Columbina noted the name.
It sounded Germanic, but combined with the architecture and atmosphere she saw, it felt more like a mix of Victorian-era English industrial cities and Continental European styles.
“Yes.
Nuremberg is famous for its textile mills, mechanical workshops, and shipping industry; it’s also known as the City of Steam and gears.
The northern district is full of factories and Docks where workers live, making the environment…
rather complex.
The southern district houses the city hall, commercial areas, and better residential zones.
The university district and some middle-class neighborhoods are spread across the eastern district and the west bank of the river.”
Barbara introduced the city in detail, clearly very familiar with where she lived.
“What about the churches?
I noticed you are in the Church of the Earth,” Columbina continued to ask.
“The official faith of the Kingdom of Norton is the Church of the Lord of Holy Light, but other Orthodox Churches are permitted to exist and operate as long as they don’t violate the ‘Covenant of Gods and Kingship’.
The Church of the Earth worships the Earth Mother Goddess, who nurtures all things.
Its doctrines emphasize mercy, healing, and the continuation of life.
It has broad influence among the people, especially in the countryside and among the lower classes.
The church I’m in is a branch of the Church of the Earth in Nuremberg.”
Barbara explained, then added in an even lower voice, “However, it’s said that in the shadows where the light of the official and Orthodox Churches cannot reach, there are some…
secret organizations worshipping evil gods or seeking forbidden knowledge.
My father once cryptically warned me to be wary of people and events that are unusual or related to terms like ‘Gray Mist’, ‘Abyss’, or ‘Distortion’.”
“Abyss?
Distortion?”
Columbina thought back to the battle Sandrone had seen and that ‘mother of blood’.
“Those are concepts mentioned in ancient records and secret rumors, said to be related to the other side of the world, and the nature and dangers of beyonder powers.
I’m not entirely sure of the specifics; the teachings of the Church of the Earth focus more on worldly labor and the care of life, and don’t delve deep into such hidden knowledge.
Perhaps…
some churches that focus more on knowledge and the occult would know more.”
Barbara sounded somewhat apologetic; the information she could provide about the beyonder world was quite limited and superficial.
“That’s enough, you’ve done well,”
Columbina encouraged her.
Through this information, she had a preliminary understanding of this world’s framework: a nation similar to 19th-century Britain, with a constitutional monarchy and multiple coexisting churches.
“It is my honor to resolve your doubts, Lady Moon Goddess!” A happy flush appeared on Barbara’s face. Visit novelping.com for the full chapter.
“That’s all for now.
Take care of yourself, and keep an eye on that girl.
Stay in touch.” Columbina ended the call.
Columbina turned her attention to the screen in the top right corner.
Gray’s perspective was stable; he seemed to be in a dimly lit room.
The room had bookshelves, a desk, and religious paintings depicting the night sky, crescent moons, and stars hanging on the walls, in a gloomy and mysterious style.
This was likely his office or prayer room within the church.
Gray himself was wearing a high-quality deep blue robe with silver embroidery.
His hood was down, revealing a face in its thirties, slightly pale with sharp features.
He was staring blankly at a small pile of shimmering gray powder on the desk.
Some ancient books and notes were spread out on the desk, with a quill resting to the side.
He seemed to be researching how to safely use this Stardust for Advancement.
Occasionally, people in similar but simpler attire would knock and enter to report matters.
Gray would quickly cover the Stardust with a piece of black velvet and regain his serious demeanor to handle church administration, resource allocation, or monitoring reports on ‘Heretics’ and ‘The Fallen’.
Judging by his work environment and the matters he handled, Gray indeed held a certain status and real power within the Church of the Goddess of Night, capable of mobilizing resources and accessing secret information.
His financial situation should be better than Barbara’s, given his position’s stipend and potential gray income, though the exact amount of his liquid assets was uncertain.
