Forth looked over the calendar laid out on her desk, penciling in the date of the upcoming full moon. She had made up her mind: as soon as she heard that haunting, terrifying whisper, she would chant the name of "The Fool," and cross over the unbearable agony into the gray mist. "Life truly is full of expectations..." she closed her novel, preparing to turn off the gas lamp embedded in the wall grille. Just then, Forth was struck by a sudden vision—she saw the endless gray mist, saw the tall figure within the majestic, ancient palace, and saw a man praying with devotion. The voice reached her ears, and she nearly jumped up, heart both startled and joyful: "The 'Master of Illusions' formula I've been searching for these years—has it really just appeared so suddenly? After all the different gatherings of extraordinary beings I've attended, the very formula I've been unable to find, has it finally come to me? And it's only been just one week since I first requested it!" This—that is the Tarot Circle… truly something far beyond an ordinary gathering of exceptional individuals! Folshe was moved, suppressing her excitement and eagerness, and responded with care: "Mr. The Fool, is that recipe genuine?" "Yes." The "Fool," seated in the high-backed chair and gazing down calmly, spoke plainly. Folshe suddenly clenched her fists, subtly gestured with them twice at her waist, and without further hesitation said: "Is that Mr. The World?" "Please convey to him that I will soon locate the items he needs." When the gray mist had finally dispersed and everything concluded, Folshe stood still for a moment, her excitement hard to contain, then began pacing back and forth in the room. In the realm of purification and exorcism, items of such specialty... I've encountered them only twice before, yet both were purchased by others, who may not be eager to part with them again... Hmm, at A先生's gathering, Hū invited a devotee of "Eternal Sun" to perform purification and exorcism rites—this person is at least at Sequence 7, and likely possesses similar items or holds relevant leads. I simply don't know how much it will cost, though Mr. World has promised to cover the difference. Still, I may not be able to meet the initial outlay myself. Foresight gradually shifted her focus to her own financial situation. She currently holds 370 pounds in cash, primarily from the premium payment made by Viscount Graylin for the "pharmacist's" formula, and has an additional 510 pounds in her bank account. Together, these amount to nearly 900 pounds. Yet a similar item might cost between 500 and 2,000 pounds—perhaps not exactly the kind of thing the "World" gentleman needs. What if the right item comes along, but my funds fall short? I could go to the bank for a loan, or seek out a lender with a higher interest rate—once the "World" gentleman settles the balance, my debt would be easily cleared. Perhaps I could borrow from Miss Audrey for a few days; she’s never concerned about money and would certainly not charge interest. Furse quickly had a comprehensive plan in place. "Vorth hesitated, then smiled warmly, saying, 'I just received a message—seeming to point toward clues about the 'Master of Illusions'’s potion formula.'" "Really? At last, you've waited for it!" Hoo was completely unaware of Vorth's subtle undercurrents. Watching his friend's joyful expression, Vorth couldn't help but silently sigh: Now I am a member of a secret organization, and from this day forward, I shall carry the burden of constantly concealing and deceiving my friends... Is this one of the costs I've paid? ... On a Saturday morning, Caine visited again to the Sach Street workshop of inventor Repard in the Saint George district. Since the bicycle patent had not yet been filed, he only paid the final balance of twenty pounds, instructing Repard not to pursue further investment or partnership discussions until the patent was officially secured. Repadé wholeheartedly agreed. He had previously seen two of his inventions fail for the same reason—before securing patents, potential investors who had thoroughly understood the product were abruptly turned away, watching as the competition hired staff and secured the patents first. After leaving Repadé’s home, Kline arrived at the scheduled time at Stanton’s house in the Hillsdown district—a slightly gloomy and dimly lit residence. Today was the day the reward for the string of murders was announced! Passing through the living room and entering the previously used sitting area, Kline spotted the two more familiar detectives, Caslanara and Stuart, and took a seat beside the latter. “Sherlock, how much do you think we’ll receive this time? It shouldn’t be less than what we got for protecting Atreyu. Of course, my contributions have been modest, so my share will be limited. As Emperor Roscel said, ‘a little effort yields