The moment Nicholas began reading the next section, he came across a familiar name.
From the records, he learned that the Sixth Finger was, in fact, a notorious terrorist organization— well-known not only among Extraordinaries, but even among ordinary people.
By comparison, if the Order of Spirit Mediums utilized a telecommunications company as their public facade, The Sixth Finger operated under the guise of a mercenary group—one that specialized in acts of terrorism. They possessed no fixed headquarters and maintained operatives scattered across every region. As such, this heretical organization differed significantly from most other secret organizations.
Unfortunately, the author had little firsthand experience dealing with hidden organizations, so the information recorded in the journal was rather limited. As a result, Nicholas still found no clues regarding the Moon Worship Cult.
However, there was another mysterious organization that attracted his attention even more than the Sixth Finger.
They were a bizarre troupe of individuals who called themselves 'The Secret Pottery.'
A group of enigmatic wanderers who traveled throughout the continent, it was said that for the right price, they could sell any secret a buyer desired to know.
Martin speculated that these people were a faction of Extraordinaries possessing exceptional information-gathering abilities, though this was merely conjecture and there was no verifiable evidence to substantiate the hypothesis.
However, the true intrigue of this chapter appeared near the end. It consisted of strange tales and unexpected incidents the author had encountered throughout his travels. At first, Nicholas paid little attention to these stories but as he continued reading, his expression gradually grew more solemn.
…Because it felt as though he were reading a collection of horror stories.
Even though the events were recorded through mere text, he could still sense the fear hidden between the lines. In every account, Martin never failed to describe how fortunate he was to have survived the ordeal.
Nicholas, who initially had no intention of reading this section, now found his eyes wide as focus all his attention on reading.
…This world was truly drenched in the stench of death and perhaps learning about these incidents would prove useful to him in the future.
Of course, he had no plans to venture outside of York anytime soon, but who could foresee what lay ahead?
Among the chronicles, there was a particular piece of folklore that left Nicholas feeling inexplicably uneasy. For some reason, certain indigenous communities believed that the number five—or any number derived from adding five, such as ten—was an ill-omened number destined to bring misfortune.
Naturally, as society developed and changed, such superstitions had gradually faded with time. Yet Martin, who has survived countless spine-chilling encounters throughout his travels, harbored a different perspective.
"Beware of Number Five."
That was Martin's parting words on the matter.
This particular sentence had not been stamped by typewritten keys but was instead scrawled by hand, highlighting the heavy gravity this warning held within the author's mind.
Even Nicholas could not help swallowing nervously when he thought of his own address, which happened to contain multiple fives.
He could only hope that such beliefs were nothing more than pure fiction.
Martin's journey from south to north was filled with wonders and mysteries. The more Nicholas read, the more he realized that this world was far more dangerous than he had ever imagined.
Each of Martin's accounts began and ended with his arrival at and departure from a particular place, almost like individual acts in a play.
Yet the final two stories he recorded seemed strangely connected in an eerie, inexplicable manner.
To the east of the Orurian Union, located in the southern reaches of the Continent of Ukus, there was said to stand a nameless mountain range whose peaks pierced the heavens. Legends claimed that from its summit, a person could reach out and touch the sun.
What made the mountains truly extraordinary was that despite their towering height, their peaks were not covered in ice or snow. Instead, they remained fertile and lush—a paradise within the realm of mortals.
The populace could only catch sight of this majestic mountain during the early morning of Sunday. On every other day of the week, it vanished completely from human sight.
No one could explain such phenomenon, nor had anyone who climbed the mountains ever returned to tell the tale.
The valleys surrounding this mountain range served as the sacred domain for a specific sect—one that worshipped the sun as the True Creator. viewing the mountain itself as a holy sanctuary that only the highest-ranking disciples of the sect were permitted to ascend.
Even the influence of the four major churches could not penetrate the region… and it was regarded as a forbidden land among the Extraordinaries of foreign nations.
Naturally, the four churches had attempted to dispatch covert agents to investigate the region on numerous occasions.
But none had ever returned alive.
As for his own experience, Martin had merely passed through a town near the mountain range. In his journal, he described his stay as the most unsettling experience of his many years of travel.
Every resident—men, women, even children—regarded outsiders with undisguised contempt, as though they were some kind of filth. Both he and his companions constantly felt as if they were being watched wherever they went, every step observed by unseen eyes.
