There seems to be a Byrn lineage... a university lecturer... indeed, Mr. Azk, not someone with the same name. Based on the information provided by old Kole, Klein has essentially confirmed that the person on the reward list is the suspected descendant of the Dead God. "Then the question arises: who, or which organization, is seeking Mr. Azk?" "The Spirit Church, whose ultimate goal is to resurrect the Dead God? Or perhaps Inz. Zangwei, who enjoys operating from the shadows?" "It doesn't quite fit Inz. Zangwei. He has Seal 0-08, which allows him to guide his targets according to his own narrative, achieving his objectives through a series of coincidences. He would have no need to rely on mob members or bounty hunters to locate Mr. Azk." "Wait—what if this entire arrangement is precisely the work of Seal 0-08?" Inz. Zangewell found himself under the watchful eye of Mr. Azk, yet uncertain of victory in direct combat. Thus, he leveraged the 0-08 to create a conflict between Mr. Azk and a certain faction, hoping to eliminate his adversary through indirect means—this very bounty, it seems, was issued by that faction. Very likely! "Still, it's not impossible that the Spiritual Order is involved. Mr. Azk, driven by vengeance, may have engaged with them, yet significant disagreements arose over matters such as the resurrection of the God of Death, ultimately leading to a rupture..." Crane instantly envisioned two plausible scenarios and their respective reasons. He lifted his coffee to take a sip, then turned to the elder Kole. "Could you find out who issued this bounty and what the exact price is? If it's favorable, I might also keep an eye on the matter." "No problem at all," the elder Kole replied, seeing no issue with Crane's request. In a certain sense, private detectives and retainer hunters have no fundamental difference—except in form. The former even handle small matters like catching someone in the act, finding a cat, or walking a dog, and prefer reasoning to physical confrontation. After Old Coler finished sharing his other observations, Crane simply guided him through some basic questioning techniques and specific contingency plans for various scenarios, as outlined in the night-watchman’s manual. "I must head to the docks now, thank you, Detective Moriaty—you've given me a wonderful life again!" Old Coler picked up the worn soft hat on the table and sincerely expressed his gratitude. To him, the detective not only provided him with a well-compensated job but also taught him many useful skills. Even if the detective no longer needed him as a source of information, these techniques would be enough to keep him afloat in the East End, especially as he grew older and became less able to handle physically demanding tasks. A wonderful life? In my view, you currently possess the very fundamentals of a life—after watching the old Kole exit the budget coffee shop, Caine sat there, lost in thought. This was the first time since arriving in Beckland that he had heard a friend's name spoken aloud, and the first time he had any real chance of tracking down Ings Zangwei! For the past three months, especially after eliminating Lan'urus, Caine's primary focus had been on digesting the elixirs and strengthening himself. He was well aware of the insurmountable gap between himself and Ings Zangwei, who was already a high-tier powerhouse. Revenge could not be rushed—especially not when considering the chillingly daunting seal object, 0-08, which had made him completely unwilling even to consider approaching or investigating. The scenes unfolding within the Black Thorns security company in Tinggen city now vividly returned to Caine's mind, the pair of crisp, polished shoes shining clearly as if right before his eyes. He tilted his head back, exhaled slowly, took his scarf and hat, and stepped out of the budget coffee shop. ........... In the Hillsborough district, outside an older, slightly weathered house. Clarendon got off the carriage, adjusted his hat, and headed straight for the front door. This was the home of Esingston Stanton. A few days ago, the detective had written to Clarendon, inviting him to visit and discuss a murder case. Clarendon, preoccupied with fundraising for his bicycle project, had politely replied that he was currently too busy, thus politely declining. To his surprise, Esingston Stanton didn't mind, stating that the case had stalled and wouldn't see significant progress in the near term, and that he was very eager to await Clarendon's visit, looking forward to a vibrant exchange of ideas. Clarendon therefore arranged a suitable date for the visit, selecting the one immediately following their meeting—today in the afternoon—and confirmed the appointment in a follow-up letter. Tink, tink. Caine rang the bell twice, then stepped back to wait. After several seconds, the door creaked open, and the assistant of Inspector Ainsworth smiled warmly, saying, "Good