A reward, a fare, a remarkable potion—Emlin White listened, momentarily at a loss. This wasn't what he'd expected. The gentlemanly grace? The vampire stared blankly. As a detective, clear accounting was essential, and you'd also missed the trip to the Crag Club—didn't know what the limited offerings were these days… Klein watched Emlin White, half-jokingly muttering under his breath. After a few seconds, Emlin smiled warmly, "One must see the patient to prescribe the right potion." There was real confidence in his tone—Klein nodded thoughtfully. He then thought of a question: White's family seemed to be outstanding in the field of potion-making. If I were injured or poisoned, I could easily have them treat me… The "pharmacist's formula" I'd so carefully secured from Father Utravský, after all, wouldn't then have served any purpose? No need to cultivate another assistant skilled in healing anymore... Plans never keep up with the pace of change... Still, it's not a waste—we've recovered the investment from the "Magician" lady. Once a formula exists, it always holds value. Moreover, the Whit family will surely move away from the Riverbend Avenue, reestablishing themselves under a new identity. I might not be able to locate them easily. Not exactly convenient... "Until the effect of the 'Heart-Plagued Candles' is resolved, I'll be stationed at the Harvest Church. I'm certain I'll be able to meet with Emlyn Whit there. Thinking of this, Caine removed his hat and bowed. "I'll make sure to bring you all then. I won't keep you any longer." Emlyn Whit's expression shifted slightly. After a moment of hesitation, he said: "If you can eliminate the influence of the Heart-Plagued Candles, you'll receive a higher fee—and, well... "He paused, then raised his chin, "and the friendship of the Bloodline." "I'm the 'Magician,' equipped with the solar pin and the biological toxin vial. My use of the mental plane is limited to mediumship—what can I possibly do? Among the people I know, only Miss Justice is particularly close, though she's only at Sequence 8, a mere 'mind-reader.' Unless, unless you switch your allegiance to the 'Knight of the Age That Is Not This One,' we won't be able to explore how to apply the knowledge from The Book of Secrets through the appropriate rituals to resolve your issue. Speaking of which, vampires seem to be devotees of the primordial Moon—very much like the wizards and kings. The ancient deity recorded in the Silver City, the vampire progenitor Lilith—could she not be the primordial Moon? Clarens chuckled thoughtfully. 'I'll keep an eye out for suitable solutions,' he said. Emlyn. Hare nodded, said no more, and eagerly turned, rushing toward the door. Had the coachman been any closer, he would have unfurled his black bat-like wings and soared directly to the second floor. Cain chuckled, shook his head with a touch of sentiment. He had taken the rented coach just arrived at the nearby steam subway station, and made his way back to 15 Minsk Street, Joewood District. Before entering, he had developed the habit of opening the mailbox to check for any letters. To his surprise, there was indeed a letter. The letter was unstamped, addressed to Sherlock Moriaty, Detective, with a signature from Jurgen Cooper. Jurgen, the lawyer? Cain picked up the envelope, tore it open casually. Under the glow of the streetlamp, he saw a sheet of paper and two banknotes inside—denominated one sul and five sul, respectively. A total of six sul… I’ve fed the cat three times this period… the agreement was two sul each time. Cain nodded with a quiet realization, opened the door, and lit the gas lamp. Unfolding the paper, he found the contents were not very extensive, and Erich's handwritten words were just as meticulous, serious, and reserved as his own. "Mr. Lawyer, your thanks are so dry and uninspired—they fall flat, quite unlike Brody. You've given such a detailed explanation of his actions, which is truly the hallmark of a Jürgen-style approach. Moreover, about the mailbox—what's the point of it? If you're on Earth, during the time I was here, I might not have visited the mailbox downstairs once in several months. Clarendon smiled, folded the bill neatly, tucked it into his pocket, then pulled out a sheet of paper to write a letter to Detective Stuart. After a few introductory remarks, he carefully composed: '...I found Emlyn White at the Harvest Church near Tuttewa Street. It's a small church belonging to the Earth Mother Church, which is not common in Runa. Emlyn White claims he chose to leave home due to certain circumstances, and subsequently was taken in by the church's bishop, residing there as a...' He paused, then wrote the word 'volunteer'. Then he said simply, "After my persuasion, he has returned to 48 Riverbend Drive. However, he may frequently volunteer at the Harvest Church." Having finished writing, Caine read it through carefully, then set down his pen and neatly folded the letter. He retrieved the envelope but did not affix the appropriate stamps, intending to have it delivered directly to Stuart's home tomorrow. —If sent through the royal postal system, even if the letter were dropped into the mailbox now, it wouldn't be retrieved until tomorrow, and then it would still go through sorting and delivery processes. Thus, although both Stuart and Caine are in the capital of Baelen, Stuart wouldn't be able to see the letter—let alone notify the Whiters—until