

As Ritsuka charged toward the breached outer wall, the countless flying fairies had already formed a hunting formation, unleashing a torrent of magical beams. She slammed the flagpole down heavily, and the swirling flames of resentment around her abruptly contracted: 'Burn to ashes!'

A ring of fire erupting from the girl's center stained the night sky crimson, and the fairies plummeted like leaves swept by a hurricane. But the excessive power also destroyed the load-bearing structure, and the sixth-floor floor began to crumble in a spiderweb pattern. Under the cover of concrete debris, Ritsuka leaped into the smoke, her tattered cloak fluttering behind her.

Meanwhile, in front of the observation crystal at the patriarch's mansion, Morrigan was scooping up a spoonful of raspberry mousse with a silver spoon. Looking at the burning casino within the crystal ball, a sweet smile curved her lips: 'What a delightful fireworks display~ Fujimaru Ritsuka, so you harbored such a ferocious beast within you…' She gently tapped the Caligula Casino emblem on the crystal ball's surface with the silver spoon, 'Now, the troublesome moth has finally been burned to ashes by the candlelight.'

The explosion atop Caligula Casino was like the thunderous drumbeats of a giant, the shockwaves causing windows across half of Oxford to rattle. A pillar of fire tore a gash through the night sky, scattering ashes like black snowflakes onto the shoulders of panicked citizens. The once orderly streets descended into chaos, screaming crowds blocking every passageway like an exploding anthill. The wings of flying fairies obscured the moonlight, and the armor of the pursuers on the ground gleamed coldly under the gaslights, yet they could barely move amidst the throngs of people.

'Where did that woman disappear to?' The pursuers swung their swords and slashed through the stalls blocking their path, scattering fruit baskets all over the ground.

'Of all times...' His companion kicked away the trolley that had crashed into them, watching helplessly as their target disappeared into the throng of people.

Ritsuka was huddled behind a drainpipe in a dark alley, her body trembling slightly, now free of her Heroic Spirit armor. She bit down on a strip of cloth torn from her cloak, her right hand trembling as she reached for her bloodied palm—the embedded fragments of a gun gleamed like venomous fangs. As the first piece of metal, along with its nerve fibers, was pulled out, she slammed her head against the brick wall, cold sweat mingling with blood soaking her collar. Once all the fragments had clattered to the ground, she used her teeth and left hand to twist the cloth strip into a tourniquet, tying it tightly at her wrist.

The sudden touch on her shoulder made her jump, but as she turned around, she bumped into a pair of purple eyes filled with worry.

"Shh—" Sei Shonagon gently wiped the blood from her forehead with a handkerchief, "They're allies."

The two darted through the alleyways like startled wood mice, returning to the inn to find Ritsuka's tourniquet stained a deep crimson. Da Vinci gasped as he unwrapped the bandage—the edges of the wound, where the metacarpal bone was almost exposed, were an ominous charred black.

'Koyanskaya...' After hearing about the transaction, Da Vinci slammed her surgical forceps heavily on the tray. 'The gun that foxy woman gave me was a carefully designed trap! If it had been a rocket launcher...' She dared not finish her sentence, carefully removing the gunpowder residue from her wound.

Ritsuka let everyone tend to her wounds, her gaze drifting to the still-smoking ruins of the casino outside the window: 'What about Morrian's side...'

"We agreed to meet tomorrow." Artoria suddenly lowered her voice, "but His Majesty is right next door right now, saying he has important matters to discuss..."

-

In broad daylight - Fairy Round Table Realm, Poem of Eternal Mist

Morgan? Why would she be here? Ritsuka's heart tightened, but she dared not be negligent. Ever since she set foot in Britain, she had always felt that this Winter Queen shared similar qualities with the First Emperor—they were not purely evil, but rather performing a different kind of redemption on the cruel stage of the Lostbelt. But the regal aura emanating from Morgan still made her breath catch in her throat.

The door to the next room was ajar, and moonlight shone through the gauze curtains, outlining Morgan's seated figure. Upon seeing Ritsuka, the Queen rose, her long robe trailing on the ground, her gilded crown shimmering in the dim light.

"Morian, have you stained yourself with blood again?" Morgan's fingertips traced Ritsuka's bandaged right hand. "That child only ever places selfish pieces on the chessboard." She suddenly turned towards the corridor. "And that uninvited guest... why does she emanate the same magical power as that good-for-nothing Avalon?"

