Forsyth's eyelashes trembled slightly as she lay on the living room floor, and her eyes slowly opened. Outside, the full moon hung high, like a round disc brimming with crimson light; the once-light, hazy crimson veil had now transformed entirely into deep, blood-like glow. She hadn't died. She hadn't lost control. It wasn't a dream. There had indeed been a mysterious, powerful "Knight of the Fool" who had saved her. Forsyth sat up, examined herself, and found only that her hair had grown slightly longer and denser—no other abnormalities. "But my life has changed so completely since before," she murmured silently. "I don't know whether this is good or bad." She simply sat cross-legged on the floor, gazing into space, sometimes uncertain, sometimes anxious, sometimes moved to tears, sometimes utterly bewildered. ... Above the gray mist, Caine gazed at the chair behind him, symbolizing "doors layered one upon another," and murmured thoughtfully: "I wonder what information lies hidden within those whispers..." "Once she attains Sequence 7, or perhaps Sequence 6, she should be able to counteract the negative effects and clearly hear the content of the whispers." "If she hasn't yet mastered the 'method of acting,' I'll have the 'Justice' ladies teach her. I'll swear before the goddess, using the sacred relics as my witness, that I will never bring up such matters before anyone who hasn't learned the 'method of acting.'" "...Perhaps once I reach Sequence 5 and become a Master of Secret Personas, I'll be able to use appropriate rituals, combined with the unique qualities of this mysterious space, to remotely influence her—directly seeing what she sees and hearing what she hears." "That would confirm whether he's indeed the 'Gate' gentleman." "This is a gentleman who has witnessed the history of the Fourth Age—likely older than Azk, the man who has lived through countless lifetimes." "Though I'm not sure just what level of power or rank he holds—perhaps a 2, or even a 1?" After a moment's reflection, sensing a wavering in his spiritual stability, he promptly plunged into the gray mist, returning to the real world. This was a typical phenomenon for someone newly promoted, so Kline abandoned his plans to go out and instead patiently practiced meditation at home, gathering and stabilizing his dispersed spirit. ... In the early morning, Firth took the first steam subway train back to the Saint George district, then transferred to a public horse carriage, arriving at the two-bedroom apartment where she and Thorne now lived. Upon opening the door and stepping in, she was startled to find Thorne, who usually slept until late, already toasting bread slices. "Last night there was a sudden blood moon—it kept me awake, so I woke up early. Firth, you're all right, aren't you?" Has the strange murmuring gotten stronger?" Hu lifted his head, asking with concern. Folshe's vision suddenly blurred; she turned toward the side, managed a smile, and spoke in her usual, pointed tone: "What about your mind? Didn't I say before? During the Blood Moon, the murmuring will definitely intensify!" "But it makes no difference to me, yes, not at all. Look at me now—how composed I am!" "Oh, give me a slice of bread too!" "Don't you hate this way of eating?" Hu smoothed his golden short hair and murmured softly. ………… After completing his initial revenge and securing a promotion, Kline slept until morning. He strolled out leisurely, ordered a Feneport noodle for breakfast, paired it with a Dizzy pastry, and added a cup of sweet iced tea. After thoroughly enjoying his meal, he set down his fork and knife, picked up the newspaper, and began reading with a deeply relaxed demeanor. Scanning quickly, he noticed the front page of the Tassok Herald headline reading: "Blood Moon Night: The Serial Killer Returns!" Again? Kline flipped through the front pages of other newspapers and found numerous similar headlines: "The True Eleventh Case! Police at a Loss!" "The Cold-Blooded Killer Once Again Challenging the Police!" "Panicked Atmosphere Spreading Across Beckland!" This... surely the Watchers and the Sentinels must be struggling with this? Kline sincerely remarked to himself. Honestly, he felt a strong urge to identify the killer. Back on Earth, when he lacked abilities, he often imagined himself standing up for justice, bringing evil to account. Now, as a Seventh Sequence Exceptional Being, Kline felt it would be a great disservice to his past if he didn't live up to the role of a superhero. Ah, unfortunately, this case has already attracted intense attention. If I get involved now, won't I simply be exposing my identity? One must remain rational in life... And, according to the "Sun" student's account, the murderer is likely in the process of transitioning from Sequence 6 to Sequence 5. Though I've accumulated so many spells and spell-like abilities, I'm not exactly confident I can catch him—his movements may be too fluid, and the risk remains high. After careful consideration, Caine ultimately chooses to follow his innermost conviction and become an ordinary citizen. He believes that, with the combined strength of the major churches, if the murderer continues his crimes, he will surely be apprehended. After reviewing the relevant news reports, Caine glances at the fifth section of the *Bakerland Morning Herald* and notices once again the advertisement for Ernst & Co. purchasing goods. "There's a gathering scheduled for tonight at eight—perfect. I'll sell the marrow crystals from the Fountain of the Elves to the apothecary..." Caine murmurs to himself, mentally noting the first four digits of each quotation. Half an hour and thirty minutes later, having carefully read