A firm nose, sparse eyebrows, slightly drooping cheeks, pale blue eyes… Qilingues studied his reflection in the mirror, scrutinizing himself from head to toe, confirming that he bore no distinction from the unconscious man. After mimicking the man’s several habitual gestures, he bent down, pulled the man from the floor, and placed him inside the wardrobe. Then, he extended his right hand and with a crisp snap, broke the man’s neck. He wiped his palms on a handkerchief, closed the wardrobe door, and slowly returned to the dressing mirror. He donned a black double-breasted suit, tied his bow tie, and then picked up a bottle of amber-scented perfume, applying a few drops to his wrists before gently spreading the fragrance over various parts of his body. After brushing his hair in front of the mirror, Qilingues stepped out of the room, closed the door casually, and addressed the butler waiting outside: “Do not let anyone enter my room—there are important items inside.” “Yes, Lord Qilingues.” "The steward, his hair灰white, pressed a hand to his chest and bowed respectfully, 'Your carriage and the accompanying servants are waiting downstairs, my lord. Lord Niggen's invitation is also there.' Count Zilinger maintained his baronial bearing, giving a barely perceptible nod, and, with the steward at his side, walked with an air of deliberate superiority toward the staircase. Hmph. A baron burdened with substantial debts, one who couldn't afford even ordinary security staff—yet maintaining a staff of a steward, a personal valet, two attendants, two first-class maids, four second-class maids, two laundry maids, a coachman, a stable hand, a gardener, and a head chef along with a chef's assistant. To these rather dull nobles, dignity truly surpasses all else. It's no wonder I spend so much time learning their peculiar pronunciations and their so-called noble accent. Zilinger thought to himself, coldly and with disdain. ... ... Beckland, in the Joewood district, within a modest apartment." Hugh Dillchar sat cross-legged on the bed, gazing at Forse Waldo reading her novel by the window light. "It's utterly despairing," she said. "Zilinger leaves not a single clue—no matter how hard we look, we can't figure out what he really intended to do in Beckettland." As planned, they reported the incident to the police and discreetly sent detailed letters to the precincts, describing the eerie circumstances of the murder scene and the suspect they believed to be Zilinger. The police response was exactly as expected—cautious and deliberate, and they promptly transferred the case to the "Enforcers" team. Within a day, the news of Zilinger's infiltration of Beckettland spread throughout all the "task forces." Hugh and Forse left their rented homes, went into hiding, and began their covert investigation. They certainly didn’t want to be pulled back to the police station to assist with an investigation—whether they were "substitutes," "night-watchers," or members of the "Heart of Mechanism" team, all of them viewed non-official extraordinary individuals as potential offenders. Thus, both Hux and Folsom were not only evading possible pursuit from Zilinger but also avoiding the "enforcers" themselves. "If it were that easy to track down Zilinger's intentions," Folsom replied calmly, "he would have been buried long ago in the cemetery, with wild grasses already flourishing around his grave. What we need is patience. As long as this level of scrutiny continues, Zilinger is bound to make a mistake. Honestly, the magical items that can transform someone into a completely different appearance are truly impressive." Hux folded his hands around his knees and looked out the window. "All I'm worried about is that Zilinger will act swiftly and escape Beckland before anyone else has a chance to react." "Then I'm not sure when I'll ever reach Sequence 8, let alone Sequence 6 or Sequence 5..." She paused, gazing off into space with a quiet, thoughtful murmur. "And even more uncertain about when I'll be able to reclaim what belongs to our family... I haven't seen my brother in nearly a year..." Folsen offered a reassuring smile. "When you've achieved your goals, please allow me to write down your journey—I'm certain it will be incredibly compelling and fascinating." "Hmm, actually, I believe that even if things end here, with Odile's generosity, she'll surely offer us a generous settlement. After all, we've worked so hard, and we've managed to bring Zilinger out of the shadows on our own." "I hope so... Oh, why can't I have a stroke of luck, like everyone else?" Hux randomly ran a hand through his shoulder-length golden hair. Forsyth furrowed his brow. "In the transcendent world, adventures often come with danger. To this day, I still don't understand what the murmurs that appear at full moon truly signify—whether they portend any ill changes. Indeed, there are adventures without danger, but they are exceedingly rare. Your wish truly seems difficult to fulfill, unless we secure the favor of the orthodox deities or the watchful gaze of some benevolent hidden presence. Yet, we find it hard to tell whether these might not be mere disguises of demons or malevolent gods." Hux drew himself up and, with a red moon drawn across his chest, declared, "May the goddess protect me!" ... In the ducal residence of Niggen, located in the royal quarter of Bekland, a grand ball was underway. This area is divided into two sections. One is the ballroom, located on the ground floor, paved with elaborate stone flooring adorned with intricate patterns. In the corners stands the distinguished band belonging to the duke. Ascending the stairs along the ballroom leads to the second floor, where a circular gallery wraps around the space. Guests hold wine glasses and stand at the railing, gazing down upon the dancers below—much like spectators watching a fencing match—occasionally a gentleman approaches a lady or a lady of the house to invite her to dance. If accepted, they take each other's hands and walk down the stairs into