Cyrin froze for a moment before realizing that, in his panic, he'd blurted out his complaint in Chinese.
...So that's why I wasn't thrown off Above the Gray Fog? Why am I suddenly feeling a little grateful?
He reined in his thoughts, looked toward the figure at the head of the mottled table, and gave a slight nod.
"More or less."
Under the gray fog, Klein's expression stiffened a little. What does "more or less" mean? Is that agreement or disagreement?
No wonder he's already met a hidden entity. This guy doesn't look easy to fool. His reaction is nothing like Miss Justice's or Mr. Hanged Man's when they first met me.
After a pause, he raised a hand and lightly tapped the edge of the table before him. Maintaining the Fool's unhurried bearing, he spoke in a casual, carefree tone that nevertheless carried an unmistakable authority.
"Where did you learn that language?"
"My... hometown." Cyrin paused before finishing his answer.
For a brief moment, Klein's performance had intimidated him. He'd genuinely seemed like a great being who acted on a whim.
His hometown... Is he a transmigrator, like me?
At the head of the mottled table, Fool Klein's hand tightened unconsciously on the armrest. His breathing grew heavier, too. Aside from Emperor Roselle's Diary, this was perhaps the closest he'd ever come to meeting someone from his old world.
He took a deep breath and suppressed his excitement, then asked in an even tone, "Do you know Roselle?"
Cyrin nodded slightly. "I know a little. The Son of Steam, the former ruling consul of the Republic of Intis, and the greatest inventor of all time. He opened a safe route through the Berserk Sea..."
In the high-backed chair at the head of the table, Klein nearly raised a hand