In the western part of the kingdom of Roon, the county of Civeslas lies across the Hornachis Mountains from the Republic of Intis. In Bekland, there is a street named after it, located at the edge of the Queens District and home to the headquarters of the capital's police department. Many people have chosen to settle there for the peace of mind, and Lord Rafter Pound is one of them. Inside a street-facing house at number 29, the baron, dressed in a plush robe, stands in the warmly lit living room, standing by a closed window, gazing across at the Civeslas Field opposite. Though only just past forty, he now has white hair at his temples, swollen eyes, and deep lines etched across his face, always seeming to carry the scent of wine about him. Scattered across the floor behind him are several torn women's undergarments, while directly across from him, the fireplace burns steadily. Rafter lifts his wine glass, drinks off the remainder in one go, then slowly walks toward the door, intending to return to his bedroom to sleep. Because there were no pipes to transfer heat from the fireplace, as soon as he stepped out of the living room, he felt the deep autumn chill seeping into his bones. "Damn it!" Laverstoke Ponder muttered, swaying as he reached the bedroom door and turned the handle. The bedroom was dimly lit, with only a faint rose glow filtering in. As Ponder reached to close the door and settle himself onto the bed, his gaze suddenly froze. Sitting quietly by the window curtain was a figure! The figure wore gray-blue clothes and trousers, a dark baseball cap pulled low, completely hidden in shadow. Noticing Ponder's gaze, the figure slowly lifted his head and looked toward him. His face was painted in a vibrant mix of red, yellow, and white—like the most comical clown! Lavette was about to shout and turn to flee, when he saw a revolver pointed directly at him and heard two low, hoarse sentences: "I suggest you not do anything unwise." "If you cooperate well, I won't harm you, nor take anything of yours, should you still have any." Lavette Ponde's face changed several times, and with great sincerity he closed the bedroom door, then half-raised his hands and sat down by the side of the bed. "What would you have me do?" he asked, clearing his throat and trembling slightly, as if to emphasize, "Right across from me is the West Villas field!" "I know that," said the man in the clown's costume, adjusting his voice and tone with a warning note, "but I believe I am closer to you than the West Villas field is." "Indeed, my purpose is merely to ask you a few questions." —Before coming to West Villas Street, he had consulted the mysterious space above the gray mist, divining whether this journey would be hazardous, and had received a very secure answer. "What questions?" "Rafter's lips moved a moment, and he offered a bitter smile, 'It's come again... Am I forever trapped in this nightmare?' 'Have many people asked you about it?' Kline followed along. 'Not just asked! After my uncle, the respected old viscount, passed away, so much has happened around me. My kind, gentle housekeeper resigned without any reason—wherever she went, I don't know—and the servants and maids have been replaced one after another, suddenly, becoming strangers and cold. They're searching for something, yes, searching for something. At that time, I was barely ten years old, and I could only watch, unable to speak, afraid I'd never wake up again!' Rafter replied, visibly overwhelmed. What are they searching for? Is it the underground structure, or the family's treasure—perhaps the extraordinary traits and magical artifacts buried near that malevolent spirit? Shouldn't the royal court and the church have noticed? Surely, the higher echelons must know about the immutable and conserved laws of extraordinary properties!" Since the Pound family has fallen into decline, shouldn't something like this have been reclaimed? Unless I've spent a considerable amount of my own resources, purchasing additional extraordinary traits and magical items of the same tier, to conceal the underground building situation... Kline listened calmly, forming numerous speculations. He appeared relaxed, yet was ready to act at any moment, and asked: "How long has this situation persisted?" "I don't know, I don't know. Everyone around me is someone I don't recognize—how can I be sure the others aren't allies? Heh, I pretended not to notice anything, trembling through several years, then under their influence, I drank heavily, pursued women, gambled, smoked marijuana, and engaged in all sorts of activities that made me appear like a complete waste!" "Lavt Ponder chuckled nervously," "They've finally relaxed, stopped hovering over me. When I sold even that house, they—well, they left. I don't know where they went. No, they're definitely still watching me from the shadows, preventing me from calling the police. Yes, preventing me from calling the police!" This man must have a mental illness... I'm not sure if he's telling the truth. His emotional shifts make logical sense, but what if he's simply feeling guilty toward me, and has imagined this dramatic scene as an excuse for his own decline, then reinforced it through constant self-conviction? As a well-rounded, knowledgeable keyboard specialist, Klein had seen cases like this before in his past life. After pausing for two seconds, he asked, "What did they ask you?" "They asked