White feathers? Clain gazed at the tomb devoid of bones and suddenly recalled a word: "Angels!" In the scriptures of the Seven Churches, legends of angels and saints abound, and one of the angels' defining traits is the presence of one, two, three, or even six pairs of pure white wings extending from their backs. Yet, in an instant, Clain remembered a past incident: Mr. Azk had once described to him a dream that seemed to unfold across lifetimes. In one scene, he found himself in a dark crypt, surrounded by many ancient coffins, each containing corpses with white feathers extending from their backs. Was this a unique manifestation of the "Death's Path," or a peculiar phenomenon orchestrated by the Order of the Spirit? Clain remained silent, holding back his emotions, and calmly observed the pale white feathers stained with a faint yellow oil at the base of the tomb. He initially judged the old man unlikely to be an angel, since even the most terrifying beings of Sequence 2 or Sequence 1, upon death, would undoubtedly leave a strong impact on their surroundings—for instance, the "ashes of the Saint" behind the Charnes Gate in Tinggen would extend nearly invisible, cold, black filaments that sealed off people and objects around them. Of course, it was also possible that he hadn't truly died—at least, like Mr. Azk? Klein bent down, picked up three white feathers with his right hand, which was gloved in black. ——He intended to make a divination at the Gray Mist afterward. At that moment, Copusti recovered, rolling and crawling over to Klein, his eyes filled with fear as he looked toward the tomb passage. "Where is the body?" Klein glanced at him and spoke softly. "Perhaps, he walked away himself." "Walked away himself..." Copusti repeated, utterly realizing how astonishing it was that a deceased person could awaken. His legs trembled as he murmured, "But, but—I didn't use the resurrection ritual on him, on him." Cain turned and gazed at him for several seconds, then said, "Death is not the end." "Death is not the end... Death is not the end..." Kopsiti was shaken by the very principles he had long believed in, and asked aloud, "Will he come back?" Well, the messenger summoned by the bronze whistle likely corresponds to that old man—so delivering the note to the messenger is equivalent to sending a letter to the old man, sending a letter to someone who has been dead for nearly six months... Hmm, I wonder where he is now, and what state he's in. To Kopsiti's question, Cain merely added lightly, "Just stop blowing the bronze whistle." "Are you saying the bronze whistle will draw him back?" Kopsiti asked, startled. Before Kline could answer, he asked on his own: "You'd mind helping me toss this bronze whistle into the Tassok River?" "If not, then I'll do it myself." You've always been interested in the philosophy of death, haven't you? Kline muttered under his breath, reaching for the bronze whistle belonging to Kopsiti. He intended to try sending a letter to the dead under suitable conditions and see what would happen—of course, provided he was certain there was no significant risk. After instructing Kopsiti to properly refill the burial mound, Kline exchanged a few minutes of conversation with him on the subject of "spirit dance" and the corresponding esoteric knowledge, enriching his own understanding, and also confirmed that when Kopsiti had laid the elderly man to rest, he had placed the body face-down. In certain special circumstances, using "Spirit Dance" to replace the more cumbersome arrangements of ritual magic proves not only more effective but also simpler. Witnessing the goal achieved, Caine once again cautioned Kopsiti, urging him not to fumble with the supposed resurrection rituals. Then he left the street, taking a long detour to reach the eastern district by horse carriage. After donning his previous garments, he returned to Minsk Street, entered his bedroom, and, through a series of actions, carried the three white feathers and Kopsiti's copper whistle into the gray mist. Sitting in the high-backed chair belonging to the Fool, Caine materialized a quill and paper, writing down the divinatory phrases he had long intended: "Its origin." Then, he grasped the three white feathers and leaned back against the chair. As he silently recited, Caine entered a dream, the surroundings hazy and dense with gray-white mist. In this realm, there existed a dense, unlit darkness. Suddenly, the darkness took on a deep crimson hue, and a pale, bone-white hand emerged from the ochre soil. A figure slowly rose, not lifting the stone slab or stirring the earth, but simply extending through it. Under the crimson moonlight, the garments behind the figure were torn and frayed, sprouting one by one white feathers. The figure, with silver hair, slightly tilted its head, revealing distinct red patches on its face and eyes that were lifeless, vacant, devoid of emotion. It took steps, laboriously penetrating the fence, moving deeper into the darkness, growing farther and farther until it vanished. The dream shattered, and Caine awoke. Indeed, white