"What is this?" Merka took a sip of coffee and picked up the newspaper.
He found a standardized modern ceramic card next to the newspaper, with Turing's name and a string of ID numbers written on it.
"You might as well take a look at the newspaper," Samael said with boredom, resting his chin on his hand and looking out the window.
Merka opened the plastic bag packaging of the newspaper and picked up the newspaper folded into a pie shape, roughly touching the braille on the title with his fingers.
"Never been defeated! Galleher's Miss Diana is touring various families and holding equestrian competitions. She has now defeated Scarlett, the proud child of the Montecristo family, nine times in a row."
Merka rubbed his eyes as if his vision had been tainted by the exaggerated words in the headline.
He looked up at Samael again, but didn't notice any special reaction from the latter.
"The Fireworks Festival is coming! As the festival approaches, the grand celebration in celebration of the double festival is in full swing. The local government of Crotto stated that it will urge the fireworks factory and related vendors to fulfill their work..."
Merka read another paragraph and frowned. Just as he was about to put down the newspaper, he noticed a news item at the bottom about a constitutional amendment.
"No wonder they are from Acadia. They actually put such an important thing at the end..."
Merka picked up his coffee and took another sip, taking in the few lines of text.
"At the 90th National Assembly Meeting, firearms will no longer be on the import blacklist. However, gun owners, purchasers, and sellers must possess a qualification certificate certified by national relevant agencies. The specific law enforcement penalties are as follows..."
"So this is a gun license."
Merka picked up the card next to him, turned it over and over, and found the national seal and information about firearm qualifications.
"What exactly is this for..."
Just as Merka was about to open the newspaper to take another look, another voice interrupted him.
"Can't understand it?" Mammon suddenly appeared next to Merka and placed a necklace on the table, which happened to rest on the newspaper that Merka was holding.
"It means that the era of using foreign guns has come. And this is at the suggestion of Oedipus."
"After all, Supreme Sorcerers are rare. Unlike a small Erisburg, which has produced four in just thirty years."
The necklace placed on the newspaper was set off by the white paper, exuding a vibrant rainbow heart like that of a dragon fruit.
"What... is this?" Merka asked, looking at the necklace.
"This is the Hearthstone." Mammon lowered her eyelids and spoke as if she were a nightingale's resting chirp.
"This is a defective product made together with the Shirashan Cavern.
"Although it cannot practice the volcano mode, it can still practice the Forgeheart."
"Of course, the level of pain is much less than the former."
"As long as you infuse magic into it, it can make the person carrying it experience a living hell anytime, anywhere."
"It's really convenient." Mammon smiled without showing her teeth, serene as a silver lake.
"Are you planning to give it to me? But won't there be any trouble taking out such an important thing?" Merka asked again.
"Don't worry, this behavior doesn't count as going against Oedipus," Mammon shook his head and picked up the necklace from the table, putting it on Merka.
"The one in the Hilary Cave was just messing with you."
"But you can practice with this one. Even a little progress would be good."
Merka awkwardly adjusted the position of the necklace.
He felt uncomfortable all over whenever he thought about the pain he had endured before, especially with the thing around his neck.
"Fine." Merka reluctantly agreed, his gaze returning to the table.
"You don't have to listen to her too much, Merka," Samael's gaze seemed to contain deep pity as he casually glanced at Merka.
"After all, the cursed child can only train so much."
"For the cursed child, the outcome is always the same."
Samael continued to tilt his head and counted the leaves on the paulownia tree outside the window.
Mammon just smiled, not denying Samael's words.
The gentle breeze blew in through the windows, and silence emanated from the distant primeval land.
Merka looked at the two silent figures, and his left eye twitched incessantly.
He felt an inexplicable uneasiness.
It was like a fallen general hearing the enemy's bugle call from a distant valley.
Or like the revving of an engine before Gatling sprayed golden sparks.
"Let's talk about it later... hmm?" Merka calmed down his strange emotions and unfolded the newspaper. A small black stone fell out.
The strange stone was smooth like a shaved lead pencil and also resembled an ink stick used for grinding ink. It was difficult to tell what it was for at that moment.
"Why is another incomprehensible thing appearing?"
"Hey, I'm talking to you guys..."
Merka turned around and was hit in the face by a gust of wind.
The desolate hall seemed to have never been visited by anyone other than Merka.
"What...?" Merka's heart started beating uncontrollably.
He had to admit, although these two often tormented him physically and mentally, without them, his infiltration plan would not have gone so smoothly.
A sense of fear, as if trapped in enemy lines, slowly crept up on Merka, tormenting his mind.
Just at that moment, urgent footsteps were heard outside the door.
"What's going on!?"
Merka nervously clenched the stone in his hand and thought quickly.
"No, no, those two are already like ghosts to the people of Erisburg, so it's not a big deal if they disappear or not."
"All I have to do now is play the role of Turing well, it doesn't matter who comes, it has nothing to do with me."
The footsteps outside became more intense, and slight tremors reached the floor tiles, penetrated the walls, and quivered in Merka's heart.
The owner of these footsteps was clearly heading towards the dining hall.
"If I'm going to pretend to be Turing... I should stay here and act like I don't know anything," Merka muttered to himself.
Merka looked at the black piece in his hand, and his intuition told him that there was nothing more important right now than to disguise himself as Turing and stay put at Altria's house.
But after taking a deep breath,
Merka still decided not to believe her intuition.
"Turing?" a hurried figure pushed the door and entered, asking.
Bathed in the sunlight streaming through the window, she looked around but found no one.
That divine and merciful profile told others that she was Theresa, the perfect steward of Altria.
