With Site-33 temporarily transformed into a Foundation lockdown zone, Luo Shu set his sights northward—toward Yorkshire, and the enigmatic Site-91.
From his fragmented memories, Site-91 had been established in 1986 around Anomalous Item-4612, housed within an 18th-century manor known as Eckhart Estate. Find the manor, and he'd find the site.
Unlike Site-33's focus on memetics, Site-91 specialized in thaumaturgy—esoteric rituals, occult symbology, and the harnessing of preternatural forces. Yorkshire itself hosted a secretive thaumaturgical society, weaving ancient practices into the modern era.
And thaumaturgy? That was Luo Shu's blind spot.
His understanding was crude:
Spells. Sigils, arrays, blood sacrifices.
Power sources. Lingering faith from humanity's age of gods and monsters.
Voodoo, alchemy, Taoist rites—all branches of the same twisted tree.
As a hard sciences prodigy, he'd always dismissed this "mumbo jumbo"—hence his flippant naming of his cult ("The Charlatan's Creed"). But if he wanted to unravel this world's truths, he'd have to confront it.
Questions loomed:
Did nature spirits and conceptual deities truly exist here?
How would thaumaturgical anomalies manifest in the Anomaly Archive?
One thing was certain: thaumaturgy couldn't be ignored.
The Journey North
A strategic relocation in name, but logistically trivial.
Sunset Empire was, frankly, tiny.
Behind the wheel of his Land Rover-disguised transformer pickup, Luo Shu left Birmingham and reached Yorkshire in two hours flat. Even with detours, the trip barely stretched 200 kilometers.
Yorkshire—the largest county—boasted three cities: York, Leeds, and Sheffield. (The New World's "Neo York" owed its name to this region.) Its rolling countryside was littered with aristocratic estates, relics of England's 2,000-year history.
But locating Eckhart Manor wouldn't be easy. The name was likely a Foundation fabrication.
Time for another fishing expedition.
With Site-33 on high alert, he couldn't reuse Workaholic's Instant Coffee. Instead, he opted for Heavenly Cigars—a better fit for noble decadence.
Howard Castle: A Gilded Trap
Luo Shu infiltrated a high-society soirée at Leeds' famed Howard Castle, where two elderly "Sirs" held court, spewing imperialist delusions:
"Russia's a spent force! Our fleet could sail the Black Sea tomorrow!"
"Red China? Ha! Their tech's decades behind—thanks to Five Eyes' sanctions!"
"My ancestor looted their Summer Palace! I've got their treasures in my parlor!"
The sycophants ate it up, drunk on phantom grandeur.
Luo Shu's lip curled. How much cognac does it take to hallucinate this hard?
No—this reeked of memetic infection. Blind superiority complex.
Invisible under Unobservable, he slipped a Heavenly Cigar into each Sir's hand, whispering with Persuasion:
"Smoke up. Then Sunset Empire can rule the galaxy. Even India's ego learned from you."
They inhaled.
And froze.
Grins locked, drool dripping, eyes glazing over.
Heavenly Cigars' curse had taken root. The cigars burned endlessly—because in Dreamland, they were devouring the men's souls.
Luo Shu nudged the crowd: "Look how they're smiling… like possessed puppets."
Panic spread.
Five real-world minutes passed. A year in Dreamland. The Sirs' minds were hollowed-out husks.
Luo Shu felt no guilt. Their ancestors had burned his homeland. They'd boasted about it.
This was justice.
Enter the Thaumaturge
A sharp-featured man pushed through the crowd, studying the cigars. His fingers traced a hidden sigil, conjuring a cobalt-blue orb to douse the flames.
It failed.
Heavenly Cigars didn't burn in reality—they fed on souls.
The Sirs' faces grayed, their grins now death masks.
The man—"Thaumaturge Charles III"—retreated, dialing a number.
Luo Shu hovered behind him, eavesdropping:
"Foundation? This is Thaumaturge Charles III. Howard Castle. Possible cognitohazard—hallucinogenic anomaly."
Bingo.
The Foundation's Yorkshire operatives were watching.
Site-91 would come to him.