me about how my two children—my sons—died, and what unusual symptoms or changes occurred in my father during those years. I was barely ten at the time. I simply didn't know anything!" Rafter adjusted his arms, his voice rising in a low growl as he struggled to keep it steady. "Calm down, please. Calm down." Klein pressed his left hand down, shifting to ask further questions, trying to confirm from several angles whether Viscount Pound knew about the underground structure. As they exchanged words, time flew by. Klein, his voice hoarse, said, "You really seem to know nothing at all." "I'm truly sorry to have disturbed you—I should be going now." He stood up, gave a slight bow, and offered a polished gesture of courtesy. At the same moment, Rafter Pound's expression of collapse and agitation vanished instantly, his pale blue eyes deepening into a profound intensity, as if observing intently. Just as he saw the intruder in the clown's attire about to straighten up, he immediately resumed his earlier demeanor—full of grief, fury, bitterness, and nervousness. Then, suddenly, a mysterious voice resonated in his ears. "Crimson!" Klein infused the spiritual essence into the "Sleeper Spell," throwing it toward Laffort with his left hand, which was not holding a weapon. Amidst the delicate crackling of flames, a profound and intense sense of calm spread out, enveloping the baron, causing him to close his eyes and gently collapse onto the bed. "I'm sorry," Klein said, "the earlier questions were merely for comparison purposes. There will be further procedures—such as 'entering a dream' and 'spiritual communion'—to come." He gently patted the baron's shirt, placed his hand on his chest, and bowed once more. Then, he activated the "Dream Spell," entering Laffort's dreams as if he were a nightmare. In this hazy, fragmented, constantly shifting world, Crane remained awake and rational beside Laffitt, observing him encounter attendants and maids with blank faces, devoid of features, an unsettling sight. He watched as, each time Laffitt turned his head, he saw an elderly face silently gazing at him. He watched as Laffitt curled into a corner, trembling, and watched as shadows gradually, step by step, enveloped him. This matched perfectly with his earlier description. Crane attempted to guide Laffitt to uncover the underlying causes, but Viscount Pound appeared to suffer from profound psychological trauma—any slight stimulation would send him into nervous, loud screaming fits in his dreams, rushing wildly about. As a result, Crane was utterly unable to gather further information. Thus, he stepped out of the dream, reinforced Laffitt's "sleeping charm," and then drew out the "Amande" essence and other materials, preparing to begin the spirit-communication ritual. After responding to himself, Caine's spirit pierced through the mental storm and saw the other's illusory form—his mental embodiment. "What did my lord say to you just before he died?" Caine pondered before asking. Lavert Pound responded vaguely: "He asked me to maintain the family." "Anything else?" Caine asked with a tone of certainty. "Remember the glory of our ancestors," Lavert replied, still offering the same answer. Caine nodded gently and then asked: "What are they searching for?" "I don't know," Lavert repeated, once again giving the same response. Caine continued questioning, comparing each answer to the previous ones, and concluded that Lavert, the baron, had not been lying—each statement was genuinely authentic. By this point, he no longer hesitated, penetrating deeper into the other's mental storm and drawing his own spiritual essence back into his own body. Next, Caine methodically cleared the scene and produced the Azkran copper whistle, tossing it a few times to use its presence as a disruption to any potential subsequent divination investigations. "Thank you very much for your cooperation, Lord." With that, Caine, still painted in clown colors, bowed once more. Then he turned, opened the window, and leapt into the street, vanishing into the vast night. A moment later, Lafford Pund suddenly opened his eyes. Around his pale blue irises, a ring of burst capillaries had formed! He shot upright in bed, gazing toward the open, bulging window. ………… After making a large loop through the eastern district, Caine shed his disguise, donned his usual clothes, and returned to 15 Minsk Street in Joowood as if nothing had happened. He did not rest, nor did he ponder how to proceed with the underground structure beneath; instead, he stepped once again into the gray mist. At the very head of the ancient long table, Caine slowly spread out his hands, revealing a few strands of brown hair—hair from Laverst. Pound, which he had collected before "entering" Laverst. Pound's dreams. There was still one final step: a divination confirmation atop the gray mist. Caine silently murmured to himself, materializing a scroll and pen, and writing down the content he had already carefully considered: "Laverst. Pound's future." I wish to see what will happen to you in the future, so that I may verify it against the past! Caine leaned back against the chair's backrest, silently reciting the divination incantation. Since this ancient structure involves six orthodox deities, he feared that directly divining the relevant details might pose issues, so he adopted an alternative approach—instead, he asked Laverst. Pound about his future.