The Île de la Cité and the Île Saint-Louis lie quietly in the Seine like two leaves, and cruise ships and speedboats pass by slowly, like reptiles and ants on the edge of the leaves. When passing through the Île de la Cité, visitors always look at the island's majestic Gothic church, but unfortunately people no longer see the iconic spire that once towered.

In the enclosed Notre-Dame block, several construction experts are pointing with drawings in hand, while workers are busy sorting through building materials.

The French, known for their procrastination, have finally officially started the restoration of Notre-Dame. At the time of the fire, it was still spring in Paris, and the north wind was howling.

A worker in a black trench coat and a cloak hunched over the scrap dump stumbles. The worker who passed by with a large piece of timber shouted to him, "Hey, brother, look at your outfit, you're also an Assassin's Creed fan, right?". ”

Another worker said, "Oh, Assassin's Creed, Leap of Faith! I see, eighty percent of the spires of this Notre Dame Cathedral jumped off like this, but I got away with it! Haha......"

The cloaked "Assassin" ignored them, still walking slowly through the scrap pile, stopping at different times as if rummaging for something.

"Hey, it's all scraps that fell from the spire, and they've all been counted and numbered, don't worry about it anymore, go over there and help!" The worker next to him reminded.

The assassin walked silently, bowing his head, and suddenly seemed to notice something, and he squatted down. A gust of wind blew and lifted his cloak, revealing a slightly sparse but conspicuous reddish-brown hair.

He picked something up from the ground, quickly covered his head with his cloak in his hand, and hurried towards the side door with his face down.

A few days later, the construction and heritage experts came again to take stock of the waste to see what could still be used in the restoration process and what had to be replaced with new materials. However, when they counted the fragments of the spire, they found that the material number 0371 was missing.

"It must have been stolen by that assassin!" Said one worker.

"What assassin?"

"Oh, that guy in a trench coat and a cloak, like Arno Dorian from Assassin's Creed, a strange guy."

Another worker added: "I thought he was here to work like us, but he turned out to be a thief and I don't know how to get in." Oh yes, he has red hair, the kind of red hair that is rare, and the police will definitely find him. ”

The expert asked, "What is material 0371?" ”

The worker in charge of the material registration said: "It is a thin red wooden strip less than 30 centimeters long, which is supposed to be used for horizontal connection between the supporting timbers of the base of the spire, but unlike other woods, it is ......."

The expert waved his hand, "Let such a small connecting wood go with it, these things are basically useless after being burned by fire anyway." I guess some devout believer picked it up and went home to worship it. ”

……

Despite freezing on the northern continent, Egyptian winters are still warm.

Khan El Khalili Market is in the old city of Cairo, dozens of ancient alleys are crowded with tourists, picking up their favorite goods among the dazzling shops. It is the largest bazaar in the Middle East and one of the most famous specialty shopping districts in the world.

Hawkers with various accents come and go, and you can see Chinese signs such as "Come in and see" and "Cabbage Price" everywhere.

The Asian lady in the cool hat was haggling in half-Chinese, half-English words, sticking out her fingers to make a gesture when she was in a hurry, while the old Arab man in the turban shook his head like a rattle. I finally bought the ancient and mysterious souvenir, held it in my hand with joy, and suddenly found a line of English printed in the inconspicuous place inside the label: made in China.

The Japanese tourist on the other side took a fancy to a papyrus painting, had already negotiated the price, took out a hundred Egyptian pounds from his wallet, and the bearded boss on the opposite side quickly pulled out two large Egyptian pounds from the Japanese tourist's wallet with three fingers, and shouted: "You heard it wrong, you heard it wrong, it's two hundred Egyptian pounds." With the papyrus painting in his hand, the Japanese tourist argued a few words, and found that the shopkeeper, who had been fluent in English just a moment ago, could only speak Arabic, and he could only consider himself unlucky when he had no help and could not speak the language.

