The five jointed fingers, pale and cold, clutched克莱恩's wrist with icy pain, instantly making his every hair stand on end. In reflex, he pulled his arm back, desperately trying to retreat. A heavy sensation pressed upon him, as if he were drawing strength from every fiber of his body to pull his own forearm. *Plump!* The pale, naked corpse was pulled askew and tumbled from the long table to the ground. Yet the cold, pale fingers remained firmly gripping克莱恩's wrist. For a moment,克莱恩 lost all capacity for thought, his mind filled only with the repeated images of drawing his pistol. However, because his dominant hand wouldn't release, he dropped his black staff and, despite several attempts, failed to successfully draw out the revolver from beneath his armpit. At that very moment, the eyelids of the corpse suddenly lifted, revealing a pair of blue eyes devoid of focus. His lips moved, murmuring softly: "Hornachis... Hornachis... Hornachis..." After three repetitions,克莱恩, growing increasingly agitated and frantic, felt the fingers gripping his wrist begin to loosen, then slowly drop limp. The little clown in the tailcoat closed his eyes again, as if nothing had happened at all. Were it not for the pale body lying still on the stone floor,克莱恩 might have thought he had been subjected to a spell. He staggered back several steps, feeling spasms of shock and fear gripping multiple parts of his body. Hh... hh...克莱恩 breathed heavily, gradually regaining his faculties, and stared warily at the body on the floor. He removed his revolver, took careful, steady steps out of the room, and only after confirming that the body showed no further movement did he glance at the wrist where he held the gun. There, five deep, dark-red impressions remained—silent witnesses to what had just transpired. Klein had calmed down somewhat, his mind repeatedly echoing one expletive: Christ, what a scare! After taking several deep breaths, he began mentally visualizing the events, quickly regaining his composure. He carefully replayed the sequence of what had just happened in his mind. Although he still didn't understand why the dapper clown had turned into a corpse, he had keenly noticed the key point—the repeated murmuring of "Hornachis"! "Hornachis again," Klein furrowed his brow. "The Antigonid records mention the Kingdom of Night in the Hornachis Mountains. Whenever I've heard voices I shouldn't have during meditation or spiritual vision, the name 'Hornachis' has surfaced. Now, this deceased person, in an eerie way, brings it up once more—perhaps the answers to many of my questions lie within the Hornachis Mountains. Maybe, maybe there's a great danger there—perhaps some malevolent deity is sealed within the mountains, seeking release through such 'allurements.'" Throughout the entire process, Kline had been holding his breath, constantly on edge, ready to snap under the slightest disturbance. The cold contact between the corpses and his own skin had also made him deeply nauseous. Only after he finally completed the task did he remember why he had initially approached the body, and he once again focused his attention on the wrist of the tuxedo clown, on that peculiar imprint. The imprint had detached at some point, condensing into a small cluster of blood, tinged slightly blue. The blood orb, about the size of a thumb, hovered motionless in midair, defying the laws of physics. "What is this?" Kline murmured, hesitating not to touch it again. He had never considered letting go of this strange orb—first, because he didn't know whether it was good or bad, and second, because he believed that Frey, who had carefully examined the body, would have already noticed the imprint on the wrist, and possibly even understood the nature of this odd orb. Yet even if Fley wasn't clear, handing it over to the captain and assigning the entire Night Watch team to explore and investigate—clearly far better than my haphazard attempts—was exactly what I thought. Within the organization, one had to know how to make the most of its strength.克莱恩这样想着。He waited tensely for several minutes, then saw Fley return to the room—dark hair, blue eyes, thin lips. His gaze immediately fell upon the strange blood orb, and he asked the very question that克莱恩 had previously asked himself: " What is this?" "I don't know,"克莱恩 honestly shook his head, openly describing the entire sequence without any concealment. "The seal has detached into a blood orb..." Fley nodded thoughtfully. "It's not uncommon for extraordinary beings' bodies to undergo unusual transformations." He lifted his head and looked at克莱恩. "Go fetch the captain and convey to him the murmurs of the body." "Of course,"克莱恩 had long wanted to leave this place. "You don't need to come with the captain," Fley added. "I'm sure you'll find the scene that's about to unfold rather unpleasant." As he spoke, he picked up a silver surgical knife beside him. Has Lady Loretta's injury not yet healed?" Caine asked in surprise. Dunn