After thoroughly inspecting every corner, Caine confirmed that the Whiters' home showed no unusual signs, and that neither of them had left a single strand of hair—clear evidence of their vigilance against anyone attempting to trace them through divination. He returned to the bedroom filled with statuettes, walked backward four steps into the gray mist, and intended to make a final confirmation through divination. Before beginning, however, he brought into being the young woman's statuette, nearly as tall as himself, and, just as he had done previously in Tingenthal when divining the "Mutated Solar Emblem," picked up the dark red steel pen with a rounded barrel, and wrote a passage on the brownish leather sheet: "its origin." Setting down the pen and grasping the paper, Caine leaned back against the chair, softly murmuring the words while gradually settling his mind into a meditative state. After seven repetitions, his eyes deepened, his eyelids lowered, and he fell into deep sleep. Within that hazy, fragmented realm, he saw the dollmaker working with exceptional concentration, saw the red-eyed "girl" being carefully placed inside the dollhouse, and saw Emlyn White steadily withdrawing his wallet, his eyes never leaving it. Finally, the scene settled on the bedroom where Klein now lay—Emlyn White, a tall, handsome, yet slightly delicate vampire, with an air of dignified grace, sitting by the bed, gazing deeply at the doll, and at the various-sized dolls arranged around it. Indeed, a true devotee of dolls... Klein opened his eyes, reached up to cover his face. Then, he waved his hand, and the fully materialized, full-height doll dissolved into the gray mist. After completing this, he picked up his round-bodied steel pen once more and wrote down a new divination sentence: "Scenes of deaths occurring within the past decade at No. 48 Riverbend Avenue." — According to statements from nearby residents, the White family has only lived here for no more than ten years. Therefore, Klein has been able to narrow down a specific timeframe, and he believes that if the Whites were merely surface-level monsters—actually consistently orchestrating disappearances to siphon off warm, delicious blood—then they would have inevitably caused incidents within their own home at least several times over the course of those ten years. After all, over such a long period, unexpected occurrences would have been bound to happen! He carefully reviewed the divination statements, repeated the incantations and meditations, and soon slipped into a dream. In the hazy world of the dream, his vision shifted between darkness, scattered snowflakes, and fragmented scenes, yet no clear image emerged. This was the result of the divination: nothing at all. No one has died at 48 Riverbend Drive over the past ten years. Taking into account all the circumstances, it can be preliminarily judged that the Whit family are law-abiding vampires, at most indulging in minor thefts and bloodsucking. Caine gazed at the weathered bronze long table ahead, enveloped his spirit within it, and sank into the gray mist. Upon returning to the real world, he carefully managed the traces he left behind and exited the 48 Riverbend Avenue address along the same path he had come. He did not yet make his final decision, but instead took a detour to the Riverbend Police Station. Amidst the scenes of petty thieves and drunkards being led in and pressed against the pipes, he effortlessly slipped into the archives and boldly turned on the gas lamps inside. Then, Caine retrieved the missing persons records from the past decade and began flipping through them with a rustling sound. Officers on duty occasionally passed by the door, yet the archives remained dark—no light seeped out. "Nothing suspicious at all," Caine remarked, as he returned the files to their original places, his black gloves still on, after an indeterminate length of time. Then he turned off the gas lamp, removed his hat, placed his hand against his chest, and bowed formally toward the precinct hall. On the way back to Minsk Street, Crane took a shower, changed into fresh clothes, and sat at his desk, spreading out the map he had purchased earliest on the steam train. He first located Rose Street in the southern district of the bridge, where the Harvest Church stood, and where Father Utravsky, the parish priest, had imprisoned Emlyn White in the basement. Following that, Crane moved his gaze to identify the names and layout of the surrounding streets. Performance should not be too hurried or overly ambitious—it must unfold gradually, drawing the audience in step by step. Crane murmured softly, unfolded the letter, and set down his steel pen: "Dear Detective Stuart: Have you already found Emlyn White?" I've been keeping an eye on this matter recently, and today my source told me that he had seen this person on Tutuwa Street in the southern part of the Bridge district—though he only said he thought the person looked very much like the portrait. ... Setting down his pen, Cain neatly folded the letter, placed it in an envelope, and affixed a black stamp bearing the value of one penny. ... The sea of Sunya swells and stretches, boundless and vast. The "Soul of Blue" sails steadily forward, undisturbed by any ripple. "The Man Suspended," Aljer Wilson, sits in the captain's cabin, holding a brass sextant, yet his eyes are closed. Suddenly, a smile breaks across his face. "At last, it's settled," Aljer says, opening his eyes and raising his hands, causing a few points of blue to appear around him. Those blue hues rush together, forming a towering wave that surges forward. Aljere pressed both hands down, and the massive wave instantly broke apart, transforming into