Klein, hidden in the shadow of a house some forty meters away, kept gazing at the target building in the darkness, faintly hearing a gust of strong wind and clearly distinguishing the sharp crack of gunfire. "Should I draw my gun to make a show of it if the enemy retreats toward my position, or should I simply pretend not to see them?" His body trembled slightly, and sweat beaded on his palms as he pondered. A非凡者 who could extend the life of a dying person through various means could not possibly be limited to merely Sequence 9 or Sequence 8—such a being could not be directly confronted by a seer like himself, even at the cost of his own life, and would surely be able to delay the enemy only marginally, offering only a fleeting chance for Dunne and Leonard to catch up. Fortunately, the Night Goddess, who presides over calamities, seemed to have heard the prayers of her "loyal" guardian, and no one had ever fled toward Klein's position. After several minutes, he heard the sound of a song drifting from the target building. Leaned slightly to one ear, listening closely, Caine confirmed it was the folk tune Leonard Mitchell often hums—full of earthy, rustic phrases. Inhale. He exhaled, steadying himself, holding the pistol in one hand and the staff in the other, stepping out of the shadow and moving steadily toward the target building. This very folk tune was the signal he and Dunn had agreed upon for rendezvous! Just two steps in, Caine paused, resting the staff against the adjacent iron railing and switching the revolver to his other hand. Then, he unfastened the silver chain from his sleeve, allowing the yellow crystal pendant to hang naturally. After exchanging the revolver and the pendulum, Caine waited until the crystal settled into a steady, smooth sway. He then half-closed his eyes, entering a meditative state, and silently recited the divination phrases: "The song I just heard was a illusion." "The song I just heard was a illusion." ... Repeating this seven times, he opened his eyes to find the pendant rotating counterclockwise. "It's not just a illusion..." Klein settled his heart back in place, tucked the pendulum securely, raised his staff, and swiftly approached the arched iron gate of the target building. He handed the silver-embossed black staff to his right hand, holding it alongside his left revolver. As he reached out to touch the railing, attempting to push it open, a sharp, bone-chilling cold surged through him—like someone had suddenly stuffed an entire block of ice down his throat. *Ahh!* Klein jerked his hand back, teeth clenched. "It's just like winter here..." leaning on the faint starlight and distant streetlights, he gazed toward the garden beyond the iron gate, where vines had withered, flowers had faded, and numerous leaves, coated in white frost, lay scattered on the dark-brown soil. Impressed, Klein silently murmured to himself, tapping his brow twice with his fingers, then activated his clairvoyance. With his left hand, he retrieved the silver-embossed black staff, used it to press against the railing, and pushed open the slightly ajar gate with strength. With a creaking sound, he stepped aside and onto the stone path leading directly to the gray-blue building, the plants along the sides shimmering faintly in the night, as if ghostly spirits. This scene instantly reminded克莱恩of countless ghost stories and supernatural films. He unconsciously slowed his breathing and quickened his pace, only for his left shoulder to be gently tapped moments later. Thump! Thump! His heart first stalled, then surged with a strong beat. He raised his right hand, aimed the revolver toward that direction, and then slowly turned to look. In the dim light, he saw a branch swaying unsteadily, nearly falling. "Self-induced fright?"克莱恩snorted, waving his staff and knocking the branch aside. He continued walking, and gradually, soft cries and mournful sounds began to drift into his ears, while translucent, blurred, nearly invisible "ghost shadows" started to appear in his vision. These shadows sensed the warmth of living bodies and the vitality of flesh, and began to gather around. Cain was startled and immediately started running, sprinting toward the main door of the gray-blue house. That's what the captain meant by "feeling the atmosphere"? Indeed, it was far more terrifying than when he'd assisted Sir Deville... the resentment was clearly more dynamic than mere "shadows," showing less rigidity and no active aggression. As he thought this, he walked toward the altar in the center of the living room—a circular table laden with crude wooden figures, and three candles now extinguished. Dunne Smith stood before the altar, facing away from Cain, carefully picking up each figure one by one to examine them. Meanwhile, the "Bierbearer" Fley quietly watched the drifting shadows, reaching out to soothe them, only to find himself passing through them without effect. The shadows, in turn, did not attack him, as though they regarded him as one of their own. Leonard Mitchell heard Kline arrive, and his tone changed, his voice deep and resonant: "This is a quiet morning," "just right for a more quiet sorrow." "One can only hear the soft fall of chestnuts" "through the fading autumn leaves." (Note 1)... Within this gentle, soothing poetic cadence, Kline seemed to see a lake shimmering with rippling moonlight, a red moon suspended calmly in the sky. The "shadows" had now settled, no longer chasing the warmth of living breath and flesh. Dunne set down the puppet, turned to Kline, and said: "This is a dreadful curse ritual—luckily, we've broken