In the cold, chilly hall, Caine suddenly shivered, drew back his gaze, and said to the bodyguard lady, "Go back." Given the performance of the Azk copper horn just now, there was likely a terrifying spirit residing in the innermost room—its danger level might even surpass that of the Master of Secret Figures, Rosagho, and the Wind Commander, Zilings. This spirit had wandered for several hundred to a thousand years; perhaps it had already reached the level of a high-tier powerhouse. If not for the difficulty its power encountered in penetrating the room, I would have been dead by now. Even though the bodyguard lady was an outstanding figure among the Sequence 5 ranks, together with me, we were nearly without hope of turning the tide. One must have self-awareness—never be lured by the perceived extraordinary traits and magical artifacts of a "treasure" that a remarkable individual might leave behind. Greed often leads to death. Caine silently found reasons, convincing himself. The bodyguard lady glanced at him once, her expression neutral, and asked, "What now?" What now? Klein quietly bit his lower lip, weighing his words: "Have Miller Carter call the police. Who knows when that spirit might finally break free? We should act as quickly as possible to resolve it—no, actually, that won't work. Carter doesn't know much. If we alert the police this way, they'll likely treat the situation with insufficient urgency. The first responders to arrive and investigate will suffer heavy casualties, possibly even indirectly aiding the spirit in breaking free. Moreover, seeing statues like these, I myself might be silenced as a detective... Hmm. Have you noticed the white bones and the ethereal glow within the room?" The lady bodyguard gently shifted her gaze toward the dim corridor beyond the partially open stone door, nodding slightly. Klein's thoughts flashed: "I suspect those are the bodies of earlier explorers, killed by the spirits within that room. The extraordinary individuals among them left behind magical artifacts—this may be connected to the Viscount family who once lived in the outer house. I intend to find out their surname, check the library archives, and seek out their descendants to gather useful clues. Once the situation is preliminarily assessed, I'll decide based on the severity: perhaps I'll bring in explosives to blow the door apart, preventing others from entering, or alternatively, send an anonymous letter to the police detailing the spirits' presence. However, this will require careful planning to mitigate risks. Neither of these is urgent—time is on our side." The page quietly listened, gazing straight ahead, her tone slightly hesitant: "Wouldn't you consider organizing efforts to purify the spirit?" "Even if no magical artifacts remain, the spirit's residual essence after its departure would still be invaluable." "I never thought I'd hear you speak so much before... Well, frankly, Cline replied without hesitation: "The risk is too high. I believe my life and health are more important." He organized his thoughts and added, "I know the strongest person I've ever met is you. And from what I've just seen, it seems you're not even holding your own against that spirit. I can't imagine what else we could do besides calling for help." The bodyguard turned around, her pale face slightly translucent. "You still have sense," she evaluated calmly and evenly, then drifted toward the exit of the ancient hall. Where, indeed, did I look like a madwoman, except perhaps under the influence of the 'True Maker'? Cline muttered under his breath, holding his lantern and staff, closely following the bodyguard. Throughout the entire journey, he felt as though he was being watched by cold, steady eyes from within the dark corridor. It wasn't until he stepped out through the ancient stone door that this sensation suddenly vanished. Klein turned, closed the door, and sealed the inverted candlestand, the knife-like burn marks, and the strange six-deity statues within, leaving them to continue sleeping in their millennia-old darkness and silence. He brushed the dust from his garments, switched the lantern to the other hand, and hurried back to Miller-Carter's basement, where the bodyguard had already vanished into the air as if by habit. Miller-Carter was pacing in the basement when he saw Klein arrive, and immediately asked, "How is it? What's the condition inside?" Klein had already rehearsed his response, his expression one of relief mixed with concern. "It's very bad—there are many snakes, and several areas have collapsed. I plan to gather information, assemble a team, and prepare thoroughly before making a second exploration. For now, I strongly recommend you not send anyone in. Believe me, the number of venomous snakes far exceeds your expectations." The elderly gentleman Miller took a deep breath, his voice tinged with genuine alarm. "Will they come to us?" "Do you know anyone specialized in dealing with snakes?" Klein nodded immediately. "I'll arrange for collaboration and handle this matter as best as I can. It's now a cold autumn, and the snakes are reluctant to move. As long as you don't send anyone in to disturb them, everything should remain stable." "Good. Please proceed—during this time, I'll keep this door closed and ensure no one enters." Miller relaxed slightly at this response. Noticing that the employer had been convinced by the truthful yet incomplete information, Klein put down his lantern and adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses. "Next, I'll gather some information and first establish a clear understanding of the layout of the underground buildings before making any further exploration." "I'll need you to tell me the name of the viscount who originally owned this house." Miller had purchased the property specifically for its noble heritage, so he answered promptly. "Viscount Pound." "What do you know about him and his family?" Klein asked professionally. Miller mused, "I know not much—only that they earned their titles during the War of Broken Vows. They once enjoyed a