December 13, Roth Fort was shrouded in a bleak sky.
The convoy slowly arrived at the main gate.
Although the procession was not grand and the carriage’s embellishments were not luxurious, the guards at the city gate did not dare to obstruct in the slightest.
Only because on the outside of the pure black carriage, there was a relief of a golden lion’s head.
That was the symbol of the Noah royal family!
In the leading carriage, a middle-aged man sat upright with a stern and composed face.
He had black curly hair, dark red eyes, and wore a pair of narrow black-rimmed glasses.
The man lifted the curtain and glanced outside.
"It’s going to snow soon, Kafney,"
he asked in a low and concerned voice, "Are you cold?"
Yet the girl, Kafney, in the same carriage did not respond at all.
Kafney was not paying attention to her father’s words, focusing instead on the drawing she was making.
She appeared to be only fourteen or fifteen years old, with black curly hair that fell to her waist. She wore a beret, typical for painters.
She was dressed only in a black lace-up long dress. Barefoot, she withdrew her feet from her boots and sat snugly squatting on the long, soft bench, with the drawing board on her knees, intently smearing something.
The middle-aged man got no response.
He reached out to grab Kafney’s drawing board and pulled it away.
The man, patient, asked again, "Are you cold? Do you want to put on more clothes?"
Kafney simply shook her head in silence.
Unlike the man, she also had red pupils, but her eyes were closer in color to glaze.
The strange transparency even made one wonder if she had normal vision.
And the man was quite troubled by her silence, just like every time someone asks their child or lover "What shall we eat tonight?" and receives the answer "Whatever":
"What does shaking your head mean? Are you not cold or do you not need extra clothes?"
As he spoke, the man looked down at Kafney’s painting.
He then paused for a moment.
In Kafney’s painting was a lifelike anthropomorphic bird.
Its posture was bizarre and twisted, its wings looked as though they were broken, and each feather bore an eye. It ran upon fire with its feet spread wide, but its feathers were not singed in the least.
The moment he saw this strange and terrifying painting, a well-concealed fear and disgust flickered in the man’s eyes.
But he quickly asked softly, "What is this, Kafney?"
She said in a soft voice, "It called me awake."
Her voice was very light, very soft, murmuring quietly as if in a dream.
But at this statement, the man was startled.
Like an electric shock, he threw the painting aside and sat up quickly to scold her.
But he didn’t dare lecture Kafney too much.
Just making eye contact with those extremely clear crimson eyes made him feel a surge of fear. A strong, hair-raising sensation rose from his back, and the man felt as if his skin were peeling off without any pain.
He suppressed the near boiling fear in his heart and forced a gentle smile, pushed up his glasses, and said quietly, "Kafney, we have arrived.
"We’re not far from Frostwater Harbor. Didn’t you want to see Amos Morrison’s paintings? Tomorrow, I’ll take you to the ruins of the Morrison Gallery..."
Kafney gently shook her head, her intentions unclear.
As she spoke, she silently picked up the discarded frame and retreated to her seat.
She vigorously smeared black paint on the canvas, almost blacking out most of the painting.
Knowing that he should not talk too much with Kafney while she was painting, but seeing this odd behavior, the man couldn’t help but ask, "Did you paint something wrong?"
"Yes, I painted it wrong."
Kafney uttered a soft and tender voice, sharing more than usual, "It should have four faces, four wings. I can’t see far enough..."
"The face in front is a human face, the right side a lion’s face, the left side an ox’s face, and the rear an eagle’s face..."
As she spoke, she lifted her head to earnestly look at the man, "’Four’ can represent time in a ritual, Dad."
"...I don’t understand these things. I’m not a Transcendent, and I can’t comprehend what it means."
The man said with a wry smile, "You don’t need to explain to me... just do your painting."
Kafney seemed to lose interest in continuing the explanation as well.
She uttered a slight sound of assent and bowed her head again.
The man, however, just leaned back in his seat, his complexion somewhat pale.
Every time he made eye contact with Kafney, the man seemed to see countless dark, shadow-like tentacles under her skirt.
He was somewhat unclear whether this was some kind of illusion...
Because it could also be an illusion caused by Kafney’s black lace skirt swaying gently on the moving carriage.
The man rubbed his temples tiredly.
It was time for a rest.
Elsewhere, Annan heard Salvatore’s calling voice.
The moment his consciousness cleared, a large amount of text appeared in front of Annan:
[You have completed a ritual, your Will attribute +1]
[You beheld a sacred object, erosion has been reset to zero]
[You have received a new mark "High-Level Influence: Residual of the Wheel of Celestial Chariot"]
[If not removed promptly, you will fall into a random nightmare associated with the keyword "Radiance" in seven days (Difficulty: Twisted).]
"Tan Juan? Have you woken up?"
Apparently detecting the twitch of Annan’s eyelids, Salvatore’s voice carried a hint of surprise, "Tan Juan?"
Annan opened his eyes and discovered he was lying in bed, wrapped in two layers of blankets.
For some reason, he found many warm glass bottles stuffed in his blanket.
...Were these, hot water bottles?
Odd thoughts flickered through Annan’s mind.
Relieved, Salvatore propped himself up and guzzled several large mouthfuls of water, then complained, "I originally wanted to give you some privacy, but who would have thought that you’d fall asleep in front of the mirror? Did you use the mirror to see something? How could you even faint?
"Do you know how cold it is there? The cold-weather gear you were wearing was already ill-fitting, lying on the ground won’t stave off the cold. And the worst part was how peacefully you lay there on the ground, I got quite a scare when I saw you—"
"Senior," Annan suddenly asked, "how long was I unconscious?"
"Over an hour—don’t interrupt! I really didn’t expect to use the Panacea I concocted in such a place..."
Feeling his stomach churn, Salvatore continued with increasing dismay, "What exactly did you see to faint? Can this mirror harm people? Here, drink some hot water... how are you feeling now?"
"No, it’s not the mirror’s fault. I fainted for a different reason."
Annan shook his head, took the cup of hot water, and took a small sip.
His reply wasn’t entirely untrue.
His fainting indeed had nothing to do with the mirror... If nothing went wrong, it was probably related to the Book of the Celestial Chariot.
"If you ask how I am feeling now..."
Annan’s expression was somewhat peculiar, "I feel exceptionally well at the moment. I think it must be the effect of the Panacea."
He felt his mind extraordinarily clear, his body strong, very comfortable. Since coming to this world, he had never felt so at ease... To describe it, it was like a person who had been walking in the rain for a long time, finally taking a bath and changing into warm, dry clothes.
But even Annan himself did not know whether this was really the effect of the Panacea...
Or the effect of the other "Annan" he saw in the mirror.