A Beautiful Day Starts at Eight in the Morning (Please Add to Library)

That evening, every local newspaper in Birmingham worked overtime to print the massive news of the Sacred Heart Hospital's catastrophic explosion—caused by aging equipment, gas leaks, and various other factors—on their front pages. Even the Avalon Daily dedicated an entire page to reporting the incident, which gives some insight into the sensation this disaster caused.

As for tabloids like the Kael-Isum Review, rumors were flying everywhere. They even listed the theory that superpowered individuals had been fighting each other there, practically wearing the words "I'm just chasing clout" on their faces.

The entire outpatient building of the Sacred Heart Hospital, a historic site and one of Birmingham's landmarks, was reduced to ruins. Other auxiliary buildings also suffered varying degrees of damage. Having experienced such a major accident, the Sacred Heart Hospital could no longer fulfill its functions as a medical facility. Fortunately, the only person lingering in the outpatient department at the time was the dean. However, the subsequent secondary effects still caused many doctors and patients to experience symptoms of physical discomfort.

According to official statements, the leaked gas from the explosion likely mixed with anesthetic drugs stored in the hospital, giving rise to a new neurological disease. Gossip suggested that this illness caused patients to experience symptoms such as thirst, hunger, and agitation, and in its later stages, it would drive people into a state of madness where they lost their sanity...

For a time, people were gripped by panic.

Fortunately, the local Church of the Sun responded quickly, joining forces with the Birmingham municipal government to organize the placement and follow-up treatment of the infected population. This managed to quell the aftermath of the incident, preventing it from escalating into even more dire consequences.

The world is bustling, but for the time being, none of this had anything to do with Horn.

In the Brittany Region, in the "Little Sea" of Morbihan, at the gateway to the western sea, there is an island famous for its sailors located on a small patch of sea known as Morbihan. At the westernmost tip of the island, monks who worship ancient gods enjoy a sense of isolation from the world, though it is said they also provide shelter to those who arrive.

The sound of the recurring waves lingers day and night around the monastery that bears the name "Captain." Beneath it, the Twilight Blue surface of the Atlantic Ocean stretches out as far as the eye can see.

Anyone fortunate enough to have recuperated at the monastery could easily recognize that the premium Twilight Blue pigment sold by Kate & Hallow Co., Ltd. is merely a precise reproduction of the color of the Atlantic at four o'clock on a clear autumn afternoon.

In the past, places like this would have been called the Frontier of Maps by cartographers and travelers, a location sufficient to serve as the finale for a great adventure. Even today, those visitors who wish to achieve their own ends must pay a heavy price before they are permitted to enter what might be the monastery most tightly closed to strangers.

Inside the monastery, in a comfortable room on the side facing the sea, Horn slowly regained consciousness.

A strange ceiling... No, wait, where am I again?

Judging by his senses, he felt he had been asleep for quite a while, yet his stomach, which hadn't consumed food in ages, gave him the sensation of being "already full." The conflict between his reason and his senses made Horn feel quite fragmented.

After much thought, the two ominous words "corpse-picking" slowly emerged from his conjectures, adding another layer of heaviness to Horn's already burdened heart.

With a sense of déjà vu, Horn rose from the bed, walked to the only window in the narrow room, and looked out.

[Location Recorded: Atlantic Ocean]

[The whale's nest, the moon's path, the bone's watch, the ship's calamity.]

[You suddenly realize that the sea has always been the widest road.]

Sky.

Blue sky.

The azure sky and the Twilight Blue sea merged at the horizon, overwhelmingly occupying the vast majority of his field of vision, leading Horn's growing sense of déjà vu toward an ominous conclusion.

And when the door was first politely knocked three times, then gently pushed open, this feeling reached its peak.

"I'm coming in, Mr. Lancas..."

"?"

Still wearing his gardener's hat, his sleeves rolled up and not yet let down, Father Stanislav John Schaller, who had just finished his gardening, stared silently at Horn, who was halfway through the window with the clear intention of jumping into the sea if things went south. The priest was uncharacteristically dumbfounded.

This was no longer a typical aftereffect; Veronica hadn't said the patient had a tendency toward [Tide-Chasing Syndrome].

Perhaps he should switch to a more aggressive treatment plan?

"Hmm... In any case, it's good that it's nothing more troublesome, Mr. Lancaster. There is no need to worry about a momentary stress response. I have seen many people who were mentally far closer to the 'abnormal' end of the spectrum than you, and most of them eventually made a good recovery."

"Before becoming a therapist, I was a priest. 'Let the flesh forget its pain, let the smoke forget the blaze, let the troubled heart forget its distress'—this is the true meaning of the preservation technique, and it is also where my duty lies."

His gaze was firm yet kind. Under the soothing explanation of Father Schaller, Horn's embarrassment slowly began to subside.

At least the person is okay.jpg

"Thank you for your concern, Father. But in Birmingham, there are still remnants of the Blood-Thirst Plague spread by the Blood Cup Cult. May I ask..."

"Ah, don't worry about that." Cutting off Horn's question, Father Schaller revealed a heartfelt smile. "Thanks to Miss Veronica for sending you here in time, the antidote, traced back using your blood as a blueprint, has already begun production. As long as the patient has not progressed to the late stages, they can recover with timely treatment."

"In my view, Beelzebub's plague is essentially more of a curse than a toxin, though they share some common properties. Based on my experience in treating [Vicious Corruption], as long as one makes slight improvements to the Van Lauren method, the threat posed by this plague can be greatly reduced. Haha, in fact, sufficient influence of the [Mind] is the key to treating the symptoms of [Blood]. 'Every snake venom has its antidote.' This maxim of Van Lauren is truly incisive, even if, at that time, the good done by the Silent Bookstore still outweighed the evil..."

"Before I chose my path in Strasbourg and was still a diplomat for the Church, the knowledge of [Woodland Studies] I acquired at the Jade Immortal Garden benefited me greatly. Thanks to Master Bici, I learned to distinguish between poisons and antidotes, although most of the time it is difficult to define the boundary between them..."

"Moreover, the Eastern Church is far superior to the now overly conservative Orthodox Church of the Sun in terms of ideological tolerance. I believe the Orthodox Church's behavior of labeling them as heretics is truly inappropriate. Every faith that points toward the truth is worthy of respect, especially in the present..."

Seeming to have taken an interest, or perhaps simply because no one had chatted with him for too long, Father Schaller's words flowed endlessly. Horn, acting as the listener, could only offer an awkward but polite smile, secretly noting down the technical terms he mentioned.

Fortunately, the explanation of principles—which made Horn feel like he was back in a university calculus class—was interrupted by a second knock at the door. It was the classic combination of hat, trench coat, and sunglasses; the blonde girl made her grand entrance under Horn's relieved gaze.

"Stanislav, that's enough. This isn't a library, be careful of that."

Patting the gray threads off her hem, Veronica watched the priest's sudden pause with a hint of mischief, the corners of her mouth curling slightly. Satisfied, she turned her head to look at Horn, asking for his opinion in a straightforward manner.

"Since you seem to have recovered well enough, it's time I take you back to Birmingham. Do you agree, Horn?"