The past was built upon collecting unique characteristics.

In the small room, light slanted down through the only skylight, and Skol Norman sat quietly in a wooden chair in front of his desk, his head drooping and his chin resting on his chest, like a still statue.

Ding Ding Deng!

As he quickly approached, Morian was so startled by the sight before him that he paused for a few seconds.

A dark red and black hole appeared around Skol's right temple. The bright red blood on it had long since dried and congealed, and his skin was beginning to peel off, making him look like a corpse that had been dead for several days.

A brass-colored, revolver, along with its bullet, lay on the ground next to the chair, the splattered blood suggesting a suicide by gunshot.

Charlotte reached out and lifted the drooping head. The dead man's lips were still slightly parted, and despite being dead for some time, fear and madness were hidden in his unclosed eyes.

They had read Skol's file. In his daily life, he was cautious and timid. To put it bluntly, he was cowardly and afraid of trouble. In the eyes of those who knew him, he was a conservative "honest man" who, at most, would drink a few cheap drinks with the drunks in the hotel.

This thrifty guy was willing to go to the border, a place where danger and opportunity coexist, simply to earn more money and reduce the burden on his family.

At present, the fact that Skol, who is the only clue, had the courage to buy a gun and commit suicide makes it hard not to suspect that there may be other truths hidden behind the suicide.

What happened? Did someone beat them to it?

Morian suppressed his doubts, bent down and picked up the revolver from the ground. The gun was nothing special; it was one of the most common models on the market, and he couldn't tell from its appearance where it came from.

He then turned to observe other things around him, trying to find other subtle traces.

The room was small and simply furnished. The bed was a bunk bed, and the cabinet next to the bed was filled with various antiques and small measuring tools. The wardrobe had no decorations, only tools for daily life.

A one-way mirror stood quietly next to the wardrobe, its smooth surface reflecting the scene in the room. Everything looked so ordinary, as if there had never been any signs of a fight or argument.

"Sir, if I may be so bold, I'd rather believe this was murder than suicide," Charlotte said, blinking as she spoke, her long eyelashes casting soft shadows beneath her bangs.

She pointed to the paper on the desk; it was an unfinished letter on plain lined paper.

"Yes, that's what my intuition tells me too, but it doesn't seem that straightforward from the scene."

Morian agreed, then carefully moved the pen aside and picked up the letter to examine it closely.

Dear Reis:

It's been a long time since we last met, and as I write this letter, I'm filled with longing for you. I've read all the letters you sent before, but due to being busy with work, I haven't been able to reply in time, for which I feel deeply ashamed. I'm also very grateful for your concern. To be honest, my current situation is a bit delicate; I can't trust anyone, so I can only confide in you about everything I've been going through.

Do you remember when I said I wanted to go to the border for archaeological work? You even tried to dissuade me then, and yes, I regretted it. At the beginning of the work, I followed the team and found a lot of things of research value and historical significance, which gave me the illusion that this job might not be so bad, until the team came to a maritime site, and everything that happened there is something I don't want to think about.

During the exploration, Theo—the guy from our hometown—said he heard the howling of a storm and then saw many faceless, distorted unknown creatures. The team went to investigate as he suggested, but found nothing. How could a storm make a howling sound? Let alone see any monsters. Although we all agreed it was just a minor incident, the guy went mad not long after and committed suicide like a mentally unstable patient.

Unfortunately, the storm really did arrive after that. The fierce hurricane almost swallowed everything around us, making it impossible for anyone to tell which way was which. Soon, the group was scattered, which reminded me of some strange legends about gods. The storm and fog that blotted out the sun blocked all vision. I cautiously felt my way along the road when I suddenly heard what sounded like howling in my ears. Even though I couldn't see any figures, the howling was as loud as if it were whispering in my ear.

Lost and disoriented, I unknowingly stumbled into a mysterious place, where I saw! I saw those truly existing "monsters"! They had several long legs, yet walked upright, seemingly without the concept of skin and bones; flesh and blood vessels were exposed and fused together. I cannot describe their grotesque appearance in detail, but what remains most vivid in my memory are their tentacles and teeth. The monsters did not harm me; instead, they gifted me an ancient book of unknown purpose. This thing might not be so simple.

After surviving this crisis, I realized that Theo was right. The captain found me, and I told him everything that had happened. However, he thought I was just imagining things and had gone mad. Nobody wanted to believe me, but the archaeological work still had to continue.

……

Do gods truly exist in this world?

……

The normally coherent writing abruptly ends here, with the remaining half filled with densely packed, distorted characters. These characters crisscross and completely violate normal writing rules, resembling more the product of some kind of mental breakdown.

They crookedly crawled all over the surface of the letter, forming a visually dizzying and eerie pattern.

Despite his discomfort, Morian carefully examined the symbols and discovered that these seemingly chaotic symbols were actually repeating the same words.

His intuition told him that these words likely all referred to the same name.

As Morian's gaze followed the handwriting down to the very bottom, a streak of ink suddenly flashed by. Had Morian read any faster, he might have missed this discovery.

The handwriting was also extremely crooked, even deeply dented into the paper due to excessive force, but the meaning could still be barely discerned. Just through the words, one could vaguely imagine that Skol, in the face of collapse, still struggled to record this important information.

Morian picked up the letter and held it up to the light. Under the light, four large characters, bold and clear, were clearly visible:

"Achieving godhood through unorthodox means."

The moment he saw the words, the letter slipped from his fingers and fell onto the dark red bloodstains on the ground, where it stained the last line of text.

Become...become a god?!

Morian's pupils trembled violently, and an indescribable sense of fear instantly spread throughout his body. In that instant, it felt as if invisible evil spirits were watching his every move.

Don't think too much! Thinking too much will kill you instantly! And it will be a gruesome death!

His spiritual intuition was constantly issuing warnings, and he unconsciously took two steps back. Suddenly, a bold conjecture came to mind, and he understood why he had just experienced such a direct mental shock.

This is blasphemy! It is the delusion of mortals to steal the power of the gods!

Even just glimpsing the edge is enough to make one's reason falter.