The figure in black remained rigid there, releasing the grip on Bernadette's neck, as though gazing at her with eyes that simply did not exist. A dry, hoarse voice then resonated within the concealed space: "Home..." The voice carried a hint of hesitation, bewilderment, and a search for confirmation, as if emanating from another world. The erosion Bernadette had endured vanished, and the connection between her and her own seal was instantly restored. "Pale death" began to claim her once again, inch by inch, helping to steady her against the gradual disorientation and preserving her basic clarity and sense of reason. Just as she opened her mouth to say something more, the figure in black suddenly extended its hand forward again—this time, not to grasp her neck, but to push her firmly. Along with this surge came the unraveling of the hidden space, a voice clearly strained, as though resisting something: "Leave!" As the voice echoed, the black figure vanished from its place. Instantly, it appeared on the central high dais, settling into the massive, iron-black armchair. Then, fissures opened on its face, as if two eyes had grown, yet asymmetrically. However, these "eyes" lacked pupils, glowing uniformly blood-red. Immediately afterward, another fissure split beneath the two "eyes," filled with pure crimson light. Thus, the black figure finally gained a mouth. It now faced Bernadette, and the same strained voice, as though resisting, resonated once more: "Leave here!" After being pushed several meters away, Bernadette steadied herself effortlessly, yet she did not heed the voice's command to leave the "Emperor of the Black" tomb. She stood there, gazing in quiet wonder at the central dais, at the figure in black, her expression overflowing with an uncontainable, unspoken sorrow. She could feel it, could now confirm with certainty, that the figure in black was her father—the man who had called himself "Caesar," Roscel Gustave. At this moment, Roscel seemed to be casting his shadow, attempting to obscure the crimson moon, yet it was being torn open again and again, allowing ever more moonlight to spill into the reality. When these tears connected, the black silhouette would finally shatter, giving birth to a brand-new crimson moon. At that point, something profoundly terrifying would surely unfold. Suddenly, Roscel's black form grew increasingly ethereal, as though it had become a mere illusion, making him appear isolated in another world, separated from reality by an invisible barrier. Then, with great difficulty, he lifted his shadowy right arm and gently pressed it to his forehead. Instantly, the frequency of the red cracks spreading across his body dropped to a near standstill, yet the "eyes" that had already formed began to blink—once, then again, then again. Yet this did not bring any negative effects to the surroundings—it seemed merely a simple shift in order. The long-standing trend of blood-red fissures "emerging" had been subtly altered, now aligning with the gradually awakening ones. After completing this, Rosel lifted his head and looked toward Bernadette, several tens of meters away, his voice dry and rough as he smiled: "You've truly become a major figure in the mysterious world—able to come here all by yourself. Come here, let me see just what my little princess looks like now." Bernadette's eyes suddenly glistened with tears, and she took a step forward. Rosel chuckled again: "When I was busy preparing picture books, designing curricula, and inventing all sorts of games, you were still only a little figure. Now, you've come all the way to save your beloved old father." "I remember you used to love all the clothes I designed for you when you were little—unfortunately, once you grew up, you no longer wore your cake dresses..." The Emperor spoke at length, as though entering his later years, always fond of recalling cherished memories from the past. Bernadette walked faster and faster, and faintly, on the gray mist, Klein's brow furrowed slightly. Suddenly, the Emperor lowered his head and spoke with great force: "Stop!" His voice carried an unmistakable pain. Bernadette paused, startled, and quickly slowed down, coming to a halt. A deep, indescribable sorrow began to shine in her gaze as she looked at that dark figure. Rossel lifted his head again, cleared his throat lightly, and said: "You must have wanted to ask why the imperial mausoleum of the 'Black Emperor' bears inscriptions of the order he established and the customs he promoted—indeed, this is not essential. I merely wish to ensure that those who witness it remember my greatness..." Before he finished speaking, the emperor tightly grasped the handrail beside him, speaking in a strained, painful voice: "No, stay close! I have been corrupted..." Bernadette's sorrow deepened. Her earlier conjecture was now confirmed. The crimson fissures appearing on the emperor's face began to lose coherence, opening and closing intermittently, no longer unified in purpose. Seizing the moment, the emperor straightened slightly, gazing steadily at Bernadette, and with great difficulty called out: "Seal me!" "Seal... " Queen Bernadette, the enigmatic, repeated the word silently. Her deep blue eyes quickly glistened, misting with a soft haze. Though she had lived for many, many years, though she had long since outgrown the girl she once was, she