"Prayer?" Cain stirred mentally, following the same method he had used last time to glimpse the "Emperor of the Pendulum," allowing his spiritual essence to spread and reach out toward that deep red mass. Before him, a hazy and distorted image immediately emerged—only vaguely visible—showing a young boy with brown-yellow hair kneeling before a pure crystal sphere. The boy's black tailored garments stood in stark contrast to the current fashion trends in the Kingdom of Run, and also differed significantly from the traditional attire of foreign nations such as the Fasak Empire and the Intis Republic that Cain had seen in magazines. The surroundings were dim, with old furniture occasionally illuminated by sudden bursts of light, yet Cain heard neither thunder nor the sound of rain falling. In the scene, the boy held his hands together, pressing them against his forehead, bowing forward, continuously praying—his deep, resonant voice echoing softly in Cain's ears. Klein listened intently, only to discover an embarrassing fact: he didn't understand a word his interlocutor was saying— it was a language he had never encountered before! ……As the enigmatic sovereign above the gray mist, I should surely understand foreign languages—yet I don't... Klein chuckled to himself, and with growing determination, listened more carefully than he had during his very first English listening exam. As he continued to listen, he gradually noticed a subtle issue: although the language didn't belong to any of the ones he had studied, it bore a striking resemblance to ancient Fussak, with clear parallels. "Father... mother... these words should mean something like that, right?" Similar to, yet with certain differences... Kline furrowed his brow, deep in thought. "Gufusak is the common language of the Pleistocene humans, the origin of all contemporary languages, and it itself is continuously evolving. Right now, I simply can't be certain... " He listened again and again, eliminating modern languages such as Runen, Fusaak, and Intis based on grammatical structure and other features. "Is it a variant of Old Gufusak, like the script written in the Antigonos family's notes?" Klein tapped the edge of the bronze long table with his fingers, barely nodding, "There's another possibility—the ancient Frossak didn't arise out of nowhere. It evolved from the language of the Giants... The northern Frossak Empire has always claimed that its people carry the bloodline of the Giants. This might be an ancient form of the Giant language." At this point, Klein, lacking sufficient knowledge, paused, drawing back his spiritual awareness, no longer gazing nor listening. He didn't intend to immediately pull the young boy who had been pleading into the gray mist; instead, he wanted to first understand what the boy was saying. Of course, before that, he would keep observing, conducting basic assessments. Exhaling slowly, Klein leaned back against the grand gray mist temple. He enveloped himself in spiritual awareness, simulating the sensation of descending. After reviewing Roser's journal, Klein changed into his formal attire and stepped out toward the divination club. He doubled his salary yet still chose to ride the public carriage, merely luxuriously catering to Mrs. Winty's preferences, spending 1.5 pence on a cup of sweet iced tea to cool off from the afternoon heat. Upon reaching the Hauls district, Klein tossed his paper cup into the trash and walked step by step up to the second floor. Before entering, he gently pressed his brows, activating his spiritual vision in advance. As soon as he stepped into the reception hall, Klein immediately sensed a quiet sadness permeating the atmosphere. The attractive receptionist, Angelaika, sat there, her gaze distant, her eyes slightly glistening with tears. "Sadness will pass," Klein said gently and steadily as he approached her. Angelaika suddenly lifted her head, speaking in a somewhat bewildered whisper: "Mr. Moretti..." She soon regained her composure, expressing surprise: "You—you know what's happened to Mr. Fonsent?" "Ah, yes, I forgot you're an excellent fortune-teller." "Klein sighed, adding, "I can only discern a vague situation—what exactly happened to Mr. Van Caster?" "Mr. Van Caster passed away suddenly from a cardiac issue while asleep, in a peaceful manner," Angela said, her voice growing slightly choked. "He was a kind, courteous, genuine gentleman. He served as a spiritual mentor to many members. He was so young still..." "I'm truly sorry this has added to your sorrow," Klein replied, offering no further comfort, and then walked steadily toward the conference room. Angela wiped her eyes and nose with a handkerchief, then looked toward