distinguished period, but for some reason, decades ago, they suddenly declined, losing successive heirs and having to rely on collateral relatives to preserve the titles. The new Viscount Ponde, well, let's just say he squandered most of the family's wealth and was reduced to a Baron by the king. He should still be in Beckettland, though he may go bankrupt at any moment." War of Broken Vows? The War of Broken Vows that began in the 738th year of the Fifth Age? A smoothly graduated history student, Kline, instinctively recalled the relevant knowledge. That war, which took place over six centuries ago, was a religious conflict. The southern Kingdom of Feneport originally worshipped both the Earth Mother and the gods of knowledge and wisdom, but due to certain factors, the two churches developed serious divisions, leading to frequent conflicts among the faithful. To the north, the neighboring realms of the Kingdom of Roon and the then Kingdom of Intis seized the opportunity, citing the protection of religious freedom as a pretext, and launched wars. Later, the Fesak Empire joined, aiming to undermine Roon and Intis' ambitions, yet ultimately failed to alter the course of events. As a result, several states—Lunburg, Masi, and Segal—located at the borders between Roon and Feneport, and between Intis and Feneport, gained independence, embracing the worship of the deity of knowledge and wisdom. The Feneport kingdom, meanwhile, retained only the Church of the Earth Mother. Since both warring parties accused each other of violating the Sacred Covenant of the Fourth Age, this five-year conflict came to be known as the "War of Betrayal." Thereafter, the northern continent enjoyed a period of peace lasting over three centuries—this did not mean that conflicts between states ceased entirely, only that large-scale wars no longer occurred, a state of affairs that persisted until Rosel invented the steam engine and improved sailing ships and artillery. That's what the history textbooks record... Now that I think about it, since it involves faith, certain extraordinary figures from the Church must have been deeply involved, and there must have been a fierce, hidden war among the extraordinary ones... Yet, at that time, it was reportedly an era when extraordinary individuals were already rare, and the number of such people was not large... Could it be that the small-scale battles were somehow linked to the sudden decline of the Pound family decades ago, when they lost their succession in succession? After all, the family had been abruptly weakened, and perhaps this was tied to the discovery of that ancient building beneath the ground? Klein mused, asking, "Do you know where the present Baron Pound resides?" "I'm sorry, I'm not sure." Miller shook his head slightly. Klein asked a few more questions, but without gaining further information, he decided to leave and returned to No. 15 Minsk Street. It was nearly five o'clock, and the sky was overcast and gloomy, as if it were already night. Klein thought that the public libraries would have closed by now, so he set aside the matter of the underground building for the moment and began preparing his dinner. He had originally intended to make fenepot noodles according to the recipe in the newspaper, but ended up creating a stir-fried dish combining meat, sauce, and vegetables—unexpectedly delicious. After a satisfying meal, Caine casually tossed a coin to consult his fortune on whether he should call the police now, only to receive a negative answer. …… Bakeridge at night was as quiet as other cities, at least in the Joewood district. Caine was sleeping soundly, drifting between various dreams, when suddenly he awoke with a sharp realization—aware that he was dreaming. Someone had intruded upon my dreams? Caine restrained the urge to furrow his brow and instead pretended to be slightly dazed, gazing around him. He found himself standing in a blazing yellow desert. Suddenly, a roar echoed from the sky, and a massive creature, dark with golden accents, soared down. This creature had a sturdy, lizard-like body and broad, scaled wings that spread wide, descending steadily until it covered the sun. A dragon! A mighty dragon! Caine saw disc-sized scales, a massive mouth radiating pure light, and two dark golden vertical pupils. Roar! The dragon breathed out a radiant glow that spread endlessly, engulfing everything—vast stretches of desert vanished beneath it. Within the light, a figure leapt into the air. Standing three to four meters tall, he lacked the giant's distinctive vertical single eye; instead, he had a handsome, youthful face, clad in black armor splattered with blood. This towering knight raised his broadsword upward, and countless shimmering, pale-to-violet flames coalesced into spears, firing in dense, relentless waves—seeming to command an entire legion of ethereal, extraordinary warriors! Amid the meteoric rain of fire, the giant knight vaulted to the dragon's head and delivered a downward slash. The trails of afterimages he had left behind instantly overlapped, transforming the swordlight into intersecting lightning. Crack! The earth shook wildly, and the dragon tumbled down, its blood dark gold. At that moment, the scene abruptly shifted, revealing a vast, blood-streaked door—exactly the one Klein had seen inside the ancient building earlier that afternoon. With a creak, the blood-streaked door opened slightly, revealing a glimpse of a black high-backed chair. Seated on the chair was a man of normal stature, his head bowed, silent and lifeless. As the perspective drew closer, Klein made out the man’s attire—he appeared to be the very knight who had just slain the dragon, still clad in black armor stained with blood! The only difference was that he no longer stood three or four meters tall. Suddenly, the man lifted his head. On his young, handsome face, patches of flesh had rotted away, revealing bone, and his eyes were cold and unfeeling. Klein gasped, jolted awake from the dream, and opened his eyes to find the deep crimson moonlight streaming through the curtains.