Klein didn't touch Zerel's body; he simply stepped out of the side passage. Thud! Thud! Thud! Suddenly, a sound came from afar, echoing steadily through the quiet, hollow sewer. Klein listened for a few seconds, then decisively moved along the dirty concrete roads flanking the wastewater channel toward the exit. To him, anything unrelated to himself didn't warrant risk. After climbing out of the sewer, Klein closed the iron cover, tidied up the immediate area, and then returned to his one-bedroom apartment in the eastern district, changed into fresh clothes, and removed his disguise. Next, he put on his gold-framed glasses, walked to another street, took a hired carriage, and returned to the Joewood district at three in the morning—though not to Minsk Street. Then Klein made a wide detour, confirming no one was following, before entering his home and sleeping until dawn, when the doorbell rang continuously. He suddenly sat up, donned his shirt, buttoned his waistcoat, and hurried down to the first floor, pulling open the door. Meanwhile, the intuitive ability of the "Carnival" sequence had already allowed him, in his mind, to naturally sketch out the visitor's image: an ill-fitting old coat, a brown hat with a rounded crown, a worn satchel, bright red eyes, a refined face, and a calm demeanor—exactly matching the young man Ian who had come to delegate a task the day before. "Good morning, Detective Moriaty," Ian greeted, glancing around. "Any progress? Hmm... I was just passing by and thought I'd ask." Klein nodded seriously. "Yes." "...," Ian seemed startled, and for a while could not speak. After a moment, he stammered, his expression of surprise growing, and asked, "Are you certain about Mr. Zerel's condition?" "Yes," Klein paused, then said with gravity, "I found Mr. Zerel's body." "The body...” Ian’s pupils constricted as he repeated it softly. He didn’t show much surprise, as though he had anticipated this very worst outcome. Kaine watched quietly, saying nothing. “Hmm...” Ian exhaled, scanning the room with cautious vigilance. “Your efficiency is remarkable. Would you mind showing me Mr. Zerel’s body?” “Certainly. In fact, that’s exactly what I’ve been planning to do,” Kaine replied after a moment’s thought. “I’d like you to report the discovery yourself—don’t mention me at all. I’m sure you know how to construct a plausible explanation.” Ian found this entirely natural. He was well aware that not every detective enjoyed working with the police. In fact, aside from the most renowned ones—those who frequently consulted and assisted the police departments—most detectives faced discrimination, were often excluded, and even extorted. That was the current state of affairs in the kingdom of Roon. “Agreed,” Ian said, readily accepting. Considering that they had to enter the sewer, Caine changed into ordinary working-class clothes, donned a deer-hunting cap, and took a lantern. The two took a public horse carriage to the east district, and after walking for half an hour under a series of eyes—some numb, others hostile—they reached the remote entrance to the sewer. "How did you find it?" Ian watched Caine lift the cover and begin descending, asking with a mix of surprise and curiosity. Caine looked down and replied casually: "Through well-practiced training—this includes numerous skills in reasoning, investigation, tracking, and questioning." Ian followed him into the sewer, giving a quiet, unimpressed nod: "...You seem to have undergone very professional training." Caine didn't directly answer, but held his already-lit lantern, guiding Ian down a side passage into the dim, eerie corner. As soon as he drew near, his eyes slightly narrowed—Zerel's body was far more fragmented than last night, missing an entire arm and half of her rib cage. This wasn't something a mouse could have done… Klein murmured this to himself without mentioning it to Ian. With the light of the lantern, Ian examined the body closely. He suddenly knelt down and began to vomit, eventually expelling a yellow-green bile. Klein produced the "Krag's Oil" he had prepared, unscrewed the bottle cap, and bent down to bring the spout close to Ian's nose. Ian snapped to attention, steadying himself. After a few seconds, he spoke softly, weakly: "Thank you…" He slowly rose and carefully studied the body once more: "I can confirm—he was indeed Zerel the Detective." "I'm sorry," Klein replied politely. "I recommend you call the authorities." "Ah," Ian nodded slightly, following Klein back to the ground. At that moment, Caine clapped his hands. "My task is now complete. As for what comes next, that's entirely up to you." Ian paused for a few seconds, then said, "I still owe you three things. You can tell me about them now." "In fact, I've only settled on one so far," Caine replied openly. "I'd like to know where I can find guns and ammunition—without needing a full weapons license." Ian spoke almost without hesitation. "Head to the Beckland Bridge area, Iron Gate Street, to the 'Brave Ones' Bar. Find Kaspar Kanylin. Just say that 'Old Man' referred you." "Alright. I'll address the remaining two matters later. I have a feeling we'll meet again." Caine nodded with ease. Ian