it." "You first established the ritual to calm the lingering spirits, then attempted to commune with them, seeking clues from them." Kline, now no longer a burden, straightened up and said with determination: "Yes, Captain." He took just a few steps to reach the altar and reached out, sweeping the puppets off the round table. At the same time, he caught a glimpse with his peripheral vision—each puppet bore a different name and corresponding information. "Captain, do you recognize anyone?" Kline casually asked. After saying it, he glanced at Dunn, who then looked back at him. Both remained silent. How foolish of me... How could I have asked a question testing the captain's memory! Kline nearly sighed and covered his face. With any other leader, he'd surely be given a chance to make life difficult for me later. Well, well—thank goodness, the captain would forget this entirely. I wonder if that's a strength or a weakness. He thought it with a mix of relief and light amusement. After a quiet moment, Dunn seemed to finally distinguish between reality and dream, and spoke: "One person you know." "Who?" Kline paused, mid-action of rearranging the candles. "Joyce Mayer, one of the survivors of the 'Cloverleaf Incident.'" "Dunne replied succinctly. Joyce Mayer? Anna's fiancé... in an instant, Kline linked together the notion that Solis, of the workhouse, had been subtly influenced and manipulated—perhaps even orchestrated—into acting prematurely, attempting to set the building on fire. He withdrew his right hand and said firmly, 'The instigator, Tris?' 'He uses the shortened lives of the dying as offerings, seeking to curse all the survivors of the "Clover Ship" tragedy—because he didn't know who had first noticed and reported the matter to the police...' If Tris had chosen to strike directly and retaliate, it would have been difficult to eliminate all his scattered targets in a single wave. At most, after just a few cases, he would have been detected by the night watchmen, the substitute penitents, and the Mechanical Heart—thus losing his ability to continue his crimes... Kline almost visualized the very reasoning behind Tris's strategic choice. Dunne nodded, then shook his head: "It's not just all the survivors—every single survivor of Tinggen City. His curse ritual can only affect people within this specific radius." "Also, the ritual was performed by a woman, not Tris." Using a silver spoon to create a sealed wall, he began to pray to "the Goddess of Night, Lady of Slumber and Silence," thoroughly calming the "ghosts" within and outside the house. Unfortunately, during the subsequent spirit communication sessions, Caine only saw fleeting glimpses of the lives of these spirits, without gaining any useful clues. Once these "ghosts" had truly found rest in the night, he concluded the ritual, dissolved the spiritual wall, and shook his head toward Dune, Leonard, and Fley, saying: "The ritual's disruption has severely damaged the house, and the lingering images of the former owner have been lost." Dune, unsurprised, pointed toward the staircase: "Then let's go up to the second floor and look around, see what we can find." "Agreed," Caine and the others promptly responded. The three night-watchers ascended the stairs to the second floor and began searching each room in turn. Finally, they found themselves in a bedroom filled with a subtle fragrance, where clothes were scattered haphazardly and several boxes lay open. "Are these cosmetics?" Dunning picked up one box from the dressing table and sniffed it, asking casually. "More accurately, they're skincare products—since the time of Emperor Roscel, they've no longer been referred to collectively as cosmetics," Leonard smiled, correcting him. "Captain, a gentleman must possess at least some basic knowledge of such matters." Kline remained silent, instead turning his gaze to the mirror on the dressing table. The mirror showed clear signs of cracking, with fragments having fallen onto the carpet. "That extraordinary one was rather hurried—didn't manage to leave a complete impression," he said suddenly, his voice low. "Perhaps we could try something." "It's up to you," Dunning replied with confidence. Kline quickly retrieved candles from the first floor and lit them directly in front of the broken mirror. Amid the wavering glow of the candles, he produced additional items, including moon essence, to create a spiritual barrier. Having completed all this, Caine stood before the mirror illuminated by the shimmer of three candles, and recited in Hermes tongue: "I invoke the power of night;" "I invoke the power of secrecy;" "I invoke the favor of the goddess;" "I pray that this mirror may briefly restore itself, and that it may reflect all those who have passed through it over the past month." ... As each incantation was spoken, a strong gust of wind suddenly surged within the spiritual barrier. The fragments of the mirror were lifted and gently repositioned to their original places. The mirror, now streaked with cracks, glowed with a deep, ethereal light, and as Caine passed his hand over it, a figure emerged—yet not the one standing directly before him. She is a young woman with a round face and a gentle, sweet demeanor. Perhaps the mirror has been damaged, or perhaps the disruption of the ritual has similarly affected the second floor, causing her features to blur and her exact appearance to remain somewhat indistinct. Yet even so, Caine still feels an inexplicable familiarity with her. Note 1: Adapted from Tennyson, "In Memoriam," Section XI, "This is a quiet morning," translated by Fei Bai.