Bologue could be certain that he was still inside the Cultivation Room. Faced with this somewhat warm scene, Bologue couldn't help but laugh to himself.

A Sunshine Inn?

In the depths of the Cultivation Room? What a joke. By comparison, the recent life-and-death escape felt like an illusion.

Bologue took a deep breath and stretched his body. His psychological acceptance was gradually increasing. After a simple complaint, he began to explore this inn.

Being hidden deep within the Cultivation Room, Bologue did not believe this was just a simple inn. It harbors some secret, though Bologue had yet to discover it.

The inn's front desk was empty, only a record player stood there, and as the vinyl spun, an old man's song echoed in his ears.

Bologue softly hummed along with the voice, "Mother, warn your child not to follow in my footsteps."

The song sounded quite nice, seemingly a man's self-confession and a warning to others.

Bologue looked toward the corridor at the side, rows of doors lined both sides. Even there, Bologue could hear the whispered conversations inside the rooms.

The inn was full of people.

Bologue had no interest in knocking and greeting for the time being. He walked toward the glass door directly opposite the front desk.

The frosted glass obscured the outside scene, and the warm sun poured down, spreading gentle light evenly over everything.

Bologue grasped the doorknob and tried to open the door, discovering that it was not locked, only somewhat heavy.

As soon as he opened a slight crack, deadly heat enveloped Bologue's hand. His skin was instantly scalded, blistering in many places.

Bologue watched expressionlessly. Through the crack in the door, he could still only see a mass of pure light.

Familiar light.

As if driven by a mysterious force, Bologue, enduring the pain, pulled the door further open. The gap widened until the first ray of sunlight fell onto Bologue's arm.

Instantly, an unbearable pain released from the illuminated spot, and blazing fire consumed Bologue's arm.

Amidst agony and burning, Bologue realized he was too familiar with this light as if he had spent many years with such light.

Burned to ashes by the light and reborn in the ashes.

Shattered information pieced back together, revealing the true face of history, but the intense pain gave Bologue no time to think.

He tried to extinguish the flames, which only made them grow stronger.

Suddenly, the pain vanished. Immediately, Bologue's entire burning arm detached from his body, as if chopped by an Invisible Blade, leaving a clean, smooth wound.

The burning pain masked the pain of dismemberment, and Bologue felt almost nothing. He fell backward, expecting to hit the ground, only to hear a crisp snap and land softly on a sofa.

The burning limb did not fall to the ground but hovered in the air, flames continuing to burn it into a fireball until it was completely reduced to ashes, with no trace remaining to burn.

"Whew... what a close call, you nearly destroyed my inn."

A familiar voice rang out as a man in a robe appeared beside the front desk, lazily smiling at Bologue.

Bologue recognized the face and the voice but was certain that this mysterious presence before him was definitely not him, not Palmer.

Deceitful Snake Scale Liquid expanded from within, and cold scale armor covered Bologue's body. His only remaining arm gripped a Sharp Sword, the sharp tip pointing at the enemy before him.

"Relax, Mr. Lazarus, I just saved your life, you know."

The newcomer spread his hands, smiling gently.

He then raised an eyebrow, gesturing at the still-warm ashes.

Bologue remained silent for a while, then disarmed himself and sat back on the suddenly appearing sofa, ignoring the newcomer and focusing his gaze on the pile of ashes.

The severed limb quickly revived. Bologue sat bare-armed, and the many fragmented pieces of information linked together at that moment.

Bologue whispered, "A light..."

A light that ended the fury of scorched earth, causing the Holy City to fall.

Bologue questioned the newcomer, "What exactly is this light?"

"Lightburn, a curse from King Solomon, burns all material it touches until it's completely destroyed, unable to be extinguished beforehand."

The newcomer answered directly, explaining why he cleaved Bologue's arm off—if the Lightburn spread across his whole body, dealing with it would become incredibly troublesome.

"Lightburn..."

Bologue clutched his head as blurred and lost memories gradually became clearer.

Bologue thought of the human brain as an enormous library, memories being the books filling it.

Humans can't constantly recall all their memories, so the books written for those memories are given various names—some by date, some by life's stages, and others by significant events experienced.

When someone wants to recall something, they only need to remember the "book title" to find the corresponding book within the vast library and relive the past moments.

But when you don't know the book's name, you cannot find the corresponding book, just as no one knows what they don't know.

No one can remember what exactly they have forgotten.

The burning of light and the name Lightburn assured Bologue of his conjecture's validity, that it wasn't just some illusion or mere rumor.

A light rose up, burning everything, leaving only itself struggling in a sea of flames, dying, reviving, and dying again until a long slumber ended, awakening in the Black Prison.

"Closer..."

Bologue murmured, a step closer to the truth of history.

Returning his gaze to the light-filled view beyond the glass door, the warmth remained.

"Lightburn has been burning for so many years, yet it's still not exhausted... This is a seal, isn't it?"

Bologue said, his pupils slightly trembling. He recalled the Calamity within the Abandoned Land, the world-destroying firestorm, and the ash piled like mountains.

And the old city buried deep within the ashes.

He began to understand why "Red Dragon" remained elusive; perhaps the "Red Dragon" was hidden within the ruins of the Holy City. But entering the Holy City meant facing Lightburn, as anyone illuminated by the light faced destruction.

Whether the Calamity, Desperate Outpost, or this inn itself, they were all parts of the seal on Lightburn.

"Also part of the deal."

Bologue muttered to himself, looking at the newcomer. Bologue realized the newcomer's identity.

"Which Devil are you?"

"I have many names among people—the Observer of the World, the Critic, the Onlooker, the Grand Recorder..."

As the newcomer narrated, his face quickly changed—Palmer, Aimou, Geoffrey, Belli...

All the familiar faces Bologue knew flashed across the newcomer's face, and the voice changed with each face.

"I hope, Mr. Lazarus, you will call me by my true name."

The newcomer remained unreserved, his honesty made Bologue uneasy, and he extended his hand in invitation.

"Belphegor, the Lazy."

Bologue took a deep breath. He finally met the Devil hidden within the Order Bureau, and he came to an initial understanding of their deal with the Bureau.

Two hands clasped together. Even though the other knew his name, Bologue habitually responded,

"Bologue Lazarus."

Belphegor's face paused once more on Palmer's face. He displayed a seemingly familiar smile, yet this smile lacked a certain slyness, replaced by an air of mystery and wickedness.

"Finally, I've met you, Mr. Lazarus."

Belphegor excitedly grasped Bologue's hand and then said,

"I am your fan."

Bologue's expression remained steady; he was growing accustomed to these lunatics' adulations, even if the other party was a Devil.

"Another fan?" Bologue retorted unyieldingly, "Do you need me to sign an autograph for you?"

"Of course."

Belphegor's smile broadened.

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