'Merlin?!' Ritsuka stared in astonishment at the end of the corridor—a woman in a star-moon robe was sitting cross-legged on the windowsill, her fingertips swirling with rainbow-colored magic.

'Merlin?' Morgan frowned. 'It seems the coincidence of names is no coincidence.' Before she finished speaking, the entire space was suddenly plunged into thick darkness, as if ink had been splashed onto her retina. The outlines of the walls, the moonlight outside the window, and even her own limbs were swallowed up by the void in an instant.

'Illusion: Dark Sky!' Meryl's chant echoed with a mocking tone.

'A mere trick.' Morgan's staff suddenly erupted with ice-crack-like light, and the moment the staff's end struck the ground, blue-purple lightning tore through the darkness like a spiderweb. After the veil of disguise was forcibly ripped away, the true scene behind it was revealed—the entire room had been transformed into a prism cage filled with eerie blue runes.

"Brilliant!" As Merry clapped her hands, the bells in her hair jingled alluringly. "No wonder she's the witch who has ruled the Lostbelt for a thousand years."

'A dark art that strips away light...' An ice crystal rose condensed at the tip of Morgan's staff. 'Nightmares excel at sensory deception. Next, shouldn't it be manipulating pain receptors?' The ice rose suddenly exploded into countless spikes that shot towards Merry. 'Unfortunately, you've chosen the wrong trial subject.'

Mary's laughter suddenly exploded in the room, a sound laced with a manic joy: 'Hahaha—how could I forget something so important? You are the only holder of the 'All-Knowing, All-Powerful Star' in Britain! No wonder that little rascal Sekel never dared to lay a finger on you!' She gave an exaggerated curtsy, 'You've truly broadened my horizons!'

“I don’t find this laughable, Merlin.” Ice crystals condensed at the tip of Morgan’s staff. “You are essentially the same kind as that old lecher of Avalon. Even if you come from another world…” The emblem of the Holy Lance appeared on her right arm, gilded runes piercing her sleeve. “If you dare to make a move, I will show you the true eternal prison.”

The air suddenly thickened, and the aura of the Inner Sea emanated from the Holy Lance's markings. Meryl's hands, poised to form a hand seal, froze in mid-air—she saw the illusory spear tip appearing in Morgan's palm tearing through the dimensions of reality. It was a weapon of law capable of piercing through immortality; the moment it struck, even existence itself would be reconstructed.

'Tsk...' A teleportation array bloomed beneath Meryl's feet, oleander petals carrying a poisonous scent drifting in the air. 'You win this time. But...' Her figure gradually became transparent in the flowing light, 'your little runaway bird is probably fluttering around in some interesting cage right now~'

The illusion barrier dissipated like the receding tide. As Morgan turned to Ritsuka, he noticed the blood seeping from beneath the girl's bandages had formed a small lake on the blanket. 'Always so ungrateful for herself…' the Queen sighed, casting a healing spell. An emerald halo enveloped Ritsuka's bloodied right hand. 'There's something I need you to know, but only you can hear it.'

"Can't I tell everyone?" Ritsuka looked at her anxious companions outside the door.

"Time is running out." Morgan slipped a prism crystal into her uninjured left hand. "Like a hologram from your time, it will convey the message truthfully." Suddenly, Ritsuka was pulled into an embrace that smelled of winter snow, the queen's cloak covering her trembling shoulders like wings. In this unnatural embrace, Ritsuka heard the jeweled necklace on the other's chest hum like a heartbeat.

Despite her suspicions about Morgan's secretive actions, Ritsuka obediently leaned against her side. The Queen's voice unfolded in her ears like an ancient star map: "In the primordial era of the Fairy Calendar, our ancestors had a tradition of observing the stars. Though not as precise as in pan-human history, their starbooks still recorded the orbits of Alpha Centauri and Kepler-90. Every nightfall, countless scholars gazed at the heavens—until that green meteorite rewrote everything."

Starlight emanated from Morgan's hair, condensing into an ancient star map in the air. [That night, a burning green light tore through the sky, and all the fairies heard the lament of the heavens. As it crashed to earth, carrying world-destroying flames...] The star map suddenly twisted into a grotesque projection of a spider-like creature, its eight scythe-like limbs and mantis-like claws opening and closing in the void. [Yet, as if possessing consciousness, it bypassed Britain and fell to the other side of the world.]

Ritsuka's breathing suddenly quickened as the descriptions she had read in the forbidden documents of the Clock Tower perfectly overlapped with the projection before her: 'This is...TYPEMERCURY? How could ORT be here...?'

