It was already evening when Richard returned to his room.
He ate dinner.
He began sorting and comparing the photographs he had taken that day, then recorded everything he had seen and heard in his Notes. Only when the oil in the lamp was almost exhausted did he close them.
"So far."
"Other than last night's weird dreams, I haven't encountered anything strange in reality."
"This place is peaceful during the day."
"No different from any other simple country village."
"But there's definitely something wrong with it. Whatever it is, it's hidden deep and doesn't stand out during the day."
Richard murmured to himself.
He gently stroked the peculiar Black Cross against his chest.
He was an adventurer.
And a folklorist.
But he had another identity as well: a member of the Holy Disciples Society.
Only a peripheral member, though.
His job was to travel around the world, documenting local folk rituals and ancient ruins, then compile his findings and submit them to the Holy Disciples Society.
Hauntings plagued every corner of this world.
For scholars like him who investigated ancient customs, encountering supernatural events was nothing unusual.
Those who survived.
Those who could keep working.
Did so both because their faith sustained them and because each had a special trick of their own.
He was not a special ability user.
When conducting certain investigations, special ability users were actually more likely to alert uncanny entities.
It was not hard to understand why.
The places they visited were inhabited by living people.
Even if evil spirits were present, the fact that the living could share a place with them meant they had reached some sort of balance and unspoken understanding.
If an ordinary person intruded.
As long as they took the right approach and did not recklessly court death.
Their