As his thoughts were spinning rapidly, he gradually came up with a countermeasure, which was to use the hair, carrion or bones of the deceased.
He remembered that Miss Magician mentioned to The Fool that she once buried an old gentleman named Lawrence, who was undoubtedly a blood descendant of the Abraham family.
“I hope they are not cremated… Although this is a bit desecrated to the corpse, talking to Mr. Door is also a necessary procedure to lift the ancient curse of the Abraham family. It is better to use the dead than to implicate the living… A reply to Triss then This clause was added, pretending to be a request for a ceremonial medium from the descendants of the family of Abraham…
“Also, we must first confirm that Triss wants to talk to Mr. Door, rather than trying to bring him back to the real world… They are either of high status themselves, or involved in high status, and it is difficult to use the method of ‘divination’ An effective revelation was obtained, but the Emperor said that the return ceremony required by Mr. ‘Gate’ is very complicated and cannot be arranged with a small number of bloodline descendants’ items. You can ask the ‘Mysterious Queen’ and Miss Sharon to monitor the Backlund underground trading market. , see if there is any abnormal flow of materials and personnel…” Klein nodded slightly and decided to go to Miss Magician later to urge her on the manuscript.
North End, Paisfield Street.
On a sidewalk chair, a young man wearing a black windbreaker and a silk top hat with a thin face and a broad forehead was sitting there, looking at the Intis sycamore tree with falling yellow leaves in a daze.
He wore a monocle made of crystal on his right eye, which made him look quite elegant.
At this time, an old man who was going to St. Samuel’s Church passed by. Seeing that he was in a bad state, he stopped and asked softly:
“Young man, what are you worried about? What is lost in this war?”
He suspected that the other party’s relatives, lovers, and friends had died in previous air raids or in the fierce fighting on the front line, so he was sitting on the street, looking confused.
The young man raised his hand and pinched his monocle, sighed and shook his head:
“I’m just thinking about some more complex issues.”
“Are you a philosopher?” The old man was stunned for a moment and blurted out.
“No, but I often ask philosophical questions to others, like who am I, where am I, and where am I going.” The young man smiled calmly and continued his meditation, moving his lips from time to time. Whispered almost silently.
The old man couldn’t understand it, so he shook his head and walked away slowly under the gaze of wild dogs on the roadside, sparrows in the trees, ants on the ground, and some tiny creatures in the air.
The young man did not turn his head. The monocle reflected the falling yellow leaves and murmured to himself:
“Parasite…” “Not parasitic…” “Parasite…” “Not parasitic…”
“Look at the bait…” “Swallow the bait…” “Look at the bait…”