Ael Hassen agreed, "Indeed, it's hard to imagine that the successor to 'The Seer' would be 'The Clown,' following normal logic—no one would naturally connect the two." "Is that unusual? I recall that many sequence potions also lack the necessary continuity between their stages." Lady Loretta, with her black hair, yawned, her hand to her mouth, clearly indicating that her condition was more serious, making it difficult even for 'The Gaze of the Goddess' to sustain her energy. "No, Loretta, this is entirely different. Even when other sequence potions lack clear connections, we can still find certain commonalities from other perspectives. But 'The Seer' and 'The Clown'—there's nothing at all to bridge them. I simply can't understand it." Ael Hassen shook his head, expressing his admiration. Klein listened to their conversation and smiled, "No, there are commonalities after all." "What kind?" Ael asked curiously, his gesture of extending his arm noticeably slowing down. Klein answered seriously: "Whether they're 'seers' or 'clowns,' both can be found in a circus." "...,"艾尔,邓恩,和洛络塔瞬间怔住了。 "Pfft—quite a good answer! I really like young people like you!" Lady Loretta, with her black hair, was the first to regain her composure and laughed out loud. Ael smiled and shook his head, saying: "These days, gentlemen with a sense of self-deprecation are becoming rarer. Fortunately, we've encountered another one today." Do you think I'm self-deprecating?...I didn't even realize we shared other commonalities...Klein muttered to himself, offering a smile that carried a hint of bitterness. "All I hope is that the sequence pathway's potions don't keep calling them 'animal trainers,' 'acrobats,' or 'magicians'—that would truly make them a circus." And even a solo act. "Ha ha." "Dunne and the others were immediately amused by his words, and the carriage filled with cheerful atmosphere. As the vehicle moved forward, it arrived at Zothlan Street, where the uninjured Caine stepped into the Black Thorns Security Company. 'Oh, goddess! What happened to you? How did you end up like this?' Rosan glanced casually and exclaimed in surprise. Caine looked down at his soiled and damaged formal attire, still feeling deeply moved, and replied, 'There are always unexpected incidents in the mission—thankfully, under the goddess's protection, the outcome is favorable.' 'Worthy of the goddess!' Rosan devoutly traced a 'Red Moon' on her chest. Before Caine could speak, she asked proactively, 'Do we need to retreat again to the third floor? Is that sealed object truly that dangerous?' 'Believe me, it's far more dangerous than you imagine,' Caine said, visibly shaken. Had it not been for my more mysterious 'transformation ritual,' I would have been finished right here at '2–049'!" "Ah, goddess..." Rosan's lips moved, as though she still had many more words to say and many more questions to ask, but mindful of the captain waiting below, she finally held back her impulse and invited the Mrs. Oliviana and others up to the third floor—the building adjacent to Blackthorn Security, where either church properties or devout, somewhat informed priests resided. Once all the clerical staff had evacuated, Caine didn't immediately rush to the lounge to notify the other night watch members; instead, he returned promptly to assist the captain and others in transporting the seal "2–049," the remains of the monster Bibbe, and the Antigonous family's notes to the second floor. Through the partition, Dunn pushed open the lounge door and addressed the two night watch members playing Kuntria: "Flay, Loy, you're to go immediately to the Tiller warehouse in the dock area to assist Leonard with the follow-up." "Very well," said Lady Loy, who rose first, her dark hair and composed demeanor signaling her calm demeanor. The "corpse bearer" Fley, with black hair, blue eyes, and pale skin, straightened up. As they set down the Quent cards and stepped out of the lounge, they all noticeably paused as they passed through the partition. "Wait," Dune called out, not disappointing everyone's expectations. "Is there anything else?" Lo Yao, the "Night-Walker," turned calmly without changing expression. "Make sure to notify the police to secure the roads. Don't let anyone approach the scene until you've finished processing it and brought the bodies back." Dune lightly tapped his forehead. "Understood," Lo Yao replied, taking a few steps forward before pausing again. She turned back, blinked once, and asked with a cool, composed tone: "Captain, is there anything else?" "No," Dune answered firmly. Lo Yao gave a barely perceptible nod and stepped forward first toward the main door. Meanwhile, the "corpse bearer" Fley, with an air of cold, shadowed demeanor, continued at his steady, unhurried pace. At that moment, Dunning spoke again: "Remember to tell Rosan and Mrs. Oliviana that they can come down now." "Certainly," Fley replied calmly, with almost no emotional variation. Watching the two night-watchers step out the door and climb up to the third floor, Kline quietly exhaled, then followed the队长 and El into the underground, proceeding straight ahead until they reached the open Charnes doors. "You go to the armory," Dunning instructed Kline as he gestured to the remaining "Night-Watchman," Coen Li, to open the Charnes doors, "and find Old Neil. We need his ritual magic for treatment." As the effects of the potion began to fade, his spirit gradually weakened. "Understood," Kline said without waiting for the队长 to add anything, "I'll take over watch of the armory in place of Old Neil, and I'll also request at least twenty magic bullets for hunting, pending approval from the Hall. I'll hold off on my curiosity about the Antigonus family's notes." "..." Duan found himself at a loss for words. "Captain, is there nothing else?" asked Kline, smiling after completing his response. Duan shook his head, still unable to speak. He took out his staff, turned around, and walked a few paces before turning toward the weapons store, where he briefly recounted the events to the elderly Neil, who was sipping water. "It's become a wild, uncontrollable monster... and