Huh? Are they all real?.

The faceless gentleman did not continue speaking, for as it had stated before, it was merely a servant and should not overstep its bounds.

Moen's gaze, however, turned in the direction he had come from.

That is, the place where the three sisters live.

He should go back and see his students, but there are others waiting for him, and they've been waiting even longer.

The current situation is terrible no matter how you look at it, yet it leaves one feeling utterly helpless.

Thinking about this, Moen couldn't help but laugh and cry at the same time.

Origin, what kind of mess is this?

After shaking his head, Moen said to the faceless gentleman:

"Please go back and tell Ansha that I am not sure if I can return soon, but I will contact her in any case."

The faceless gentleman bowed to acknowledge the instruction, but did not leave immediately, as it wanted to wait and see if Moen had any further instructions.

Upon closer reflection, it seems that Moen didn't even contact Ansa in writing much.

Ugh, they seem to be getting more and more inhuman.

The new discovery made Moen feel incredibly ashamed.

Although he has been extremely busy with various major events since leaving Ansa.

But no matter what, it is indeed a bit much not to send even a letter.

At least Erta can still be seen at the Human Rights Federation.

Moen could only force himself to focus his thoughts on Ansa's letter.

Even the divine will of a goddess could not find clues here, but instead appeared in the Human Alliance.

Moreover, it seems that he appears in the form of a time traveler.

So, does that legendary history still exist today?

Moen's eyes widened slightly.

This was far beyond his expectations.

And as this thought arose, he found himself becoming inexplicably agitated.

It was as if he suddenly realized that he had been missing something for far too long.

This feeling alone made Moen incredibly irritable, and the fact that Moen couldn't remember what had happened only made it more torturous.

In an increasingly furrowed brow.

Moen forcibly suppressed the emotions that were almost completely taking over his thoughts, and pondered what it would be like if the erased alternate history still existed today.

That was a catastrophe that swept the world.

Could it be that the other side is on the scale of a whole world?

No, that's not the case. The uniqueness is almost entirely intact, and the extraordinary essence hasn't been lost to such an exaggerated degree.

In addition, the letter described that the person who was suspected of being a time traveler had not encountered any extraordinary phenomena for nearly seven years.

This also proves that the other side is not an extraordinary world.

Therefore, this is definitely not a terrifying scale for a world.

But as far as I remember, that should be history between the Age of Gods and the Second Age.

Therefore, if it has truly survived to this day and still has soil that allows time travelers to reach it...

O Primordial One, have you been imprisoned there for three whole eras?

Moen was stunned.

What we thought was a past long gone, with only a few remnants remaining, may not only still exist, but may even have been isolated for countless generations.

The faceless gentleman stood quietly to the side, awaiting further instructions from Moen.

But as a highly intelligent being from the spirit world, it also realized the situation and asked:

"Master, is there anything else I need to report to Her Majesty the Goddess?"

Moen then looked at the faceless gentleman, slightly regaining his senses.

"No, it's nothing, I'm not sure about anything else yet. No, wait, wait!"

The faceless gentleman bowed and said:

“I’m waiting, Master.”

Imprisoned for three entire eras?

Imprisoned, imprisoned.

Imprisoned prisoners?

Is this the first batch?

Suddenly realizing something, Moen couldn't help but ask the faceless gentleman:

"Did Ansa confirm that person's identity, such as their specific name or something?"

The faceless gentleman shook his head and said:

"No, Master. Her Majesty the Goddess's followers have been in contact with the other party remotely, so we are still unsure of their specific name and identity."

"However, tonight is the time for the strangers to go back, so I think that according to their pace, they should already be in formal contact with the other side by now."

As they were talking, the faceless gentleman asked:

"Master, have you realized something? Is it related to that person?"

Moen pondered for a moment and said:

"Although there is no concrete evidence, I think I may already know that person's surname."

This somewhat abrupt and nonsensical answer made even the faceless gentleman tilt his head slightly.

Moen used to think it might just be an interesting coincidence, but now he realizes it might not be.

-

Outside, there was still an endless expanse of ice and snow, a scene he had been watching for nearly seven years.

Honestly, even if he can still chat and communicate with people in the real world.

But he was also being driven crazy by this desolate, icy world.

White, white, white!

A desolate place with nothing but white walls!

"God, why are you torturing me like this!"

As he stepped out of the igloo, he couldn't help but shout this out to the sky above.

But the sky, which doesn't even know where the light source comes from, naturally won't answer any of his questions.

It will remain silent and lifeless, just like countless years have passed.

This caused the man to sit down on the ground, grabbing his hair and breaking down in tears:

"My life is so successful, why did this have to happen to me!"

Amidst the endless collapse, the man suddenly turned fierce and drew a bone-forged dagger from his waist.

The animal hides he had hunted were tied to his gauntlets, and he still didn't know what they were, only that they looked like a combination of a seal and a seagull.

Moreover, it is his primary source of meat.

Although the knife was made of bone, the bloodstains and bits of meat remaining on its serrated edges still indicated its sharpness.

One stab would definitely cut open his fragile throat, freeing him from this hellish place.

And he actually cut open the skin.

Blood began to flow down the dagger.

It seemed he was about to die, about to receive the release he had been seeking.

However, after the bone knife cut through the skin, it was impossible to press it down.

Like the other wounds nearby, it ends here.

Finally, the man threw away his bone knife while crying.

He couldn't bring himself to do it; it's so real, so incredibly real.

Breathing, pain, and even the fear of possibly dying are all the same.

He can't even tell which side is real now.

Despair nearly overwhelmed him; he felt that this might be the end of his life.

However, a gust of cold wind blew in.

His passion was instantly frozen by the literal meaning of the words, and he neither broke down nor cried.

He then flew straight into his igloo.

If you don't have the guts to commit suicide, then you certainly don't have the guts to freeze to death.

Listening to the howling wind and snow outside.

After estimating the time, the man lit the oil lamp, sighed, and shrank into his bed.

He has figured out the pattern.

It was this incredibly accurate time pattern that led him to initially deny that he had a mental illness.

But now, he would rather he be mentally ill.

At least that way there's still hope.

Sure enough, when the time came, he closed his eyes and returned to his home in the People's Federation.

When he opened his eyes, what he saw was no longer the igloo that was so shabby no matter how it was decorated, but the roof of his meticulously designed mansion.

The murals, full of postmodern style, constantly prove this point.

The man was stunned for a moment, then pinched his own face.

It hurts so much, which is why it feels so real here.

He gave a nervous laugh.

The man got out of bed to get something to eat; even a mentally ill person needs to eat, right?

However, as soon as he entered the living room, he noticed something was wrong.

Because the light is not on.

"Turn on the lights!"

"Ai? I said turn on the light!"

After a moment of stunned silence, the man instinctively groped in the dark, searching for something he could use as a weapon.

But after searching for a long time, all I found was a shoe with a relatively hard sole.

The man, swallowing hard, planned to sneak to the door to see what was wrong with the AI.

But they had only gone halfway when the darkness was replaced by light.

The man, whose eyes were stung by the sudden light, took a while to adjust.

It was at this moment that a voice entered his ears directly:

“Mr. Conan Heather, please don’t panic, we mean no harm.”

Upon hearing this, the man immediately closed his eyes to avoid seeing the other person's face.

"Who are you? If it's for money, transferring credits is too risky. Neither you nor I would feel at ease. So, here are three famous paintings worth at least 20 million. That's safer than transferring money."

The UNHS is a unified government, so there is no overseas transfer of funds.

As long as credits are still being used, tracing the flow of funds from his side is a piece of cake.

But the man's calm response made the visitors laugh: