Inside the carriage outside the Crag Club. "Does 'The Apostle of Desire' necessarily mean Patrick Jason Beleia? Could it be that we've been misled?" After listening to Caine's words, Ikonser neither scoffed, nor showed disdain, but instead engaged him seriously in discussion. A capable steward—though perhaps the frequent use of the magical mirror known as Arodos smooths out even the most temperamental or sharp-spoken nature—Caine silently admired, and nodded sincerely. "This is my personal view, driven by caution." "To verify it simply requires asking the mirror about the location of 'The Apostle of Desire,' rather than Patrick Jason Beleia's." Ikonser adjusted his hat. "That makes sense." His expression grew more serious, and his gaze shifted to the mirror in his hands. "Steward Ikonser, if you inquire here about any clue, that demon will certainly sense it." "Klein added from beside him. "Agreed," Ikonser turned to the two team members. "You continue to protect Mr. Moriaty discreetly. Even if the 'Apostle of Desire' makes an assault, your three of you together will be able to hold off for a considerable length of time, and there are still military personnel nearby." "Yes, Sir!" The two members of the "Heart of Mechanism" responded without hesitation. But he quickly regained his composure: That was fine—now at least I wouldn’t have to take any risks, and could resolve this crisis calmly and securely. Moreover, the "Heart of Mechanism" surely wouldn’t overlook me. If the venture succeeded, my views and suggestions would undoubtedly hold a prominent position, and as a devoted follower of the deities of steam and machinery, I would surely receive a share of the rewards—according to the traditions of the major churches, this should be substantial, even under a base of fifty thousand pounds. Thinking of this, Kent felt a touch of regret. Yet he would not risk becoming involved at this stage. "The Magician never performs without preparation!" The sequence had been too tight, too hurried—there had been no time for me to plan. Kent nodded to the two representatives of the "Heart of Mechanism," stepped down from the carriage, returned to the Crags Club, and, with all the preparedness, had a private room arranged for him by the staff. Leonard Mitchell smoothed the slightly unruly black hair on his head, following Captain Sostre's instructions and, with the help of the other night-watchers, struggled to don the silver full-body armor stained with large patches of blood. He lowered his breastplate, letting his emerald eyes disappear into the deep darkness, then extended his left hand, wearing silver-white metal gauntlets, to receive the magic mirror from Ikonser. Within the Steam and Mechanistic Church, this silver mirror was designated as "2–111." "Is it merely a Level 2 seal?" Sostre asked, slightly surprised. Ikonser nodded: "Yes, its threat level is not high." As he spoke the last part, a hint of grit and determination edged his tone. "So, all the other aspects meet the standard of Level 1 seal?" Sostre pondered. Ikonser glanced at him with cautious alertness: "Only certain aspects." He would not reveal any further information. At this moment, Leonard gently traced the surface of the silver mirror with his right hand, and the entire living room instantly fell silent. After three repetitions, he spoke in a low, steady tone: "Respected Araldes, my question is: where is the 'Apostles of Desire' currently attacking Esgaroth-Stanton?" The entire house dimmed suddenly, as if a cloud had just passed by nearby. Water-like light flowed across the mirror's surface and swiftly coalesced into a slightly blurred image: a luxurious villa house, with a large garden stretching out in front of its windows. At the center of the garden stood a glass greenhouse, filled with blooming, vivid red roses. Above the greenhouse, the pale sun could be seen through a veil of mist. "It's right in Becland!" Esgaroth-Stanton immediately calculated the location based on the viewpoint and the position of the sun in the sky. "This is completely different from the answer I received when I asked Jason Beleia! We've been misled!" Icanser said, his voice firm. "Seraph" Sosth exhaled, saying, "Truly clever. Who exactly is Jason Beleia, the one being pursued by the 'Songbearer of the Gods'? Ah, we don't have time to discuss it further—let's first pinpoint the general area from the visuals and then act immediately. I suspect the 'Apostle of Desire' is about to create a major