you've even defeated a非凡 one?" Neil quickly arranged his table. "It's as if I'm listening to a dramatic script." Muttering under his breath, he moved past the table, heading straight for the corridor, without waiting for Kline's reply. Kline, however, asked with genuine curiosity: "Mr. Neil, doesn't the Church have any truly effective healing potions? It seems they still need the aid of ritual magic." "Standard potions made from ordinary materials cannot sustain the healing effects generated by rituals over the long term. While there are rare materials of extraordinary quality, they are scarce, and most of them are not well-suited for this kind of treatment." "Old Neil just offered a casual explanation," said Neil. "You should know about 'The Goddess's Gaze,' right? When this potion is first crafted through the ritual, it's a standard, genuine healing potion. But every minute after that, its effectiveness gradually evaporates—until only a trace remains." "Ah, I see," said Caine, slightly disappointed. As a former 'keyboard adventurer'—in other words, a dedicated gamer—seeking healing potions was simply a matter of habit. Watching Old Neil depart, Caine sat down, feeling a sense of calm that was both familiar and deeply refreshing. Within that calm, he recalled the gruesome scene of the tuxedo clown's final moments, remembered his cold, precise shots, and the terrible wounds that spilled blood steadily. Caine's body began to tremble, and a growing sense of discomfort settled in. He rose, then sat again, slowly repeating this motion, while also pacing back and forth. "Ah…" He exhaled, deciding to do something to occupy himself and avoid constantly reliving those unpleasant images. Caine removed his hat, took off his formal attire, and pulled out a handkerchief and a brush, carefully wiping the dirt and dust from his clothes. After an indeterminate length of time, he heard the familiar footsteps of the old Neil—those distinct sounds made by the heels striking the floor first. Ding, ding, ding. He walked slowly down the empty corridor, and suddenly noticed a room beside him that he had never seen before. "There's a hidden door here," Klein said, stopping near the corner and gazing toward the room. He observed that Frey had returned and was now carefully examining a corpse that had been completely stripped bare. Body? Klein's mind stirred, and with courage, he approached the room and lightly tapped the open door three times. Ding, ding, ding. Frey paused, turned around, and looked at him with calm, blue, and cold eyes. "Sorry to interrupt you," Klein said, carefully choosing his words, "I just wanted to know if this is indeed the corpse of the extraordinary one?" "Yes," Frey said, his thin lips opening and closing, yet only forming a single word. Klein's gaze shifted past him to the corpse, and there, on the forehead, he indeed spotted the familiar, severe wound. It was the tuxedo clown... Caine exhaled softly and asked, "Any discoveries?" "None," replied Fley simply. The atmosphere grew awkward. As Caine was about to leave, Fley unexpectedly spoke up, "If you're feeling uncomfortable, come in—then you'll find it's just a corpse." Did he think I might have psychological barriers? Caine nodded thoughtfully. "Alright." He entered the room and approached the long table covered in white cloth, gazing at the body. The red, yellow, and white paint that had adorned the tuxedo clown's face had been completely removed, revealing a plain, unremarkable face—dark hair, high nose bridge, in her thirties. At that moment, Fley walked to the square table by the wall, picked up a pencil and a sheet of white paper. He returned to the corpse's side, laid the paper down, and began sketching with the pencil. Caine glanced curiously and noticed that Fley was taking a detailed drawing of the tuxedo clown's head. Not long after, Frey set down his pencil, and a vivid portrait emerged on the white paper—only lacking wounds, and merely distinguished by its blue eyes compared to the corpse. What talent! Klein marvelled, "I didn't expect your sketches to be this good." "Before I became a Watcher, my dream was to be a painter," Frey said, his tone steady and unvarying. "Then why didn't you pursue that dream?" Klein asked, puzzled. Frey placed his pencil down and held up the portrait of the tailor-clown. "My father is a priest of the Goddess, and he hoped I would follow in his footsteps and become a priest—a respectable profession." "You actually became a priest?" Klein asked, astonished. It was hard for him to imagine someone of Frey's temperament and demeanor becoming a priest. "Yes, I've done rather well at it." Frey responded coldly, with a slight upward curve at the corner of his mouth, "Later, after encountering several events, I became a Watcher." Klein didn't press to learn more about others' private lives; instead, he asked, "You once served as a priest to the Goddess—why didn't you choose the 'Never-Sleepers'?" "Personal reasons," Frey replied openly, "And Lady Daili is an excellent example." Klein nodded, about to shift the conversation, when Frey said, "You'll stay here with me—I must immediately deliver the portrait to the Captain... closing the inner door is quite troublesome." "Of course," Klein agreed, though he was somewhat afraid of being alone with the corpse, and managed to suppress his hesitation. As Frey left, the room grew quiet, the body lying there, its weight pressing heavily upon Klein's heart. He took a deep breath and, determined to overcome his own hesitation, stepped closer to the long table. The clown in the tailcoat lay still, pale as a sheet, eyes closed, breath gone—his wounds were stark, and he exuded the peculiar cold of the dead. Cain gazed at him for a while, his emotions settling, growing steadily calm. As his gaze swept over, he noticed an odd mark on the clown’s wrist, and with a boldness that surprised him, reached out to touch it, trying to turn the figure over to see it more clearly. The cold sensation just began to reach Cain’s mind from his fingertips, when suddenly the pale, lifeless palm shot upward, seizing his wrist firmly. Seizing his wrist firmly!