Both sides now know the whereabouts of the Helmsley manuscript—the matter will be settled tonight... The ambassador will then be free to act, to mount a counteroffensive, or pursue retaliation... That is precisely why the danger is imminent? Klein now understands the earlier divinations and the inexplicable omens. Without the "Sacred Words" talisman and without a team of strong bodyguards for three days at a cost of one thousand pounds, he would likely have been forced to go to the police, to the Saint Hilary Church of the Beckettland headquarters of the God of Steam and Machinery, and "take temporary residence," avoiding potential attacks and waiting for the ambassador's assassination—whether or not the assassination would succeed, Klein had no certainty; nonetheless, he had already considered the worst-case scenario and had contingency plans in place. But now, with two layers of preparedness, he is certain not to adopt a defensive strategy. He will remain at home, as if nothing has happened. In fact, within him, he even anticipates the attackers coming to him. The hunter Merlot from Sequence 9 was killed by me. If someone else comes, it will be at least a Sequence 7, possibly a Sequence 6, or even a Sequence 5, or perhaps a group of them—whatever the case, as long as I resolve this matter, I will secure the recipe, gain extraordinary traits, and recover some losses… Well, I’ll tell my lady bodyguard that I’m fortunate—thanks to the "Black Ears" I purchased, I’ve become an extraordinary one. After all, when the battle intensifies, I simply can’t hide this fact, and what I say is nearly true; I have indeed gained substantial benefits from that "Black Ears" individual. Klein thought ahead, almost instinctively drawing the Crimson Moon on his chest. May the goddess protect us—let it be the extraordinary one from the "Seer" path! He silently prayed. Thinking of this, he glanced around the room, searching for his bodyguard, worried that upon hearing the full story, she might quietly slip away without a word. The living room and dining area were warm and inviting, illuminating the coffee table, sofa, and chairs. No one else was present. As Klein grew increasingly uneasy, he suddenly noticed a face emerging on the glass cover of the gas lamp in the living room—light golden hair, refined features, and a pale complexion. She clearly has confidence in her own abilities, indeed. Klein’s mind settled instantly, and he murmured to himself, softly: “I am also a special one.” “I met Caspar at a gathering and purchased an item of chance, which has brought me certain advantages—though, of course, only advantages meaningful to someone like me.” Both statements were true, and each stood up well under any scrutiny. Yet together, they suggested that these advantages had elevated him to the status of a special one. The face on the glass gently nodded and then vanished, leaving no further indication. Klein appeared unchanged on the outside, yet a quiet breath escaped him internally. He returned to the sofa area, didn't remove his coat, and picked up a newspaper, flipping through it casually. A few moments later, the tinkling sounds returned once more, and the doorbell rang again. Who? Klein's spirit instantly tightened; his hands slipped into his coat pockets, touching the Tarot cards and the "Impurity Speech" talisman. He walked slowly toward the entrance, using the clown's ability to anticipate what he would see upon opening the door: the crimson moon remained faintly visible, the elegant gas lamps unchanged, and a constable in a black-and-white check uniform, with three V's on his shoulders, impatiently waiting by the door. He had a warm, short beard, the very same officer who had handled the "Sherlock Moriarty's正当防卫 case" earlier. Jurgen had mentioned his name—Constable Fashin? Ah, I can collect the ten pounds bond from him by tomorrow or the day after... What brings him here? Has MI9 sent him to find Ian Wright? Or should I be informed where to seek safety? In doubt, Caine grasped the handle. ………… Inside the Intis Embassy in the western district of Beckland, the lights were bright, and the fragrances of various perfumes and wines diffused throughout the room, carried by a gentle melody. A ball was underway. During his years as ambassador, Beckland had regularly hosted such events at the embassy, inviting bankers, industrial magnates, philanthropists, and other prominent wealthy figures from the Roon Kingdom, as well as offering occasional opportunities to secondary business leaders. In this atmosphere, he would speak to his guests about the vibrancy and openness of Trier, and about how the Intis Republic no longer rested under the dominance of the nobility—bankers, industrialists, and lawyers now formed the true ruling class, directly or indirectly securing the majority of parliamentary seats and shaping national policy, enjoying genuine freedom and high standing. Bakerly is doing the same thing today, carrying a glass of wine and constantly appearing before each guest, as if to prove that he has not left the party at this moment. He must have the manuscript now... Since I learned from the detective, who was trembling all over, that Ian Wright had arrived at the rum office on Whitehall Street, I've been arranging everything, and now is the time to reap the rewards. With a lean, refined face, Bakerly takes a sip of the blood-red Ormille wine and heads toward the terrace, intending to catch the evening breeze. Upon learning of Ian's telegram, as a seasoned "conspirator" and professional intelligence officer, Bakerly promptly realized that Ian was reaching out to someone above his superior, and immediately dispatched his double agent, stationed within the Fussac Imperial Intelligence agency's Bakerly group, to investigate. The agent returned with the scheduled time, place, and method of meeting between Ian and the "head of the group." Later, he feigned ignorance and continued sending people to search for Ian near Brandy Street, successfully locating him and drawing resistance from MI9. According to his plan, on-site intelligence officers deliberately allowed Ian to escape, thereby convincing MI9 that both sides were starting from equal footing. Once his main adversary was effectively distracted, he pulled in other, still unexposed intelligence personnel to ambush Ian and the "team leader" from the Fsaq Empire, aiming to retrieve the manuscript and bring it out of the kingdom of Roon—all without MI9's awareness. The overall progress had been as smooth as he had anticipated, yet the news arriving in the late afternoon weighed heavily on him. MI9 personnel had unexpectedly appeared! They, who were supposed to remain concealed, had now made their presence known. With Rosagó in place, it's definitely not a matter of divination—Field Intelligence Nine simply isn't strong in that area… This points to corruption within our ranks… We hope Rosagó secures the manuscript first and delivers it to "Shadow." To avoid any appearance of bias, Beckland deliberately organized a ball, thereby stepping back from influencing the situation and can only rely on his subordinates' competence. According to his plan, once Rosagó succeeds, she will immediately transfer the items to another intelligence officer—someone previously never activated—then Rosagó will divert Field Intelligence Nine's attention and create ongoing disruptions to maintain a constant "watch," drawing attention to her allies. Throughout this process, Beckland requires Rosagó to eliminate the young detective as a side task. If it weren't for him, the military intelligence nine wouldn't have known about the matter at all—everything would have proceeded smoothly... My connections with Zmang's party would never have come to light, and I wouldn't have been recalled home... He didn't even attempt to flee, assuming that MI9 would continue to protect him and that staying at home would be safer than running? Beckland rubbed his face. He had already received orders to hand over all intelligence-related matters to the first-class military attaché at the embassy once the corresponding actions based on the manuscript were completed, and then await the handover upon the arrival of the new ambassador. Beckland was deeply reluctant to leave. Though the weather in Becland was poor and the air pollution severe, it was, without a doubt, the most vibrant and bustling city in the world. Moreover, the ladies and gentlemen here are rather reserved—not like the "loose" women back home. Gradually guiding them toward intimacy, slowly eroding their reserve, is deeply satisfying and utterly enchanting. Alas, I must now bid farewell to these beautiful ones... Beckland sighed with a touch of melancholy, growing increasingly resentful toward the young detective who dared to resist. As for Rosagó's safety, Beckland felt absolutely confident. He believed that as long as she wished to, and as long as she wasn't locked down by a high-tier powerhouse, she could escape instantly—this was due to her unique and exceptional ability. As he pondered these thoughts, Beckland suddenly brightened, spotting a young lady in a deep red dress holding a wine glass, standing at the edge of the balcony. She possessed a refined appearance and elegant demeanor, with flowing, smooth black hair and warm brown eyes that seemed to hold countless stories. Becklang immediately went over and began a familiar conversation with her, learning that she was the daughter of a timber merchant named Élaine, whose father was not particularly wealthy and was steadily striving to climb the social ladder. Thanks to his status as Ambassador of Intis, Becklang quickly won Élaine's admiration. After dancing together twice, their physical closeness grew more intimate. "Madam," Becklang suggested, "I would like to invite you to my room to taste my Ormille wine from the year 1286." Élaine replied without hesitation: "Very well." They left the ballroom and quietly ascended to the second floor, entering Becklang's room and asking the guards to stay away and not disturb them. The Ormille wine from 1286 had never existed—yet Becklang warmly led Élaine to the bed. Her hands grasped at Becklang's shoulders, and suddenly, black, fine, downy "spider legs" emerged from her fingernails and veins! Thud! Elaine's eyes suddenly bulged, and white foam appeared at her lips. Beckland withdrew his punch that had struck her abdomen, rose from the bed, and no longer displayed the hurried demeanor he had earlier shown—his expression now cool and composed. "Who sent you?" Beckland asked in a low tone. Elaine wished to rise, but pain made it difficult, her gaze a mixture of fear and astonishment. Seeing the expression on the beautiful girl's face, Beckland smiled. "I must admit I am deeply fond of beautiful women, yet I am well aware of the challenge this presents. Therefore, every time I encounter a beautiful woman, I make it a point to be especially careful." "Now, tell me—who sent you?" "Do not attempt to endure. I am exceptionally skilled with fire."