Zhou Ren's eyes snapped open. His heart pounded—not from the usual dream fatigue, but from something else. Fear, was it? Not exactly. Excitement? Perhaps it was a mix of all these things.

  Either way, it left a sour yet bitter taste in his mouth, like savoring lemon zest.

  The first thing he did was raise his hand to check his wrist. There was a mechanical watch, crude with protruding tubes and parts. Despite its rather nonfunctioning appearance, two clock arms were prominent.

  The white light never arrives late, precisely at 00:42 every midnight. In the ten years since I woke up in this body, my dreams have never changed, be it the settings, characters, or the white light at the end. He recalled the appearance and symbols in the book, unable to grasp the truth of the matter.

  This was a fact, proven countless times by Earth's greatest minds. And yet, no matter how brilliant that knowledge was, the mystery of his dream remained unsolved. Recalling the appearance of that black book, he sighed as his eyes subconsciously lingered toward the metal ceiling.

  Besides this book, he also wanted to meet up with Zheng San to learn more about his organization, the so-called "Eternal Club". To think that after all this time, he had never encountered this organization. From the name alone, it cannot be an ordinary organization.

  Zhou Ren used to believe that his dream was a golden finger, or some benefit that he possessed as a transmigrator from another world.

  In fact, in the years since his transmigration, he had performed countless tests and experiments, only to come up with nothing. In the end, he stopped questioning it and deemed it lucid dreams.

  And yet, with the sudden changes he could not understand, that idea from the past came to him again, though this time, he held onto his skepticism more tightly. At the very least, the white light that ends the world remained the same, stagnant and unchanging.

  Zhou Ren organized his thoughts, shook off the fog clouding his mind, and got up from the wooden floor. He walked to the door, pushed it open, and greeted the scent of fresh salt and fish.

  The sun rested high in the sky, diffusing bright light and warm rays. Meanwhile, the morning air was cool and breezy, a kind of breeze that eased one's anxiety. At this moment, every corner of the shore was illuminated by the sun.

  "Ulrich! You're up early today." He turned to see Mr. Vander approaching, a thin white string in his hand with a fish dangling from its end. The old fisherman wore his usual smile, which complemented the blue sky.

  Right... Ulrich... This was his adopted name in this strange world. It'd been so long that he'd forgotten where it came from, but it was glued to his identity no less than his name from Earth.

  "Freshly caught," Vander said, though his voice carried a note of concern. "I thought you might—"

  "Thank you, Mr. Vander." Ulrich took the fish mechanically, his gaze already drifting past the old man toward the inner city. Somewhere in that maze of metal shacks and stone buildings was a library, a building that was rarely visited.

  In that same direction stood a white stone building—St. Samuel's. Ulrich narrowed his eyes on the bell at the very top of the structure. From this distance, he could make out a small figure moving back and forth.

  Gradually, a sound drifted toward him from afar. It was a thunderous strike, sudden and abrupt, sounding like a bird chirping, or a bell ringing, or perhaps both, grabbing the shore at once.

  Dong. Dong.

  "Ulrich?"

  He blinked, forcing himself to focus on Vander's weathered face. "Sorry. I didn't sleep well."

  "I can tell." Vander studied him with the kind of shrewd attention that was rather common around this part of the city. "You look like you've seen a ghost, boy. Something troubling you?"

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  "Just a strange dream. Nothing important."

  "Hmm." Vander didn't look convinced, but pressed no further.

  "Well, you missed some news yesterday evening. The Harpoonist Union—they've declared another offshore ban. No fishing past the shallows for the next few days."

  Ulrich's brows furrowed. "Another one? That's the second time this week."

  "Third, actually." Vander's expression grew grim. "And with the tax collection coming up... let's just say people are getting anxious. Very anxious."

  "There'll be riots," Ulrich said absently.

  "Most likely." Vander sighed. "Which is why I'm telling you to keep your head down, especially in the inner districts. The harpoonists are on edge, and when they're on edge—"

  "They look for excuses to make examples of us Outer Folks, a rather distasteful ritual." Ulrich finished his words. He knew this well enough.

  Vander nodded slowly, then leaned closer. "You going somewhere today, boy? You keep looking toward the inner city."

  Ulrich hesitated. However, there was no point in lying—Vander knew him too well. Even then, he only revealed half the truth: "The library. I need to research something."