Normally, the story should have ended there. Yet this time, Martin continued with another experience—one that manifested thousands of miles away from that mountain of Radiant Sun.
Setting sail from an imperial port city and traversing the treacherous Sea of Mists, they arrived at an archipelago known as 'Escolo de Lune.' On these islands, snow blanketed the soil for nine out of twelve months. Historically, it had been a place rich in culture and a prosperous trading hub famous for its rare minerals and gemstones—resources nearly impossible to find on the mainland.
Yet what Martin and his companions encountered there was completely different from the idyllic descriptions recorded in official accounts.
Roughly fifteen years ago, Martin Müller and his expedition party of ten set out for the island in search of precious gemstones on behalf of a member of the royal family, acting upon the request of their expedition leader.
The moment their feet touched the island's shores, they sensed that something was wrong.
Originally, the island's populace consisted of indigenous tribes, immigrants from the mainland, and merchant caravans that constantly drifted in and out of the ports. Yet, upon arriving this time, they discovered a colossal temple under construction at the island's center—a structure so massive it was visible even from the docks.
There was no trace of the native tribes who had once called the island home.
At first, they assumed that the tribes had been driven away by immigrants or radicals from the mainland.
The truth, however, would prove far beyond anything they had imagined.
When they first arrived, the islanders were not particularly welcoming. That was understandable enough; such reactions toward strangers were common in isolated communities.
What truly astonished them was the change that occurred over the following days.
Almost overnight, the townspeople's attitudes transformed so completely that they became nearly unrecognizable...
It was as though they had been replaced by entirely different people.
Before anyone realized it, every individual on the island suddenly became warm, friendly, and welcoming. More disturbing still was the fact that they were smiling all the time.
They smiled while eating.
They smiled while speaking.
They even smiled in their sleep.
It was as though their jaws had been fixed into place by some unnatural force.
Furthermore, regardless of how friendly they appeared on the surface, Martin felt an overwhelming sense of discomfort and unease unlike anything he had experienced. It was the exact same sensation he and his companions had felt while passing through the Nameless Mountains of the Sun Sect.
Suppressing their growing paranoia, the expedition continued its search for gemstones according to their original objective. They remained on the island for roughly two weeks, until the night that birthed their living nightmare finally arrived.
On the night of May 15th, 5th Century, Year 35, Martin suddenly awoke in the dead of night.
An inexplicable sense of dread gripped his heart. He hurried from his tent, intending to wake the other nine members of the expedition.
But the moment he pulled back the tent flap and stepped outside...He witnessed a sight that would remain burned into his memory for the rest of his life.
The sky above turned crimson red. High in the heavens, there were now two moons staring down. That anomalous second moon was the color of fresh blood, and it felt as though it hovered far closer to the earth than ever before. The craggy, cratered surface of the lunar sphere contorted into the shape of a face, glaring directly down at the island below...
As if it was smiling at him.
A chill ran through Martin's entire body. Then, suddenly, he heard the sound of countless footsteps.
Taking advantage of the fact that he had not yet been spotted, the traveler concealed himself among the mud and undergrowth. During those terrifying moments, all he could hear were the wails and desperate cries for help from his companions.
The previous blizzard that had been raging across the island ceased as abruptly as if it were a summer night.
Torches were ignited, casting a sinister glow across the entire island. Devotees with faces frozen in states of ecstatic joy wandered through every corner of the settlement, accompanied by the screeches of foreigners begging for their lives.
The sole distinction between predator and prey on that horrific night was a crescent moon symbol carved into the flesh of the chest.
Martin never learned the fate of those unfortunate souls. All he could do was flee.
He smeared mud over his body, hid himself among the wilderness and forests, and crawled his way toward survival.
There were many times when he nearly got caught, yet by some miraculous stroke of fortune, he slipped through the cracks each time.
Eventually, his desperate flight brought him to a secluded bay.
As the sole survivor, he threw himself into a small boat and rowed blindly into the Sea of Mists, never once daring to look back. The final thing he heard was the chorus of agonized screams resounding behind him. Collapsing into the boat in exhaustion, he turned his eyes toward the island of death one last time.
That night, it was not only the sky that had turned crimson.
He swore that the entire island had been drenched in blood as well.
Three days later, just before he succumbed to dehydration, a merchant vessel from the mainland discovered and rescued him.
