Beneath the Church of Saint Serenella, in the guard room outside the gate of Charnis. Leonard Mitchell leaned back against the chair, his legs raised and resting on the edge of the table, his gaze vacant, unfocused. Even after the healing ritual magic, his complexion remained poor—like a patient just beginning to show signs of improvement after a severe illness, yet still far from recovery. At this moment, the stronger representatives sent by the Church were reconfiguring the seals behind the gate of Charnis, as a disagreement had arisen over the loss of Saint Serenella's ashes. Some advocated for introducing new relics to compensate for the lost power, while others argued that such complexity was unnecessary, given that relics were already rare and precious throughout the entire Church of the Night Goddess. They proposed downgrading the status of the Tinggen Valley Night Watch team, transferring items that possessed living qualities or faced difficulties in sealing to the headquarters at the Church of Tranquility or the Beckland district, and retaining only those that were easier to manage. They intended to send a telegraph requesting the Pope to convene a meeting, to be decided by votes from the archbishops and senior deacons. Leonard felt absolutely no sensation regarding these disputes; he seemed to have become a living corpse—without pain, without sorrow, without excitement or enthusiasm, unusually numb, even unwilling to face others, preferring simply to remain alone in a corner. Occasionally, he would wonder: why had the murderer taken only Clarens' extraordinary qualities, leaving Captain Dunsmuir intact? Ding, ding, ding—the footsteps echoed down the corridor, and Sigar T'ong, with a white bandage wrapped around his right arm, appeared at the door of the guard room. While Dunning and others besieged Meghios, attempting to rescue Tinggen City, she and the internal wardens of Charnis were also battling certain sealings. Had it not been for the timely arrival of the "Substitutes" and the "Mechanical Heart" members, or for the eventual arrival of reinforcements sent by the Hall, she likely would have perished miserably. Yet even under these circumstances, the elderly internal warden could not hold out until the end and fell in battle on his post. "Leonard, I found a telegram in the captain's office that hasn't been decoded yet—it must have come from the Hall earlier," said the part-time writer, Siga Thaon. Leonard's emerald eyes flickered, and he finally came fully to life. He vaguely remembered hearing the sound of a new telegram entering, but at the time the battle had erupted, he and Caine had no time to attend to it. "What does it say?" Leonard found his voice unusually dry. Lady Seiga Teyon, with white hair and black eyes, replied without hesitation: "Be cautious of Inse Zangguel. Be cautious of the seal '0–08.' "Inse Zangguel, the bishop who defected, the one who failed to be promoted as a Gatekeeper... the seal '0–08,' a seemingly ordinary feather pen..." Leonard first murmured aloud the memories he could recall, then tilted his ear attentively. Suddenly, his eyes narrowed, and at the same time, the weariness and disappointment on his demeanor vanished. "That's it..." Leonard straightened up, pulling his legs back, his emerald eyes blazing with fire. He looked at Seiga Teyon and said, "I intend to apply to join the 'Red Glove.'" "The 'Red Gloves' are the elite unit within the Night Watch. Typically, each Night Watch team is stationed locally, with its own jurisdiction and is not permitted to pursue criminals outside that area without authorization. Yet certain malevolent individuals consistently move from one location to another, creating significant logistical challenges. To address this, the Night Goddess's Church established the 'Red Gloves' specifically within the Night Watch—an elite group rigorously selected, even some of whom have mastered certain sacred relics. Their mandate is to provide reinforcements to teams that send out signals, and to pursue and apprehend targeted evildoers without geographical restrictions. In certain circles, they are known as the 'Tracers' or the 'Hounds.' 'But their minimum qualification is Sequence 7, and the dangers they face are actually twice as great as those encountered by regular Night Watch teams,' said Xica T'On, expressing both curiosity and concern. Leonard offered a smile devoid of warmth. 'I'm nearly ready for promotion.' His eyes grew cold, and he bit down silently, muttering through clenched teeth: "I will avenge myself! Inez Zangwei, you must live until I am strong enough!" "Alright..." Westa seemed to have guessed Leonard's thoughts, and sighed. "Half our team, if not more, will be new faces—even among the Night Watch unit, such a severe loss is rare." Leonard's expression darkened, and he bit his lip. "Have the bodies been arranged?" "Yes," Westa nodded slightly. Leonard suddenly took a decisive step toward the door. "I'll go inform their families." I'll face the scene I most dread. I'll... ... At 2 Xenia Street, Melissa sat on a single sofa, repeatedly studying the three tickets in her hands, examining the text, the printed dates, and the seat numbers. Benson sat beside her, smiling gently at her focused sister, his posture relaxed and at