Thump, thump-thump!
Within Toran's rhythmic knocking lay the unique code of the "Inland River Cult."
And the contact person in the room imdiately responded—
"Who is it?
If you're looking for 'Mrs. Gwen,' please co back in the evening.
She needs to work for 'Mr. Hacks' during the day."
That was the second part of the code.
Mrs. Gwen did indeed exist, and she was the owner of this house, a conservatively respected 'rciful woman.' Not only could she read and calculate, but she could also concoct so herbal redies. On usual days, she acted as the family advisor for 'Mr. Hacks,' helping manage his wife and three children, similar to the role of a nanny combined with a ho tutor.
So, this phrase was not problematic.
What was truly important was the answer.
"Alright, I understand that Mrs. Gwen needs to work for Mr. Hacks.
But I still hope to et with you."
Toran replied.
The door opened.
It was Mr. Gwen, Mrs. Gwen's husband, who opened the door.
A man who claid to the outside world to be a historian, but in reality, a spy for the 'Inland River Cult.'
"Greetings, Lord Toran."
Mr. Gwen greeted warmly.
Dressed in pants, a shirt, and wearing glasses, Mr. Gwen had a head of red curly hair, a clean face, but rough hands, and fingertips stained with ink.
It made shaking hands with him sowhat uncomfortable for Toran.
It felt a bit dirty.
Dirtier than his own clothes.
Before coming here for tidiness, the priest of the 'Inland River Cult' could tolerate it, but after getting to safety, the priest could no longer stand it.
"May I use the washroom?"
Toran asked impatiently.
"Of course."
Mr. Gwen smiled, nodded, and pointed to the side of the room.
Toran imdiately rushed in.
anwhile, Mr. Gwen's gaze was once again drawn to a docunt that had just been translated—
Annals of the Inland River God.
The god has a form, like a serpent, very long, and thick.
The Breath of God, highly toxic.
The Command of God...
"What cos after that?"
Mr. Gwen puzzled, rubbing his hair.
The Annals of the Inland River God in front of him was acquired from an old bookseller six years ago, and at the ti of purchase, the book was already incomplete.
But the early common imperial script still captivated him.
For it, he had spent two months' worth of his family's living expenses to buy it.
Then, after serving his wife footbaths for half a year, he was able to settle down and translate it.
In fact, the reason Mr. Gwen joined the 'Inland River Cult' was not only to supplent the family inco, but also because the cult had more books to help him translate the Annals of the Inland River God.
"The part that follows is: 'The multitude of snakes obeys.'
A calm and persuasive voice ca from behind.
"The multitude of snakes obeys?! It's like this! Is this the missing part?"
Almost instinctively, Gwen followed the voice, murmuring to himself.
By the ti the words left his mouth, he abruptly realized.
The man who claid to be a historian, Mr. Gwen, imdiately turned around to look behind him.
A man with an ordinary face but silver-white hair stood there, smiling slightly at him.
"Who are you?!"
Mr. Gwen demanded, his voice filled with suspicion.
Then, he picked up the cane that rested beside the table.
Gripping it tightly in his hand as if it were a longsword, he posed himself in a combat-ready stance of defense.
Clearly, this historian was not as defenseless as one might assu.
"Good day, Mr. Gwen, I an you no harm.
I have co to clear up a misunderstanding.
Lord Toran, please lower your firearm."
As Grindelwald spoke, he glanced toward the direction of the washroom—where the sounds of washing had ceased imdiately upon Mr. Gwen's shouting.
With the vision of a dog, Arthur could clearly see the priest of the Inland River Cult, who seed a bit obsessive with cleanliness, drawing out a small, palm-sized firearm with a peculiar design and a copper hue. Opening a slight crack in the washroom door, he was about to raise his weapon.
While the Human Puppet was unique, Arthur wished to maintain the persona his "vest" implied and certainly did not want to be shot.
Therefore, as he spoke, he issued a command to Kuliqi: if Toran made a move to shoot, Kuliqi was to bite off Toran's hand.
Brutal?
No, no, no.
The brutal one was Grindelwald.
It had nothing to do with Arthur Kredos.
Peering through the crack in the door, seeing Grindelwald smiling at him, Toran hesitated.
The polite deanor and sincere tone of Grindelwald gave Toran the false impression that he might be persuaded, and in fact, Toran always felt a sense of familiarity when he looked at the man before him.
Was it because of his pale skin?
Or his white hair?
Or perhaps the cynicism and defiance in his eyes?
Toran did not know.
But he offered a considerable amount of trust.
Although he didn't lower his gun, the priest of the Inland River Cult stepped out of the washroom nonetheless.
"I am very sorry for the intrusion.
I would not have done so unannounced if it weren't an urgent matter."
Grindelwald said with a look of sincerity, even giving a slight bow.
This caused Toran's impression of him to improve significantly.
Mr. Gwen, on the other hand, was curiously observing Grindelwald.
Or rather...
The man who claid to be a historian, Mr. Gwen, wanted to ask Grindelwald more about the early imperial scripts.
However, it was clearly not the appropriate ti.
So, Mr. Gwen left the conversation to Toran.
"May I ask who you are?"
Toran inquired tentatively.
"I am Grindelwald, the hidden Child of Misfortune favored by the Grim Reaper, the current 'Black Cat,' 'Leader of the Cat Sect,' Champion of the South Los Swordsmanship Competition, master of Caesar Manor, Winter Blessing Giver, Winter Guardian, slayer of the Winter Monster, and leader of the 'Black Cat Faction' under the great 'Spirit dium' Arthur Kredos."
Grindelwald introduced himself, and even though Toran had raised his gun during the declaration, the leader of the Black Cat Faction's voice did not waver. He completed his introduction without any tremble, and after stating his na, he fixated his gaze on Toran, deliberately saying—
"We've all fallen into soone else's trap!"
"Hm?"
Toran did not lower his specially crafted firearm, eting Grindelwald's gaze unflinchingly.
"To put it simply, everything at the docks had nothing to do with my master.
Soone is plotting against him and trying to fra my master."
Grindelwald continued.
"You say that, but where's the evidence?"
Toran kept his gun raised, yet his expression softened sowhat.
He too found it strange that despite everything being planned out, there were repeated mishaps as if soone had anticipated their sche.
Grindelwald, who had been closely watching Toran's expressions, smiled and then lowered his voice to say—
"The Pain Church!"
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