Indeed, it was true—the old knight brought Ian to his base within a minute. This place used to be a White Folks' logging site, but now it belongs to Ian. Inside, there are many oddly-shaped metal models and various small gadgets, each exceptionally intricate, allowing one to directly feel the talent of their creator.
Seeing these things, the old knight frowned, pondering something unknown. Meanwhile, Ian listened to the heavy rain outside the cave and couldn't help but marvel: "It's really terrifying. Such a storm, even a volcanic eruption couldn't compare, and there's no shockwave... It increasingly seems impossible that this is a natural phenomenon."
"...What's your name?" the old knight asked. "Are you a White Folks? From Harrison Port, part of the Cheharlowa Family... Are you a member of that family?"
"Ian."
The boy glanced at the old knight, his eyebrows slightly furrowed: "Do you know our family's past? And who are you?"
