Who is it? Caine suddenly looked up, toward the door. He felt as though he had caught a illness—fear of the doorbell—just like on Earth, when he used to dread phone calls. With the newspaper and magazines laid down, and the empty plate showing barely any remnants of condiments, Caine stood up and walked toward the entrance. Before even grasping the handle, he already knew that it was Dr. Allen outside. "Don't you have to go to work?" Caine murmured, reaching out to open the door. "Good morning, Allen. The fog today is gray." He offered a warm smile. Allen still maintained his usual reserved demeanor, but now with a touch of anxiety and urgency. He pushed his gold-framed glasses up slightly, barely making eye contact, and said directly: "Sherlock, I've had another dream! Another dream about Will O'Shane!" Ah? Caine nearly stood still. That didn't make sense. The genuine crane I have here rests above the gray mist, while the cranes I folded are with the night-watchers. Can you, carrying a subpar crane folded by one of the night-watchers, still dream of Will. Aunseit? That doesn't make sense—no, it doesn't even belong to the realm of mysticism. Kline immediately grew serious and asked, "The same dream as before?" "No, this one isn't so frightening," Allen actually grew more composed. "I dreamed of Green Cemetery—do you know Green Cemetery?" "Yes," Kline replied succinctly. He had encountered a group of students performing a spirit dance and a rather frayed, barefoot mystic named Copusti outside Green Cemetery, from whom he obtained another copper whistle capable of summoning a messenger. Allen took a deep breath and continued, "I dreamed of the trees outside Green Cemetery, of a birch tree with a strip of bark peeled off its trunk—Will. Aunseit was sitting beneath it, quietly watching me." "And then what?" "Klein asked one more question. Alan shook his head: "The dream ends here." How strange... Could it be that Dr. Alan's dreams have nothing to do with that thousand-paper crane? No—if there were no connection, then the dream would not change after the crane is exchanged, and furthermore, I myself used that crane to make a divination over the gray mist, and received clear insights. Klein pondered: "This is now beyond my understanding. What exactly do you wish to discuss with me, Alan?" The warmth from Alan's breath dispersed into the air as a veil of white mist: "I would like to go out to Green Cemetery right now, during the daytime. Can you protect me? I'll pay the commission—one pound." Exploring the scenes that appeared in the dream now? It shouldn't be too unusual during the day... Klein thought for a moment and said: "I'll accept this commission, but I recommend that you visit the church first, and tell the familiar bishop there about your dream." "Alan"hmm'd, then said with some curiosity, "Why do you always suggest I go to church? I know you've explained it very logically—there's a strong reasoning: if there's a magical force that consistently dominates the human world, then the church must be the one with the strongest magical power. If not, at least going to church offers psychological comfort and valuable network connections. But this isn't exactly unusual—why do you keep suggesting it?" He hadn't worn a thick coat and had been chatting with Alan at the door for a long time, his body stiffened by the cold breeze. In the meantime, Caine went to the restroom, ascended to the gray mist, and performed a divination on the risk level of this commission, concluding that the risk was almost negligible. Should he receive a particularly ominous reading, his plan would be to use the night goddess's church to postpone or even cancel the commission. Klein sighed heavily and said, "Allen, I'd like to tell you a story. Once there was a detective who hired two housemaids, a chef, and an assistant. He lived quite well. But one day, he took on a case and successfully identified the murderer—someone extremely rough and brutal, who entered the detective's home with a strong sense of vengeance. 'The detective was a martial arts expert and only sustained minor injuries, yet two of his servants died as a result.' 'Allen, do you understand?' 'Yes,' Allen replied, his tone clearly filled with sympathy. 