"Meow!" The sound echoed across the open ground, surrounded by a quiet forest. Whether it was the mature man in black robes or the young men and women of about fifteen or sixteen, everyone turned their gaze toward the body lying motionless at the center. A cold breeze swept through, and the black cat landed on the ground, fixing its stare on the human who had just thrown it, constantly sweeping its tail back and forth. Suddenly, its fur stood on end again, and with a strong push from its feet, it leapt into the air and swiftly fled in another direction. Yet none of this drew any attention—everyone remained focused on the still body. Time passed, and the corpse showed no signs of change that were worth anticipating. "Another failure?" one of the youths approached, crouched down, and gently prodded the body's skin with his fingers. "No response," he said, half-turning to face the man in black robes and the others. At that very moment, he felt a breeze blowing upward onto his face. With a sudden snap, the corpse sat up! The young man gasped in surprise, then cried out with joyful excitement: "Success! Success!" Before he could finish speaking, the corpse suddenly grasped his shoulders, pressing him against its chest, and opened its mouth to bite down—making a sharp, wet sound, biting deeply until blood flowed freely. "Ah! Save me!" the young man cried out in terror, struggling with all his strength, yet unable to free himself. The corpse lifted its head, revealing a gleaming array of white teeth, with fragments of flesh caught between them and blood flowing steadily from its mouth. The black-robed man was momentarily stunned, then produced a bronze-colored whistle, held it to his mouth, and blew once. Then, in Hermes speech, he said: "I command you by the name of the Death God!" As the voice echoed through the air, the corpse ceased its biting and momentarily stiffened, as if frozen in place. The young man, his neck and shoulders torn and bloodied, likewise collapsed there, as if his soul had fled, and the soil at his lower body was damp. "Indeed, it can—" the cloaked man exclaimed in surprise, pointing at the corpse and again speaking in Hermes, "stand up!" The corpse suddenly rose, then swung his arms and dashed off toward the quiet depths of the forest. "Come back!" the cloaked man cried out in astonishment, yet he failed to notice any pause in the corpse's progress. He quickly blew a whistle and commanded with solemn authority: "I command you, by the name of the Death God, to return!" As he spoke, the figure vanished into the trees. "I command you to return..." the cloaked man stood rooted in place, murmuring dumbly to himself. Within the forest, Caine held the Azk copper whistle and the matchbox in one hand, constantly lighting and then shaking his wrist to extinguish the matches, throwing them to the ground. Throughout this process, he retreated in an arc, stepping backward. Steadily—stomp, stomp, stomp! The corpse, pale and greenish, exuding a foul stench, surged forward, its lifeless eyes fixed steadily upon the ancient, intricately crafted bronze whistle. Cain stepped back, puffing out his cheeks, aiming at the corpse and simulating a sound: "Boom!" The corpse suddenly shuddered, and a penetrating wound appeared in its chest. "Boom!" Cain puffed again, launching another air blast. Splutter! The corpse's head cracked in half, with a steady flow of putrid liquid dripping down from within. Yet this was no fatal wound—only momentarily halted, it resumed its charge, stepping steadily forward. Witnessing this, Cain retreated one step and gave a sharp clap. Crack! A bright flame rose from the ground, precisely enveloping the corpse and igniting its outer garments. Stomp! Stomp! Stomp! The corpse surged through the flames, advancing like a mad bull. Crack! Crack! Crack! Cain clapped his hands rapidly, summoning one bright red flame after another to rise from the ground. The corpse surged through the flames without pain, its body gradually catching fire, growing more intense with each passing moment—like a candle melting, strangely. Eventually, transformed into a torch, the corpse charged toward Caine, its claw extending toward him. At the same time, a surge of flame erupted, engulfing both the corpse and Caine. The corpse grasped Caine's shoulders, yet only managed to scatter sparks. Caine's form dissolved into the crimson glow and materialized at the far end of the nearby fire pile. The corpse, now seemingly drained of all strength, ceased struggling and rapidly melted within the flames tinged with a faint green hue, turning into ash and wax. "He's stronger than any living corpse or wraith I've encountered so far—well, perhaps not quite as strong as the descendants of Azk. If it weren't for me, they'd all be dead by now." Caine nodded, then walked through the woods toward the open field. At that moment, the cloaked man had already noticed the changes within the forest and turned to flee without hesitation. The seven or eight young men and women, however, first scattered wildly, only to pause in fear as they realized they were alone—each one standing still, hesitating, and returning to their original positions to gather together. Having just witnessed the corpses awaken and devour flesh, they were utterly unwilling to run alone through the deep night, for they feared a cold, creeping sensation along their necks. They stared at one another, uncertain, and no