could not contain the shift in her emotions at this very moment. Yet she did not ask why, nor hesitate—only with a slight struggle—she raised her right hand firmly and unswervingly, placing it upon the pale metallic mask. As she had done throughout the years in facing the many great events of the "Elemental Dawn," she made her decision with exceptional composure. This symbol absorbed the surrounding light, quickly taking on substance, then detached from Bernadette's eyes, unfolded its form, and flew toward Roscel Gustave seated on the iron-black chair. Along the way, the strange symbol made the surroundings grow progressively dimmer, causing the floor tiles and stone walls to once again weather and decay, as though the deity of death had rendered the final judgment. Fragments of stone and dust that had trailed behind the solidified symbol gathered around Roscel, spiraling upward to encircle his seemingly ethereal, otherworldly black figure, which appeared as if suspended in a realm apart. Throughout this process, Roscel found himself unable to control himself several times, attempting to rise from the iron-black chair, only to sit back down each time, unable to resist the seal imposed by Bernadette. As that symbol merged into his form, he instantly became linked to "Pale Death," seeing the ethereal deity perched above countless spirits, and the swollen, ghostly figure drifting along a dark river. Roscel's breath then faded, and the fresh red fissures that had opened up one after another began to close. Before the great emperor lay a serene, night-like slumber. The symbol would solidify within Roscel's body, exerting its influence continuously until "Pale Death" ceased to respond here. In the span of a breath, several new crimson fissures appeared on Roscel's body. As his vitality waned to its very last, it began to revive, fiercely resisting the now tangible symbol. Upon seeing this, Kline on the gray mist exhaled, clenched his fists, and pressed them against his lower jaw. The "curtain" draped over him lifted suddenly, and the entire "Source Citadel" seemed to boil visibly. In silence and without notice, the fresh vitality that Roscel had just regained began to fade. As it faded to a certain extent, it once again experienced renewal, only to be subsequently affected by "Pale Death," and fade once more. Using the extraordinary nature of the "Mysterious Servant" and the power of the "Source Citadel," Caine directly linked renewal and death, bypassing the intermediate stages entirely. As a result, the contamination affecting Roscel could no longer recover enough to breach the pale seal. Then, Caine extended his right hand, drawing upon the power of the "Source Citadel" and inscribed the enigmatic symbol behind the "Fool's" high-backed chair—composed of a half "Eye of the Blind" and a half "Twisted Line." This symbol absorbed the essence of the "Source Citadel," rapidly solidifying into a tangible form, and, as Caine waved his wrist, it fell into the prayer light representing Bernadette, landing upon Roscel's dark silhouette and merging within his body. — Whenever that "fusion" is about to fade away, the symbol directly linking the " Fool" and " The Source Keep" will summon new strength, re-establishing the fusion. In this constant cycle of fading and rebirth, the features of Rousel's face—once purely shadowy—begin to emerge. He then lifts his gaze toward the apex of the tomb, as if gazing into the infinite heights. Turning his eyes back, he looks at Bernadette, his voice unusually weak, and smiles gently: "This seal is perfect—I can finally sleep quietly..." As he speaks, a slight furrow forms between his brows, and his tone shifts as he asks, "How did you dress like this? Who taught you?" Bernadette is momentarily stunned, as though transported back to her youth. Back then, every time she dressed in elaborate attire to attend noble gatherings, Rousel would always ask her a series of questions in just the same expression and tone. The mist in her eyes suddenly became visible, and she could no longer contain herself, softly, breathlessly calling out: "Dad..." Rosalie's face, with its defined features, instantly softened, then stiffened, and in a firm voice declared: "Go. Never come back!" Bernalde opened her mouth, ready to say something more, but the world around her dimmed, as if she had glimpsed the shadow of order. The next moment, she found herself back at the edge of the original island. Bernalde stared at the mountain peak in the center of the original island for several seconds, then slowly turned and walked toward the sea. This time, she no longer resisted turning back; every few steps, she paused to glance back. Soon, she reached the "Dawn," entered the captain's cabin, and opened the room designated for storage. At a glance, Bernadette saw stacks of picture books, piles of textbooks, garments, dresses, the game of chess known to only a few people in the world, and neatly arranged toy blocks. Leaning against the wooden door, she slowly sank down and sat on the floor. Gazing upward at the overcast sky outside the captain's room window, she gently pressed her lower lip between her right thumb and forefinger, then blew a soft, melodic, slightly melancholy, calming tune on her whistle. As the melody echoed, one droplet after another slipped from Bernadette's face and landed on the floor surface.