The living room, illuminated by a single candle, was silent as if time itself had frozen. Several seconds passed before the man presumed to be the "Pharmacist" murmured, "Why didn't you leave me your address? That way, I could still extract something from your body after you're gone." A curse, in truth, a gentle reminder... Klein feigned not having heard, gazing at the "Black Serpent." "Without a bet, I have no chance of survival. With a bet, at least there's a glimmer of hope." "I won't sit passively while death approaches." Upon hearing this, the elderly gentleman known as the "Eye of Wisdom," who had been about to speak, fell silent—his own hopes now seemingly exhausted. "I truly admire your determination!" the "Black Serpent" chuckled heartily. "I admire it deeply. In fact, several of my friends have always possessed this very trait. Every year, I visit their graves and place a bouquet there." The man presumed to be the "Pharmacist" softly agreed, his tone both appreciative and subtly critical, yet clearly conveying a quiet suggestion. He didn't care at all that "The Black Serpent" was a better fighter than himself—he simply spoke his mind. "The Pharmacist" must have suffered under his temperament,克莱恩 thought gratefully. He handed the iron cigarette box, bearing the exceptional qualities of "The Hunter," to the waiter who had brought him in, watching as the man walked toward "The Eye of Wisdom." The elderly gentleman counted out 400 pounds in cash from a nearby leather trunk and handed it to the waiter, who then delivered it to "The Black Serpent." "The Black Serpent" glanced at it casually and said, "I have confidence in Mr. The Eye of Wisdom." Then, he pulled out a small wooden box from his coat, bent down, placed it on the floor, and pushed it firmly so that the contents slid directly to克莱恩's hands—without going through the waiter. As soon as克莱恩's fingers touched the box's surface, a mild auditory hallucination arose, accompanied by a sensation of dizziness caused by sharp vibrations. For him, this was no great surprise—indeed, it was even less intense than the ethereal sounds requested by "Justice" and others. After straightening up, Caine carefully opened the wooden box and saw a "ear" inside! The ear seemed real, though its skin was darkened with patches of green rotting in several places. "How should I use it?" Caine asked. The Black Serpent replied indifferently: "Just hold it in your hands without gloves—you're using it. Oh, you'd better try it again when you're at home, alone." Caine didn't press further. He closed the box, tucked it into his pocket, and deliberately chuckled: "It makes one feel dizzy." A brief silence followed, then suddenly the man who seemed to be the pharmacist shouted out loudly: "I'd like to buy the marrow crystals of the 'Elven Spring'—anyone have them?" His voice echoed through the room, but no one answered. The pharmacist pursed his lips and murmured: "Honestly, every time I ask, no one has them." The old man with the "Eye of Wisdom" smiled and added: "Perhaps you should book a ship ticket to Sunia Island." "The Spring of the Elves," also known as the "Sunia Golden Spring," speaks volumes about its origin through its name. The spring's water is well-known and imbued with a spiritual essence, while its marrow-crystalline material is exceptional and not easily accessible. Subsequently, several transactions at the gathering fell through. Elder "The Eye of Wisdom" raised his hand and said, "Let's conclude here today. By custom, each of you will leave one at a time, spaced three minutes apart." One by one, spaced three minutes apart... Was this a precaution to prevent someone from following or even ambushing other attendees? Klein received the elder's subtle cue, stood up, and, under the servant's guidance, departed from the sitting room and approached the main door. He removed his long cloak with the hood and returned it to the attendant, then retraced his steps along the familiar path to the back entrance of "The Courageous Tavern." Afterward, he took off his iron mask and, amid the din of barking dogs and shouting staff, spotted Caspar standing outside the card room. "You're back, and that makes me very relieved," the elderly man with a red nose clearly exhaled, his severe wound on his face seeming to tremble. Cain stepped closer and lowered his voice: "Will there be another gathering like this soon?" "Apparently, you haven't gotten what you wanted," Caspar said, casting a critical glance at the troublesome customers. "I'd say you don't need to waste any more time on this. Perhaps a few days from now—though I'm not certain. It depends on whether you can make it." Cain nodded and then asked, "Is Mariqi here?" "You want to persuade him? No, that will only anger him!" Caspar warned solemnly. "He's in the card room just behind you." No, I don't intend to persuade him—I want to stay as far away from him as possible, so his undead won't rebel... Cain ran his fingers over the Azk copper whistle in his coat pocket. "I understand." He immediately left the Brave One bar, circled the one-bedroom apartment in the east district, and then returned to Minsk Street. At the card table, Maričh bet all his chips and confidently revealed his hand: three kings and a pair of nines. His opponent, the lifeless figure, had a pair of sixes and an eight. Suddenly, the lifeless figure himself exposed his hand—just a pair of sixes! Sixes won this hand! Maričh stood frozen, pale, as if the gaze of every lifeless figure around him had turned cold and steady. A few minutes later, he stepped out of the card room, his steps unsteady, nearly tripping at the door, while his usual loyal subordinates had fallen to the floor