In Type-Moon, people create a magic family lineage

The man smiled and said, "I'm here to find someone."

"And two bottles of vodka, too—it's perfect for this snowy weather, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir, please take a seat." The young bartender bowed slightly to make way for him.

The man twitched his beard again. He looked at the tavern in front of him, which was neither spacious nor cramped, and was packed with people. It was a normal phenomenon that people in the Tsarist country would gather in taverns to drink and have fun on a snowy day.

However, this year seems to be a little different.

The man walked toward a corner of the tavern.

"Since the gray terror last year, it's rare to see scenes like this in bars."

The man placed the hat he was holding on the table by the window in the corner and looked at the young man sitting across the table.

"Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov?" The young man was leaning against the wall in the corner, seemingly resting with his eyes closed. He was startled awake when he heard the man's deep voice and opened his dark brown eyes.

“It’s me, sir.” The man smiled and sat down.

"When you said you rarely saw something, were you referring to the unusually heavy snow outside, or the people inside the tavern?" The young man sat up slightly and asked seriously.

“Perhaps all of those.” Vladimir stroked his beard. Just then, the bartender brought over vodka. He whispered a thank you and then picked up the barrel and took a big gulp.

He poured the strong alcohol down his throat without hesitation, a gesture that made the young man opposite him twitch.

He asked, "Is everything ready?"

“Of course,” Vladimir said. “We are ready to cross the gray curtain and embrace the blazing sun of freedom!”

“However, I must thank you for your funding, sir.” He said this with exceptional sincerity and seriousness, “Without your funding, the Bolsheviks would probably not be able to have their own independent factories and armed forces.”

"And I have no way to come back—that arrest warrant is still giving me a lot of trouble!"

"I think the people chasing you should be the ones who're having a hard time, right?" the young man joked. "These days, everyone outside calls you the Thousand-Faced Mentor!"

“Who knows?” Vladimir laughed again.

After laughing, he fell silent.

Vladimir glanced out the window at Moscow, its outline barely visible beneath the snow and wind, and suddenly felt a pang of emotion.

I am struck by how quickly time flies.

I am also more moved by what happened this year.

In mid-January of 1917, the first heavy snow fell.

Yes, at this moment, a year has passed since the Tsarist Empire was defeated and Nicholas II humiliatingly signed a treaty of reparations with foreign countries. In this year, the situation in the Tsarist country has changed several times. In order to stabilize the situation, the ruling Lucon Luvist launched a major purge called the 'Grey Curtain'.

He established the Bureau of Action Investigation, which carried out mass arrests of all progressive elements in society and sent them to Siberia to dig potatoes.

Under the brief suppression of the gray curtain, the Tsarist Empire passed a seemingly peaceful year, but everyone knew that extreme instability lurked beneath this calm.

Under high pressure, there will inevitably be a rebound!

Founded in 1898, the Bolshevik party, which took the struggle for the liberation of the working class as its program and existed to realize the interests of the truly broad masses of people, was also one of the destabilizing factors.

The Bolsheviks, who were not particularly strong a year ago, have grown stronger over time, thanks to both their resistance under oppression and the covert assistance of those around them.

He provided funds and supplies.

It also provides them with intelligence for their growth and expansion.

"Within a month."

After a moment of silence, the young man opposite Vladimir whispered, "There will be a great upheaval within the palace."

"The reformist Menshevik Party, representing the small merchant class, plans to launch an armed uprising in February."

"Be prepared and seize the opportunity—although you are both workers' parties, I remember that you have ideological differences with the Mensheviks."

Upon hearing these words, Vladimir became solemn and said in a deep voice, "I understand... but I still want to say that our relationship with the Menshevik Party is merely one of ideology. After all, we will not compromise with other classes!"

Seeing his expression, the young man smiled.

“I have conveyed the message to you, and this is the last time,” he said. “We may not need to meet again in the future.”

"After this, it's either success or death."

May we still be able to see tomorrow!

The young man picked up the barrel of wine on the table.

Vladimir hesitated for a moment, then also raised the barrel.

After clinking glasses and drinking heartily, seeing the other person rise to leave, Vladimir hesitated for a moment, but couldn't help saying, "Sir..."

Please leave your name.

"Although you have been making excuses, I feel that we cannot let someone like you be buried in the corner of history."

The young man paused slightly as he walked out of the tavern.

He glanced back at Vladimir, and a smile involuntarily crept onto his lips.

He didn't respond, but simply smiled and continued walking.

So even though they had talked so much, Vladimir couldn't recall the man's appearance or voice when he tried to think back. He only remembered what the man had said and what they had talked about—not just intelligence, but also about the future of the Bolsheviks.

Although they didn't meet often, they actually had many long conversations.

During the conversation, the young-looking man's views were very similar to Vladimir's, and they always gave Vladimir a fresh perspective.

A like-minded friend.

A spiritual companion.

This is how Vladimir defined it.

Unfortunately, I still didn't know his name in the end.

Pity...

“Mentor.” A man reeking of alcohol approached Vladimir.

Vladimir snapped out of his reverie and regret. He looked at the person who had spoken, then at the others in the tavern—the people who had just been so lively had suddenly put down their barrels and looked at Vladimir, their gazes unwavering and showing no sign of drunkenness.

They were all members of the Bolshevik Party.

Everyone in this entire tavern... is! The most steadfast warrior, and the most elite core members!