Moreover, he was clearly in a state of tension, wanting to use the Stardust bestowed by the ‘Moon Goddess’ to improve himself while worrying about being discovered by the church for privately contacting a ‘foreign god’, since he wasn’t certain.
Columbina observed for a while, not intending to disturb him for now.
She simply made a mental note of the details of Gray’s environment.
In the bottom screen, Sandrone had finished writing her ‘Encrypted Diary of Misfortune’ and was staring blankly at an empty plate.
She touched her seemingly flat stomach, sighed, and began carefully counting her pile of silver and copper coins.
She scribbled on another piece of scrap paper, likely planning her minimum expenses for the next few days or even weeks.
Under the lamplight, her petite figure looked exceptionally lonely.
Her blue eyes were focused yet tired, and she occasionally bit the end of her pen unconsciously—a childish habit that formed a subtle contrast with the calm she tried to maintain on her face.
Looking at the three split screens, Columbina had a plan in mind.
Barbara was reliable but didn’t have much money and needed to maintain her public identity; Gray had money but complex motives and needed careful guidance; Sandrone was the most pathetic, in urgent need of help but highly guarded.
“First, let Barbara contact and provide some relief to Sandrone in the name of church charity to solve her basic survival issues.”
Columbina formulated an initial plan.
“At the same time, I’ll see if Gray takes the hint.
If he can offer some funds, they can be transferred to Sandrone in a more discreet way, or supplement Barbara’s operational funds.”
Perspective shift.
The final image of the dream was still terrifyingly clear: a wasteland with a sickly, dim yellow hue, the sky hanging low as if stitched together from countless slowly rotating brass gears.
In the center of the wasteland stood a structure so massive it obscured half the sky—it was composed of countless metal pipes, transmission rods, flywheels, reeds, and membranes of unknown material twisted together in intersecting ways, its surface covered in a dull, greasy black coating.
It operated silently, the movement of every part carrying a sluggish yet unstoppable, eerie rhythm, emitting a malice that a mechanical device should never possess.
That was not a symbol of precision; it was a form presented after being desecrated by something.
She pressed her throbbing temples, trying to dispel the all-too-real dream imagery.
Outside the window, it was already dawn, and the narrow room was filled with the morning chill.
Today was a day off; there were no classes.
Sandrone struggled out of bed and splashed cold water on her face, trying to wake herself up completely.
She decided to go near Mr.
White’s shop to check the situation—the mirror’s eerie return left her constantly uneasy.
Additionally, she might be able to find some day labor in the Dock District or the factory district.
After all, her financial situation was pathetic after losing four gold coins.
As she packed her things, her gaze fell on the old cloth bundle on the table.
After hesitating for a few seconds, she picked it up and stuffed it deep into the canvas satchel she carried with her.
“It’s better to have it with me than to leave it in the room and have something else go wrong.”
She told herself, though a voice deep inside warned that this might bring even more trouble.
Walking on the morning streets, the air was cold and the smell of coal smoke hadn’t fully spread yet.
She took a slight detour, avoiding the area where the incident happened yesterday, approaching the street where Mr.
White’s grocery store was located from another direction.
However, before she could even get close, she saw a sight that made her heart tighten—the entrance to the alley was cordoned off with yellow caution tape, and several uniformed Detectives stood there, preventing bystanders from approaching.
Further away, figures in plain clothes could be seen moving around the alley, investigating.
Something had happened.
Sandrone’s heart sank.
She forced herself to remain calm, pretending to be an ordinary passerby, slowing her pace and glancing casually inside the police line.
In that one glance, she saw the figure she least wanted to see—the female Detective with short black hair and a sharp black trench coat, Ellen Joe.
She was facing away from the alley entrance, bending slightly as if examining some traces on the ground.
Sandrone immediately looked away and quickened her pace, intending to walk past the perimeter with an expressionless face.
Just as she was about to leave the area, Ellen Joe, as if having eyes in the back of her head, suddenly straightened up and turned around.
Those sharp red eyes accurately captured Sandrone.