glanced at him, remained silent, and said nothing. The two parted ways, walking down different streets toward the east, where the quiet of the remote area once again settled in. After walking for a while, Caine suddenly turned around, retraced his steps, and took shelter in a concealed corner, watching the entrance to the sewer. Waiting for two or three minutes, he saw Ian return silently, scanning the surroundings with cautious vigilance. Caine promptly withdrew his gaze, leaning against the wall, listening intently. He heard the scraping sound of the iron cover being lifted, and the sound of someone climbing down. Peering cautiously out, Caine noticed Ian had now re-entered the sewer. There were clues—perhaps even an object—on Zerelle's body. Indeed, this matter ran deeper than he had first thought. He nodded thoughtfully. Satisfied with his observations, Caine moved on, truly leaving, intending to revisit Caspar Kallin again in a couple of days. …… At the afternoon tea hour, at the manor of the Viscount of Grelint in Queens. The door to the study was firmly shut, completely separating the four inside from the guests attending the salon. "Rest, Fothering, this is what you deserve," said Audrey, wearing a pale yellow dress adorned with numerous lace details, and she pushed a plump envelope toward the two women seated across the desk. Hugh had intended to be more courteous, but her hand had already grasped the envelope, feeling the weight of the money. He settled for a sincere remark: "Miss Audrey, thank you for your generosity. Your integrity truly enhances your beauty." As she spoke, she untied the fine thread wrapped around the envelope and revealed the bills inside. They were neat, uniform banknotes with a gray background and black patterns, thick and fragrant with a distinctive ink aroma that was both refreshing and invigorating. "Ten pounds..." Hugh drew out one, confirming the denomination, while Fothering, who had seemed previously indifferent to money, had quietly approached at some point. At least, Hugh observed the thickness, estimating how many notes there were in total. She couldn't help but glance at Folly, and saw in each other's eyes a sense of surprise—far more than they had expected! Audrey smiled lightly, "A total of eight hundred pounds. You decide how to split it among yourselves." "That incident put you both in danger, and for that I'm truly sorry." Eight hundred pounds… No, no apology needed… Let me say it again—despite knowing what the consequences might be, I would have accepted that commission even then… Even if it were simply divided equally, combined with my savings, it would be enough to purchase the recipe for the 'Constable's' potion… Standing at just over five feet, Hugh stared at the stack of banknotes inside the envelope, as though he wanted to pull them all out and count them again and again. She believed that the generous, kind, and beautiful Miss Audrey would surely not fall short on payment, but what if she had made a mistake? Everyone makes mistakes! Hugh raised his right hand, paused for a few seconds, then quietly lowered it. Forsyth's lips couldn't stop rising into a smile as he remarked, "This is more than the total royalties I've earned so far from my book *Windsor Castle*..." Should I praise Miss Audrey, or chuckle at the poverty of a writer? She added silently. Viscount Gleadon, seated on the sofa, felt a touch of envy, though not toward Hugh or Forsyth. As a viscount with a reasonably sound financial position, 800 pounds wasn't exactly a large sum. What he admired was Audrey's generosity—her ease and lack of hesitation. "Ah..." Viscount Gleadon cleared his throat. "If you can secure the formula for the 'pharmacist's' remedy, I'll be happy to offer you a substantial fee." "We'll do our best!" Hugh replied without hesitation, then turned to Audrey. "We've recently come across individuals believed to be connected with the psychological alchemy circle. We're already on the verge of identifying the clues you're seeking for your 'audience' potion." "Rest, I've reached Level 8—better than you," Audrey said with composed grace. "I'm looking forward to it." After settling on the main matter, the four of them casually chatted about the latest rumors in the circles they moved in, and under Audrey's guidance, each began browsing for books they wished to read. Suddenly, Hugh's eyes lit up as he spotted two hardcover volumes: *The History of the Noble Houses of Runa* and *Livery and Heraldry*. At the same time, Folshe found the books of her interest: *The Geographical Characters of the Fasak Empire* and *A Journey Around the Northern Continent*. As a competent and promoted "audience" who had interacted with both repeatedly, she had accurately discerned certain preferences of Hugh and Firth, and thus made subtle, unnoticed preparations—arrangements that made the guided individuals feel as though they were expressing their own intentions, which was precisely the hallmark of an accomplished audience. She struggled to make out that ancient Hermes script, silently reciting: "The fool of a time unbelonging;" "The mysterious sovereign above the gray mist;" "The King of Yellow and Black, ruler of fortune."