"What exactly happened?" Atlus whispered the question, yet couldn't recall what he had done in the past few days. He glanced around in a dreamlike state, asking with fear, apprehension, and confusion: "Who are you?" "Where are we?" "This is your bathroom, isn't it? You should recognize it. I'm your private detective, assigned to protect you." Klein smiled gently at the young man still struggling to grasp the situation across from him. "My home... my detective... what exactly happened..." Atlus stared around in astonishment, murmuring to himself. Suddenly, he paused, the pallor of his face deepening into an unmistakable fear: "Perhaps... perhaps there really are ghosts! Real ghosts!" His voice trembled, yet Klein sensed two distinct emotions—fear and excitement—clearly conveyed, perfectly matching the tone and color of his expression. Excitement? Is this a boy who deliberately seeks excitement by provoking spirits? Truly bold—fearless and brave for someone so young... Caine made an initial guess, yet on the surface, he remained puzzled, asking, "Spirits?" Since becoming a "Magician," his spiritual sight had slightly improved, but not significantly—still unable to perceive the star-spirit layer beneath the etheric body, thus unable to determine whether the target was a special being. Atreus' pale complexion suddenly flushed: "Yes, spirits!" He waved his arms, adding, "Beyond our senses lies a much broader world! Indeed, death is not the final end!" That monologue... quite typical of a teenage boy. Yet, I've heard something similar before... Caine smiled and said, "I believe another phrase instead: before even the most ancient times, even death itself will fade away." "Without waiting for Attila to finish, he produced his gold-case pocket watch, opened it, and glanced at the time. 'So, exactly how did you end up in that state—like a patient suffering a mental breakdown?' 'I...' Attila tilted his head, thinking for a few seconds. 'I joined a club—not just any club! We all believe death is not the end. Through the mysteries, we can even directly perceive death and understand that everything is reversible. Yes, we believe the dead can be resurrected!' Klein, who had only recently emerged from the grave, chuckled nervously. 'You're trying to resurrect the dead?' Death is not the end... the world beyond the senses... everything can be reversed... insights gained through the mysteries... isn't this precisely the doctrine of the Spiritual Order? Isn't this exactly what they've been crafting to resurrect the gods? He murmured these thoughts to himself, growing increasingly enlightened. 'Yes!' Attila nodded, his eyes shining, yet still filled with fear. "Where did you get their bodies from?" Caine asked. "We—we will, we'll, dig up graves secretly, those just recently buried, or buy them from the hospital..." Atalante recalled. It was indeed a crime that would land them in prison... That's why Logos Caroman didn't want to report it... How bold they were! Caine maintained a gentle smile and then asked, "Have you had any success?" "Not yet... At the party, they looked at me as if I were a corpse, as if they were considering where to place the corresponding covenant... Then, when we danced the spirit dance, communicating with the world beyond the senses, afterward, I lost all memory..." Atalante's body began to tremble uncontrollably. The spirit dance? Truly a spirit sect! Had this man become a test subject for his companions? Caine frowned slightly and asked, "Since then, have you retained your memory up to now?" According to internal records of the night watch, "Linwu" originates from an ancient ritual dance popular across the southern continent and is particularly favored by the god of death. "Linwu" harmonizes the spiritual essence through rhythm, melody, and movement, establishing a certain interaction between the spirit and its natural environment as well as the object of veneration, further enhanced by a simple altar arrangement and appropriate titles, thus achieving the effect of a more complex ritual magic. "Hmm," Atreus responded quietly, then looked up. "What day is it today? What time is it?" "Friday at 1:12 a.m.," Klein replied based on his memory. Atreus unconsciously took a breath. "I've missed the latest gathering..." "They hold a resurrection ceremony every Friday at 3 a.m. outside the Green Cemetery." The Green Cemetery derives its name from its proximity to Green Park Street. "Do you still want to go? Have you forgotten what's happened to you recently?" Oh, you certainly don't remember—but you should ask your parents and servants. "Klein reminded the young man. Moreover, I might not be able to help you after all... he silently added in his mind. Following this incident, he had uncovered another shortcoming of magicians: their inability to effectively combat spectral or ghostly beings. Only flame manipulation counted; once the spirits took possession of a human, removing or purifying them became a challenge, unless one intended to eliminate both the person and the