"Strange, isn't it? There isn't nearly enough blood here."
Ron ran his fingers along one of the rusted iron pillars supporting the station.
"For some reason, that bothers me more than it reassures me."
Something about this train station felt wrong.
Deeply wrong.
I never paid attention before, but... when exactly did people start building steam locomotives in an age of magic?
The thought lingered in his mind.
As he walked, he scribbled seemingly random observations into his notebook.
Designs.
Colors.
Layout.
Structural details.
Anything he could see.
In truth, the notes were meaningless on the surface.
Hidden within them was a cipher of his own creation.
The key revolved around the name Joe Jothane.
For example, if the letter J corresponded to the tenth position in the alphabet, then the tenth letter in a passage would become a marker. From there, additional markers formed a hidden sentence buried beneath the visible text.
That was only the second layer.
There was also a third.
The page numbers themselves.
2-3-1-9.
A sequence that appeared random to everyone except him.
The purpose was simple.
Ron wanted to test something.
If the Ground truly was omniscient, could it decipher secrets?
If it could read the first layer, then there would be a second.
If it could read the second, there would be a third.
And if it could read all of them...
Then at least he would finally know.
After reviewing the bloodstained notebook, Ron tucked it away.
From his coat pocket, he withdrew a gold coin and a small dagger.
"Your Highness, let me go first."
Extending an arm, he stopped Janeus from advancing.
Then he approached the ticket gate alone.
A flick of his thumb sent the coin spinning into the air.
At the same moment, he drove the dagger into his own finger.
Blood burst forth.
The coin struck the ground.
Ron pulled the blade free and began chanting.
"Praise be to death, guide of fallen souls.
Praise be to the melody of peace and oblivion.
Praise be to the torch of life..."
The final note faded into silence.
Below him, the blood flowing from his finger stretched across the ground like a crimson thread.
Connecting him to the coin.
"...You know the Hymns of Saint Mosore?"
Janeus stared at the stream of blood.
The wound was tiny.
Far too small to produce such a quantity.
Yet the blood continued to flow.
As though something beyond ordinary physiology sustained it.
A blessing.
That was the only explanation she could think of.
Still...
Ron only possessed a Third-Tier Core.
And he was barely fourteen or fifteen years old.
Someone like him should only be capable of wielding three or four spells at most.
If a ritual was truly necessary, a Fifth-Tier like herself would have been far more efficient.
"I know a little."
Ron kept his eyes fixed on the coin.
"I was raised by the Church when I was young. Learning a few methods for finding demons isn't exactly unusual."
Whether she believed him or not did not concern him.
His attention never left the gold coin.
Then Janeus frowned.
Something felt wrong.
Heat spread throughout her body.
A strange warmth.
Her cheeks slowly turned red.
Under ordinary circumstances, the sight would have been breathtaking.
The blush softened her elegant features, creating a beauty capable of stealing the hearts of countless young men.
Unfortunately...
This was hardly the setting for a romance.
"Hey!"
Janeus suddenly stepped backward.
"Get away from there!"
Her eyes darted around frantically.
Searching.
Hunting for danger.
Ron, meanwhile, remained perfectly still.
His gaze never left the coin.
As though nothing else in the world mattered.
Only after several seconds did he slowly raise his eyes.
His attention shifted toward the station gate.
Those eyes...
Calm.
Dreamlike.
Bottomless.
Looking into them felt like standing at the edge of a deep ocean.
"I'll pay the holiday rate."
Ron reached into his pocket.
"Fifty silver coins."
A pause.
"And twenty more for operational fees."
He placed the money onto the empty counter.
Then he walked through the ticket gate.
Confidently.
Naturally.
As though someone had already approved his passage.
No ticket was issued.
No attendant appeared.
Yet he crossed anyway.
"..."
Janeus stared.
Her eyes widened.
Ron simply glanced back and smiled.
"Ah."
He snapped his fingers.
"I forgot to buy yours."
Turning around, he headed back toward the gate.
His hand slipped into his pocket again.
Then—
Something touched his back.
Another hand seized his neck.
Another covered one eye.
Another grasped his tongue.
Dozens of hands emerged from nowhere.
Pale.
Bloodstained.
Grabbing him from every direction.
Only then did Ron notice the wounds.
His neck had been split open.
Blood streamed down from a severed vein across his chest.
Cuts ran from tongue to nose.
His entire body was covered in knife wounds.
Yet through the forest of grasping fingers, Janeus saw something strange.
A glimmer.
Ron remained calm.
Utterly calm.
There was not the slightest hint of fear in his eyes.
And his mouth—
A smile stretched across his face.
A smile carved all the way to his ears.
A grotesque wound masquerading as an expression.
But Ron did not seem bothered.
He casually reached into his pocket and pulled out a white-and-blue cigarette pack.
Despite the dozens of hands restraining him.
Despite the blood.
Despite the wounds.
He calmly opened the pack.
Then he spoke.
The moment Janeus heard those words, she ran.
No hesitation.
No questions.
She sprinted behind the nearest wall and took cover.
The sentence was simple.
"...If you don't enter the tiger's den, how will you catch the tiger?"
BOOOOOOM!!!