West Quarter, Green Park Street. Klein, whose cheeks now bear a light beard, wearing gold-framed glasses, carrying a semi-high hat and a black cane, followed closely by Logos Caroman, entered the spacious and bright living room. A grand crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, while golden reliefs and ornaments adorned the walls, corners, and tables, creating an atmosphere of elegance, refinement, and luxury. "Indeed, a jeweler—no wonder a jeweler residing in the West Quarter," Klein murmured, glancing at several oil paintings beside him. With every step Logos took, his ample frame shook slightly, prompting constant speculation about when his clothes might finally snap. Clearly, however, as a jeweler, he had sufficient means to afford the finest garments. "This is my son, Atreus," Logos stopped at the edge of the carpet, pointing to the fifteen- or sixteen-year-old boy seated on a single sofa. Since every fireplace inside the house had been lit and heat was being transmitted through metal pipes, the living room was quite warm, making Caine feel so cozy that he almost wanted to shed down to just a shirt and trousers. Yet the boy was wrapped in a thick fur coat and still covered with a warm-looking blanket over his legs. He was hunched low, tightly hugging himself, shivering continuously, and his deep blue hair seemed to have lost its luster. Logos glanced at him with concern and softly called out, "Atreus, this is Moriati, the detective assigned to protect you over the past two days." Upon hearing this, Atreus lifted his head, revealing a pale complexion, bluish lips, and unfocused eyes. "Protect me! Protect me! They're going to kill me! They're going to kill me!" His voice grew increasingly sharp, until finally he pressed both hands to his ears and shouted loudly. It took several seconds before he gradually calmed down. Meanwhile, Caine had lightly tapped his teeth, quietly activating his spiritual sight. Hmm... he suppressed the astonishment that had nearly escaped him and carefully examined the scene again. He saw the hue of Atreus's aura now tinged with deep black and green—this was a clear sign of lingering spectral shadows, even of spirits manifesting within him! Atreus's former friends were now exacting revenge upon him... or perhaps he never truly had any real friends at all—he might simply be encountering spirits and experiencing hallucinations. Caine gently reached out, grasping the bronze whistle from Mr. Azk and extending his spiritual presence. Then, with thoughtful concentration, he shifted his gaze to the other guests in the living room. Near the window with the projecting belly, stood a man in a black coat—tall, broad-shouldered, and reserved, his waist bulging as though concealing a pistol. This must be one of the six security personnel. As Caine was about to take in the others, Logos Caroman introduced: "Caslanna Detective, her assistant Lydia." "Stewart detective." At this point, Logan half-turned and indicated Sherlock Moriarty. "This is Detective Sherlock Moriarty." This reminded Klein of a remark made by lawyer Jurgen: for private detectives, illegal gun ownership is something that can be verified instantly—given the difficulty in obtaining a general weapons permit, it's not easy for anyone outside the nobility, the legislature, or senior government staff to secure one. In fact, he had already transferred the paper figures, notes, talismans, and matchboxes into his trouser pocket, leaving only herb powder, essential oils, his wallet, keys, and the £206 banknotes inside the wallet in his coat. "Since I turned in that handgun, I've been practicing techniques to simulate vocal expressions, and the results have been quite satisfactory," Caine replied half-jokingly. "That's not an interesting matter, Detective Moriaty," Kaslanara said, her voice steady. "I just wanted to perform a little magic for you," Caine quipped, handing his staff to the maid and giving a serious nod. "I'll keep that in mind." "Good. After dinner, you all rest, and then we'll rotate overnight." Kaslanna added beside him. Cain looked steadily at the young man, head bowed and trembling, and nodded seriously. …… Nothing happened all afternoon. The worried host and hostess had prepared a sumptuous dinner for the detective and the security staff, without any alcoholic beverages. After eating and drinking, Cain and the young man with a beard, Stuart, walked toward their second-floor guest room. With the room now empty, Stuart shook his head and began: " Sherlock, you must have noticed it already—Attila's problem isn't that someone wants to retaliate against him." Well, you're quite at ease with people, aren't you... Cain replied, his expression unchanged. "How so?" "His demeanor is as though he's mentally unwell, or—well, in country terms, possessed by spirits or ghosts. To be honest, I'm quite afraid of this." "Stuart sighed, 'Mr. Caroman should have him see a psychiatrist. If that doesn't help, then find the priest of the Storm Lord and have them sprinkle holy water and perform the rituals!' 'You can suggest that to him,' said Caine reasonably. 'If Atreus hasn't improved by the next couple of days, I'll consider it,' said Stuart, glancing at Caine. Caine smiled. 'That's up to you. I'll be wrapping up my commission tomorrow.' At that moment, the two of them reached their destination and entered their respective rooms. ... 1 a.m. in Atreus's bedroom. Caine sat in the armchair, holding the Azk copper whistle, quietly observing the patient, while Stuart sipped his coffee at the desk. They said nothing, afraid of disturbing the patient, who had just managed to fall asleep. Time passed slowly. Suddenly, a cold sensation swept through the room. Atreus sat up abruptly, his eyes opening. 'What's wrong?' "Stuart asked, a little tense. "To the restroom..." Atreus replied in a low, wavering voice. His face had grown paler, and his lips were increasingly blue. Just as Stuart was about to speak, he saw Sherlock Moriarty rise and nod to him. "I'll follow him." "Good," Stuart breathed, subtly easing his shoulders. Kaine walked a step behind Atreus, keeping pace as he led him to the restroom door. As Atreus reached to close the door, he suddenly saw a figure dart in. "I can't let you leave my sight. Hm, do whatever you need to do—just pretend I'm not there," Kaine said, smiling as he leaned against the corner of the wall. Atreus remained silent, his gaze drifting aimlessly across the room, settling on the mirror. He turned on the tap, letting the water flow steadily. At that moment, Kaine pulled out a box of matches, struck one with a quick brush, and seemed to be preparing to light a cigarette. But he didn't do that. He merely exhaled gently, letting the match fade into extinction. Plink! Caelin casually tossed the match to the front of him and then produced another object. Suddenly, Atalante, facing away from him, straightened up, his reflection in the mirror pale as a corpse. Hoo! Inside the bathroom, the wind howled fiercely. Atalante remained motionless—neither shifting his waist nor moving his legs—until he turned fully around, his gaze fixed tightly on Caelin's left hand, on the delicate bronze whistle being tossed up and caught again and again. Hoo! A sudden gust of cold wind swept across Caelin's face. He smiled, unchanged, and snapped his fingers. With a roar, a flame surged from the ground, igniting the formless figure. The figure struggled briefly before vanishing completely, and the flame then extinguished. Caelin folded the Azk copper whistle in his hand and calmly gazed at Atalante, whose eyes were now beginning to focus. Atalante seemed to have just woken from a long, lingering nightmare. He gazed茫然ly at a young man standing a few steps away, dressed in a white shirt and dark pants, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, who was leaning against the wall with a gentle smile. Then, he heard a warm voice: "What exactly has happened to you?"