spirit together. Of course, Klein wasn't entirely helpless in this regard—he could summon ritual magic to achieve similar results—but that would be quite cumbersome and prone to exposure, making it unsuitable for actual combat. After careful consideration, he ultimately decided to use the Azkian copper horn to lure out the spirits and then manipulate flame to purify them. However, the damage inflicted was not severe. Should the spirits be particularly strong, the situation might not be resolved at all. I still lack items or talismans to combat undead beings—having the sealing object "3–0782," the "Variegated Solar Emblem," would be ideal... Kline's thoughts briefly wandered. At once, Atreus remembered his lapse in memory, his face paling again, and trembling as he replied, "No, I don't want to go! I never want to go again!" "Excellent," Kline remarked with a smile. Atreus gazed at his calm, unafraid expression and instinctively asked, "Did I say all that, and still not frighten you at all?" Kline no longer leaned against the wall, slowly straightening himself, and responded with ease, "To a detective, unless there's solid evidence, one would rather remain skeptical." With that, he opened the door and stepped out, considering whether to reach out to the Order of the Spirits, as it might involve the mystery of Mr. Azk. Ataru stared blankly at the private detective's back, only realizing after a while that the bathroom was empty except for himself, and that outside, the moonlight was dim, casting faint, shadowy forms as though something unseen were lurking, watching. He shivered suddenly and called out, "Wait for me!" As he spoke, he quickened his pace, rushing out of the bathroom and closely following behind Cline. Aware of his fear, aware of his dread—but still saved—Cline murmured, inserting both hands into his pants pockets. Upon returning to the bedroom, Stuart still found Ataru pale and tense, shaken by the ghost stories he had imagined, unwilling to move. When Ataru finally fell asleep again, Cline took a copper penny and let it spin and hover between his fingers. As the time approached 2:50, he tossed the coin and caught it steadily, then rose and spoke softly to Stuart, "I'll go to the balcony and smoke a cigarette." "Hurry up." Stuart gave a slightly tense instruction. Cain donned his formal evening dress and slowly stepped out, reaching the end of the corridor and taking shelter in the shadow of the balcony. Then, he drew forth a rather plain paper figure. Crack! Cain sharply shook his wrist, the paper crisping with a crisp sound, expanding rapidly until it fully took on the form of a human figure. The figure stood at the same height as Cain, with identical facial features and attire—down to the very fabric—appearing as a finely crafted, lifelike wax sculpture from a distance. This was one application of the "paper figure stand" technique. Following this, Cain focused his spirit, clenched his right fist, and gently tapped it against his own body. Instantly, the figure came alive, its mouth holding a cigarette with a red-tinted tip, releasing a steady aroma of tobacco. "Based on this paper figure, the illusion will last for thirty minutes—truly a magician!" Klein put on his gloves, pressed down and pushed off, gliding silently across the balcony, avoiding the security personnel on patrol. Indeed, it was the "Spirit Dance"—a ritual magic accessible even to ordinary people. Caine shifted his gaze to the black-robed man kneeling beside the corpse, intently reciting incantations. It had been he who had just instructed the young boys and girls on how to perform the "Spirit Dance." Likely a member of the Spirit Church, probably a非凡 one. Caine gave a barely perceptible nod, deciding to first observe how the man conducted the resurrection ritual. At that moment, the dance reached its climax. The adult black-robed man lifted his head, removed his wig, revealing several strange tattoos etched upon his bald scalp. He raised both hands and cried out: "Death!" "Hail, Death!" "Returning!" After uttering these words, the dance ceased. The seven or eight youths stood on either side, their expressions a blend of dazed, eager, excited, and apprehensive. Then, the black-robed man bent down, opened the iron cage at his feet, and carried out a dark mass from within. Klein focused his gaze and noticed it was a green-eyed black cat. Well, that works? He clearly paused, suddenly recalling various folk legends about black cats—such as the one where a black cat, symbolizing the strange or the messenger of hell, leaps over a corpse, and the corpse is thereby awakened. This was the first time Klein had seen such a method used in a ritual. The man in the black robe stepped forward, calming the black cat's vigorous struggles, and threw it toward the corpse. Meow! The sleek, all-black cat exploded into a fur of feathers, loudly yowling, leaping over the body. At that moment, Klein felt as though he had finally understood the cat's language. He was certain the man had just said three words: "mmp!"