at least the day after tomorrow. And at that point, Emlyn White would be a man with nothing but a puppet. This was all to receive payment as soon as possible... Caine chuckled softly, cleared the tea table, and went upstairs to brush his teeth and take a bath. …… On a Wednesday morning, after entrusting a hired carriage driver to deliver a letter, Cline purchased the main ingredients for Dici's seafood rice, intending to prepare a fried rice dish today. Thinking of the perfectly white grains of rice, he couldn't help but swallow a lump of saliva. After spending considerable time and going through various trials with utensils and the kitchen, he finally managed a fragrant fried rice dish, served with marinated meat and green tea—so delicious that he nearly cried with emotion. What a nostalgic and touching flavor! After finishing two full plates of fried rice, Cline sank back into his chair, gently patting his stomach. Regarding the matter with Emlyn White, whose unconventional approach had caused his performance to conclude before it even began, falling short of the intended outcome, he would now need to seek other opportunities to actively engage and perform. To this, Crane was far from entirely disappointed; failure was also experience, and at least it had taught him one thing: "Unlike ordinary magicians, my 'performance' isn't just assisted by a single helper—it involves opponents as well as participants. Their reactions, their choices, all influence the course of events. These factors must be considered and planned for in advance." "This has been a lesson, and receiving it on such a small matter is better than having to learn the value of being a person during some crucial moment." Crane looked at the now-empty plate before him, reflecting on what further 'performances' he could actively undertake. After careful consideration, he realized there were none. Of course, it wasn't that there were absolutely none—merely that they were not suited to what he was currently doing. For instance, the malevolent spirit residing in the ruins of the Fourth Dynasty Tord dynasty has long been a persistent concern for Caine. Even with Sharon, now wielding the "Deep Crimson Coronet," and Marij, who has inherited the unstable traits of the uncontrolled "Spirit of Resentment," Caine doesn't feel confident that his team can stand against a monster of higher sequence. He might not even know how he died. To actively perform is not the same as actively sacrificing oneself, nor is it about using one's life as a stage—Caine reminds himself of this constantly. There's another matter he's quite eager to pursue, though he doesn't see much opportunity for it. That is, finding the peculiar child, Will O'Conne, who has been bringing misfortune to the physician Allen. Caine has always been intrigued by the deck of tarot cards held by the child, hoping to verify whether it is indeed a magical artifact. Unfortunately, this matter has already been taken over by the "Night Watchers," and Caine isn't particularly eager to become involved in his former colleagues' endeavors. When Dr. Allen has a chance to rest, check in with the progress at the Crag Club from the side, then decide what to do next—Klein's thoughts quickly took shape. As he knew, Dr. Allen usually has free time on Friday afternoons and Sundays, when he goes to the Crag Club to play tennis. Earlier today, through the morning edition of the Beckland Daily, Klein had confirmed another point: there would be an extraordinary gathering convened by the venerable "Eye of Wisdom" tonight. For now, he couldn't sell the "werewolf" extraordinary trait or the biological toxin vials, nor could he find someone to turn the former into a magical item—definitely, the high-tier members of the Rose School are still active nearby, likely furious and eager to locate and shatter Sharon, Marijch, and their allies. He would have to remain cautious in this regard for the time being. Klein picked up his napkin, wiped his mouth, and began clearing the table. He had originally intended to rest today, simply enjoying a relaxed day at the Cragg Club—without any active performance opportunities. Yet, he remembered the Amun duplicate who had discovered the gray mist and attempted to seep through, and recalled the crucial role the Book of Secrets had played during that crisis. Thus, Caine lit the fireplace in the sitting room, brought the Book of Secrets back into the tangible world, and settled in to read, ponder, and take notes as he went. Of course, later he would carry those notes over to the gray mist and burn them there. Unaware of the passage of time, by noon he suddenly heard the sound of the doorbell being rung. He discreetly secured the Book of Secrets, then entered the living room and hurried toward the entrance. The visitor was the slender detective with a full beard, Stuart. He looked at Caine with deep reverence and great enthusiasm, eager to praise him: "You truly are a great detective, with abundant resources and networks—such a case with no initial clues, you've managed to resolve so swiftly!" ...Why does my spirit feel slightly transformed? As if the potion has absorbed a little more... That is, my 'performance' has, in some way, been successful, though my audience consists of only this one person, who remains unaware, seeing only the positive outcome... The audience's applause truly makes a difference. Caine paused, then smiled warmly.