through the thick stack of newspapers before him, he began seriously contemplating his future plans: "My long-term goal is to advance to a higher sequence, becoming a powerful being half-divine, half-human, and to lay the groundwork for avenging myself against Insan Zangwei. "My mid-term objective is to discover a way to embody the role of the 'Magician,' gradually formulating corresponding principles, and steadily integrating the elixirs over time. During this process, I will gather key characteristics of the Faceless Man—such as human skin shadows, deep-sea Naiads' hair, the cerebral anomalies and blood of the Multi-Faced Hunter—and develop effective methods for removing the demonic spiritual contamination from objects. "Hmm... the exceptional materials at Sequence 6 level each cost around 1,500 pounds—quite expensive!" "Moreover, while the 'Sorcerer' is strong, their extraordinary abilities are more focused on survival, evasion, and environmental adaptation. Their most powerful attacks are comparable to a specially crafted revolver—effective primarily through surprise—and they lack means to control their enemies." "Short-term plan, short-term plan… Hm, I've been waiting to cut out paper 'people' to get ready for their abilities. In the afternoon, I'll head to a circus—not only for relaxation and entertainment, but also to observe regular magicians' performances and gather inspiration for my own act. I read in the paper that there are several established circuses in Beckland…" After organizing his thoughts, Caine immediately cleared his plates, washed his utensils, and immersed himself in the busy preparations. By noon, he set down his scissors, gazing at the rather plain three paper figures before him, and sighed softly, murmuring, "This is probably the first time in both my past and present lives that I've approached a craft with such seriousness..." "Good thing—it's just paper figures, not window-cutting, not embroidery. As long as there's a human shape, that's enough!" "Ah, if my hands hadn't grown so dexterous, I'd have failed today..." ——Klein had already tested his ability with extra paper figures, confirming it worked. Folding the figures and tucking them into a stack of sticky notes, he collected them and placed them in his pocket. Just as he was about to head out to a better restaurant for a meal and then to the nearest circus for a performance, the doorbell suddenly rang, its clear, resonant chime echoing pleasantly. "A commission? My advertisement must have nearly expired by now..." Klein, wearing a crisp shirt and a lightweight, warm sweater, approached the door and grasped the handle. At the same time, a clear image of the visitor emerged in his mind: a man in his forties, quite overweight, appearing somewhat strained even standing upright. His eyes were squeezed small by the flesh on his face, his skin rough yet fair, holding a gentleman's cane in one hand and wearing a tall, imposing hat. Though October in Bekkan had already been quite cold, sweat clearly trickled down his forehead. Two attendants in bright red coats stood beside him, supporting him on either side. "I don't recognize him," Klein murmured, opening the door without any immediate response from his inspiration. "Good afternoon, the weather is quite warm today," the middle-aged man wiped the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. As he spoke, a sudden cold breeze swept past, making the two attendants shiver slightly. "Good afternoon," Klein said politely, "may I ask what brings you here?" "Are you Sherlock Moriarty, the detective? I have something I'd like to entrust to you." The middle-aged man managed a smile. "I forgot to introduce myself—I'm Logan Caroman, a jewelry merchant." "Please, come in." Kline smiled and stepped aside. Logan Caroman entered with a heavy tread, sat down heavily on the sofa, and caused the older piece of furniture to groan in protest. "What exactly would you like me to do?" Kline took a copper penny, skillfully rotating and tossing it between his fingers. "Would you mind if I asked for your help in protecting my child until this afternoon?" Logan sighed. "He's gotten into trouble with a group of lunatics." "Until this afternoon?" Kline asked, his tone steady and measured. "Have you found a solution? Why not call the police?" Logos paused for two seconds, then said: "Attila has a few unsavory friends who've led him into some less-than-ideal situations—nothing catastrophic, but serious enough to possibly send him to prison. It's not that he has no other options; I just don't want to file a complaint." "Recently, he's had a falling out with those friends, and suddenly he's been overwhelmed, constantly insisting they're coming to kill him." "I'm deeply concerned, so I've hired a security company to bring in six experienced security personnel for perimeter coverage, and also engaged four private investigators to rotate around Attila, even during his sleep hours, keeping a close watch." "However, one of the investigators has suddenly had a family emergency that requires him to return only this afternoon. I've had to arrange for a temporary replacement." "I'm sorry, but I can only hire you for one day." "Ah, well... I'll pay you ten pounds. Should anything go wrong, I'll add a bonus—absolutely, I'll make you satisfied." "That's right... Ten pounds a day—more than Mr. Summer's weekly salary... Klein initially verified that the man wasn't lying by reading the tone of his expression. During the brief silence in the living room, the copper half-crown constantly turning between his fingers suddenly leapt up and then clinked softly onto his palm. Klein glanced at it, curled his fingers, and smiled slightly. "Deal."