Ah! Ah! Kleyn crouched there, unable to hold back his vomiting, having gone without breakfast and quickly emptying his stomach. At that moment, a square, tin-iron colored vessel resembling a cigarette box appeared before him. The open mouth of the vessel, now uncapped, released a mingled scent of tobacco, disinfectant, and mint, suddenly striking Kleyn's nose and sharply invigorating him. Though the strong odor still lingered around, Kleyn no longer felt nauseous, and his vomiting ceased quickly. Rising up, he looked upward at the tin-iron colored vessel and saw a pale hand, the cuffs of a black overcoat, and the cold, shadowed presence of the "corpse collector" Fley. "Thank you," Kleyn said, fully recovered, propping himself up with his hands and standing again. Fley nodded without expression: "Just get used to it." He secured the spout of the tin-and-iron flask, tucked it into his pocket, and turned toward the elderly woman's body, which was highly decomposed. Without gloves, he began his examination right away, while Dunn Smith and Leonard Mitchell walked around the room, occasionally touching the tables and newspapers. Old Neil held his nose, standing at the door, complaining in a dull, steady voice: "It's dreadful. I'm going to have to apply for a subsidy this month!" Dunn turned back, using his right hand—dressed in black gloves—to gently wipe some ash from the wall beside the fireplace, then looked at Crane. "Familiar here?" Crane held his breath, mentally visualizing the image of his own silver watch, calming both his mind and body. Already in a state of spiritual perception, he immediately felt a shift—suddenly, a vivid image from the deepest reaches of his memory flashed before him: the fireplace, the armchair, the table, the newspaper, the rusted door with its iron nails, the silver-embossed tin can… The scene was hazy and dim, like a documentary from Earth, yet more blurred and ethereal. It swiftly overlapped with everything he now saw around him, and that sense of familiarity, as though he had been here before, became unmistakable. Once again, a faint, wavering cry pierced through the invisible barrier: “Hornacis… Freglar… Hornacis… Freglar… Hornacis… Freglar…” “Somewhat familiar,” he replied truthfully, his head throbbing slightly, and he quickly tapped his brow twice. Hornacis… a mountain range mentioned in the original owner’s journal? That was extracted from the notes of the Antigonus family... The whispered conversation just now was very similar to one from a previous occasion, both involving the name Horaniches... Is this a deliberate lure? Caine was startled, unable to think further, fearing he might lose control. Dunn nodded slightly, walked to the cabinet, and suddenly reached up, pulling open the wooden door. The bread inside had developed mold, with seven or eight gray, stiff-furred mice lying lifeless beside it. "Leonard, go downstairs and speak to the patrol officers to find out what's going on here," Dunn instructed his team member. "Got it." Leonard turned and left the room. Dunn then opened the doors of the two bedrooms and carefully searched each one. Once he had confirmed no clues were found, nor any notes from the Antigonos family, "the Undertaker" Frey straightened up, wiping his hands with the white handkerchief he carried: "The death has exceeded five days, with no external injuries and no significant effects attributable to extraordinary forces—specific causes will have to await further examination." "Have you noticed anything?" Dune turned to Neil and Cline. Both, having already exited their spiritual awareness, shook their heads. "Besides the one deceased, everything here is normal—no, initially there was an invisible force sealing the room, as you know, a common occurrence when we perform ritual magic," Neil added after a moment. Dune was about to speak when he suddenly turned toward the door. A few seconds later, Neil and Cline realized something and turned to look at the stairwell corner. Then, a few more seconds passed, and the faint footsteps grew louder—Leonard and a police officer approached. The officer noticed the foul odor, his face slightly pale, and immediately cooperated with his Special Branch colleague to knock on the door of the second-floor tenant, briefly explaining the situation on the third floor. A moment later, the officer—wearing silver two-V shoulder insignia—gazed at the body on the armchair and said: "Katie Stephena Bieber, aged between 55 and 60, a widow, who has been renting this apartment with her son, Riel Bieber, for over ten years." "Her husband was a jeweler; her son is around thirty, unmarried, and has inherited his father's business. He earns approximately one pound and fifteen shillings per week. According to their neighbors, they haven't seen them for more than a week." But this wasn't just acting—it was genuine. The police department's records clearly listed him as a Senior Inspector, and his salary and allowances were indeed based on that rank, though not including the church-related benefits. The officer, slightly nervous, shook his head. "I'm not sure... we'd