The wind coming from beneath carried a chilling coolness, and amidst his tightened focus, Klein began to feel a few moments of relief. Finally—it had arrived. As long as he passed this trial, he wouldn't have to worry about similar incidents for at least the next six months. Once promoted to Level 8 in the hierarchy, becoming the so-called "Jester," he would gain genuine practical capabilities, bolstered by divination support and the safety net of the "Yang-Yan Seal." Even in the face of significant danger, he would have a solid chance of weathering the storm. To await the Hall's evaluation, he had even kept the £300 deposited in the anonymous account of Miss Justice untouched, fearing that any audit might reveal financial irregularities and label him guilty of unexplained wealth. Klein was stunned into silence. The thirteen archbishops and nine senior stewards were, by ordinary standards, the highest echelons of the Church—reports even spoke of several powerful figures among them! These twenty-two gentlemen and ladies held equal status, adhering solely to the divine mandates of the Night Goddess and being answerable only to the Pope. Duan inhaled the cool underground air and nodded gently, saying, "Yes, a senior steward. But don't worry, Cresta holds only sequence 5—still far from reaching the 'half-god, half-man' level, so you needn't be overly afraid or intimidated." "Indeed, throughout the transcendent world, he is known as 'The Sword of the Goddess,' having earned recognition from a sacred relic, and his combat prowess is no weaker than that of a newly promoted sequence 4." "I've already spoken with him; he is quite amiable." The unspoken message from the captain was that he had said only what needed to be said, nothing more, nothing less—giving me the confidence to relax and follow the planned course of action. "Where should I go to meet this senior steward?" Klein thoughtfully nodded and asked. "The Alchemy Lab where potions are prepared," Duan replied simply and directly, his face briefly clouding with a touch of sadness. The Alchemy Lab where potions are prepared—wasn't that the very lab where Neil used to prepare the "Seer" potion? Klein exhaled slowly, then returned to the Night Watchers' lounge and retrieved his coat from the coat rack. He donned his black lightweight overcoat, inserted his hands into his pockets, and descended step by step along the winding staircase, turning left at the intersection. Soon, Klein spotted elegant gas lamps illuminating rows of dark doors, with long tables being moved aside to clear the central area. There, two classic high-back chairs stood facing each other, just under a meter apart. A man in his thirties, wearing a black coat and a white shirt, sat facing the door. His golden-brown hair was cut short, and his墨green eyes seemed like a lake under a moonless night. The collar of his shirt and coat were raised high, casting his entire chin into shadow. "Good evening, Miss Cressida," said Caine, bowing slightly. Cressida Cressida rested her right leg over her left, leaning back comfortably in her chair with a gentle smile. "Good evening, Caine. You may sit there," he said, pointing to the high-backed chair across from him. At his feet stood a silver-white metal suitcase, roughly the size and shape of a violin case. It could hold a moderately long sword. Caine stepped forward and took his seat. Cressida curled her right index finger against her nostrils and paused for several seconds. "I'd like to first assess your proficiency in potion-making. Is that all right?" "Certainly." Klein shook his head with confidence. "Very confident," Crête smiled, then maintained his previous posture, quietly gazing at the other side. Suddenly, Klein felt the glow of the gas lamps around him fade, swallowed by a thick darkness. He felt instantly exhausted, as though he had reached the biological clock's designated sleep time. Yet his mind remained highly alert and tense, just as he had experienced before when overly fatigued and unable to fall asleep peacefully. The quiet of "night" enveloped the room. Klein heard the steady drip of the slightly loose faucet, the voices of people inside Blackthorn Security, and the sound of wind passing through the stairwell. Aside from these, he saw nothing out of place and heard nothing unusual. "Excellent," Crête's warm voice dispelled the darkness, restoring the gas light glow both inside and outside the alchemy room to Klein's vision. Klein suddenly broke free from the deep fatigue, regaining the vibrant spirit he had just moments before. He hadn't realized it had already affected me... This is what Sequence 5 is all about? This is the terror of an Advanced Steward? He recalled the incident with a touch of lingering apprehension. Then he focused intently on the ticking of the second hand. Three minutes later, Crête clicked his watch shut with a satisfied smile