Klein, wearing a black crown and clad in solid armor, stood at the entrance, adjusted for a few seconds, and then stepped forward. His tangible form passed silently through the door, entering Capin's villa. Before him lay a spacious foyer filled with chairs and coat racks, with a magnificent hall behind, dominated in golden hues. There was no ceiling visible—instead, the vaulted ceiling rose three stories high, and a grand crystal chandelier hung down, each of its petals bearing a single white candle. To the left of the hall, beyond a thick door, lay the elegant dining room, where the aroma of roasted meat was most intense, overpowering the scents of beverages and other dishes. Klein did not rush into the dining room immediately. Instead, he walked around the outer area, occasionally reaching out to tug at the gray-white gas pipes, testing the extent of the power carried by his ethereal form—the strength of the "Black Emperor" brand—and the degree to which it interfered with the surrounding physical matter. — During the "Seer" and "Clown" periods, Kline's ethereal state, beyond the ability to foresee and intuitive sensing, possessed only two types of spell-like abilities: direct attacks on souls and a freezing effect induced through touch. Upon advancing to the "Magician" level, several extraordinary abilities that did not rely on his physical body became usable while in an ethereal state, such as the paper-man double and air bullets. Additionally, he began to embody others, achieving initial levels of control. Under the enhancement provided by the "Black Emperor" card, his ethereal form grew stronger, allowing him to carry more matter, and his soul-attacking spell-like ability evolved into the "Wailing Specters," which emits inaudible sound waves that damage the souls—i.e., the spiritual entities—of all beings within its range. Similarly, the freezing effect from touch was significantly strengthened. Confirmed, he located a wall in the corner and passed through it, entering the dining room. Then he suppressed all his thoughts, allowing his gaze to scan the long table with neutral expression. He saw Heralas in a white headband, wearing a light shirt; Kitty in a thin shirt; Parker, with a weathered face sipping red wine; and Capin, slightly heavier, cutting through eye-of-beef. As soon as his gaze touched each of them, he withdrew it promptly, unwilling to risk being detected by the extraordinary ones through inspiration. He gently drifted around the dining room, his spiritual radiance—reflected in the luminous hues of the male and female servants standing nearby—carefully masking his presence, carefully assessing the specific layout: for instance, the size of this space equaled the sum of his own living room, dining room, and sitting room; here, there was a fireplace, currently burning wood, with warm air distributed throughout the room via ducts; there were sixteen elegant gas lamps arranged around the perimeter, their light interwoven to create a daylight-like ambiance; and on the wall beside the fireplace, several framed paintings hung—some sketches, others oil paintings—all masterpieces. "Béris with the beard hasn't arrived—he must be on duty guarding the entrance to the underground areas... A remarkable individual would willingly undertake such a routine task. This isn't simply about the trafficking of people. It's far more significant," thought Cline. After a few seconds, he leaned against a painting of a sunset and reached into himself, twisting open the cap of the small, brown, translucent bottle. This is the "Biotoxin Bottle"! He values the timing—choosing to arrive for dinner—because at this very moment, the main characters are gathered in the greatest number, most neatly arranged, and thus most conducive to the full effect of the "Biotoxin Bottle." The tightly closed windows and doors of the early winter season accelerate and enhance the action of the "Biotoxin Bottle." Moreover, prior to his arrival,克莱恩had not prepared or consumed a preventive agent brewed with the "Biotoxin Bottle." Now, in his ethereal state, he is entirely immune to biological toxins. Standing quietly, his spirit enveloping and shielding him, he patiently observes the elegant wall sconces connected to the gray-white gas pipes, as the odorless, tasteless toxins gradually spread outward. His appetite had waned, and his attention was scattered. Kitty didn't ask her servants to help cut the roasted chicken; instead, she was hunched over, holding her knife and fork with precise, surgical movements, swiftly dividing the dish into many pieces of nearly identical size. Parker sipped his red wine and enjoyed his stewed lamb, occasionally chatting with the host, Captain Cappin, which made him the most attentive guest of the evening. Dinner proceeded smoothly, and Captain Cappin finally took the last piece of beef eye into his mouth. With a smile, he addressed the three distinguished guests: "Mr. Heralds, Mrs. Kitty, and Mr. Parker, tonight's dessert is prepared by the head chef of Lapore Restaurant—three varieties: