"It only lasts for a little over a minute... That's too short..." Klein thought to himself, not caring about anything else, and took two steps to the desk.
He put down " The Groselle's Travels ", picked up "0-08", and quickly wrote on a blank sheet of paper:
George III intends to use this speech to lure out all the enemies who want to disrupt his ceremony. However, if everything goes smoothly and no unexpected events occur, he will also take the opportunity to consume Potion, reveal his trump card, and attempt to ascend to the divine rank. After all, there are too many unknowns in the future, and it is not safe to do so. Moreover, his current preparations are already thorough and appropriate.
"This is a very reasonable development."
As he finished writing, before Klein could even carefully check for any Error, the slightly dull quill pen in his hand vanished silently, as if it had never been there at all.
Those few words seemed to drain Klein of his energy, making him slightly dizzy and forcing him to take a few steps back and plop down in a chair.
"That doesn't make sense... I didn't see Ince Zangwill being that tired or strained back then... Uh, it must be because I forcibly summoned it and didn't dare let '0-08' weave the story on its own. When writing, it had to rely entirely on its own Spirituality support, while Ince Zangwill could get '0-08's cooperation, so the consumption wouldn't be so great..." Klein closed his eyes, Cogitation for a while, and finally recovered.
Under normal circumstances, having had no real contact with "0-08" and only met it once, he would have no chance of summoning this "0" level Sealed Artifact. However, he had the personal blessing of luck from the " Snake of Fate " and possessed " The Groselle's Travels," an item left behind by the " Dragon of Imagination," Ankewelt, which contained the " City of Miracles," Liveseyd, and had some deep connection with "0-08"—if it weren't for the interference of some high-level beings, these two items would have met long ago.
Klein wasn't sure if this connection between Fate and traits could increase the probability of a successful summon, but he figured he could try it and lose nothing, and it actually worked.
For this reason, he did not dare to use Groselle's Travels to carry the content of the "0-08" projection writing, and he did not even dare to let them get close, for fear of some unstoppable and unbearable accident.
This is Backlund, a place with an extremely high population density!
"Well, logically speaking, there shouldn't be any surprises. After all, '0-08' is an image from Historical Void, it's fake. ' The Groselle's Travels ' is a manifestation of the ' Dragon of Imagination,' it's also fake. Fake with fake, how can it be real? It lacks the material basis of Beyonder Characteristic... I can experiment on an uninhabited rocky island later..." Klein rubbed his temples, stood up, returned to his desk, and examined the passage he had just written.
He didn't directly write that George III failed his ascension and died on the spot because he believed that the projection of "0-08" on the first Angel of the interference Sequence 1 couldn't be so direct, so he had to be more subtle.
Moreover, the opposing side also has the Psychology Alchemists and Amon's brother. Too obvious an influence would inevitably be noticed and easily exploited. Klein can only take a roundabout approach to reduce the unknowns.
"Hopefully it will work..." After staring at it for a while, Klein folded the paper and stuffed it into his pocket.
Then, he sacrificed Groselle's Travels back to the Gray Fog.
After finishing these tasks, Klein began to consider another issue: when to go out and buy ice cream for Will Auceptin.
" Backlund has Zaratul, and possibly Amon too. Going out too much might lead to a run into him, which could be dangerous... Or, how about summoning ice cream for Will through Historical Void? It feels so real when you eat it, and it disappears in a quarter of an hour, so you don't have to worry about gaining weight. It's just too wonderful..." Klein couldn't help but mutter to himself.
In the end, he decided to change his clothes and go out, because a person should keep their promises!
On Saturday morning, the sky was overcast and foggy, which made people feel depressed for no reason.
This is a common sight in the depths of winter in Backlund. Although there wasn't as much thick smog and pungent smell as last year, the geographical environment and climate characteristics dictate that similar situations will inevitably persist for a long time. Moreover, tackling air pollution is never something that can be accomplished in just one or two years.
Melissa draped a black wool coat that reached past her knees over her long dress, put on a hat with a black veil hanging down, and strode towards the door.
Benson, holding his top hat, shook his head upon seeing this and said:
"It's too mature and old-fashioned for a girl under twenty to dress like someone under twenty, you understand? Old-fashioned."
Melissa glanced at her brother and replied simply:
"The price of bread has gone up by another quarter penny."
"These prices..." Benson clicked his tongue in amazement.