and said, "I've begun to sing." Singing? Caine looked puzzled. Before he could speak, Crête began to hum a gentle melody. The melody echoed throughout the alchemical room, gradually losing its harmony and falling out of tune. Click! Yawn! Sharp crack! Caine seemed to hear the sound of fingernails scraping across a blackboard, the rustling of plastic foam, the steady drilling of a power drill, and a host of other noises that drove him mad. These sounds grew in number and in chaos, stirring within him a growing impatience and a strong desire to vent or destroy. Yet, having frequently endured wild monologues and terrifying shrieks, Caine quickly restrained these impulses. He also appropriately displayed a touch of restlessness, tension, agitation, and unease. Too perfect a state can actually be a problem! At some point, Cresta Cecima stopped singing, and with her silence, the noise within the alchemy chamber faded, the quiet and stillness of the underground once again flowing in. How peaceful this silence is! thought Caine sincerely. "Excellent, truly excellent. Your body, mind, and spirit are free of any concerns. Of course, if you'd like to give me a good scolding or simply shut me up, that would be entirely normal." Cresta's lips were concealed by the high collar of her dress, so one could only gauge her mood from the tone of her voice. "No, I'm not brave enough," Caine admitted honestly. Cresta chuckled. "Congratulations—you've passed all the tests. Now comes the interview phase." Her deep green eyes suddenly deepened, gazing intently as if they could penetrate the flesh and glimpse the soul. "Then, please, ask your questions," Caine said, straightening his posture. Kreestae remained in the same posture, casually inquiring, "Was it your experience with the Divination Club that enabled you to quickly master potion-making?" "Yes," said Caine with quiet assurance, offering no further elaboration. Kreestae nodded slightly, "Did you draw inspiration from the motto of the 'Seers' and from Dail's case?" "Indeed," Caine affirmed, then shifted tone and provided a detailed explanation. "I learned from a fellow 'Seer' that among those who adhere strictly to the motto, the likelihood of losing control is significantly below the average. Subsequently, I heard a remark from Ms. Dail, who stated that she aspired to become a true 'Seer,' and that she was a prodigy who had advanced to Level 7 within just two years." "Considering the situation on both sides, I think I can now try to become a true 'seer' and distill the 'Seer's Code'—well, the results have been far better than I expected. I've quickly mastered the potion, and I'm now able to grasp its essence. I'm not sure if you've experienced this, but when you truly master a potion, something special and magical happens...” Cline described his experience, somewhat vaguely and imprecisely outlining the concept of 'performing the role.' In his previous life, speaking so many half-true, half-false statements before such a powerful Watcher would have made him nervous and flushed with excitement. But since arriving in this world, he had told countless lies, and now he was accustomed to such situations, performing them flawlessly. The deep, contemplative expression in Crystalline's emerald eyes faded, and his gaze returned to its natural state. He smiled gently, saying, "Relax, this isn't a illusion." From his reply, Crane didn't detect any suspicion or scrutiny, and a quiet sense of relief settled within him. "Dunn has confirmed your experiences," said Crayste, praising him, "and I believe you truly are a logical mind with sharp intuition—a true genius." Shifting to a follow-up question, Crayste asked, "Have you shared these experiences with your teammates?" "Of course," Crane replied openly. "I hope to help them reduce the likelihood of losing control. We're teammates—companions who face danger together. I can't think of any reason to withhold this information, and precisely for that reason, I haven't told the administrative staff." Crayste lowered his right leg, sat up straighter, and allowed the thinner edges of his lips to emerge from the shadow of his vertical collar. With a slight upward curve of his mouth, he added, "Though you've only been with the Night Watch for just under two months, I believe your understanding of your teammates is stronger than that of many others." "Yes, I'd like to share some experiences with you, but according to the Hall's regulations, you must take an oath before the goddess and promise not to reveal our conversation to anyone who is unaware of these matters." "Is that all right?" Upon considering this, Kline felt a surge of relief and immediately nodded without hesitation: "Absolutely!" Though this means I can no longer directly teach others the 'method of acting,' I can still pass on these insights indirectly through Miss Justice and Mr. The Hangman!