rubbed his brow and smiled. "Lady Loretta has three passions: coffee, pastries, and housemaids. She insists that these three things are essential to speed up her recovery." "Housemaids?" Caine asked, puzzled. Did Lady Loretta have any particular preferences? Dunn shook his head in resignation. "She does indeed enjoy housemaids—yes, that's true—and especially those with fuller chests." "...She truly is an odd woman." Caine didn't know what expression to adopt. Dunn didn't hesitate, and strode toward the guardroom. Caine watched his back, quietly waiting for him to turn. In the meantime, Caine noticed from the corner of his eye that Coen Li, the 'Never-Sleeping,' withdrew his watch and opened it. Three, two, one… As soon as Kline had finished counting, Dunn stopped and slightly turned his body, saying, "I've just forgotten one more thing, Kline. Today has been overwhelming for you—after you relax, you'll surely feel tired. You can go back home now and rest well. Tomorrow, tomorrow, submit your application and provide a detailed account of the losses. 'As for the extraordinary being you've defeated, don't worry about it too much. By killing him, you've effectively saved many others.' 'Actually, actually, I'm feeling much better now.' Kline silently exhaled. Dunn nodded slightly, then, as he was about to turn, suddenly lightly tapped his forehead again, saying, "Also, I've handed over the portrait of that extraordinary being to Leonard, asking him to coordinate with the police for the follow-up investigation. I believe that extraordinary being will certainly be riding a carriage in Tinggen, enjoying meals, and will have a place to stay. 'Every footfall leaves a trace,' as the great ruler Roscel said—this phrase truly holds great truth." "Yes," Klein replied blankly. Once the captain had gone, he too left the watchroom and slowly made his way up to the second floor. On the way, he suddenly remembered something, and an unexpected sense of fear crept in: "The court jester claimed that the Conclave has secured the sequence pathway corresponding to the 'Seer'... even if that's an exaggeration, they actually lack high-sequence recipes, though they certainly have plenty of low-sequence ones." "So, they must have quite a few Seers." "Could it be that one of them predicts my role in killing the court jester—perhaps as a form of covert retaliation?" "Against the night watchmen, they're already struggling. How could they possibly handle me, a Seer with no particularly strong offensive capabilities?" Klein paused at the staircase, carefully pondering the issue, only to realize soon that he was overthinking it: "First, the Conclave doesn't even know who the night watchmen are exactly." "Second, even if they knew one or two of them, they certainly wouldn't include me, a clerical staff member." "Third, under these circumstances, unless the person is a 'Seer,' no one would be able to predict who the murderer is." He exhaled in relief, leaving the Black Thorns Security Company and taking a public carriage back to the Narcissus Street. Though he had eaten nothing for lunch, he still felt no appetite. Cain entered his bedroom, first removed his damaged formal suit, took off his half-high silk hat, and then lay down on the bed, trying to fall asleep. His thoughts remained active, and he still felt as though he couldn't fully relax. But instead of replaying the scene of the murder of the tuxedoed clown, he found himself repeatedly reliving the moment he moved the body—the unsettling sensation that haunted him. He had lost some of the initial discomfort of being a first-time killer, but gained a growing sense of nausea, as if simply thinking about it would cause one bump after another to form in his stomach. "This might just be Fley's purpose—hoping I can overcome my psychological barriers by simply facing the corpses... Yet, yet, the old psychological barriers have disappeared, and new ones have emerged..." Klein chuckled to himself, and his spirit settled. He didn't know when he had fallen asleep, but when he awoke, his stomach was making soft, rumbling sounds. "I think I could eat an entire cow!" Klein murmured, noticing the sun setting behind the window, casting a fiery glow across the sky. He changed into his old but comfortable home clothes and hurried down to the first floor. Before he even considered what dinner to prepare, he heard the sound of the door opening. "Melissa..." he thought, a slight upward curve forming at the corner of his mouth. Since starting to take the public carriage, Melissa had begun arriving home earlier. The key turned, the door opened, and Melissa entered with a bag containing books and stationery, stepping in lightly. She glanced toward the kitchen doorway and said, "Klein, you have a letter from your mentor—it was sent by your advisor." Mentor's letter? By the way, I wrote to him asking about the historical background of Honeysuckle Peak... Klein was momentarily taken aback, then remembered.