'You knew all along.' The starlight at Morgan's fingertips suddenly dimmed. 'The me of pan-human history didn't share this memory...' She waved away the projection, her expression grave. 'I found related records while tidying up Liliana's secret chamber. Although the ORT crashed on the other side of the planet, its threat far surpasses that of Kornunos.' She suddenly slipped an ice crystal ring onto Ritsuka's finger. 'Remember, when we meet again in Camelot, see me as an obstacle that must be overcome.'

As the Queen rose, her cloak billowed in a biting wind, and her final words were etched into Ritsuka's ears like a brand: 'Do not concern yourself with the survival of this kingdom; your future... should be about breaking free from all shackles.'

The chill lingering from Morgan's departing cloak hadn't yet dissipated when Ritsuka, clutching the ice crystal ring, rushed back to her companions' room. As the name ORT escaped her lips, the engineering tablet in Da Vinci's hand suddenly emitted an overloaded hum, and Senko Muramasa abruptly pressed down on the tsuba at his waist—the old craftsman's knuckles were so white that even the scabbard had cracked.

"Come here, both of you." Ritsuka whispered, leading the two to the window. The night wind carried the acrid smell of burning casino air past their ears. Senji Muramasa's Adam's apple bobbed as he spoke: "Back in Olympus, that bastard Rasputin said..." He mimicked the priest's cold tone, "'The Alien God' craved a body stronger than its current vessel, and he was responsible for hunting it down. The alien species that descended to Earth in ancient times weren't just the Atlantean machine gods; there was also an ultimate, solitary species—the ultimate predator drifting from the Oort Cloud—slumbering in the dreams of the Alaya consciousness and awakening in Gaia's nightmare."

Da Vinci's mechanical wings suddenly unfurled into an analytical matrix: 'So the alien god's possession of the commander's body was merely a temporary measure? What it truly desires is the ORT's shell, immune to all Earth's attacks?' A holographic projection constructed a model of Earth in her palm, the coordinates provided by Morgan shining brightly in South America. 'If we take Britain as the base point, the other end is precisely the South American continent... Could the Golden Tree Sea be an ecological anomaly caused by ORT life activities?'

"The Forbidden Codex records..." Ritsuka's fingertips frostled on the windowpane, "The Twenty-Seven Ancestors once formed a punitive expedition, only to be wiped out by the ORT as easily as dust. Its carapace can repel attacks made of any material on Earth." She suddenly caught a worried look from Artoria and immediately shielded the discussion group with her body, "She absolutely cannot know this; the pressure of the pilgrimage is almost overwhelming her."

However, the whispering of the three shadows had already aroused suspicion. 'The information they're hiding is probably more dangerous than the casino bombing.' Artoria, however, stared blankly at the newly appeared ice crystal ring on Ritsuka's finger: 'Since it's a message personally delivered by His Majesty, it might involve secrets of pan-human history...' Suddenly, Kalia grabbed her wrist.

"My pilgrimage is over, and I will return to the Queen's service." The head maid's eyes swirled with complex emotions. "Will the bonds forged along this journey ultimately become swords used against each other?"

Starlight spilled from the tip of Artoria's staff, and in the light emerged Morgan's departing figure in the torrential rain: 'Her Majesty...she had already paved all the escape routes for us.' The tip of the staff suddenly turned towards a certain direction outside the window—in the shadow of the casino ruins, a beautiful young man wearing a butterfly-winged crown was tucking an ORT relief rubbing into his sleeve.

In an unassuming inn room in Camelot, the curtains were drawn, completely blocking out the outside world. The fairy knight Tristan had just placed a basket of fresh fruit on the bedside table when Belial lazily waved her away. The moment the door closed, the man, who always wore a nonchalant smile, suddenly became serious.

His fingertips traced complex paths in the air, and a communication magic circle, glowing with a ghostly blue light, unfolded before him. Once the light and shadow stabilized, Debit Zem Voyd's perpetually calm face appeared.

"What brings you here?" Debit's voice was like the wind blowing across an icy plain. "A treacherous man. You have the blood of Kirshtalia on your hands, yet you dare to contact me?" He leaned forward slightly, a cold glint flashing in his eyes like a stream of data. "Do you think that just because we're separated by the Atlantic Ocean, I can't carry out the reckoning?"