inside. "Don't let anyone enter before dawn," Maričh ordered, his voice hoarse, to the astonished Kasparas. He pulled out a white handkerchief, wiped his lips, and the fabric quickly turned a deep blue with a red hue. After receiving a positive response from Caspary, Marič casually sat down at a chair he found and ordered a barrel of Southwales beer, drinking it steadily with a fixed gaze, remaining motionless for a long time. ………… At No. 15 Minsk Street, Kline methodically brushed his teeth and returned to his room, drawing the curtains. After waiting for over fifteen minutes and confirming that there were indeed no luminous points of spirit in the surrounding area, he began to call upon himself, responding to himself, carrying the black ear and the wooden box into the mysterious space above the gray mist. Ethereal crimson stars dotted the lower expanse, steady and unchanging. Kline sat at the head of the ancient long table and opened the wooden box. This time, he no longer experienced auditory hallucinations or dizziness; the boundless gray mist seemed to completely isolate all external sounds. Kline breathed a sigh of relief, gaining greater confidence in the upcoming attempt, especially in terms of safety. With a mere thought, he silenced his hearing and conducted several experiments to verify the effect. Good... Caine nodded in satisfaction, reached out, and grasped the black ear, which bore signs of decay. The cold, smooth sensation settled into his mind, yet he did not hear the voice of the great being described by "The Black Serpent." "Completely severed? That won't do... Simply relying on usage isn't sufficient..." Caine murmured to himself, pondering how to activate the effect. After several seconds, he manifested a scroll and quill, intending to replicate the process of observing "The Eternal Sun" previously. That time, he had drawn upon divine blood and directly gazed upon the eternal light. This time, relying solely on the artifact left behind by "The Listener" should be far less perilous. Caine wrote down the incantation with confidence: "The origin of this object." He took a deep breath, held the black ear firmly, leaned back, and silently recited the incantation seven times. Upon completion, his eyes deepened, and he fell into a deep sleep. In the hazy, fragmented, gray-veiled world, Kline saw a man struggling on the ground, rolling, shrieking, his eyes bulging, his body swelling like a balloon, his hair turning dark and long. Then, an utterly evil, profoundly foul sound flooded into Kline's ears, instantly rousing him. Unlike the murmurs and cries he had heard before entering the mysterious space above the gray mist, this sound was more penetrating, more purposeful, more active! Kline pressed his hands to his ears to block out the subsequent sounds, yet the memory of that sound still echoed in his mind. He observed his veins and cords protruding, as though transforming into large, writhing, toxic serpents. *Crack!* His blood vessels burst, the cords detaching from his body and spreading outward into smooth, sinewy tendrils adorned with evil patterns, causing the gray mist to gently tremble and subtly eroding the grand palace-like hall where the giant dwelt. Unlike that encounter with the eternal sun, Caine still retained his sense of reason and didn't roll around helplessly; he clung tightly to the handrail, enduring with great effort. After a few seconds, the wavering gray mist settled into stillness, and the malevolent voices echoing in his mind completely faded away. The individual "tentacles" fell to the ground, and his wounds began to heal rapidly. "Dealing with deities is truly a dangerous endeavor, no matter the approach... Good thing this time I didn't face the 'true Creator' directly, or else the madness and disorientation would likely have lingered and affected my physical body in the real world..." Caine weakly leaned against the back of the chair, silently chuckling at his own predicament. This process had been largely anticipated by him and remained within his control overall. What surprised him most was that the "True Maker" seemed slightly stronger than the "Eternal Blaze." As Klein's thoughts were about to drift, he noticed that the black ear in his hand suddenly collapsed, breaking into fine, pale black light points. Was it returning to its pure, extraordinary essence? Klein wondered, glancing at the still quivering tentacles on the ground—those that had been torn from him, embodying his madness and chaos. These tentacles were gradually becoming transparent and fading away. Then, suddenly, a flash of insight struck Klein. He scattered the fine, pale black light points from his palm onto the smooth, slippery tentacles. A shimmering black mist rose, forming a sky streaked with lightning, set against an intensely deep, dark background. All of this swiftly vanished from Klein's sight, leaving behind a solid, iron-black sigil etched with numerous symbols, magical inscriptions, eerie patterns, and distorted numerals. Klein bent down and picked it up, feeling as though it sealed within itself a mad man constantly howling. Using the techniques of divination, he managed to glean from the revelations the purpose of this sigil: it would cause the opponent to hear the dreadful roar and be infected with madness. The final outcome, however, would depend on the target's resistance—strong resistance might yield benefits, at the cost of making the recipient a devoted and faithful follower of the True Maker; weaker resistance, on the other hand, would lead to immediate collapse and a death filled with screams. "Let us call it, then, the 'Speech of Filth,'" Klein murmured, setting the incantation in motion.