In a dense forest at night, the crimson moon hung high, casting a scarlet hue over the woods.
Ince Zangwill who had already gone mad became like a headless fly the moment he entered the forest, stumbling about wildly, and was quickly located by the Red Gloves.
When Klein and Leonard saw Ince Zangwill again, they almost didn't recognize him.
The Ince Zangwill before them had a scruffy beard, filthy and disheveled hair, and wore tattered clothes covered in mud and wood chips. Even his eyes had lost their former sharpness and gloom, now dull and vacant, as if he had lost his soul.
Already insane, when driven into a dead end, Ince Zangwill fully unleashed his mythical creature form. His unrestrained madness made even the Red Gloves wary.
At this moment, the two accompanying bishops intervened, putting Ince Zangwill into a deep sleep. The Red Gloves followed up with finishing blows, while Klein and Leonard gave it their all.
In the end, the crazed and deranged Ince Zangwill died beneath the crimson moon. Before his death, he seemed to briefly regain his sanity, voluntarily dispelling his mythical form, his empty eyes gazing at the starry sky above.
"Is it really over just like that?" Leonard found it hard to believe.
This was Ince Zangwill, the renegade bishop who had once orchestrated the Tingen incident, a powerful Beyonder who had escaped from Backlund at a critical moment.
Yet tonight, he died so simply, right before their eyes.
"Yes, it's over… but perhaps this is only a new beginning." Klein's expression was solemn, with none of the joy of revenge. Ince Zangwill's death tonight was far too strange.
Moreover, Sealed Artifact 008 was not on him. Klein reasonably guessed that tonight's events were orchestrated by 008's new owner, using their hands to eliminate Ince Zangwill.
Failing to recover Sealed Artifact 008, the two bishops didn't look pleased either. Clear concern showed in their eyes.
What were they worried about?
What hidden secrets lay behind this?
Klein did not let himself think too deeply. Instead, he forced a smile and patted Leonard on the shoulder. No matter what, they had avenged the innocent victims of Tingen.
After handling the aftermath and returning to Saint Samuel Cathedral, Leonard and Klein were met with Miss Daly's angry reprimand, she demanded to know why they hadn't called her when going to take revenge on Ince Zangwill.
In the end, Leonard told her to hurry and share the good news with Captain Dunn, which finally got them out of the situation.
Back in his room, after closing the door and lighting the oil lamp, Leonard lay on the bed and began asking about what had happened that night.
His knowledge was limited, and he simply couldn't see through the hidden truth behind Ince Zangwill's case.
"Do you know what the essence of 008 is?"
"Isn't it just a feather pen that can arrange people's fates?"
"Which Beyonder pathway do you think 008's abilities align with the most?"
Leonard hesitated. "The Fate pathway?"
"It's the Spectator. Beware of the Spectator. You'd better not get involved in this."
"Why should I beware of the Spectator?"
"Because… you just have to beware of the Spectator."
"…" Leonard was speechless. In the end, the old man hadn't explained anything at all.
As for being wary of the Spectator, he didn't think that pathway was particularly powerful.
...
As the sun rose over the mountains, Hastur had already gotten up and stood by the window, admiring the morning light spilling over the layered forest.
But this picturesque scene was ruined by a constantly bouncing pen case.
Hastur opened the case and took out a blank sheet of paper.
008 excitedly wrote on the paper:
"The forsaken child of fate, the unfortunate Ince Zangwill, has finally reached the end of his destiny. The hunters from Tingen have successfully taken their revenge. Though they harbor some doubts, they cannot grasp the full picture."
"This is my first collaboration with the Book of Prophecy, everything was perfect. Of course, all of this is thanks to our master, who personally arranged Ince Zangwill's fate."
"Let us praise the master, praise fate!"
Ince Zangwill was finally dead, settling one of Hastur's lingering concerns. Allowing such a deranged figure to roam free might have attracted the attention of Evernight or Adam.
After all, how could someone who died in Backlund possibly be connected to a young earl far away in Southville County?
Having dealt with Ince Zangwill, Hastur magnanimously allowed 008 to cozy up with the Book of Prophecy.
Sitting to the side, he took out four envelopes and prepared to write letters.
He had been in Southville County for some time, it was about time he wrote back to Backlund to report his safety and briefly describe recent events.
One each for Greg, Audrey, Maric, and another for Butler Neil.
After more than an hour, Hastur finished writing four different letters and handed them to Caius, instructing him to have them delivered to Backlund.
After thinking for a moment, Hastur picked up another sheet of paper and decided to write a letter to Sharron, even though she had only been gone for a few days.