Belial spread his hands dramatically, the chains on his wrists clinking crisply: 'Oh dear, don't be so serious~ That self-proclaimed god is really an eyesore.' He suddenly lowered his voice, 'But there's some interesting news—the queen here just revealed information about the ORT to the little ones in Chaldea.'

Debit's fingertips tapped lightly on the lab bench, the cell samples in the petri dish pulsating in sync: 'So? That was my ultimate insurance policy for human civilization.' He raised his eyes, the trajectory of the stars reflected deep within his pupils, 'When the ORT awakens, this planet will undergo true purification.'

"Ha! Still such insane rhetoric!" Belial laughed, slapping his knee as the chains rattled. "I'm afraid they won't even reach South America—my prepared 'all the evil of this world' will wipe out those naive little devils..."

“Your perception has always been flawed,” Debit interrupted calmly, his pipette precisely delivering the reagent. “I never considered them enemies. The real threat is Chaldea; they are merely pawns to be manipulated.” The cells in the petri dish suddenly accelerated their division, forming a nebula-like pattern. “Kirshtalia and I made a pact that the survivors would tell them the truth—let them see the mark of ‘the most inferior species’ etched upon humanity on a scale 138 billion light-years.”

Belial's smile froze, and he gripped the chain around his wrist tightly: 'Enough with pretentious nonsense!'

"Peperoncino should understand this choice." Debit shut off the violently reacting petri dish, and the entire projection began to flicker. "If the seven Lostbelts cannot be severed before the designated time, humanity will forever bear the stigma of being the lowest in the universe." His figure gradually faded, his final words falling like a verdict, "Take care of yourself, Belial Gat. My words end here."

(Before the Lostbelt Activation - The Hidden Ones' Meeting Room) [At this time, Chaldea had not yet been frozen, and the Shadow Soldiers had not yet assembled, but Rasputin and Koyanskaya had already quietly appeared—]

Kirshtalia Wodim swept her long, gilded hair behind her shoulder as the star chart slowly rotated above the conference table. 'Debit, it's time to tell you some truths.' He tapped his finger, and the energy readings of Chaldea appeared in the galactic projection. 'Professor Rafe's play has come to an end once again; you must have sensed the anomaly.'

Three sets of equations running simultaneously floated before Debit Zem Void. Hearing this, he raised his hand and paused all calculations: 'Preparing to activate the ORT contingency plan?'

"The time isn't right." The captain's cloak swept across the star map, the stars of Scorpio flickering in his eyes. "It must be activated after my Lostbelt is severed. ORT awakening means immediate planetary collapse..." He suddenly pressed down on Debit's shoulder armor, "We must make Fujimaru Ritsuka and Mash Kyrielight see the true nature of Chaldea—the so-called restoration of humanity is nothing but an elaborate deception."

A storm of data swept through Debit's iris: 'Specific demands?'

"Let's make a pact." The captain's outstretched palm revealed the triple crest of the Atlas Institute. "The last survivor among us must reveal the truth to those children." Starlight illuminated his solemn profile. "Kardok is too immature, Ophelia and Pepe are unreliable, and Hinako Akuta is an even greater variable... Only you, Debit, can bear this mission."

"Consensus confirmed." Debit's fingertips touched the emblem, contract runes flowing between them. "We will never allow human civilization to be reduced to an inferior existence on a cosmic scale." He pulled up ORT surveillance footage; the golden forest of South America was slowly pulsating. "When the bells of the seven Lostbelts are severed, the truth will be revealed."

No one can disrupt this (Part 1) - Fairy Round Table Realm, Poem of Eternal Mist

A cold, damp wind swept through the towering spires of Oxford, carrying the distinctive scent of the Winged Clan's palace—a mixture of decaying nectar and rusting metal. Ritsuka stood in the center of the palace hall, her fingertips digging deep into her palms; the sharp pain was the only anchor that kept her calm.

The bloodshed and chaos of the Caligula Casino just days before were still etched on my retina; the wound on my right arm, wrapped in bandages, still throbbed faintly. And all of this only earned me Morian's nonchalant reneging on her promise.