  "The library?" Vander's eyebrows rose. "That's... unusual for you. I mean, I know you're educated and all, but you haven't been there in a while."

  "I need to look up information about ancient languages."

  "Ancient languages?" Vander looked genuinely perplexed. "What brought this on? Some kind of academic curiosity?"

  "You can say that."

  Vander glanced toward the brightening sky, showing no intention of asking further. "That young lady is always there early. But Ulrich, are you sure this is the right time? With the tensions in the city..."

  "I'll keep that in mind." Ulrich was already moving toward his shack, fish in hand. "As always. You know me."

  He ducked inside and quickly stashed the fish in his basket, then grabbed his leather satchel. Inside were a few gears, coins, some miscellaneous items, and, more importantly, a small folding knife.

  When he emerged, Vander was still standing there, concern plastered on his face, though he did not speak about it. Ulrich could see the hesitation and concern on his face.

  Seeing this, he couldn't help but assure the old man. "I'll be careful."

  The old fisherman sighed and waved him off. After speaking to Vander, Ulrich picked up his pace, winding through the maze of metal shacks toward the inner city. The afternoon crowd was beginning to emerge—fishermen heading to their boats, merchants setting up their stalls, children running errands for their families.

  His goal today was simple. He wanted to learn more about Ancient Hermes before midnight, then enter the dream to decipher the book's content.

  However, Ulrich did not believe this was an easy task. After all, the study of linguistics had always been tedious, even back on Earth, let alone Ancient Languages, which were scattered from the Second Epoch, the Twilight Era. Even then, he held onto some hope of making steady progress over time—at least this way, there was something to look forward to.

  As Ulrich moved deeper into the inner part of the city, a sense of isolation shrouded him. In the back of his head, countless eyes seemingly locked onto his direction. Feeling paranoid, he turned his head.

  The people he saw wore clean clothing, their faces without a scratch or stain. Some even wore perfume and jewelry, while others chatted leisurely and enjoyed their meal inside the confines of a restaurant.

  Right... Ulrich didn't want to attract too much attention, so he headed toward the obscure alleys. Inside the alleyway, there were vagrants as well as several naked figures. Regardless of their age or appearance, there was a heavy stench of alcohol mixed with piss.

  His nostril twitched a little as he quickly avoided their gaze, leaping toward the rooftop. Ulrich's movement, just like in his dream, was practiced and skilled. If another person were to witness it in person, they would assume he was a trained acrobat or a feline disguised as human.

  Just as he was about to jump to another rooftop, his feet stopped as a series of groans and whispers chilled his heart. His hand spontaneously clutched toward the leather satchel hanging on his waist. The feeling of cold metal grazing his fingers comforted him as he snuck a glance below the building.

  Recalling his recent dream, his blood ran cold. Yet quickly, he shook his hand to get some blood running and focused on the scene beneath him.

  Three white uniformed men were surrounding a ragged vagrant. Even from this distance, he could tell they were clearly tense as they cornered the lone vagrant.

  I should not meddle in this matter... Ulrich concluded immediately. The problems and affairs of others were none of his concern, especially in the real world, and even more so when he had no connection to this vagrant.

  This isn't like the dream world, where everything resets at midnight, and all his actions are without consequences. So he turned his head, though before he could stealthily sneak away from the scene, his foot froze.

  One of the officers caught his attention—the tallest one, positioned in the middle of the three. As he raised his arm to strike the vagrant, his sleeve fell back, revealing a tattoo.

  The tattoo was inked in black, a drawing of a black star glittered with white dots enclosed in a perfect circle. At the center of this circle, right above the curtain, was a single white star.

  His thought flickered, recalling the abnormal number of sea beasts past the shore as well as Vander's words. In that moment, Ulrich's face darkened, casting a deep shade against the ground.

  He did not want to be implicated as a bystander, or rather, he did not even want to give the harpoonist an excuse to persecute him for any given reason.

  Slowly, he pulled away from the short wall blocking the side of the building. Since the building was old and poorly maintained, even Ulrich, despite his vast experience playing in his dreams, could not remain fully hidden.

  Thuk Thuk.

  His feet caught onto one of the uneven grounds, creating a barely audible thud sound.

  "Who's there?"