A dense white fog enveloped everything nearby, concealing any signs of life and casting ghostly silhouettes over the town before them. Looking more than a few dozen meters ahead, only the dark canopy above was barely discernible; everything else remained shrouded in a hazy blur.
The towering spire of the clock tower was faintly visible, resembling a wartime gallows erected by the roadside. Black-painted street lamps emitted a dim, murky light, casting an eerie greenish hue on the streets below. This light resembled rippling silk spread across the fog, making the walls appear like the shedding skin of a green lizard.
The fog seemed to narrow the streets, though perhaps the streets were inherently narrow—twisting and intertwining like a tangled ball of yarn. Yet, these streets were all solitary and aged alleys.
The entire town resembled a massive bird's nest, or perhaps an excavated ant colony, or even more than that. As Sasel and his companions observed, the various streets were distorted puzzles of differing styles. They were constructed from spaces and walls seemingly drawn from different realms, as if numerous bizarre dreams had been piled together. This place possessed an incomprehensible stillness and absurdity, something unimaginable to a rational mind—a bizarre entity lacking logic and structure.
Looking upward, above the streets, countless overlapping roads of varying angles and styles stretched out, like numerous hands reaching skyward in prayer. At the town's entrance, these streets were not densely packed, but as they ventured deeper, weaving through the town's twists and turns, the sky above gradually became completely obscured by the overhanging streets. It was as if fragments of different cities had been dismantled, replaced, moved, inverted, and finally randomly assembled together.
Looking downward, beneath their feet, they could see randomly placed street entrances: archways, spiral staircases, and slanted wooden ladders, none alike in depth, length, width, or shape. Though their ends were all shrouded in writhing mist, undoubtedly, they would lead to another street of a different, otherworldly style.
Astolfo's curiosity seemed more satisfied than ever before.
Perhaps only he could find joy here, Sasel thought. He casually followed behind Astolfo, who was exploring the town as if window-shopping. Jeanne walked alongside him, her indifferent gaze sweeping over the various incongruous archways and staircases on the street. There were upward paths, and likewise, downward ones. The corridors cloaked in shadows quietly surrounded them. Despite the slowly writhing fog, the streets themselves carried an air of eternal stagnation.
Was this place safe?
Who could say?
Was this place dangerous?
Who could say?
Though Sasel was filled with concerns, he couldn't help but immerse himself in the slow-paced atmosphere. For someone who had been on the run for over seven years, such an environment held an extraordinary allure.
The tranquil night pressed its motherly hand upon the ground; it was dim and lonely, yet peaceful and comfortable. The street lamps emitted soft crackling sounds, and the rain was blocked by the overhead streets. Only a few droplets silently trickled down the walls, resembling the silent tears of a heartbroken girl.
"Come take a look at this!" Astolfo suddenly shouted.
Sasel's attention was jolted back. He tapped his own head to rouse himself, then reached out to shake Jeanne, who also appeared somewhat dazed.
"...I feel like I'm about to fall asleep standing up," Jeanne exhaled slowly, paying no mind to the hand on her shoulder. "This place feels so strange," she said, shaking her head in confusion. "I wonder what happens if you fall asleep in a dream."
"The one leading the way seems quite energetic."
"...Is that guy really human?" Jeanne forced herself to focus. She raised both hands to tuck a few strands of hair behind her ears, then followed Sasel's steps toward Astolfo, casually asking, "Or is she actually a wind-up toy—so long as the spring is wound, she'll keep going?"
"Are you saying your spring is about to unwind?"
"It unwound long ago."
She replied lazily, seemingly lacking the energy to bicker with the black sorcerer.
The bluish road and the dilapidated street lamp were the only sources of light on this street—though there was only one lamp.
Astolfo stood beneath the street lamp's glow, facing an old wall. A large notice was pasted on the wall, appearing aged, dry, and yellowed, with much of it nearly peeled away. Time's hand was slowly pulling it off the wall.
Astolfo wasn't tall; he had to stand on tiptoe to barely reach the notice, and even then, it was quite a struggle. He jumped in place repeatedly, like a child trying to retrieve a toy accidentally thrown onto a tree branch. Sasel approached from behind, pressing down on a peeling corner of the paper to flatten the notice against the wall.
It was quite dim here; looking up, the sky was obscured, with only the overlapping streets above. Part of the notice had become illegible, but another part was written in large characters. By the street lamp's light, it was just barely readable.
Sasser read aloud:
"What does it matter if I'm delayed here?
Even if you kill or maim me,
You won't win the beautiful lady.
While we hesitate, she has vanished.
If you love her too,
Best set out at once,
Before she gets too far,
Seize her now.
Once she's in our grasp,
We'll draw swords to decide our fate.
Ah, my beautiful doll.
I don't know if you've gone here or there,
Your traces lie on both paths.
I won't leave the decision to fate,
So I'll lay out streets here,
Where you lost your trail,
Ensuring you can never leave.
Beautiful maiden,
You'll wander here endlessly,
Until you return to where I am."
—(Signed) Sasu de Praine
Below this signature was a line of small text, written in another language.
Sasser casually moved Astorfo's head, which was blocking the line, and leaned in to examine it.
"Te Deum Laudamus."
"What does that mean?" Jeanne asked the dark sorcerer.
"Praise be to God—"
Astorfo answered in Sasser's stead, "In Latin, 'Te Deum Laudamus' means 'We praise you, O God.'"
"You know Latin?" Sasser glanced at him.
"Well, various things happen during travels," he said, raising his left arm to his chest, gently tapping his cheek with his index finger. "So I've learned many things, like languages of different nations and races, skincare, wilderness survival... Oh, and I'm quite good at cooking, whether at home or in the wild. I'm confident in my culinary skills! If there's a chance, I'd love to invite you both to try my cooking, so please don't refuse!"
"If there's a chance," Sasser nodded nonchalantly.
Then, Astorfo turned his gaze to Jeanne.
"...Why are you looking at me?"
"Well..."
"Fine, fine, if there's a chance," Jeanne waved him off impatiently.
Astorfo breathed a sigh of relief; conversing with Jeanne seemed quite taxing for him. If not for considering that he had just befriended the knight and that Jeanne was a friend of his friend, he probably wouldn't have chosen to talk to this woman.
"What do you think this means?" Sasser pointed at the notice on the wall.
"Hmm—ah..."
Astorfo tilted his head, hesitated for a moment, then suddenly clapped his hands as if realizing something, and answered, "If it's about a doll, I saw a very tall woman