Even at night, Khan El Khalili Market is bustling with activity. The neon lights on the doors of shisha parlors and cafes shine along with the colorful lights on the streets, and the goods in the shops are sprinkled with a halo of mystery, beauty, and entice tourists to buy them.

It is said that it was originally the royal burial place of the Fatimid Dynasty. At the end of the 12th century, the last ruler of the Fatimid dynasty, Caliph Adid, was overthrown by his minister Saladin and the Praetorian Guard, and the dynasty was overthrown. Two hundred years later, their cemetery was also destroyed and converted into an inn, the word "Khan" means inn in Persian.

The antiquity and mystery of Khan El Khalili Bazaar remain in the hearts of the people to this day. At night, it is not surprising to see people dressed in black and wearing cloaks passing by.

Howard was dressed in black, and his cloak covered his face tightly. He pretended to be casual as he walked through the alleys of Khan El Khalili Market, occasionally bending down to pick up a piece of merchandise to look at. On the side of the stairs in front of a shop, he saw a triangular arrow, like a child drawing with chalk. He put down the item in his hand and headed in the direction the arrow pointed.

After many turns, I walked through the back streets of the Hussein Mosque and back to the bustling Khan El Khalili market. Howard stopped in front of a room with a hidden door, and the number 8 was written in chalk on the door, but the person who wrote it was not very good, and the upper and lower ends of the 8 were flat, like a child's masterpiece.

At the door of the house was a Pharaoh Hound squatting. This dog has a noble bloodline, and their appearance appears in ancient Egyptian murals four thousand years ago. Not far from the dog was an old Arab man selling hookahs, who glanced at Howard with his wrinkled face.

Howard pushed open the door and entered, and inside was a narrow aisle, with voice-activated lights on the top, but it didn't seem to be very bright, and it was on and on for a while. On both sides of the aisle are frescoes that imitate ancient Egyptian frescoes, which look mysterious in the dim light. Howard had the illusion of walking into the ancient pharaoh's tomb.

The passage is a bit long, and there is a curvature that is not very noticeable. After a while, a door appeared, and it was a room, then a staircase, and then a curved passage after going up the staircase, and then to his destination, the secret stronghold of the Dream Society in Cairo.

Howard left Amsterdam at the same time as Huangliang, who went to North America, and he came to Cairo. He didn't know what mission Huang Liang had to go to North America, anyway, the second leader would make specific arrangements, and this Chinese would be a very important member of the organization in the future. Howard was very happy that his former subordinates could be favored by the second leader. He is also not worried that Huangliang will cross him, because the organization still has strict discipline and systems. He is the patriarch and backbone of the organization, and only a very small number of people can come to such an important gathering as today.

Howard is excited because today he will meet the most mysterious and important person in the organization, even more so than the leader, the legendary man who bears the memory of their race, the ancestor!

Howard took off his cloak and greeted the others who had already arrived. Most of these people he knew, and they were all heads of organizations in various regions. He didn't see the second leader, and he felt a little strange in his heart, it stands to reason that the second leader was bound to be present when the ancestor summoned him.

Not long after, the side door of the room slammed open, and a person came out. The man, like Howard, wore a dark trench coat with a cape, his hands folded in front of his chest in a crossed X, and the wide cloak covered his entire face. He walked slowly into the room, his steps so light as not to make a sound. However, the air in the room seemed to freeze instantly, making people feel suffocated.

Howard felt like he was being choked by the throat, unable to breathe, and unable to struggle. It made him feel like he hadn't seen it in a long time. Yes, it's been a long time since he's been haunted by nightmares. He was sure that the person in front of him was the ancestor, who could have such a powerful spiritual power besides the ancestor!

The ancestor stood in front of them, his head bowed, and slowly stretched out his hand, his fingers like dry branches. With a slight flip of his hands, he lifted the cloak from his head.

Howard saw the Ancestor's face—a zombie-thin, skinny face with taut muscle fibers visible, but its surface was covered with a thin layer of translucent new skin, densely covered with spider red capillaries. His cheeks were sunken, and his eye sockets were misty, sometimes like two deep black holes, and sometimes a little white.