countless droplets that fell onto the deck. After nearly four months, his "Navigator's" potion had finally been fully absorbed! During this period, he had not only drifted at sea for extended stretches, completing various tasks assigned by the Church, but had also deliberately explored new routes, seeking islands yet undiscovered—after several setbacks, he finally began to achieve tangible results. This reverse stimulation accelerated the digestion of the potion, enabling him to essentially establish his own "Navigator's Code." At its core: a deep connection with the sea, mastery of information on routes and weather patterns, and a commitment to exploration and discovery. Aljere, ever deep in thought, couldn't help but rise from his seat and pace back and forth in the captain's cabin, envisioning the future he longed for: once he secured the recipe for the "Wind's Favor" elixir and gathered the corresponding extraordinary materials, he would quietly advance to the sixth rank of the Church's hierarchy, then repeat the process—aiming to reach the fifth rank, the "Ocean Singer," within three years. Throughout this journey, he would need to remain the captain of the *Blue Revenant*, never joining the more complex network of relationships among the Exiled Sentinels, lest his secret be revealed. Once promoted to the fifth rank and sufficiently empowered, he would then be able to return there in secret. Subconsciously, Aljere turned his gaze to the right. His eyes seemed to pierce through the layers of ship planks and the vast expanse of the sea, landing on an ancient, hidden island. Aljere had no concerns about his advancement within the Church—once he fulfilled his aspirations, he would be free to pursue his position with full dedication. By then, he will continue to feign as a Sequence 7, then drink another "Windsong" potion! This will enhance his extraordinary traits, strengthen his power, slow down his digestion—without compromising his own safety. Likewise, after Sequence 5 has fully digested, he can drink a second "Seasong" potion, retracing the normal process. This will only push him toward instability, but with a clear solution: marry a woman and transfer the excess extraordinary traits to his children. Once this is done, I'll be able to advance toward the level of Cardinal, and move closer to the higher sequences! This is precisely the era of opportunity I've been waiting for! In his mind, Aljer already envisioned himself wearing the cardinal's robes, standing at the church's highest levels, overseeing numerous Sentinels. Lost in thought for a moment, he pulled his gaze back, regained his composure: "Each step ahead grows more difficult. Fortunately, I have the Tarot gathering, with Mr. The Fool. Though danger lurks within, any path of self-improvement carries risk! I must gather some entries from Roscel's journal to gain the opportunity to ask questions and find out what exactly the item is—the one currently only visible from the back of the card. Something entirely new. The card... Roscel's journal... Is it not the very thing I thought it might be?" Alje's eyes narrowed, his pupils contracting. ........... At No. 15 Minsk Street, Klein yawned, turned off the gas lamp, and slipped into bed. He had originally intended to use divination to roughly trace the origin of the biological toxin vials, and to derive the recipes for the first three sequences of the exotic pathways from the extraordinary traits of the werewolf. But after being busy with Emlyn White's matter all evening, he felt a bit tired and decided to try again at Gray Mists the next day. As soon as he lay down and closed his eyes, Caine suddenly sensed something was off. This was a seer's intuitive spiritual instinct! He had received both the "Wolf-Man" extraordinary trait and the biological toxin vial several days ago, and though he had periods of good mental clarity, he had consistently postponed going to make a divination—this was highly unusual. Caine turned over and sat up, carefully reflecting, and recalled a similar incident: When he first met Meghios, he had intended to directly observe her mental state through spiritual vision. Yet, for a moment, he had paused, and naturally missed the opportunity. Only at the end did he realize it was because she carried a divine child within her—subtly, the seer's intuitive spiritual instinct had prevented him from realizing it, thus avoiding a sudden collapse or breakdown on the spot. Very much so, and this time it's even more evident... I remember Miss Sharon saying that the Rose School exerts control over its members that surpasses my expectations—everyone's body and soul feel bound by something unseen. That's precisely why the sequence information from the异种途径 has hardly leaked out... They believe in the "God of the Bound"... So, when I use the extraordinary traits of the "werewolf" to formulate the corresponding magical recipes, does this directly invoke this malevolent deity, bringing consequences I'm unwilling to endure? Kline thought seriously about this and sensed a discrepancy: Previously, when I divined the "Variegated Solar Emblem" and the "Ear" left behind by the "Listener," my spiritual intuition had not intervened at all. Could it be that the "God of the Bound" is stronger than both the "Eternal Radiant Sun" and the "True Maker"? Or perhaps His very nature makes Him more effective at countering the Gray Mist, allowing Him to penetrate it effectively? Of course, the danger might also stem from the source of the biological toxin vials... Reflecting on this, the typically cautious Kline decided to try divination only for the biological toxin vials tomorrow, to see whether the seer's intuitive spiritual insight would intervene.