"Ariella has been lying by the windowsill lately, gazing into the distance. I think it misses you and wonders when you'll return."
"I recently heard that members of the Rose School of Thought seem to be withdrawing from the Southern Continent."
After writing that sentence, Hastur felt it was inappropriate. Very few people knew about the Rose School's withdrawal, so it was better not to tell Sharron yet.
After some thought, he crossed it out and rewrote:
"In about a week, the town will hold a lively gathering. It's said to be a festival praying for sufficient rainfall and a good harvest this year. It's held annually, if you want to experience the local customs of Southville County, it's a great opportunity."
"I also wrote to Maric today, letting him know that you are doing well here."
The pen paused again. Hastur felt there wasn't much more to write. After adding a few daily trivialities and reaching about two-thirds of the page, he stopped.
From his chest, Hastur took out a whistle that looked as if it had been carved from flames. This was the whistle blessed by that Gregrace, transformed from an ancient bronze whistle into a Flame Whistle.
Aside from summoning Gregrace to deliver messages, with a simple activation it could also transform into a massive firebird that charged at enemies.
It was already considered a Beyonder item. As for its side effects, it became hot after use, making it unsuitable to hold or keep in a pocket.
As the spirit world was torn open, Gregrace descended once more in the form of a small firebird.
008, which had been snuggling with the Book of Prophecy, suddenly jumped back into its pen case and shut itself inside.
Seeing this, Hastur was certain that this small firebird was the very being he had in mind.
The progenitor of the Phoenix, Gregrace, the true creator of the Underworld, an ancient death god even older than the Death Emperor Salinger.
As expected of the Phoenix Ancestor, after so long, it had actually returned from the underworld. Was it his own doing that hastened Her awakening, causing Her to willingly become his messenger?
But at that time, he had only performed a simple summoning ritual, nothing particularly special.
Could it be that the power of the stars could awaken slumbering or extinguished gods?
This made Hastur think of an Outer God from the Cthulhu Mythos that fit this description.
The "Great Bell" Ghroth, said to emit a strange tone that influences slumbering Great Old Ones across the galaxy, even shifting the positions of stars to align them correctly.
After some thought, Hastur felt it was only similar. The authority of the Hall of Stars was far more comprehensive, and far more terrifying, than that.
To put it simply, Ghroth was like an alarm clock, waking people up so they could go to work or school on time.
But the "alignment of the stars" from the Hall of Stars was far more forceful, like pulling out a machine gun from behind and forcing people out of bed to toil away.
Yes… something like that.
Hastur withdrew his thoughts, handed the letter to Gregrace, and instructed, "This is your first delivery mission. Don't mess it up."
"Chirp!"
The small firebird cried proudly, clamped the letter in its beak, flapped its wings, and tore through the spirit world as it departed.
After Gregrace had left for a while, 008, playing dead inside the pen case, began bouncing again, hoping Hastur would let it out.
"Since you like staying in there, you can stay a bit longer. I won't disturb your rest."
Hastur had no intention of letting it out. Just now it had fled faster than anything, and even knew how to play dead.
"…" 008 bounced twice more. Seeing no response, it quieted down.
In the afternoon, accompanied by Caius, Hastur inspected his territory along the newly constructed road.
According to Caius, his lands spanned the outskirts of three cities, making his lands the largest in the area, and even among the top five across Southville County.
Hastur had Caius mark the lands Greg entrusted him to manage. When combined on a detailed map of Southville County, his total territory was second only to the Duke of Southville.
Within his domain were ninety-two plantations, forty-five villages, and twelve towns.
These plantations were incomparable to those in Backlund in terms of scale, but their sheer number and vast area allowed for significant profits from crop production.
Aside from paying required taxes to the kingdom, the villages and towns within the territory were private assets of the lords. They could raise tax rates within a certain limit to earn the difference.
This was the primary source of income for most lords.
Currently, however, the authority to collect taxes in Hastur's territory was not in his hands, but temporarily managed by the mayors of three neighboring cities.
This was partly due to historical reasons left behind by the Campbell family, and partly because he did not yet have enough manpower to take over.
Tax collection was both a right and a responsibility.
Once he fully took control, he would need to handle all matters within the territory, public security, disaster relief for floods or droughts, funding public works, and more.
Thus, many noble lords chose to attach their lands to nearby cities, letting mayors manage everything while they enjoyed life in their castles and collected quarterly payments.
Convenient and comfortable.
This was also the long-standing political direction of the Kingdom of Loen, indirectly weakening the power of the lords by giving them money but not authority.
But what Hastur wanted was authority.
Of course, he wanted the money too, after all, as a magnanimous man… he intended to have it all.