ease. Suddenly, they heard the sound of the doorbell ringing, chime, chime. Melissa glanced at the maid Bella busy in the kitchen, took the three tickets casually in her hand, and with a slight expression of puzzlement, rose and hurried toward the door. Her black hair had become much richer than before, her face no longer wan but glowing with a healthy hue, and her brown eyes now bright and lively. Turning the handle and opening the door, Melissa paused, as she did not recognize the visitor. It was a young man with dark hair and bright eyes, quite attractive, though his complexion was unusually pale and his eyes held deep sorrow. "May I ask who you are?" Melissa asked, somewhat confused. Leonard, wearing a black suit over his white shirt, responded in a low, steady voice: "I'm a colleague of your brother, Clain." Melissa's heart suddenly gave a jolt; instinctively, she raised her feet slightly to look behind Leonard, but saw nothing. Her voice, unexpectedly, trembled slightly as she asked, "Where is Clain?" Leonard closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. Your brother, Clain, died at the hands of a vicious criminal while saving others. He was a hero—truly a hero." Melissa's eyes widened gradually, and her body subtly trembled, her three tickets slipping from her hands to the floor. They lay face up, bearing the name of the play, *The Count's Return*. "That's just how things are. I'm truly sorry—I didn't manage to stop it in time. The Black Thorns security company, the police, and all the people who've been helped have promised you a compensation payment, around six thousand pounds..." Leonard said, his gaze slightly shifting. Suddenly, Benson interrupted him, his voice hoarse: "Where's his body? I mean, where's Crane's body?" He pressed his lips together, pausing a moment: "When can we finally see him?" "Right here, within the company," Leonard replied, his voice tinged with sorrow. "All right," Benson said, tugging at his stiff lips. "I'll go down to the restroom first." Without waiting for Leonard to respond, he hurried into the restroom on the first floor and closed the wooden door with a solid thud. At the sink, Benson turned on the tap, letting the water flow steadily. He bent down, lowered his head, and held the water in both hands, gently patting it onto his face. As he kept patting, his movement suddenly stilled. For a long while, nothing changed, and the only sound echoing in the bathroom was the steady rush of running water. It was only after several dozen seconds that Benson finally lifted his head and looked into the mirror. There, across from him, his face was streaked with water droplets, and his eyes were red, swollen, no longer able to conceal their emotion. Leonard turned his head to watch the scene, his heart aching deeply, and deeply impressed by the girl's strength—after hearing the devastating news, she had remained silent, neither crying nor speaking, her quiet presence touching him more than words could express. The grave was filled, the stone slabs laid in place. Leonard finally looked once more at Klein’s memorial stone, which bore three lines: “The best brother;” “The best brother;” “The best colleague.” As the somber atmosphere settled, the staff from Black Thorns Security gradually began to leave. Serena and Elizabeth also departed, urged by their families. Only Benson and Melissa remained on site. “I’ll arrange for a hired carriage,” Benson said, his condition clearly worn—like he hadn’t slept in days. “Good,” Melissa nodded gently. Watching her brother’s figure fade into the distance, she stood motionless, then turned back to gaze at the memorial stone. Suddenly, she sank to her knees, burying her face in her arms. In silence, she didn’t know how long it had been before Melissa suddenly burst out, in a low, choked voice: “Stupid!” She broke down, weeping silently, tears flowing continuously, unable to stop. ...The night at Raphael's cemetery. Azk, with his bronze complexion, held a bouquet of white flowers, standing before Klein's burial pit, silent for a long time. Finally, he sighed and murmured to himself, "I'm sorry—I arrived ten minutes late." "But I should have known who it was..." He bent down, placed the bouquet, turned, and left the cemetery, and thus left Tinggen, yet left the bronze whistle behind. The deep crimson moonlight fell upon the scene, casting an atmosphere of profound stillness and quiet solitude. Suddenly, the stone slab sealing the burial pit was shifted. A slightly pale hand emerged from the soil. It emerged! With a rustle, the stone was pushed aside, the lid of the coffin lifted, and Klein sat up, gazing around with a sense of mild bewilderment. His memory remained fixed on the bright leather boots and the hands that had held the urn of Saint Serenella, after which time seemed to pass into a deep, dreamless sleep. Klein instinctively lowered his head, unbuttoned his shirt, and looked at his left chest. There, the gruesome wound and the missing section of heart were slowly healing, pulsing and restoring—just as he had first seen the bullet hole in his temple healing rapidly in the mirror. The only difference this time was that the process was slower, more difficult. PS: Thank you once again to the generous supporter for their contribution!