Klein's back, raising her voice. "Mr. Moretti, would you like something to drink?" "Tea," Klein replied. While he preferred it over coffee, he found it hardly different from the latter. By comparison, he preferred ginger beer and sweet iced tea, though, as a gentleman, he shouldn't behave like a child in formal settings. Due to the Monday schedule, only five or six members were present in the conference room, and in Klein's spiritual vision, their emotional hues varied—some genuinely sad, slightly dimmed, others barely affected at all. "All quite normal—typical reactions," Klein nodded slightly, holding his cane and settling into a convenient spot. As he reached for the spiritual vision to close it, he suddenly noticed Angela entering and walking toward him. "Mr. Moretti, there's a customer looking for you, yes, the one from last time," the lady said in a hushed tone. "Do you still remember him?" Klein asked, smiling. Well, I wonder if that gentleman has managed to secure the magical potion as I suggested—whether he still needs surgery. Angela bit her lip. "Only he has agreed to wait for an afternoon at the club for a reading." Hearing Bogda's ecstatic account, Caine calmly confirmed one thing: the apothecary from Rosen's folk pharmacy was truly extraordinary! He had personally witnessed the severity of the gentleman's liver ailment, and the fact that he recovered within just a few days surpassed the scope of herbal remedies and conventional medical skill—only the extraordinary could explain that. Combined with the matter of Glascis, the conclusion was now clear. "I must offer my repentance," Bogda held Caine's hand tightly, speaking continuously of his humility and gratitude, "for I doubted you, doubted that remarkable apothecary. Indeed, those ten pounds were well spent—they have saved my life!" What? Ten pounds? You spent ten pounds on the miraculous medicine, yet I only paid you eight pence for my divination service—eight pence—eight pence—eight pence—pence—Caine nearly stood still in astonishment. At that moment, Boghada loosened his hands, smiled warmly, and stepped back with a respectful bow. "Today, I have come to express my gratitude. Thank you, Master Moretti, for having shown me the way and saving my life." "This is the outcome you paid for," said Caine, lifting his head slightly and gazing thoughtfully at the junction between the walls and the ceiling, his response full of the classic seer's tone. "You are truly a master of divination," praised Boghada. "I will go to Vlad Street to thank the apothecary there and purchase the remedy he recommended." "You're not already recovered?" Caine skillfully concealed his astonishment. Boghada glanced around, noticing that the elegant receptionist had not paid attention to their exchange, and chuckled softly. "It's a herbal concoction enriched with mummy powder—can be prepared into a remedy that pleases both men and women. I didn't believe the apothecary before, but now I have no doubt at all." "...Is there actually a remedy like this? For a moment, Kline felt as though the apothecary were a fraud, questioning whether he had perhaps pushed the gentleman across the way into the bed. He studied Bogaeda carefully, confirming that there was no issue with the atmosphere's hue. "Mummy powder?" Kline cautiously asked, testing the word. "Yes, mummy powder. I consulted a friend of mine, who told me that the nobility in Bekland have been desperately pursuing this very substance. This powder, made from grinding mummies, enhances a man's performance on the bed—though it may be rather unpleasant and sound quite unclean, it is truly a noble material," Bogaeda explained, his eyes filled with urgency. "Yes, it's extremely effective—I highly recommend you go to Rosen's Folk Herb Pharmacy on Vlad Street. Mr. Rosen's proprietary formula is truly outstanding!" Gracis removed his single pair of glasses, leaned in with genuine interest, and whispered warmly, "My experience has been absolutely, perfectly, wonderfully perfect." "Do you know? I'm actually heading to Mr. Rosen's Folk Herb Pharmacy right now." Bogdan felt completely at ease. After a few more pleasantries, he hurried off to the fortune-telling club. Meanwhile, Caine remained somewhat dazed. By 5:20 p.m., he donned a half-high silk hat, secured his silver-embossed black cane, and took the car directly to Vlad Street, intending to first observe the pharmacist named Rosen Dacwid before deciding whether to report to the captain. ... No. 18, Vlad Street. Caine stood outside the herb pharmacy and noticed the door was closed, with a notice posted announcing the transfer. "...Quite vigilant," he murmured silently. Thus, he would no longer need to hesitate or observe.