Eileen tightly closed her mouth, watching the slender, kindly-faced ambassador with a mixture of anger and fear. Beclan extended his right hand, which was covered in a layer of orange-red flames that gently danced. He took two steps forward, forming the gesture of pressing his palm against Eileen's skin. This image reminded Eileen of countless descriptions in novels—where harsh interrogators would use red-hot iron plates to sear their victims' bodies, inflicting excruciating pain. "No," Beclan suddenly paused his advancing hand, offering a light smile. "Not for a beautiful lady like yours." He sharply shook his hand, causing the orange-red flames to ripple and form a long, crimson whip. The whip burned through the surrounding air, with sharp spines gradually growing at each segment. *Crack!* Beclan swung the flame whip and struck Eileen—her clothes began to char and tear, a deep black mark forming on her skin, her face contorted in agony, and she cried out in pain. "Who sent you?" Beckland asked again in a gentle tone. Elaine's lips trembled and finally opened: "Yes..." Just as Beckland subconsciously listened to her answer, a sudden flush of red appeared in his eyes. Unhurried! Beckland suddenly leaned back and rolled to the ground. Where he had stood, flames leapt upward, forming a blazing wall. Some of the flames pierced through the wall, leaving behind a scattered trail of blood spots on the ground. At the end of this trail stood Beckland, the Ambassador of Indis, now rising again. He saw Elaine's abdomen torn open, and two arms extending from within, wrapped in thick, viscous fluid. With a sudden thrust, these arms pushed forward, and a figure emerged from within the beautiful Miss Elaine—entirely covered in blood-like fluid, the size of an adult man. It's hard to imagine such a thing hidden within Irene—a normally healthy woman with no abdominal distension! How could it possibly fit there? *Crack!* The part of Irene's body below her head completely exploded, transforming into pure flesh that surged onto the humanoid form, blending with the continuously dripping liquid to create an odd, crimson robe. The figure now revealed itself, displaying a strikingly beautiful and feminine appearance. Under the glow of the firelight, its blood-red robe shimmered like a freshly blooming rose. "The Archdeacon of Roses!" As a seasoned intelligence officer, Beckland immediately recalled the corresponding sequence designation. "The Archdeacon of Roses" is a Sequence 6 member of the "Secret Devotee" path. Each Archdeacon is a master of corporeal magic! Members of this sequence possess the remarkable ability to mysteriously enter and reside within other human bodies, thereby evading detection. However, when they emerge, the host body inevitably perishes. "For the Master!" Eileen's remaining head cried out once, and her eyes closed forever. The Bishop of Roses raised his right hand and tapped it four times on his chest, in the order of down, up, right, left. His eyes, reflecting the blood and flames, turned toward Beckland. With a sudden motion, his right foot stepped forward, crossing through the wall of fire unscathed—only dark red droplets of liquid fell steadily. Beckland stepped back, suddenly raising his voice: "Help! Assistance!" Though his most trusted assistant, Rosago, and several intelligence officers had already been dispatched, the embassy still housed numerous extraordinary individuals—officers granted permission by the Kingdom of Roon, the official protective force here! One of level 5, one of level 6, three of level 7, and nearly ten of levels 8 and 9 combined. Beckland's voice echoed throughout the room, yet it failed to reach beyond the doors—the music continued unchanged, the ballroom dance unbroken. It seems to have become an isolated, separated world! "This..." Beckland calmly stopped his cries, narrowing his eyes and surveying the surroundings. The "Rose Bishop" didn't rush to act, but chuckled softly. "This is your own desire—your own rules." "You instructed the guards: do not disturb, do not approach, do not allow anyone to come." "Hmm... I've amplified your intentions and slightly twisted your rules. To break this separation, you must overcome yourself." Beckland's expression changed, recognizing the subtle yet consistent distortion of the rules—where order was being drawn upon to serve the bishop's own purposes—and recalled another sequence's name. "Corruption Baron!" Beckland roared. This was the "Advocate" path, Sequence 6 of the "Black Emperor" lineage. Before he could finish, Beckland's face suddenly darkened profoundly, and he added, "Flocker! You are the Flocker!" "Who are you from the Aurora Circle? Mr. A?" "Why did you come to kill me?" The "Rose Bishop," no, the "Shepherd," smiled gently. "You needn't know who I am." "Receive the grace of the Lord..." Before he finished speaking, his body suddenly went rigid—his joints as if coated in rust—his movements stilled, as though transformed into puppets. Becklan laughed, the earlier gravity lifting instantly. He drew out the white handkerchief from his left