Knock! Knock! Knock!
Amid the chaotic, disorderly pounding, one bulge after another appeared in the metal wall before Derrick.
The metal used to cast the wall seemed to possess a certain vitality. Once the force pounding against it from the other side disappeared, each bulge slowly sank back down.
Even with his emotions calm, the hairs on Derrick's body stood on end, and he looked extremely tense.
Just as he was about to pray to the Holy Light, a silver-white glow like the dawn suddenly flashed around him. Then it seemed as if space had been sliced apart. The pounding on the wall beside him abruptly ceased, and absolute silence returned.
Derrick stood silently where he was, unable to recover for a long while.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
In the deathly silence, the metal wall behind him suddenly echoed with a series of knocks.
"Who's there?"
Derrick's voice rose involuntarily, tinged with barely suppressed fear.
On Sunday afternoon, above the Gray Fog, inside the ancient palace that seemed unchanged since time immemorial.
Cyril glanced at the empty seat at the head of the table, then looked away. As he leafed through the book bound in parchment before him, he casually asked:
"Tell me, what do you think Mr. Fool is doing?"
At the very end of the mottled long table, "World"—Klein in disguise—unconsciously glanced toward the empty seat opposite him at the head of the table. He quickly looked away, lowered his head, and said solemnly:
"One mustn't speculate about a god..."
"Right." Cyril opened his mouth, but in the end, he didn't say a word.
He shook his head and turned his attention back to the Book of Secrets before him.
In the book's preface, Cyril found the recorded Honorific Name of the Primordial Moon:
"The one and only crimson