"Esteemed Sir Fool, kindly convey to Sir World that I will soon gather the true roots and sap of the 'Mist Tree People' for him." Upon receiving Sir Sun's reply, Klein gave a barely perceptible nod, murmuring to himself, "It seems he is quite satisfied with the weapons." "Even without environmental advantages, the 'Gale Axe' is truly excellent." He had already conveyed the key features and limitations of that extraordinary weapon through a manifest document, choosing not to describe them directly in order not to appear verbose and to preserve his own image. Having completed all this, Klein made no further停留, immediately returned to the real world, changed his clothes, and departed from Black Palms Street. ........ East District, Dharavi Street, a cozy yet bustling tavern. Hew Dillchar pressed his nose and mouth together, pushing through the crowd. To her, the place was thick with the scent of wine and sweat, and it was easy to bump into people much taller than herself, forcing her to pass directly through their armpits—where the intensity of the smell could easily overwhelm a normal person. After great effort, even summoning the strength of the "Arbiter," Hew finally reached the bar counter and spotted the person she was looking for. "Half and half?" the young man named Williams said half-drunk and half-surprised. "Half and half" was the most popular alcoholic drink in the East District, made by blending malt beer and fortified wine—hence the name, as the two ingredients were roughly equal in proportion. "Do you really want me to drink something?" Hugh arched an eyebrow. "No, he doesn't!" the barkeeper, hurriedly stepping in to answer for Williams, explained. He remembered well the devastating effect the young woman across from him had when she got drunk—she'd use her fists to urge guests to give up alcohol and send them staggering out one by one. Williams gave a slight shrug and spread his hands. "Then go on, what do you want?" Williams was one of the key informants in the East District, with connections to several crime families. Hugh frowned. "Williams, can't you ever go dry?" "Save money, marry a good girl, come home every day to hot water, delicious meals, and warm greetings—share with her the things you've seen, and in return, she'll tell you about the little daily happenings at home, and the little ones will kiss your cheeks and play around you. Isn't that warmth?" She had quickly established herself in the East District upon her arrival in Beacon Hills, thanks largely to William's support, so she had always hoped he would live a better life. "Warmth?" William scoffed. "That warmth is built on the money I bring home. I've long since realized—if I can manage to bring home twenty souls every week, then I'll consider my household warm, as you described. But if that doesn't happen, by heaven, the women's shrieks and insults, the children's wails and cries, will drive me mad!" "My mother is just a role model. Every time my father comes home, there's always arguments and shouting. If that's the case, why not trade my sule and cents for a drink here? Nobody here cares how much I earn—everyone just enjoys drinking and chatting, and the atmosphere is absolutely fantastic. If I miss my women, there are always those lovely street girls outside, who won't bother you with complaints." Hugh drew a slight smile at the corner of his mouth. "You're truly a hopeless devotee of the Storm King. One day, you'll die from alcohol and some odd illness." "At least I've already experienced it," Williams replied with complete indifference. "I haven't worked for three days now. I won't give you any discount." Hugh stopped trying to persuade him, ran his fingers through his messy golden hair, and handed over the Liruus portrait paintings that Audrey had given him. "Keep an eye on this man—find him as soon as possible." "There are several different versions of him here." Williams unfolded the paper, swayed slightly, and glanced at it, then murmured, "He's rather ordinary-looking, and there are so many people in the East Ward—so many who die, leave, arrive, or become homeless—it's hard to find someone like him." "Anyway, keep an eye out and let me know immediately if you come across anyone similar." Hugh pulled out a five-schilling note and handed it to him. "This is for the wine. If you find the person depicted, I'll add another ten pounds—well, actually, ten pounds." "Ten pounds?" Williams blew a whistle. "Hugh, when did you become so generous? Or is this person worth more than that?" "His reward is exactly ten pounds for any lead provided," Hugh replied, while casually surveying the tavern's atmosphere. "Don't forget this— I'll be back to see you in a few days." She had already covered half of the East Ward, assigning this task to several known gang leaders and well-informed contacts, and had already paid out several pounds in advance. As long as one succeeds, I'll make it back—profitably! Hui quietly steadied herself, pressed her hands over her mouth and nose, and turned to walk toward the tavern. At that moment, arguments among some of the drunken patrons escalated into full-blown conflicts, and the scene gradually grew chaotic. Hui sighed, glanced around helplessly, and raised her voice: "Stop!" The commanding tone resonated throughout