He then took out a silver pocket watch with a surface covered in vine patterns, snapped it open, and glanced at it:
"Let's go, it's still a long way to the city square."
Melissa hummed in agreement and went out with her brother, arriving on the street.
"Good morning, Mrs. Daniel." After walking a few steps, Benson saw a neighbor coming out and greeted her with a smile.
He is good at communication and has long established good relationships with his neighbors.
The woman, referred to as Mrs. Daniel, was dressed in a pure black dress. She was in her forties, with a thin face and a thin black veil covering her face from her hat. Upon hearing this, she simply nodded and gave a brief reply:
Good morning, both of you.
She didn't exchange pleasantries and coldly walked away on her own.
Benson watched her retreating figure, deliberately slowing his pace until he had some distance between them, then turned to ask his sister:
What happened to Mrs. Daniel?
"I've been so busy lately that I haven't visited my neighbors in a long time."
Melissa pursed her lips and said:
" Mrs. Daniel's eldest son, Larry, has been confirmed dead on the front lines in the Amanda Mountain Range, according to news yesterday."
"That tall, shy, but meticulous, kind, and sincere young man? When he came back last time, he said he had been promoted in the army and become a lieutenant..." Benson asked with slight surprise.
Melissa nodded:
"I can't believe Larry died like this..."
Just as she couldn't imagine that a classmate she knew from school would die tragically in front of her.
In just a few seconds, some people were no longer able to speak, communicate, or read.
Benson paused for a moment, then sighed and said:
"I've been busy lately dealing with compensation issues. Larry might not have been included in my part of the list, so I don't know."
"The list included a lot of information: some were cheerful and enthusiastic, some were humorous and witty, some were their parents' only children, some were resolute and leaders among the soldiers, some had just gotten married and didn't have children yet, some were preparing gifts for their young daughters, some were carrying a love letter, planning to mail it after the battle... They were all dead."
Melissa and Benson fell silent at the same time, and no one spoke for a long time.
As they approached the intersection, Melissa looked at the road ahead and spoke softly:
What do you think His Majesty the King will say in his speech today?
"Perhaps it's mobilization, or perhaps it's conveying the belief in certain victory," Benson replied casually.
Melissa glanced at her brother:
"This isn't like you, Benson. Shouldn't you be making sarcastic remarks?"
"Mockery should only be used after listening to the speech and understanding the specific content. The most basic principle of being a person is not to make rash comments about things you don't understand. Otherwise, you're not even as good as a curly-haired baboon," Benson said with a smile.
Then he saw another neighbor.
The other person had gray hair, covered half of their face with a scarf, wore a thick jacket, and carried a cloth bag. They hurriedly passed by the brother and sister.
" Mr. Thomas's attire is quite strange... Is he doing something else on the side?" Benson glanced at the man's back and asked with a hint of doubt.
Melissa answered in a low voice:
Mrs. Thomas fell ill, which cost the family a lot of savings. Food prices have risen a lot recently, while Mr. Thomas's income has not changed much. He has to go to the relief center every few days to queue up and get some bread. He is a respectable gentleman and probably doesn't want to be recognized by others.
"Also, food at relief stations is always limited, and if you arrive too late, there might not be any left. You'll have to apply for extra food from places like churches and workhouses. Today, relief will begin after His Majesty the King's speech ends, so Mr. Thomas should probably head there directly after that."
Benson nodded slowly and asked with concern:
What's wrong with Mrs. Thomas? I know a few good Doctor.
"An illness caused by worry," Melissa said, recounting what she had heard. " Mrs. Thomas is very worried about her young son serving in the army."
"You mean Little Thomas?" Benson frowned slightly.
After receiving his sister's affirmative answer, he fell silent, as if he was thinking about something.
After a while, as they approached the nearest municipal square, Benson looked ahead and said in a low voice:
" Little Thomas is dead..."
Melissa did not respond, but her expression momentarily became somewhat dazed.
They continued walking forward in silence, as if relying on inertia.
More and more people appeared in front of them. Some were dressed in formal attire, carrying canes and dressed like gentlemen, while others wore skirts with blue, green, yellow and red as the main colors, or sweaters and jackets with trousers, or dark black clothes with a somber tone.
They emerged from their houses and came from their streets, like splashes of water merging together at the crossroads to form a stream.
The stream surged forward, and many streams converged, weaving together into a magnificent torrent at the square.
The torrent flowed slowly, submerging the square.
Surrounded by such a crowd, Melissa felt as small as a drop of water.