one dared to offer a hand or shoulder to the young man whose flesh was torn and bleeding—afraid that he might suddenly transform into a living corpse. In this brief, heart-racing silence, they were startled to see a clown approaching from within the forest—dressed in flamboyant attire, painted with streaks of red, yellow, and white. This was a vision directly conjured by Caine. He surveyed the group, choosing not to pursue the cloaked man, and in a hoarse voice asked, "Who was it who presided over the ritual just now?" Who? The young men and women seemed still dazed, pausing several seconds before finally presenting a shivering young man as their answer: "He—he's our professor of ancient Gufsa language, Kopshti Reed." "He claims to have deep studies on death and intends to lead us in seeking the secrets of immortality." After all, he was just a schoolteacher... Immortality? Truly, no need to pay for such exaggerations. From his performance so far, he wasn't clearly a 'spiritual medium'—at best, a 'grave-digger,' perhaps even just a Level 9, someone who merely handles burial duties. Of course, he might not even be on the path of the Death Deities, having simply joined the spiritual order out of admiration. After clarifying where Kopshti lived, Caine thought for a moment and said: "You all go back now. Disengage from these matters. Do not reveal what has happened." "Otherwise, all of you will die." He then reiterated firmly: "All of you will die." The young men and women, shaken by what had just happened, nodded wildly, leaning on each other as they prepared to leave. At that moment, a girl with smoothly flowing hair pointed at a companion lying on the ground, groaning in pain. "He—he's all right, isn't he?" "He'll survive for now, but he must be taken to see a doctor. Just say he was bitten by a hyena that regularly eats decaying meat," said Caine, who turned away and headed back into the woods. The young people exchanged glances. One of them asked, "Excuse me, excuse me—may I ask, what shall I call you?" Caine smiled, deliberately misleading them with a low, resonant voice. "I'm merely a gatekeeper of the Underworld." As he spoke, a mist suddenly rose, and his form vanished where he stood. Of course, this was all illusion. "A gatekeeper of the Underworld?" the young people murmured the word softly, each lost in thought. But after a cold wind that seeped into their bones blew through, they shivered again, supported their companions, and left without looking back. ………… That's what the members of the Spirit Order are like? Truly disappointing. If he hadn't abandoned his current identity, I'd drop by on nights when I have the time to see what he knows—yes, I'd give him a lesson, so he'd never dare to trouble the students again. Could the "Spirit Dance" and the "Resurrection Rite" be treated as mere casual performances? Kline judged all this with the mindset of a night watchman. Soon, he returned to the outside of the grand manor of Logos Caroman, patiently waiting for the security staff to move. As soon as he found an opportunity, he swiftly climbed over the fence, moved quickly along the shadows toward the house, and silently ascended to the balcony. At that moment, the man in the disguise still smoking remained unchanged. Click! Kline lightly tapped his finger. Instantly, the figure before him transformed into a thin sheet of paper and drifted into the palm of his hand. The paper was now thick with rust-red stains, beyond use. Cain didn't dare discard it haphazardly; he folded it carefully and tucked it into his coat pocket. Then, he strolled calmly down the corridor and returned to Atreus's bedroom. "How long have you been gone?" Stuarter asked, his voice slightly trembling. He had gone to the door earlier to check on things and saw Sherlock Moriarty smoking one cigarette after another, but duty-bound, he hadn't dared leave the room. Cain smiled. "Just take a rest, relax—come along, I'm not in a hurry." "I...," Stuarter began to agree, only to suddenly recall that then the balcony would be left with only him, surrounded by the deep night, dim lighting, cold wind, and the atmosphere always evoking ghost stories. So he forced a smile and said, "No problem. I don't need to." Klein smiled quietly and sat back down, allowing the armchair to sway gently and slowly in the night. This swaying continued until dawn, with nothing else happening. Atretu awoke, sat up in bed, and stared blankly ahead. Klein said nothing, exchanged places with Caslanara and her assistant, and walked slowly to his room to rest. While still half-asleep, he heard Logos Caroman exclaim with both surprise and joy: "Ah, my child, you're well?" "By the storm, I'm donating 300 pounds to the Church!" "You're certain they won't come to kill you? Did you misunderstand?" Three hundred pounds? Truly extravagant... Klein turned over, tucked himself into the soft, warm blanket, and murmured something. Then he continued to sleep. At noon, Klein descended to have lunch, and Caslanara sat across from him, frowning slightly and asking: "Was there anything that happened last night?" "No." "Klein gave a concise reply, then smiled. "Shouldn't Adol's trip to the bathroom when he woke up count?" Stuart slowed his movements and nodded in agreement. Kaslana glanced at their faces before returning her gaze, speaking in a steady tone: "No." Klein gave a slight curve to his lips and skillfully began slicing the steak.