In the dimly lit room, a thin, pale crimson moon curtain draped gently across the space, making all objects appear hazy and indistinct. Three men dressed in black coats slept in different corners. On the small sofa, Caine lay half-blurred into the night, eyes closed, as if drifting into deep sleep. His dreams unfolded as a gray, distorted world, occasionally flashing with luminous glimmers. In the end, these glimmers solidified into a single image: a gloomy corner, where wastewater flowed across the floor. A man with short, yellow-brown hair, wearing a white shirt and a brown vest, lay propped against the wall, surrounded by a dense cluster of gray mice. Half of his lips had been gnawed away, revealing slightly yellowed teeth and decaying gums; his nose remained only as a smear of blood mixed with a few tufts of short hair, and at his throat, a wild beast had evidently bitten through, leaving at least half of it missing. Caine managed to recognize this as Zerel Victor Lee—the man whose mature, handsome appearance had been captured in the black-and-white photograph given to him by Ian—now utterly unrecognizable. Zerel was already dead, and within a few days, she would likely be reduced to just her bones—possibly even fewer than that. Kaine broke free from the dream, recalling the scene he had just witnessed. Through repeated experiences, he had grown accustomed to observing such scenes with a calm demeanor. Gazing out at the crimson moon outside, Kaine thought for a full ten to fifteen seconds before deciding to attempt spirit communication, specifically reaching out to the man in the black robe seated beside the sofa. ——The corresponding "Amandala" essence and "Elixir of the Eyes of the Spirit," he had already prepared one bottle each during the preceding days. As for the tranquil potion, Kaine did not need it; he naturally remained composed and rational when others intruded upon his dreams or when spirit communication was forcibly initiated. Setting up a simple altar and allowing the serene, peaceful fragrance to diffuse, creating a state of semi-dream, semi-waking awareness, Kaine made a plea to himself, to the "fool of a time that is not this one." Then he entered the gray mist, responding with more than two-thirds of his spiritual essence. "Once I reach Sequence 7, similar requests should be able to slightly shift the mysterious forces within the realm above the gray mist—much like summoning or sacrifice rituals." Surveying the surroundings with a quick assessment, Kline swiftly returned to the real world. Passing through a celestial expanse resembling the night sky and a turbulent storm of chaotic thoughts, he entered the target man's mental realm, where the man's ethereal form floated in midair. "Who sent you to the Zerel household?" Kline asked, his voice steady. The man's ethereal figure responded with a listless, vacant gaze: "Merx sent me to wait for a boy named Ian." As the man's inner world shifted, a lean, sturdy figure with a deeper complexion appeared—exactly the leader of the group Kline had encountered on the steam subway, chasing Ian. It was indeed him... Klein had expended too much spiritual energy in responding to the pleas, and now felt growing fatigue, so he hurried to ask, "Who sent Merzso this time?" "I don't know... He's our Zmang party's 'executioner'; no one can command him except the head leader." The man said,茫然. Zmang... the word for 'hero' in the plateau dialect... Suddenly, Klein's mind drew a sharp pain, and his body involuntarily drifted outward, away from the storm of thought. Within no time, he broke free from the mediumship state, feeling his head hollowly twitching. He did not rush to leave, but calmly gathered his materials and combed his short, warm-brown hair. He then opened the convex-windowed door, letting the cold night breeze flow in, dispersing the scent of "Amandah" essence and "Eye of Spirit" elixir. During this process, Klein returned to the balcony, locked the main door from within, and wiped all surfaces he had touched. Only after Zerel's bedroom had returned to its previous state did he bow deeply before the three men who remained asleep. Straightening up, Caine donned his gloves, then sprang nimbly onto the window ledge outside the protruding section, steadying himself on his toes within the narrow space. He lifted the vertical latch and used the Tarot card to shield the base, drawing upon the "Jester's" ability to sense subtle details and fine-tune his balance. After a few seconds, Caine slowly withdrew the Tarot card, and the vertical latch remained firmly in place, refusing to drop. *Swish!* First, he closed the half of the window without a latch, then moved swiftly across, pushing inward with his right hand to close the other half. The speed of this action caused the latch to only drop once it felt a vibration, precisely inserting itself into the corresponding iron slot. *Clang!