'Sherlock, I never knew you had such an experience.' "No, the protagonist has no connection to me at all—this story is entirely my own invention. I simply can't tell you directly that I've been involved in numerous strange and mysterious events, with secrets that often remain unspoken within our household. It would be best if I didn't even summon the servants. Yet Klein found the design of the Saint Seraphina Church in Tinggen less impressive. In that hall, the entire space was dark, with only a single beam of light entering from a series of circular openings the size of fists—each one like a window to the stars, evoking a deep, genuine sense of reverence. Still, this design had a drawback: once night fell, the effect vanished. Klein casually settled into a seat, removed his half-high silk hat, leaned back against his black hardwood cane, while Allen continued down the aisle, heading toward the confessional to find the bishop. Sitting in this hall, watching the faithful pray with focused devotion, Klein suddenly felt an unexpected calm. To be honest, this was only my third visit to a church dedicated to the goddess. He smiled to himself, a touch of self-mockery. …… In the Quiet Church of the Cold Winter County. Leonard Mitchell donned his black coat and put on his red gloves, then entered the room belonging to the senior steward, Crystelle Césima. "Congratulations—you are now officially a Red Glove. May the goddess protect you." Cesium drew a crimson moon on her chest. He still held his collar high, shielding his mouth. "Hail the goddess. This is my honor," Leonard raised his right hand and tapped it four times in a clockwise motion. Cesium said nothing further, moving straight to the point: "As you requested, I have assigned you to the Sostre team. He is an 'Aurora'—a member with his own magical artifact. The extraordinary weapon you need has also been arranged and prepared for you. You will primarily handle cases involving demon summoning, and also gather leads on various incidents, such as the recent series of Tarot-related events in Beckland." "Yes, Excellency Cesium." Leonard showed no reservations. This will be the beginning of my revenge... he thought silently. ........ West District, outside the Green Cemetery. Klein walked with Dr. Allen through the nearby woods for a long time, occasionally coughing as gray-white dust fell from the air. "Perhaps there isn't such a tree at all—after all, the details of dreams don't always fully reflect reality," Allen himself began to doubt as they reached the end. Well, I'm good at finding things... Klein gestured with his walking stick in a direction. "Let's check that way one more time—let's make one final effort." "Alright," Allen exhaled. They walked a while, then Allen suddenly stopped, pointing toward the diagonal. "There! Over there!" A birch tree, its trunk peeled at the waist, stood quietly several meters away, as if waiting for them. "It's exactly as I saw it in my dream," Allen said with great confidence. Klein smiled with a slight sense of caution. "Yet there's no Will. Aunsett." Alan stepped close to the birch tree, frowned at it for a moment, then suddenly pointed to the area beside the tree's roots. "Willem O'Scatten was sitting right here. He had one hand pointing down at the soil beneath!" Pointing down at the soil? Kline stood beside him, looking at the patch of ground where hardly any grass had grown. "Do you want to dig it up?" Alan nodded. "We've found this spot—there must be something to confirm. Sherlock, go to the cemetery and borrow two iron shovels." "Or I'll stay here with you, and you go to the cemetery. I'm worried something might go wrong," Kline said cautiously. "Very well," Alan didn't hesitate, and immediately left the woods. A while later, he spent money, returned with three shovels and a cemetery caretaker, and began digging. As Kline dug, he suddenly caught a scent he recognized—familiar—and as the surface soil gave way, the things beneath slowly came into view. There, revealed, was a child's body, already highly decomposed. His skin and flesh seemed almost melting, with countless insects crawling in and out of his nose and mouth. Clang! The iron spade Allen held dropped onto a stone. He pointed desperately at the victim's legs, his mouth moving rapidly yet unable to form words. Crain, holding back his disgust, carefully examined the child's body and noticed that the left leg was clearly missing its lower half. At the same time, Allen stepped back two paces, stumbled to the ground, and called out in a high-pitched voice: "Will. Ongestin! Will. Ongestin!" That was Will. Ongestin's body! PS: Having written this chapter, I haven't taken a single rest for nearly three months—feeling utterly drained, both mentally and physically. I originally planned to work through the night again during the doubled hours, but have been unable to make it happen. Well, I might apply for a day off this month at a convenient time. I'll let everyone know in advance. Also, updates in the early hours will be posted earlier than usual.