Bansy Harbor Telegraph Office

West Sonia Sea, Bansy Island.

It was afternoon when a thick fog suddenly spread around the island without warning, shrouding the entire island in hazy obscurity. Only the peak at the island's center faintly showed its tip through the white mist.

This island had always been known for its drastic changes in weather, with frequent dense fog, storms, rain, snow, and more. It was therefore also called the "Weather Museum."

The islanders had long grown accustomed to such climate changes. Following their usual customs, they all retreated indoors and stopped going outside. It was said that anyone active outdoors at such times might encounter an accident, disappear without a trace, and later turn up as bones on the mountain or by the shore.

The "Weather God" once worshipped by the island's natives had long been banned by the Loen authorities. Even their descendants had forgotten the local language, with only this custom remaining and continuing to this day.

"Tap, tap."

Footsteps slowly approached from the end of the fog-shrouded street. A red outline gradually emerged from the grayish-white haze. It grew clearer and clearer, its color more and more vivid, until it was fully revealed.

Luther stood expressionlessly in the mist, dressed in a blood-red robe as he looked around.

"Your descendants are really doing poorly."

He muttered to himself, "The Sauron and Einhorn families at least became royal houses. Yet they've holed up on this little island, oppressed by the Loen authorities until even their own culture has been cut off."

"Because what I needed was for them to survive, not to become conspicuous targets like the descendants of those two idiots."

Medici responded from within him, laughing lightly with a hint of mockery.

This King of Angel had no excess affection for his descendants. To Him, their only