breast pocket, wiped his lips, and said, "It's wonderful that we've been able to talk so thoroughly—it's given me ample time." After the handkerchief was removed, a thumb-sized puppet head, with entirely black eyes, emerged from the pocket of his left breast! The "shepherd" opened his mouth to speak, but all he heard was a hollow voice, as though coming from afar: "You…." Pausing, his body suddenly swelled out, his skin darkening, twin curved horns with strange, eerie patterns sprouting from his head, and wings emitting a sulphurous scent flapping behind him. Now just three meters away, he had transformed into a demonic being. Yet even thus, he still seemed tightly bound at every joint, his movements stiff and slow, his thoughts growing hazy. "You still possess the powers of a demon? Truly a shepherd—let me send you to meet your master." Beklant said no more. In his right hand, he gathered a flaming lance, its tip blazing with white-hot flame. He bent and raised his arm, preparing to hurl the lance, impaling the "shepherd" upon the wall and reducing him to ash. The sequence 7 corresponding to the "conspirator" is known as the "pyromancer"—an ancient title, "fire mage"! Cough! Hic! Hic! Hic! At that moment, Beklant coughed violently, as if he were about to expel his heart and lungs; the flame lance lost control, fragmenting and fading piece by piece. His face turned crimson, his forehead hot. With the magical effects of the items dissolving, the "shepherd" regained fluidity, returning to his normal state. "Did you think I had a reason to chat so much with you? How does a severe pneumonia with relentless coughing feel?" the demonic face asked, a smile curling at the corners. Upon hearing this, Beklant suddenly remembered the elegant, almost feminine appearance of the enemy when they first appeared, and regretfully exclaimed, "Hic! Hic! Hic! Illness!" "You, hic! hic! hic! hic! You've slain one, hic! hic! hic! hic! the suffering sorceress!" The shepherd shed his demonic form, his body becoming translucent and layered. He exhaled, "No, I merely accepted the gift of the Dark Saint." "I know the schemers always have their tricks up their sleeves, so now I'm going to deploy my strongest ability—no unnecessary hopes shall remain." A translucent, hazy book floated before him. It swiftly turned its pages, accompanied by a soft chant: "I come. I see. I record." "Whatever I have recorded, I can summon once. This is the ability specially revealed to me by the Saint of the Deep Darkness. Though it yields only half its original potency, it is sufficient." The voice of the "Shepherd" became ethereal, his body enveloped by dark energy rising from the book. He soon transformed into a towering figure, standing at just over two meters and thirty centimeters, clad in a complete armor of dark, cold metal, with only two deep crimson lights glowing at his eyes. The dark knight raised his long, solemn sword and took a decisive step forward, delivering a powerful slash. "No!" "Why?" "Within Beckland's cry, the successive flames surging through his body were cleaved apart, the various bursts of light scattered and shattered, and his body split in two. Plink! Beckland collapsed to the ground, with no blood seeping from the severed edges—his very soul, too, seemed to be corroded and extinguished by the dark, profound blade as though it had never existed. Boom! Boom! Boom! The fiery orbs bursting from within Beckland lost control, exploding with such force that the room began to collapse, the glass rattling violently. At that moment, the isolation he had maintained through his own will, born of his intent, vanished with his death. The 'Shepherd' made no停留, nor did he wait for his extraordinary properties to manifest; he resumed his earlier, faintly outlined form, seizing the opportunity before the diplomatic officers arrived, and surged through the successive walls into the outer darkness. …… At No. 15 Minsk Street, Klein's right hand paused as he grasped the handle." He decided, even before opening the door, to safely toss a coin. Since Ian had already come and the prophetic images from the dream divination had appeared, danger could strike at any moment! While silently murmuring, "The visitor outside will bring danger," Caine launched a quarter-penny copper coin upward and watched it land in his palm, the numeral facing up. Negative—Caine whispered it silently, then turned his hand and turned the handle. Yet he did not ease his vigilance. He knew there was a fellow traveler on the ambassador's side who could interfere with his divination. If it were that person, receiving an incorrect answer would be entirely normal! Unfortunately, there was neither time nor opportunity to verify this on the gray mist above... Caine used his spiritual vision to scan through the wooden panel and found nothing amiss, then opened the door and stepped back two paces. The Chief Inspector of the black-and-white plaid uniform outside removed his hat and said seriously, "The higher-ups have sent me to tell you to stay safe tonight and tomorrow, and to be cautious of strangers."