a little return,’” Stuart said, pressing his fist against the beard at his chin. Caine speculatively guessed, "The amount could be several hundred pounds, but certainly not less than ten." And I am the one who's receiving the higher sum—assuming that Esengard Stanton is as reputable as he claims. In his mind, Caine added this thought with quiet conviction. "This is a quite substantial reward in Beckettland—individual detectives would need to go without food or sleep on the streets for four to five years to accumulate it." The atmosphere in the living room instantly lightened, filled with anticipation for their own rewards. Even Caine wasn't exempt; he was wondering how much Esing would assign to him. At least a hundred pounds, he murmured silently. Esing took a draw from his pipe, narrowed his eyes with satisfaction, and said, "Thank you all for your trust. I now present the distribution." "The most significant contribution came from Detective Sherlock Moriarty. His several insights and suggestions guided us to the clues and placed us firmly on the right path—he is truly a master of deduction!" "Madam Kaslanara can confirm this. I still have several letters from Detective Moriarty on file, which anyone questioning the matter is welcome to review." "Most fair indeed... not even listing himself as the top contributor. Now, Caine finds himself genuinely impressed by Ainsworth Stanton, the distinguished detective—no wonder he commands such respect within the detective community! With no objections raised, Ainsworth gently nods and declares, "I hereby award Sherlock Moriarty the sum of three hundred pounds!" A ripple of murmurs spreads through the drawing room, the detectives exchanging glances and whispers. From time to time, they glance up at Caine, as if finally recognizing the exceptional detective praised by Mr. Stanton as a master of reasoning. How generous. How just. Caine opens his mouth, but ultimately chooses not to humble himself. The second-highest awards went to Esgaroth and Calenardhon, each receiving 160 pounds. The remaining 380 pounds were divided among the other detectives based on their individual contributions, with the lowest share amounting to 15 pounds—equivalent to their usual earnings over three or four weeks. This clearly demonstrated the advantage of a high-profile case with substantial rewards. Stuart was particularly satisfied with his 40-pound share, as he felt he had only made two days of observations, and the subjects of those observations were not the eventual suspects. Of course, he would need to allocate part of this sum—every informant and assistant involved had to be properly compensated. As he settled the awards, Stuart suddenly remembered something and pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket, then said to Crane, "Sherlock, I've recently taken on a well-rewarded missing-person case. Please make use of your network to keep an eye on it. If we succeed, I won't forget your share." "Understood, no problem." "Klein responded indifferently. Stuart handed him the paper, saying, "It's this man—he's been missing for nearly two weeks." "Since he himself is involved in some indiscretions or minor offenses, the client doesn't wish us to involve the police." Klein nodded slightly, unfolded the paper, and saw a black-and-white photograph reproduced on it: a man with his hair slightly combed back, serious yet with a touch of elegance. He was in his early to mid-twenties, with a refined, handsome appearance, but his eyes carried an unmistakable air of confidence; his nose was high and his lips thin. "By the way, his name is..." Stuart recalled, "Emlyn White." Emlyn White... Klein suddenly turned to look at Stuart. "Ah?" Wasn't that the name of the vampire imprisoned in the basement by Father Utravsky? ...Inside the Duke of Nigan's manor, Audrey listened with mild boredom as her mother and Duchess Della chatted about various matters among the noble circles. Glancing at the elegant three-tiered stand, at the beautifully crafted sconces and pastries, she, who had recently indulged her appetite, simply lifted her tea cup with a graceful motion and took a sip of her red tea. After a while, she rose with a polite apology, accompanied by a maid, to visit the restroom. As she stepped out, she encountered a tall, slender woman with fine, well-groomed eyebrows, dressed with distinguished grace—none other than Duchess Della’s sister, the wife of a hereditary viscount, Lady Norma. After exchanging greetings, Norma looked at Audrey and smiled lightly. "I hear our lovely young lady has a keen interest in esoteric studies?" She mentioned esoteric studies—was this perhaps a subtle inquiry from the members of the Psychological Alchemy Society, testing whether I was indeed interested? Audrey instantly entered her "mind-reader" mode, shyly lowering her head to respond: "Yes."