Lin Chuan stopped in front of the sign for several minutes. He stared at its black lettering, seemingly lost in thought, his mind wandering far away.
Ademisaul was somewhat puzzled, just as he did not really understand why being beside this gentleman brought him peace.
Still, he stood quietly to one side, barely even breathing for fear of disturbing him.
"I saw that the Aurora Order set up a mutual aid association in Tingen. Was that your idea?"
"Hello? Are you there?"
"Grisha?"
The Faceless One tirelessly sent prayer requests to the True Creator, one after another, until the other party finally answered the video call.
Yet the image that appeared was not the familiar sight of the Forsaken Land of the Gods-"eternal night, lightning, a cross, and Grisha looking like Sasrir"-but an unfamiliar room as spacious as the underground trading market.
Judging from the billowing columns of black smoke outside its windows, this place... probably, perhaps, possibly was Backlund, the "City of Cities."
"?"
Was my life over? Had the True Creator descended into Backlund?
Lin Chuan struggled to keep his composure. He adjusted the contents of his prayer and sent over a blood-red question mark, with a touch of urgency.
"...It was indeed my oracle," came a low, calm voice from the other end.
The view slowly drew closer. The room appeared to serve as both a classroom and a chapel, with rows of wooden benches arranged somewhat haphazardly.
And there, on the platform at the front, stood a middle-aged man with black hair and black eyes, dressed in an equally black priest's robe, though without a silver cross.
It was none other than Grisha!
"You..." Lin Chuan froze for a moment, then blurted out, "What's going on with you? Have you descended into Backlund?"
"No. This