"Agree to the pilgrimage?" The Winged Clan Chieftain on the throne let out a clear, bell-like, yet chilling laugh. Her petite body was nestled within the enormous feathered throne, her legs dangling and swinging gently in the air, like a child who had triumphantly pulled off a prank. "Heh heh, your farce certainly caused quite a stir, but I'm not satisfied yet~"

Morrigan tilted her head, her innocent expression a chilling contrast to the malice in her words. Ritsuka felt Artoria beside her tense instantly, while she forced her breathing to steady itself. Koyanskaya stood to the side and behind the throne; the director of the NFF service company was casually adjusting her gloves, a faint smile playing on her lips. But Ritsuka could feel—that inhuman gaze, almost tangible, lightly resting on each of them, as if assessing the next item for sale. A beast for entertainment. Just being aware of her presence made the air heavy and suffocating.

"Don't you think I only have this one enemy?" Morrigan continued, each word like a needle coated with honey, "As the clan leader, I have countless enemies~"

Ritsuka's fists clenched at her sides, her knuckles white from the force, veins bulging along the lines of her arms. A bead of cold sweat slid down her temple, along her taut jawline, and onto the luxurious carpet, leaving a dark spot. Anger boiled in her chest, scorching the very edge of her reason. But she couldn't. She couldn't let it out here. Koyanskaya's presence was like an invisible barrier; any rash move could plunge her companions into utter ruin. She could almost hear the grinding of her teeth, her own.

Morrigan leaped lightly from the throne, her heels striking the ground with a crisp sound. She once again unfurled the familiar white curtain, revealing a shimmering map of Oxford. Her finger pointed to an area on the right side of the city, filled with narrow alleyways, marked with various ambiguous symbols—wine glasses, alluring silhouettes.

“This time it’s the Merryweather nightclub,” she announced, her voice brimming with undisguised delight, “a…fun place.”

Then, she tossed a stiff postcard at Ritsuka like trash. The card spun through the air, its edges sharp enough to cut skin. Ritsuka caught it steadily, the touch cold and smooth against her fingertips.

“Go find Donald Rowe; he’s in charge of this.” Morrigan turned her back to them and walked towards the throne, her tone dismissive. “After all, there are still many interesting things waiting for me to explore.” Reaching the steps, she suddenly turned back, revealing an innocent yet cruel smile. “But be careful, Donald has some rather peculiar tastes. Alright, you can leave now—”

Before the words were even finished, guards clad in gleaming silver armor stepped forward and roughly shoved them toward the door. Ritsuka groaned as the wound on her arm was struck, more cold sweat beading on her forehead. Artoria tried to step forward, but Ritsuka stopped her with a slight but firm shake of her head.

Pushed out of the palace's heavy doors, the relatively fresh air from outside rushed into my nose and mouth, but it couldn't dispel the suffocating feeling in my chest.

"Senior, this is too dangerous!" Mashu couldn't help but speak, her brows furrowed with worry. "We can't let you be alone again..."

“It’s alright, Mashu,” Ritsuka interrupted her, her voice slightly hoarse but unusually firm. She looked down at the postcard in her hand, an address written in cursive script. “This is the fastest way.” She had to get permission to ring the bell, no matter the cost. The casino experience had left her right hand still somewhat immobile, the manic aftereffects of the fusion of Jeanne d'Arc Alter and Nobunaga's powers still throbbing in her nerve endings. But the image of Caster Artoria’s eyes, filled with determination and a hint of unease, surfaced in her mind, along with the heavy responsibility behind the restoration of humanity… She took a deep breath, suppressing her surging emotions.

Without saying anything more, she turned and disappeared into the shadowy crowd on the streets of Oxford, leaving her companions' worried gazes behind.

Following the address, she arrived at the villa district on the north side of the city. Unlike the bustling area around the palace, it was eerily quiet. Donald's mansion was situated in the least sunny corner, perpetually shrouded in the shadow of other tall buildings, its stone walls covered in damp moss. A viscous, sinister feeling, unlike anything else in Oxford, seeped from every crack in the building.

The closer she got, the stronger the indescribable stench became. It wasn't the smell of ordinary garbage or rotting matter; it was more like the stench of something... alive and rotting, mixed with the acrid smell of chemical reagents. Ritsuka's stomach churned, and her throat tightened. She stopped, forced herself to take a few deep breaths, and then continued forward.

The knocking sounded particularly loud in the deathly silent porch.

Almost the instant the knocking ended, the door opened inwards, as if the owner had been waiting for a long time.

The man behind the door wore a well-tailored dark suit, gold-rimmed glasses, and his hair was meticulously combed. He looked refined, even handsome. But Ritsuka's gaze was instantly drawn to his eyes—behind the lenses, his pupils gleamed with an overly intense, almost anatomically scrutinizing light, as if she were not a person, but a captivating newly delivered artifact.