Goat Head

Duncan looked at the Goat Head in the wooden box. The Goat Head in the box was like a genuine wooden carving, utterly lifeless and unresponsive as it met his gaze.

Duncan was not surprised—when Alice had muddleheadedly brought an unopened wooden box, one that had clearly been carefully sealed, onto the deck, he had already guessed that it contained what he had been looking for.

After all, the points a ditzy beauty lacked in brains had to be made up somewhere else—such as grip strength, optimism, and good luck.

"A Goat Head!" Alice craned her neck to peer into the box. Finally realizing what she had muddleheadedly retrieved, she widened her eyes in surprise. "This is the one the cultists had? It really looks exactly like the Goat Head on the Lost Homeland!"

Duncan said nothing, merely studying the details of this "Skull of the Dreamscape." Beside him, Lucretia crouched down and poked the Goat Head in the box with her delicate "baton," her beautiful brows knitting slightly. "No response... I can't see any sign that it's 'alive,' either. And it doesn't seem to be giving off any unusual aura?"

"Just like a real piece of wood," Duncan said with a nod. He reached out, lifted the carved wooden Goat Head from the box, and weighed it in his hand. "...Was it always this light?"

"You've never removed the Goat Head on the Lost Homeland from its base?" Lucretia looked at Duncan in surprise. "It seems to just sit on the table..."

"They're connected. The Goat Head is part of the Lost Homeland as a whole," Duncan immediately shook his head. "Though its head can turn about, it can't be removed from the table."

It was the first time Lucretia had learned this detail, and she seemed to find