In the deep underground, where the air was fresh and still, the yellow glow of gas lamps, sheltered by glass, cast a steady, unshakable light over the quiet, serene corridor, untouched and peaceful. Cain sat in the watchroom, casually flipping through the stacks of newspapers, magazines, and books before him, and set aside a portion of his attention to the outside, on guard for anyone approaching the Charnes Gate. His coat and hat hung neatly on the coat rack at the entrance, and his cane rested quietly against the wall, always within easy reach. The rich aroma of coffee drifted out, and Cain took an involuntary sip, gently pressing his temples to combat the heaviness in his head and the weariness in his body. Though during his university days on Earth, he had been a man who typically slept until five in the morning and rose at noon, and had occasionally stayed up late over the past two or three years, still managing to feel refreshed and alert for work—this was all thanks to the sheer enjoyment of the games, the captivating novels, and the engaging films, series, and programs. Yet this world clearly lacks the essentials for staying up late. "Emperor Roscel is no different—he should fully commit to the impression, not just half-ass it. He should dedicate his finite life to an infinite事业, guiding the people of the other realms step by step into the information age!" Klein murmured silently, offering himself comfort, at least he still had newspapers, magazines, and an ever-growing array of novels. He had originally hoped that focused study would overcome his drowsiness, but in practice, this clashed with his duties, as once immersed in his work, he often overlooked the outside happenings, especially the developments at the Charnis Gate. Huff. Klein lifted his coffee cup, carefully blowing on it. He sipped slowly, letting the aroma linger in his mouth and the liquid flow gently down his throat. "Felmor's coffee from the Pas River Valley is quite bitter, but it truly invigorates," Klein remarked, then set the cup down. The Pas Valley lies on the southern continent and is renowned as a premier coffee-growing region, currently contested between the Intis Republic and the Roon Kingdom—each having established colonial administrations on the left and right banks of the river, respectively, and ultimately overthrowing the original Pas Kingdom. Amid a quietly unsettling stillness, Caine casually picked up a magazine, discovering it was *The Lady's Aesthetic*, a publication focused on fashion and styling. "This must have come from Rosan," he murmured with a touch of amusement, flipping through it with genuine interest. Influenced by the remarkable advancements in camera technology over the past十余 years, *The Lady's Aesthetic* not only extensively features illustrations but also adopts the newspaper format, incorporating black-and-white photographs as part of its content. The magazine has notably invited celebrated theater and opera performers to showcase the elegance of clothing and the magic of styling, transforming from a regional newcomer in Beckland into a nationwide mainstream publication within just seven years. "The dress is nice, and so is her appearance..." Klein leisurely flipped through the pages, not concealing his admiration for beauty. A well-developed man in both body and spirit, he had always appreciated attractive women—though he had already set his sights on finding a way home, which was why he had made a conscious effort to maintain distance from them, not wanting to delay their lives or leave emotional debts behind. As for encountering street performers, he held a modest sense of personal hygiene in this regard. Bensen and Melissa were already established connections, irrevocable, and could only be compensated for in the future. Suddenly, Klein felt a weight settle upon him, and couldn't help but sigh. The longer he stayed away from home, the more profound the sense of melancholy became during quiet, late-night moments. In that instant, his interest in beautiful women vanished; he set down the magazine and picked up a novel instead. "Wuthering Heights," he read aloud, mentioning the author, "E. Thorpe." In the quiet night, with the soft, yellow glow of light, a book with a cover reminded him of his childhood days renting books to read. With a touch of nostalgia, he began to read. The novel *The Manor of Storms* tells the story of Archduchess Sissi, standing at 1.65 meters tall and weighing 98 pounds, who becomes a household teacher at the Fluyt Manor. "One pound is roughly equivalent to one jin... is this a version of *Jane Eyre* set in another world?" Klein gently traced the comfortable paper with his fingers, forming some initial guesses about the rest of the narrative. Yet, when he thought it was a romance novel, spectral beings emerged. When he believed it was a supernatural tale, Sissi herself revealed her identity as a detective, delivering a splendid deduction. When Klein thought it had firmly settled into the realm of detective fiction, the male protagonist suffered a severe head injury, lost his memory, and the story unfolded into a deeply moving, emotional arc. "...In the end, it still turns out to be a romance novel." Closing the book, Klein sipped his coffee, his head still aching. Thud! Thud! Th A sharp, resonant pounding suddenly erupted, echoing through the dimly