have to go back to the precinct to check. Normally, we don't keep photographs for every single resident." "Understood," said Dunn. "Keep asking the first-floor tenants, and be thorough." He closed the door and turned to old Neil. "Now it's your turn. Otherwise, we'll have to have the residents sleep through the night, and search their dreams for the image of Riel Biber. Honestly, I'm not very confident in drawings made solely from verbal descriptions." Old Neil nodded, then reached into the hidden pocket at his waist, drawing out several bottles the size of a thumb. He poured the liquid in a specific sequence around the room. Then, he took a handful of powder and sprinkled it in a circle around himself. A strange, pungent odor rose and diffused, unaffected by the foul stench within the room. Yet suddenly, Caine felt an invisible force surrounding Old Neil, separating him from the environment and from the others—just as the house had been before. Old Neil half-closed his eyes, his lips moving in a low, indistinct chant. Caine wasn’t ready, only catching fragments: "I invoke the power of the goddess," "I seek the favor of the night..." He pulled out a water-resistant steel pen from his pocket and, brushing over the scraps of paper on the table, began sketching swiftly—so fast that his entire body trembled. Klein watched intently, and there emerged a face with deep-set eyes and a high nose bridge. Once the natural, wavy short hair was complete, Old Neil wrote a line of words beneath the portrait: "Black hair, deep blue eyes, a full-ceramic false tooth on the left side of the mouth." Click! The pen slipped from Old Neil's hand and landed on the paper, and his body shuddered slightly. "This is the lingering image of Riel Biber within the room," Old Neil murmured, his eyes quickly returning to normal. Then he returned to his original position and slowly turned in place, and the invisible, intermittent force dissolved instantly, flowing gently as a soft breeze. "Beautiful goddess," Old Neil said, tapping four times on his chest, forming the shape of a crimson moon. Klein's spirit relaxed as he observed more closely and noticed that Riel Biber's facial features were unremarkable, with a calm and composed demeanor—except for the noticeable droop of the lines around his nose. "I'll try the staff-based locating method," he said, picking up the portrait and retrieving the male clothing from the bedroom, laying them all out on the floor. Dunn, Leonard, and the old Neil did not intervene, watching as he positioned the silver-studded black staff upon the clothing and the portrait. As always, "The Body Finder" Fley remained silent. The brown hue deepened to black, and Klein, his gaze deep and focused, silently recited his incantation before releasing his hands. The black staff stood still, as if firmly planted into the floor. "In the position of Riel Biber," Klein murmured once more in his mind. A soft wind rustled through, and the staff fell, yet during its fall it continuously shifted direction, ultimately rotating gently around its point of support. Without any external assistance, the silver-inlaid black cane once again stood firm. Kaine tried several times, always ending up with the same result, and could only shake his head in frustration at Dunn and Old Neil. Some strange force was interfering with his "divination." Dunn removed his black gloves and addressed Leonard and Kaine: "You take the portrait of Riel Biber to the residents here and verify it one last time. Then, issue an arrest warrant against him on the grounds of murder." "Understood." Kaine grasped the cane and bent down to pick up the portrait. Once all the neighbors confirmed that the man in the portrait was indeed Riel Biber, Dunn sent Leonard and the officer to complete the formalities at the police station, while he himself and Frey went to several bars in Tinggen, seeking out contacts through underground channels. Kaine and Old Neil took the public carriage back to Black Thorns Security, where it was still before eight o'clock, and Rosan had not yet arrived. After closing the door, Caine turned to old Neil, asking with a mix of curiosity and inquiry, "Why did I deliver the Antigonus family's notes to Riel Bibber's home?" This was entirely in a different direction from the route to Welch's residence to the Iron Cross Street. "I don't know either..." Cline sat down deliberately, offering a forced smile. "I've thought of your hypotheses about the events, but I still don't understand why the notes specifically needed to be delivered to Riel Bibber." Old Neil gestured helplessly. "Perhaps his birth number meets the criteria, or perhaps he's the last descendant of the Antigonus family—there are simply too many possibilities. The same likely applies to why the notes ended up in our city of Tinggen." "Ah, I think it's the descendant aspect," Cline suddenly realized, then sighed. "Unfortunately, I didn't notice it at first—both Riel Bibber and the notes have vanished." Old Neil chuckled. "That's a problem for Dunning. For you, it's a blessing." "Why is that so?" Cline frowned, puzzled.