afternoon, Detective Moriaty. Mr. Stanton is in the sitting room waiting for you—would you like coffee or tea?" Klein narrowed his eyes and reached out, pulling out a copper penny. At that moment, the door to the sitting room creaked open, parting slightly. Instantly, as if some seal had been broken, a strong scent of fresh blood surged into Klein's nostrils. Within his line of sight, the armchair in the sitting room had been knocked over, stained with dark red blood, and a book lay beside it, cover facing up. With just a brief glance, Klein seemed to have witnessed the scene of a murder. The name of the book entered his vision: *The Demon Legends of the Westvillas Region*. Demons... As Klein prepared to act, a sudden, fierce gust of wind swept through the sitting room, pulling the door sharply closed behind him. Clang! Klein clearly saw the full scene inside the living room: the wood coals in the fireplace had long since burned out, no longer glowing red; the tea table, sofa, chairs, cabinets, and other furnishings lay overturned or shattered, as if they had witnessed a fierce battle; there were numerous bloodstains on the carpet and walls, accompanied by extensive charred areas, yet no bodies were found—no broken limbs either. Had Stanton been involved in an accident? Klein stepped back suddenly, intending to distance himself from the scene. Yet almost at the same time, he felt as though he were being locked in place. Someone—somewhere unseen—was coldly, unyieldingly watching him! As soon as his actions faltered, he would immediately face a deadly assault! What on earth was this visit to Esting, Stanton? Had he misinterpreted the message? Klein dared not move hastily. Yet he was far from panicked or disoriented. Having endured numerous battles and dramatic encounters, he knew precisely what to do at this moment: remain calm. Ding, ding, ding. Stanton's assistant approached, carrying a tray with a tin teapot and two white-glazed porcelain cups. Upon seeing the scene in the living room, he froze in place. He turned to Caine, his expression suddenly filled with fear, speaking in stammered, hesitant words: "You—you killed—Stanton, sir..." With each word he uttered, flesh fell from his face, dripping with blood. When he finished speaking, he shattered into four fragments, scattering like a corpse, as though he had always been in this state, merely stitched together just moments before. Clang! Crackle! The tin teapot and the white-glazed cups landed or rolled or splashed across the floor, the红茶 swiftly soaking the surrounding area. Caine remained motionless, gazing at all this unfold, because he still felt himself being watched. The one who had orchestrated everything seemed to be waiting for him to act, then spring from behind and snap his neck. It wasn’t clear how long it had been before, in the silent and eerie standoff, Cline saw the front door of the Esgarrouth-Stanton home open and a group of police in black-and-white checked uniforms rush in. They spotted the gruesome, repulsive remains scattered on the ground and immediately drew their revolvers, pointing them directly at Cline at the living room entrance. Yet, facing one steady black barrel after another, Cline relaxed—those silent, seemingly aimed at the back of his head stares vanished in that very moment! Cline raised his hands and sighed, saying, “Until I see my lawyer, I’ll say nothing.” Klein sighed. "This is truly a tragedy. At this very moment, I should have been deciding what to eat for dinner, instead of chatting with this stern officer." His greatest relief today was that, thanks to the investigations by the Aurora Circle and the attention from high-tier members of the Rose School, he had brought nothing extraordinary with him—his only revolver had easily escaped detection during the search, thanks to its magical performance. Once inside the interrogation room, he began narrating in full detail the letter he had received from Esingston-Stanton and his appointment to discuss a case, without waiting for the officer to ask. "We'll retrieve these letters from your home later, together with Jurist Yurgen. We hope they're still there," the officer said, shifting the topic. "How did you first meet Esingston-Stanton?" Klein answered without hesitation. "Because of that series of consecutive murders..." At this point, he paused suddenly. He recalled something—he had always suspected that the demon hound had a master behind it, and he had even scoffed at the scene where the hound was slain. Ah, the book that Detective Stanton had been reading before his attack was *The Legend of the Demons in the Westvillas Region*… Could it be that the demon hound’s master had remained dormant for some time before launching a retaliatory campaign? And that Detective Stanton, precisely, was the one who had provided the key insights or ideas to the police records and had been awarded the reward! Klein now had a clear hunch.