lit, quiet corridor, echoing through the largely deserted underground. Cain started, his spirit instantly tensing. Instinctively, he drew his revolver from the gun pouch at his armpit, adjusted the magazine and trigger, and stepped slowly toward the door, seeking the source of the sound. Thud! Thud! Thud! Crack! Crack! Crack! The impacts grew more intense. Cain turned toward the sound and saw the black iron double doors adorned with seven holy emblems. "Is it coming from behind the Charnes Gate?" he narrowed his eyes, his heartbeat now like a drumbeat. Crack! Crack! Crack! Cain watched the Charnes Gate sway slightly, feeling the immense force it was enduring. "Impossible... I've only just begun my shift here, and already something's happened? Did I inherit a bad luck streak since I crossed over?" Cain's right hand, gripping the gun handle, grew damp with cold sweat. But soon he remembered the captain's instruction: no matter what sounds he heard or what happened, he must not open the Charnes Gate unless it opened from within. Hmm, was this normal? Now that he thought about it, Klein felt much calmer. Thud! Thud! Thud! Clang! Clang! Clang! The activity behind the Charnes Gate grew louder and louder, yet the heavy black iron double doors only swayed, showing no other signs of disturbance. "Really quite normal," Klein murmured, preparing to return to the watchroom. Just then, he heard a sharp, grating sound, and saw the Charnes Gate heaving outward, splitting open a crack! Crack! With a sound so stiff and painful it made his teeth ache, Klein's nearly frozen eyes caught a figure—about the height of an adult man's forearm, dressed in a black, elegant, slightly scaled court gown, with clearly visible stains on the hem. It had a rather plain face, with deep black eyes and a tightly pressed mouth. This was a doll—a toy doll! Almost as soon as Caine instinctively raised his gun, the doll dressed in a black court gown pressed firmly against the open Charnes Gate, unfolding the paper held in its hands. The paper bore numerous hidden symbols—some familiar to Caine, others still unknown to him—coming together to form a vertical eye. Before Caine could process what was happening, the court gown doll was suddenly pulled back behind the Charnes Gate, drawn there by an invisible force! Clang! The Charnes Gate closed once more, silent, without a single knock or impact. Beneath the ground returned to its usual calm and stillness, as if nothing at all had occurred. "The Charnes Gate was opened from the inside—need to report it to the队长... but then it closed again." Only now did Caine regain his composure, startled, afraid, and puzzled. A few seconds later, he remembered what the black court gown doll had been—something he already knew well, as a formal member of the Watchers, he was entitled to know about the Level 3 items sealed behind the Charnes Gate in Tingen City. "Number: 0625." "Name: The Doll of Misfortune." "Hazard Level: Level 3—moderately hazardous; careful handling required, and applications must involve at least three people." "Classification: Confidential—accessible only to formal Watchers and above." "Sealing Method: Simply isolate it from humans." "Description: This doll wears a court gown popular during the early 1300s, with persistent soiling on its hem that cannot be washed away—its origin remains uncertain." "In several tragic cases in Tingenthal arising from family financial crises, police noticed the presence of this stuffed toy, which was always placed on a cabinet beside a child's bed in the bedroom. Several night-shift officers were commissioned to investigate the toy. Initial findings confirmed that it brought misfortune, gradually causing difficulties and crises among those nearby, ultimately leading to their deaths—test subjects reached the brink of bankruptcy within just two weeks. The toy itself lacked any living qualities and showed no tendency to break free from its seal. Through prolonged experimentation, we discovered that if individuals spent no more than thirty minutes each day within a ten-meter radius of the toy, they would remain unaffected by the misfortune. Should someone already burdened by misfortune have the toy transferred to a new owner, their condition would improve." "Appendix: This doll first appeared at the home of Mrs. Tess, a toy maker living on the lower street of the Iron Cross Avenue in the West End. As an elderly woman, she had lost her husband to serious illness, and both of her children had passed away young, forcing her to move to the lower street. This was the very last toy she sold—she exchanged it for a supply of deadly monkshood juice, which ultimately ended both her and her husband's lives after three days of starvation." "That moment just seemed as if there were a psychopath inside, systematically attacking the victims—each one struggling to knock on the door, desperately calling for help, only to be pulled back again..." As thoughts flowed through him, Caine decided against taking initiative. He returned to the control room and pulled a rope. The rope moved, triggering a series of gears, and suddenly, a sharp alarm sounded throughout the Black Thorns Security Company's second-floor office. Those who had been staying awake in the entertainment room, including Leonard Mitchell, immediately set down their cards and rushed down to the basement.