feathers had grown from the body's back—its condition resembled Miss Shalun's, yet there were clear differences, giving it a heavy, tangible, solid presence rather than a purely ethereal one. It seemed capable of transitioning, partially and incompletely, between human and spirit forms? A messenger between the earthly realm and the spiritual realm of the underworld? Kline lightly tapped the edge of the long table, pondering for a while. Then, he divined whether it would be safe to use the copper whistle from Copustina to send a message now, and received a positive answer—indeed, the spirit pendulum swayed with great amplitude and swift speed. "Unfortunately, we can't use the copper whistle directly on the gray mist; the messenger simply can't enter. Otherwise, there would be no danger at all..." Kline murmured to himself and then vanished into the gray mist, returning to the earthly realm. "But... why is my Sequence 8 'Herbalist'? What's the connection between 'Herbalist' and 'Keeper of Beasts'?" "Ah, yes—the Herbalist cultivates and utilizes plants and parts of animals that have passed on, while the Keeper of Beasts cultivates and uses living animals, including extraordinary beings?" "So then, my Sequence 7 will be able to cultivate and utilize humans?" "The old man never told me the name of Sequence 7, nor did he give me any formula. Once I stabilize, I'll have to reach out to him." The Herbalist pounded and kicked, adapting to his growing strength, until he finally collapsed from exhaustion. Huffing and breathing heavily, he began to ponder a serious question: How should a Keeper of Beasts operate? "Keeper of Beasts... what should I do? Look for animals to tame?" murmured the Herbalist, suddenly sensing something. He turned his gaze toward the man-made lake. There, a golden-haired large dog was joyfully galloping. Noticing his gaze, the dog abruptly turned its head and looked directly at him. The gaze met in mid-air; the golden-haired dog paused, then swiftly turned and dashed off, vanishing into the distance. ... In the grand manor of the Earl of Hall. Suzy returned to the music room, crouching by Audrey's feet, panting and tongue-out. Only after the blonde girl finished her piece did she speak with a sense of relief: "Audrey, I encountered a most formidable creature." "His eyes were terrifying!" "Indeed? What did he intend to do?" Audrey asked, both curious and concerned. Suzy thought seriously and replied, "I'm not certain. Honestly, he seemed very threatening—this is just my instinct." "What did he look like?" Audrey considered whether to send her household guards and servants to warn the man. "I didn't get a clear view. I simply felt—he was my very enemy!" Suzy said seriously. Your enemy? A canine nemesis? Audrey smiled with composed grace. "Suzy, you should avoid going to that forest lately." "Wang, Audrey, you've been a bit off today, haven't you? I could tell from your music," Susie asked. Audrey nodded gently: "Yes... I just received a message from Glayntrit. Firth and Hoo told me tonight's gathering has been canceled. I'd actually planned to exchange some exceptional materials with you." And in her mind, she quietly added: "And I'd also been trying to make contact with the Psychological Alchemists..." "Why?" Susie asked, puzzled. Audrey thought for a moment before responding: "It's reportedly due to the impact of the series of murders." With a series of crisp sounds, he laid out several thin pancakes, and the aroma of flour gradually spread. When he thought it was ready, he carefully lifted each soft, dough-like pancake and placed it in a plate, then added water to blend the remaining ingredients into a smooth batter. As soon as he carried the pancakes and the "batter" back to the dining area, Caine eagerly tore off a piece and bit into it. The pancake offered only a rich wheat flavor and a pleasant, appetizing sweetness—simple, unadorned, yet exceptionally delicious. It was the taste from memory. Caine devoured them quickly, sipping the batter occasionally. Just as he began to slow down, the doorbell rang suddenly, its chime echoing continuously. A new commission? Caine removed his napkin, wiped his hands, and stood to go to the door. Before even grasping the handle, a clear image of the visitor formed in his mind: a middle-aged, distinguished gentleman with white hair at the temples and a slender, refined appearance. That's private detective Esgarrouth Stanton, invited by the police! What could he possibly want? Klein hesitated, opened the door, and smiled, asking, "Good morning, Mr. Stanton. Is there something I can assist you with?" Esgarrouth removed his half-high silk hat and smiled. "Good morning, Mr. Moriaty. I'd like to collaborate with you. I believe you're an outstanding detective—already, on your own, you've traced the Eastern Baylant Shipyard and the Dock Workers' Union." "Collaborate?" Klein couldn't conceal his astonishment. Esgarrouth tapped his black cane and replied solemnly, "To identify the murderer behind the recent series of homicides." "The police have already issued a reward of 2,000 pounds."