the tavern, and the drunken guests, as if encountering their nemesis, hurriedly settled back into their seats, some even clutching their heads and crouching down. Phew—when would she ever be promoted to "Constable"? Hui murmured, half-satisfied, half-anticipating. ………… On a Thursday morning, Cline visited the Saint George district, which felt as though it were in a completely different city, to check on his first investment. Thanks to his previous advice and the inspiration drawn from Rosel's manuscript, Raphaël had made excellent progress on the bicycle project and had already produced a rough prototype. This matched perfectly with Cline's own image of a bicycle. After the test ride, Klein offered several additional suggestions and committed to paying the second installment of investment next week. He also expressed hope to bring in new investors soon, so the project could move swiftly into the factory stage. The only issue was that Raphaël insisted he was the inventor and thus had the right to name the product. He was dissatisfied with the term "bicycle" and intended to use the more common term "pedal cycle." Klein showed no concern about this. By midday, upon returning to No. 15 on Minsk Street, he had not yet removed his hat when he heard the layered, overlapping voices of supplication. "Madam Justice?" Had she already gathered such detailed information about the fallen nobility so quickly? Klein paused thoughtfully, preparing to enter the living room and head upstairs. At that moment, he heard the sound of the doorbell again and hurried to open the door, where he found Julian, the housemaid from the neighboring Summer household. "Mr. Moriaty," she said, "Mrs. Summer would like to invite you to a luncheon on Sunday. There will be many neighbors there." "The housemaid recited it as if by rote. After returning last night, Caine had given the portable camera to Mrs. Summer and exchanged a few words with her, but had received no mention of the luncheon. Indeed, the magazine often noted that middle-class families would never personally invite guests—they would formally send their maids or footmen to extend the invitation. This was precisely Mrs. Summer's style. Caine had first been puzzled, then suddenly understood, and agreed to attend on Sunday. With a free lunch, who could resist? Moreover, Mr. and Mrs. Summer were not particularly difficult to get along with, as long as one didn't mind their occasional displays of elegance. Caine quietly added this to himself in his mind. After watching the maid, Julian, depart, he closed the door and walked toward the staircase, glancing along the way at the slightly disordered living room, dining room, and kitchen." It's been several days since I last did a thorough cleaning... As a single man, maintaining this level of neatness is already quite impressive. I have so many secrets—I'm not sure I won't be attacked someday. Perhaps it wouldn't be ideal to hire a housemaid specifically to live in the house. Hmm... Maybe I should discuss it with Mrs. Summer on Sunday, asking her to send her own maid to clean twice a week, and I'll pay her the corresponding fee. Many tenants and landlords have similar arrangements. Audrey, having just returned from talks with royal heralds and experts in the field, performed the ritual with a touch of unfamiliarity, tossing the thick manuscript into the ethereal gate. "I'll deliver it to 'the World,'" Kline said calmly, cutting the connection. This time, he didn't rush to return to the real world; instead, he flipped through the manuscript, locating the section pertaining to the Pound family. The viscountcy of the Pound family indeed originated in the "War of Broken Oaths," after which they became steadfast supporters of the monarchy, maintaining significant influence both in the military and within their own territories. Yet thirty-two years ago, two successive heirs fell ill and died, prompting the elder viscount to bring in a younger relative from a collateral branch. Not long after, the elder viscount passed away, and the young heir, still relatively young, succumbed to the influence of the servants, who encouraged and urged him to change his household staff, eventually becoming a spendthrift. In just a few years, he had exhausted most of his wealth, been reduced to a baron, and even sold the family's homes in Beckland. Over the following years, his title was lowered again, down to a viscount. "Died from a severe illness? I doubt even the body could be found—buried deep within the underground complex, in the room right at the blood-soaked entrance... I'm certain my lord deliberately concealed this matter, never allowing the royal family, the military, or the church to investigate. It seems the Pound family only stumbled upon that Pleistocene-era underground structure over thirty years ago—perhaps, perhaps the secret inner doors were built by them. But there were more than two bodies in that innermost room. Someone must have visited and explored there in ancient times." Well, I should speak with Baron Pound without revealing my identity... Cain paused his thoughts and glanced at the final section, where he found what he was looking for: "Baron Pound currently resides at 29 West Villas Street, Queens." PS: Any recommendations for a monthly pass?