fruit crème brûlée, cream pastry, and carrot cake." The usually reserved Heralds nodded gently. "Our country has such a deep love for desserts," he remarked. Just as he finished speaking, he noticed Cappin gently patting his cheeks, then doing it again. "A bit itchy," Cappin apologized with a polite smile. Before he had finished speaking, he reached out again, drawing a clear streak of blood. The blood mark quickly swelled, the skin becoming semi-transparent, allowing a pale yellow liquid beneath to be faintly visible. "It's actually a bit itchy," Calpin added, smiling again. He then rubbed at the same spot with renewed force, so intense that the swollen, translucent skin cracked, spilling out a fragrant, sour-tinged pus. Heralas narrowed his eyes, suddenly standing upright, scanning the surroundings with alertness. "Hah! Hah!" "Hah! Hah! Hah!" At that moment, he heard the exaggerated laughter, his body instantly tensing. He saw two servants—one man and one woman—clutching their stomachs, laughing so hard they could hardly stand, weeping with mirth, their laughter silencing the entire room. It seemed to be a chain reaction; other servants either fainted or continued to vomit, expelling yellowish-green fluids, unable to stop. None escaped. Bang! Katie upended the table, spilling golden cutlery and remnants of food and wine across the floor. In her hands, she now held a revolver and a black, flexible lash. Parker rose to his feet, though his mind grew slightly hazy; he watched as the figure on one side screamed for help, frantically scratching and even tearing off chunks of flesh from the side of the table, and suddenly found the person's now grotesque, messy appearance strangely refined and appealing. At that moment, Heralas realized he was having trouble breathing, instantly understanding that the entire room was saturated with toxin. He bellowed, "Hold your breath! Parker, open the door! Katie, follow me to locate the intruders!" Heralas now deeply regretted that the dinner had been shared with Caplin, and that there were still several servants present. These ordinary people were far less resistant to the toxin than the extraordinary ones—by showing early symptoms, they had allowed Heralas and the others to detect the trouble before it deepened. The Parker with the most severe symptoms among us should be the one at the end of the sequence—this thought suddenly flashed through Heralis. Clunk! As Parker opened the door, breaking the restaurant's enclosed atmosphere, Heralis, through his clairvoyance, perceived a faint, ethereal figure gliding silently through the space. The figure wore a solid, majestic black armor, crowned with a dark crown, and a matching mask covered its face, concealing it entirely—like a sovereign from the realm of spirits. This was clearly Cline. Heralis raised his right hand, pointing at the invisible black figure, and uttered an ancient Hermes word: "Imprison!" Instantly, the air around the figure thickened, as if forming a vast amber or sealing transparent walls. The figure remained motionless, completely immobile, while Kaiti had already aimed and fired, their coordination flawless. Thwack, thwack—golden bullets, adorned with strange patterns, pierced the thick air and struck the black silhouette. The bullets passed through, hitting the opposite wall, while the black figure, seemingly untouched by wind, ignited and burned—revealing itself to be a crude paper man. Within the pale golden flames, the paper figure rapidly turned to ash. Thus, he kept his attention on the movements at the entrance to the lower area, while once again pointing at the door and speaking in the ancient Hermes tongue in a low, resonant voice: "Imprison!" The entire dining room suddenly stiffened, as though an invisible, impenetrable wall—indeed, one that even ethereal beings could not pass—had been formed. Heras would not let that intruder escape! Found you! Kaiti, one hand gripping her revolver and the other holding her whip, spotted the black figure floating mid-air. A strange glow flashed in her eyes just as she had begun to make her move, but before she could launch an attack, her mind buzzed with a sudden, sharp resonance—like being struck hard on the head with a wooden rod. She felt an indescribable howling sound, and a few drops of thick blood slowly dripped from her nostrils. Heras experienced only a slight dizziness, with his breathing becoming slightly more labored; the weakest, Parker, however, saw stars flashing in his vision and his steps grew unsteady. Suddenly, Parker’s shoulders were tapped by someone unseen. A cold sensation surged forth, instantly stiffening him in place, as if completely enveloped in frost, the chill seeping deep into his bones. At his side, a familiar low voice resonated: "Imprisoned!" Parker was suddenly trapped against the door by the transparent walls forming a prison, yet Caine did not materialize beside him—he simply passed through, timely evading the spell's effect. Heralas narrowed his eyes slightly, then gently swept his right hand, saying, "Release!"