In Morlando's hand, the crystal King chess piece cracked again, a deep blackness oozing from within, trickling over the face of the King.
As if it were blood.
"The King is about to die."
Mr. Matthes raised his hand, spread his palm, and between his fingers, a blood-red chess piece slowly appeared—a piece crowned with a holy Crown, clad in pure White Clothes, holding Rosary Beads, bearing the distinct likeness of Mr. Morlando.
"I believe it's time for your debut."
He slowly stood up, placed the chess piece in Mr. Morlando's hands, bent down, and whispered into his ear, "The last 'Bishop,' Your Excellency."
"I shall."
Mr. Morlando calmly closed his fingers and asked again, "What about you?"
"Hmm?" The middle-aged gentleman ready to leave halted his steps, turning back in bewilderment.
"Don't you plan to appear on the chessboard?"
Mr. Matthes then laughed, took off the bowler hat from the coat rack, and put it on his greying hair. "For those playing the game, there's no need to place any representative on the chessboard, is there?"
Mr. Morlando said no more.
Mr. Matthes nodded politely and turned to leave.
As he passed by a seat near the window, his steps paused slightly, as if unintentionally, he glanced down.
On the seat sat a haggard man with heavy dark circles under his eyes, dressed in an inconspicuous grey suit, frowning as he drank unsweetened black coffee.
He looked up at Mr. Matthes, who also glanced at him.
Both withdrew their gazes calmly and continued on their separate ways.
Just as they had done years before.
.
.
「Twenty minutes earlier, above the Sea where the Group Star lay, the winds were calm and an eerie silence enveloped everything.」
And, within the heavily guarded Astronomical Society headquarters at the London border, identity and password verification occurred at the sixteenth underground level. Afterwards, passengers took a dedicated elevator. Once Source Substance comparison was complete, the old elevator began to descend once more with its passengers.
Straight down, and further down.
Ideal Floor·L8.
The iron gates of the elevator opened slowly as a middle-aged man in grey maintenance overalls stepped out, hearing the sound of a musical from an old television set.
A cold pizza lay discarded on the reception desk by the door, but the chairs were devoid of occupants.
Until the deep sound of a toilet flushing came from a stall, and an aging, portly Guard with a protruding belly emerged, shaking his legs before returning to his post.
"Application report?"
He flipped through the documents the middle-aged man handed over and checked the signatures. He then handed over a logbook for sign-in. After that, he took a pen, ticked a checkbox, pulled out a drawer, retrieved a set of keys, and stood up, saying, "Follow me."
The door to the storage room was opened.
The air was dust-free, with a well-maintained ventilation system keeping a constant temperature, and not even the slightest hint of mold.
Just pure, absent of any scent.
No sound to be heard either.
Only the crisp sound of their leather boots on the floor as they walked deeper inside.
Until finally, they stopped in front of a huge square cabinet. The Guard checked the number on the dust cover and nodded.
"[Code TS-7767], this is it," he looked back and asked, "Do you plan to use it here, or take it with you?"
The middle-aged worker in grey overalls replied, "Not taking it with me."
"Who will use it?" the Guard asked. "Do you need my help?"
"Yes."
"Then, just a moment."
The portly Guard reached out, pulled off the dust cover, revealing the well-maintained giant globe underneath—about as tall as an average person, fixed within four layers of brass tracks, and with additional scales beyond the usual meridians and parallels, confusing to onlookers.
Next to the globe was a small stove and Crucible, and a jar of sealed animal fats.
Soon, a fire blazed in the stove. The animal fats in the Crucible were heated, melted into a clear liquid.
Three minutes later, the fats boiled, radiating flame-like colors.
The portly Guard picked up the tongs, lifted the Crucible filled with boiling fat, and walked toward the ladder beside the globe, climbing up somewhat laboriously.
"Coordinates?"
"Eastern Asia, south side of the West Bolivia Sea."
The middle-aged worker looked down at the data on the clipboard and reported, "Longitude 124.35946… Latitude 2.7653475… Depth 1.95."
"And the time?"
"Three seconds from now."
So, three seconds later, the boiling fats were poured onto the globe's coordinates, and like an illusion, they disappeared without trace.
Done.
The portly Guard clambered down with some difficulty, shook hands with the middle-aged worker, signed off with two quick strokes, tidied up everything, returned the ladder to its place, and covered it with the dust cloth.
Finally leaving the storeroom and shutting the door, the portly Guard watched the visitor depart. Then, he returned to his chair and continued to eat his cold pizza as a melodious tune came from the television set.
A new show was starting.
.
.
「Meanwhile, on the Endless Sea.」
The sky had broken.