* A distinct, hard sound echoed, as though a strong breeze had struck the glass surface. Klein knew the three men in the bedroom would wake up slowly, so he didn't delay—he jumped straight to the street. At his current height, the second-floor level posed no danger, though the landing inevitably made some noise, not entirely silent. Klein moved swiftly away from the vicinity, leaving the Rose Street area, but did not immediately take a hired carriage back to Minsk Street in the Joewood district. Instead, he turned several corners, heading toward the adjacent East District. The cold night wind cut through his bones, and Klein shivered, deciding he would need to wear a sweater for his future movements and that he would purchase charcoal in the coming days to properly utilize the hearth. Without a map, relying solely on instinct, he eventually reached the East District of Beckland. The gas streetlamps here were sparse—only a few could be seen at a distance. Had the clouds not cleared the crimson moon tonight, Klein was certain many stretches would remain completely dark, barely visible at all. As he walked, he suddenly noticed a pair of eyes emerging from the deep, somber darkness ahead, followed by a series of hunched figures gradually coming into focus. They wavered in from the distant blur, silent, voiceless. Ghouls? Kline stopped abruptly, reached out to grasp his "Hymn Spell" and the Tarot cards, and quickly activated his spiritual sight. He saw the unhealthy, weak aura colors, as well as the forms of the figures. These were all living people—normal people—just with blank expressions, hollow eyes, and feeble movements, both men and women. It was nearly midnight, yet how were they still walking on the streets? Kline approached cautiously, leaning against the sidewalk and stepping over the group, only to encounter a second wave, then a third, all exhibiting the same numbness tinged with pain. He furrowed his brows, about to approach and ask questions, when suddenly a sharp voice cried out ahead: "Get up! All of you—get up!" "You miserable creatures!" "The streets and parks aren't places for you sleepers!" ... Kline paused, and instantly recalled the corresponding term from the 'Poor Law,' now understanding what was happening. He himself had experienced the same. Exhaling, Kline quickened his pace, heading toward his one-bedroom apartment on Black Palms Street in the eastern district, where he slept for two hours, restoring his spirit before stepping out again, this time carrying a withered branch as his 'divination staff.' "The location of Zerel's body." "The location of Zerel's body." ... Through repeated divinations, guided by the short, chestnut-haired woman, Kline walked for a long time, eventually reaching a corner of the eastern district, near a sewer entrance. —— Following the great plague twelve years prior, the Kingdom of Ruin had gradually established an advanced sewer system in its capital, surpassing the "Rossel Legacy" of the Inthys Republic. Removed the lid, Caine held his breath and crawled down the vertical metal stairs. Since he wasn't wearing specially prepared garments with ample pockets, he couldn't carry much with him—now, he deeply regretted having abandoned the "Krag's Oil" he had learned from Fley, the invigorating, odor-clearing essence that had been so useful for alertness and freshness. A few seconds later, Caine's feet touched the ground, and he sensed its sticky texture. The dirty sensation caused fine bumps to rise on his arms and body, yet he had to force himself to endure it, continuing forward through the quiet, empty sewer. Ahead, a junction appeared, one path more concealed and emitting a noticeably more repulsive stench than the others. Caine turned down that path and proceeded until he reached the end, where he saw a dense cluster of luminous points and colored energy fields. No candles were needed. He opened the eyes of his spiritual vision, and directly saw the eerie corners, the decaying, gnawed-to-rags corpse. It matched exactly the scene he had seen in his dream divination. Click! The gray, dense mice scattered in all directions, though some remained, reluctant to leave, clinging to the food. After confirming it was Zerel, Kline hesitated only briefly before swiftly setting up the spirit-summoning ritual. Hmm... If Ian's description is accurate, Zerel has been dead only a few days, so the spirit-summoning should yield some basic, preliminary information. He felt quite confident about this. Aah! As the wind spun and the wall of spirit energy took shape, all the mice fled. Kline proceeded with the ritual step by step, just as he had before. "Zerel's cause of death." "Zerel's cause of death." "...Repeating the incantation again and again, Klein's eyes turned black, the iris and sclera fading away. Through meditation, he swiftly entered a dream state. Yet within that hazy, ethereal realm, nothing materialized. Klein opened his eyes, furrowed his brow, and judged: "The spirit communication has failed... Someone has 'touched' or 'processed' Zerel's spirit. A higher being must have been involved. The fact that someone could convincingly impersonate Zerel, fooling one detective after another, proves this point."