For some reason, Vladimir thought of the person who had just left.

Pity.

He thought to himself again.

...

In his memoirs, written in his later years, the mentor who founded the new political party revealed that he was actually lonely in his youth. He possessed lofty ideals that were unspeakable to others; he hoped to realize a world of universal harmony and equality for all. He could see the world a hundred years from now, a time and space invisible to ordinary people.

'But even in his loneliness, he had met some truly close friends.'

The mentor didn't know the other person's name, only that they shared his views and perspectives. Their discussion, though brief, made the mentor truly understand the meaning of like-mindedness.

"Unfortunately, this man, who wholeheartedly supported the revolution, never revealed his name; even in his memoirs, the mentor only referred to him by the name 'mentor.'"

He was the mentor's mentor, a pioneer hidden in history, unknown to anyone.

—From *The History of the New Nation: The Mentors*

...

Of course, what Vladimir—or rather, Lenin—who would later write a special memoir in commemoration, did not know was that... the mysterious young man who shared his ideals in his eyes, when he left the tavern, was facing a scene of freezing snow, but his back was already soaked with sweat.

"They shouldn't have discovered it, right? It really scared me to death—every time we met, I was on tenterhooks, afraid that my true identity would be revealed!"

The young man glanced back at the tavern, its lights casting a dim glow through the snow-covered landscape. He stood on the street, his black robe shimmering and shielding him from the falling snowflakes. He thought to himself, "No wonder he is one of the few mentors of human civilization. Although his eyes are not demonic eyes, they seem to possess the wisdom to see through everything!"

God knows how surprised he was when he first met Vladimir a year ago! He thought to himself that this man was the one who had truly brought the wisdom of ordinary people to its extreme.

With such wisdom, he would also subconsciously fear that his true identity would be discovered.

This is not his true identity as 'Lucon Luvist'.

Rather, it is the real identity of the 'Simulator'.

Fortunately, the mentor had not had much actual contact with Lu Kang.

Even better, we won't need to meet again in the future.

Lu Kang thought to himself.

Time flies.

Throughout the year, he did indeed secretly assist the Bolshevik Party—simply to achieve his original goal: to become the founder of a new society and to plant the seeds of mystery into the era.

As for the gray curtain, that was naturally his work as well.

He is 'accelerating'.

Since the situation is already irreversible, let's hasten the collapse of this magnificent empire.

At that time, all that is needed is to pin the blame on Nicholas II and Lucas Luvist.

This was something they had prepared long ago.

This is something they've been doing all year!

"Now, it's time to go back."

Lu Kang looked up at the increasingly heavy snowfall. Although this snowstorm posed no obstacle to him whatsoever—it couldn't penetrate the protective robes he wore—standing there for a while still made him a little cold...

But he had just taken a step.

But then it suddenly stopped again.

"Won't you come over to my place for a bit?"

A clear and charming voice rang out.

The surrounding wind and snow froze, as if the scene had been frozen in time. The hazy world reflected the outline of Moscow, which looked like an ink painting, and the majestic city seemed like a tilted curtain.

And below that.

Another figure slowly approached.

She has a graceful figure and an elegant posture.

Lu Kang narrowed his eyes and uttered the other person's name—

"Kichijoin Temple praying for a famine?"

Chapter Twenty-Six: Reunion, Standoff, Summoning of Heroic Spirits?

After leaving the tavern, you unexpectedly encounter Kichijoin Kihara.

Five years later, this is your second meeting.

The world frozen in the wind and snow seemed to have even the misty fog solidified in mid-air, becoming a white ink mark. The streets were deserted. Lu Kang stood at the alley entrance, staring at the figure that appeared in front of him. Although he was surprised, he was not flustered. After the initial surprise, he felt a sense of entitlement.

Yes.

Of course.

The meeting five years ago felt like a lifetime ago. Since then, he has never met with anyone from the church again. But he will never forget the irreconcilable conflict between himself and the church, the scene of fighting with the agents in the library, or the projection of Kichijoin Kihara that appeared at the end.

He was also well aware of the reason why the church was so lenient with him—as an ancient religious organization that had existed for two thousand years, they really didn't need to make a big fuss about him.

"We meet again...no, this should be the first time we've truly met face-to-face, right?" His thoughts returned to normal in an instant, and Lu Kang smiled, as if welcoming a long-lost friend—

The woman who had emerged from the snowstorm paused. She had walked through the snowstorm, but behind her lay a smooth expanse without a single footprint.

At that moment, Lu Kang saw her face clearly—although she was covered in what appeared to be an ordinary nun's habit, her delicate face under the headscarf and her full figure, which even the heavy fabric could not conceal, made her unforgettable at first glance.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Lu Kang." Jixiangyuan Qihuang said softly, "As you said, this is indeed our first meeting."

"Since this is our first meeting, how can we not treat you properly?" The woman, dressed in a nun's habit, had a clear and melodious voice, the last syllable of which seemed to sway.

"Hospitality? This doesn't look like hospitality at all." Lu Kang looked around, his expression still calm, his smile showing no surprise whatsoever—but what was reflected in his eyes was a religious mystical spell called 'Miracle' slowly flowing through the frozen snow!

Just like what happened in the library last time.

He was once again captivated by the power of miracles.

But unlike last time, this lockdown is more thorough and more decisive!