the ballroom. On the opposite side of the gallery, away from the ballroom, there are several doors leading to guest lounges. However, behind the large double doors lies a corridor flanked by different marble statues, all representing ancestors of the Negan family. As you proceed all the way to the end, you'll come upon another section of the ballroom—a grand hall with long tables laden with an array of delicious food and fine wines. A separate band belonging to the duke plays soothing, relaxed melodies for the guests. In this hall, guests gather in small groups, either sitting or standing, engaging in lively conversations. Those seeking a brief respite from the bustle move into the balconies attached to the hall, gazing out at the garden and the crimson moon above. Audrey Hall, who had initially stood on the second floor of the main ballroom, gazing blankly at the magnificent crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and at the candles strung along them, noticed that many guests were now eager to approach and invite her to dance. With a touch of tact, she decided to leave her spot and walk down the corridor leading to the dining hall. It was rather dull, yet she couldn't avoid joining in. Oh, couldn't they just let her remain quietly observing? It's no exaggeration to say that some people's expressions while dancing are truly rich—always reminding me of the animals in courtship. Audrey looked down at her toes, idly walking in a straight line. Just then, she caught a glimpse of a figure approaching in her peripheral vision, so she slowed her pace, straightened her posture, and instantly transformed back into the graceful and composed Miss Hall. "Good day, Baron Gralmer," Audrey greeted with a perfect smile and polished etiquette. Baron Gralmer, with sparse eyebrows and pale blue eyes, smiled and bowed in return. "Good day, Miss Hall. You are the most brilliant and radiant gem of this evening." After a few polite exchanges, Baron Gralmer moved toward the ballroom, while Audrey continued toward the area near the dining room. After walking a few steps, she suddenly furrowed her brows, her emerald eyes filled with curiosity. "Lord Gralmer seems different from usual." "In the past, whenever he saw a lady or a lady of higher status and greater beauty, his gaze would shift to the side, hesitating to meet her eyes, and he would constantly glance over at her. But today, he appears confident." "Moreover, his scent is off. In previous gatherings, he always carried the woody, warm finish of the 'Amber' fragrance—subtle, rich, and refined, never flashy yet noble. He would spray it several hours in advance so that the top and middle notes would have fully diffused by the time of the event. Yet now, the scent on him is the middle note of 'Amber'—dense, rich, and elegant." Audrey's steps grew slower and slower. As a fully assimilated 'spectator' who had completely absorbed the magic potion, her keen attention to detail surpassed that of any other extraordinary being. Suddenly, she had a possibility: her emerald, luminous eyes froze. "Could it be that Qilingst is merely pretending?" "The 'Craving That Moves' has the power to transform people into entirely different appearances!" ... The more Audrey thought about it, the more likely it seemed. Her heart leaped suddenly, filled with both anxiety and agitation. "If indeed he is the 'Wind-Bringer,' what does he intend to do? Unfortunately, she can't bring Suzy to the ball—otherwise, she could have the 'Craving That Moves' observe the just-arrived Baron Glarmir. No, she must remind her father!" As her thoughts raced, Audrey quickened her pace and entered the dining room, where the Earl was engaged in conversation with the Chief Secretary and others. She composed a flawless smile and approached, taking the Earl's arm, and said to the others: "Ladies and gentlemen, may I borrow the Earl for a few minutes?" "A beautiful lady, that is your right," the gentlemen all kindly replied. Audrey led the Earl to the nearest balcony, finding a quiet corner and said to her middle-aged, slightly overweight father, "Father, I have something to tell you." The Earl had originally been smiling with affection, but upon seeing his daughter's serious expression, he grew serious as well. "What is it?" "I just met Baron Glarmir, but he's different in certain details—such as the scent of his perfume, which now belongs to the middle note of 'amber,' whereas previously it was the dry-down, the final note—such as..." Audrey listed the observations she had made, qualities that could be explained by keen observation and attention to detail. After describing what had happened, she paused and added thoughtfully, "I heard from Viscount Glayntrit that Viscount Zilings, known as the 'Storm Commander,' has the ability to change his appearance—hasn't he just been in Beckland recently?" The Earl listened quietly, his expression growing increasingly serious. But he soon smiled, calming his slightly anxious daughter: "I'll handle this. Go find your mother and spend some time with her. She's in the lounge room at the end of this hall." "Yes," Audrey nodded politely. On her way to the lounge room, she glanced back at her father and saw Lord Holborne engaged in a quiet conversation with a nobleman, his expression quite serious. Audrey's heart once again began to race, as she felt she must do something to prevent harm befalling her parents and brother. Surveying the room, she changed direction, left the dining area, and entered a corridor, familiarly locating the small chapel of the Duke of Nigan. She pushed the door open and locked it behind her, gazing at the symbol of the Storm Sovereign before her, and instinctively settled into a quiet, shadowed corner. Audrey sat down, leaning forward, her hands clasped together in a prayer position resting gently on her forehead. Then she softly chanted in Hermes' language: "O fool of a time unbelonging, you are the mysterious sovereign above the grey mist, you are the King of Good Fortune, of yellow and black.