He was the sole survivor of the expedition. And only living soul left from that cursed island.
That marked the end of the long journey of Martin Müller and his companions. It was also the final account recorded in the book.
Nicholas closed the volume in his hands, a shiver running down his spine. The information alone was enough to connect the horrifying incident to the Moon Worship Cult.
Antonio had once mentioned sacrifices and offerings made by the cult. Nicholas suspected that the tragedy on that island had been related to—or perhaps carried out for—the very same purpose.
Perhaps the Moon Worship Cult's appearance in York was intended to bring about a similar catastrophe.
Sweat seeped from every pore on Nicholas's body. At the same time, he sensed a reaction from the gray mirror hidden inside his coat. However, since he was still inside the Order of Spirit Mediums headquarter, he had no intention of taking it out now.
Then a thought suddenly struck him.
Nicholas hurried to the opposite side of the bookshelf and began searching through the stacks of documents stored there. Based on his earlier assessment, he had learned that these files were records of significant events that had occurred throughout the years.
He needed to verify whether the Order of Spirit Mediums had officially documented this catastrophic event recounted by Martin.
It did not take long before Nicholas pulled out a file labeled:
Registry of Major Events - Fifth Century, Year 35
After flipping through the pages for a brief moment, his eyes locked onto the entry for May 15th.
There, he found the following record:
"May 15th, Fifth Century, Year 35:
A report was received from the Order of Spirit Mediums branch stationed at the port city of Mist Bay, as they detected severe spiritual anomalies and a violent surge of spiritual energy emanating from across the sea, from the direction of the Escolo de Lune Archipelago.
A crimson mist spread across the entire bay, obscuring visibility. Subsequent investigations revealed that every passenger registered to board ferries traveling from the mainland harbor to Escolo de Lune had vanished without a trace. Only a single survivor managed to return to shore and was immediately taken into custody for interrogation
The Order, alongside other orthodox church factions, dispatched personnel to the island to investigate. All operatives subsequently lost contact.
Consequently, Escolo de Lune has been classified as a Level 4 Danger Zone, and all maritime vessels are strictly prohibited from navigating near the archipelago."
Cold sweat trickled down Nicholas's chin. Reading this official report alongside Martin Müller's account, the striking consistency between the two only reinforced his suspicions.
Yet, at that exact moment, a sudden epiphany jolted his brain as his eyes drifted across the timeline of when this tragedy had occurred.
Dropping the folder in his hands, Nicholas hurriedly pulled out stacks of records documenting major incidents dating back to the Ninth Year of the Tenth Era.
His instincts were screaming that none of this was a coincidence.
He flipped through the files frantically, searching for unusual events that transpired across each passing year.
With each report he read, his expression darkened.
… He could distinctly feel the Insight Mr. Edwin had spoken of earlier.
It accumulated slowly within him as he uncovered a terrifying truth.
Every five years, a catastrophe would emerge somewhere on the continent of Ukus—disasters that claimed thousands, sometimes tens of thousands, of lives.
There was no fixed date.
No fixed location.
No predictable pattern.
Yet whenever they occurred, they left behind only death.
In Year 10, a war erupted between several kingdoms, claiming hundreds of thousands of lives.
In Year 15, a devastating drought struck a nation neighboring the Empire, reducing its population by nearly ten percent.
In Year 20, sudden floods ravaged the northern regions of the continent, bringing destruction to multiple kingdoms.
In Year 25, a plague swept through an imperial city, wiping out the majority of its inhabitants...
These calamities and disasters materialized unfailingly every five years, tracing an unbroken chain of devastation since records began.
Some remained shrouded in mystery, others possessed documented causes, and a few were even orchestrated by the hand of powerful Extraordinaries.
Yet after piecing together these facts, Nicholas found himself recalling the parting words of Martin Müller, the message he had intended to leave for whoever might one day read his journal:
"Beware of Number Five."
Nicholas's hands trembled uncontrollably. Yet he forced himself to continue flipping through the archives, tracing the records of these disasters all the way to the most recent file which labeled: Fifth Century, Year 50.
After carefully reviewing its contents, he discovered the very truth he had feared most.
Within this ledger for the year 550, There had been no record of such a catastrophe occurring.
Not a single one.
10.11.550
Nicolas Parlay
Spirit medium (Éna)