Luo Shu had barely set foot in Yorkshire before encountering his first thaumaturge.
This place truly lived up to its reputation as the heart of occult practice.
Though the Foundation had been established in the New World, it couldn't possibly centralize all its operations there. The New World's mere two centuries of history lacked the mythological depth needed to spawn native thaumaturgy. Its religions were hand-me-downs from Europe, leaving its esoteric roots firmly planted in England—and Yorkshire, as the historical core, naturally teemed with arcane traditions.
No wonder the Foundation had built Site-91 here.
From the self-proclaimed "Thaumaturge Charles III", Luo Shu hadn't sensed overwhelming power. That left him uncertain about thaumaturgy's true potency.
He needed more data.
The Aftermath at Howard Castle
Within half an hour:
Local police locked down the castle, evacuating guests.
A group of thaumaturges arrived before Foundation personnel—hoping to extinguish the Heavenly Cigars.
But they were too late.
The two elderly sirs had burned out their souls, their corpses still clutching the cigars. Strangely, upon their deaths, the cigars regenerated, sprouting fresh ends—ready for new victims.
Only Luo Shu's own cigar (from his box) remained inert, proving one thing:
Everyone else who'd tried them had died.
Most never even realized they were trapped in Dreamland.
Yet the world never lacked fools.
One "Yorkshire's Greatest Illusionist" stepped forward, undeterred.
Charles III warned him: "They died after smoking these. You still want to try?"
The thaumaturge scoffed. "I specialize in illusions. If I can't handle this, what hope does the Foundation have?"
Luo Shu watched, intrigued. A trained illusionist should recognize the trap within hours of Dreamland time.
The man took a puff.
And never woke up.
By the time Site-91's team finally arrived, they were just in time to bag another corpse.
The Truth About Thaumaturges
This proved a critical revelation:
Thaumaturges weren't reality-benders.
They were ordinary humans wielding esoteric tools. Training might sharpen their minds slightly, but their souls remained fragile.
The "Greatest Illusionist" had stronger willpower, but his spiritual energy was too weak to even sense the cigar burning his soul.
Pathetic.
After this demonstration, the remaining thaumaturges kept their distance. Site-91's team used robotic arms to collect the cigars—too scared to touch them barehanded.
Luo Shu was unimpressed.
Thaumaturgy was just borrowed power. Its masters were frail conduits, not forces of nature.
The Hunt for Site-91
The cigars (now carrying Luo Shu's sliver of consciousness) led him to Site-91's doorstep—less than 10 km from Howard Castle.
Yet the team had taken over an hour to arrive.
Bureaucratic incompetence or deliberate delay?
No matter. Time for the night raid.
The Invisible Door
Site-91's defenses were unlike anything he'd faced.
Not just tech—layers of thaumaturgical wards.
Anomalous Item-005 (Skeleton Key) wouldn't work here.
Worse, when Luo Shu returned that night, he couldn't find the entrance.
He'd literally followed the cigars inside earlier, yet now—nothing.
After 30 wasted minutes (and burning an Unobservable charge), Luo Shu admitted defeat.
He needed a guide.
The Charmed Guard
At the estate's gate, he Persuaded a security guard:
"You need to visit the underground facility. Now."
The man shuffled obediently toward the wine cellar.
Luo Shu had scoured this area three times. How had he missed it?
Then he saw it: a brick archway, its frame carved with cuneiform thaumaturgic sigils.
The symbols had hidden it from his perception.
A mental blindspot.
Even the stairwell walls were etched with more sigils.
Luo Shu's stomach dropped.
He didn't know cuneiform.
He didn't understand thaumaturgic scripting.
How the hell was he supposed to navigate this?