event!" At that moment, the silver mirror known as Arodes dissolved the image and began to display words. It asked Leonard Michale to answer a question; should he lie or refuse, he would face severe consequences. Leonard felt unexpectedly tense, setting aside his usual casual demeanor and quietly awaiting the question. A few seconds later, he watched the blood-red words transform, one after another taking shape: "Do you harbor...?" As the question was still halfway completed, Leonard's pupils contracted rapidly, his back tensed tightly, and cold sweat beaded on his forehead. If it weren't for the blood-stained silver armor concealing him, others would have already noticed his anomaly. At this very moment, his left hand inexplicably trembled. The silver mirror subtly quivered, and the vivid red words on it gradually, mysteriously, took on a hint of green—something that would go unnoticed unless one was intently focused on the surface. The words continued to shift, altering the earlier question: "Is there any mark upon you that you cannot share?" "Yes, that mark exists within my memories," Leonard replied calmly, yet his body, enclosed within the blood-stained armor, felt a deep fatigue—first tense, then suddenly relaxed. The mirror was dangerously perceptive—it had detected it directly! Fortunately, after all this time, the old man had begun to recover. He thought, his lips dry. Sorst pulled out his watch, checked the time, and addressed Leonard, whose silver armor was stained with blood. "We still have time—you take the lead in the next phase!" "Yes, Captain Sorst." Leonard exhaled quietly. ………… The dock district, Bekland's shipyard. Patrick Jason Beleia entered the designated cabin. He looked out the window at the sky, lightly veiled in a thin mist, and silently calculated the time. After a while, he quickly removed his hat, shed his clothes, then pulled sharply, tearing away the layer of human skin. Beneath the skin lay a woman of striking beauty, in her thirties, with deep, expressive features—no resemblance to the brown-haired, brown-eyed man Kleen had seen in his "dream divination"! The woman took her clothes and dressed herself with grace and composure, swiftly becoming a captivating and alluring presence. Finally, she sifted through the bottom of her suitcase and found a stone statue the size of a clenched fist. She wrapped it tightly in the thin layer of human skin that had faded, securing it with a firm knot. By the time she had finished, the riverboat had already traveled some distance. She opened the window and tossed Patrick Jason’s skin, along with the stone statue, into the river. Plunging! The skin, now weighted down, sank swiftly. The woman clapped her hands, closed the window, and carried her suitcase to a newly assigned cabin. Then she settled at the window of her new cabin, propping her elbows on the table and resting her hands on her face, gazing out calmly. It wasn’t long before she noticed a strong wind rising from the sky, scattering the mist. A bright smile spread across her lips. ………… In a luxurious villa near St. Wind Cathedral, in the Joewood district. Palas Nigan, her waist swollen and her eyes gray-blue, embraced her lover, a young woman still bearing a touch of pure, innocent beauty. Two people accompanied him. One was a middle-aged man in a black tailcoat, with brown hair and blue eyes, expressionless—exactly the exceptional guardian provided by the Storm Church, a Sequence 6 "Wind-attuned." The other was the Duke of Nigan's secretary. A slender, well-groomed young man with golden hair, he appeared refined and composed, though his greatest flaw was that his hairline had receded well beyond what would be expected for his age. As for the other guards or security personnel, they were spread out throughout the house. When ascending to the second floor, the "Wind-attuned" entered the bedroom swiftly, just before the Duke entered, to conduct a quick inspection, while the secretary took charge of searching the surrounding rooms. Once they confirmed everything was secure, they nodded to the Duke, signaling him to proceed. "My emotions are nearly calm," the Duke said half-jokingly. His mistress responded happily, "Then we can have a proper chat—I'd really like to hear about your experiences at sea." "I hope you finally develop that spirit," said Duke Nigan, embracing his mistress and closing the door with the heel of his foot. His secretary and the "Wind's Patron" entered the rooms on either side, remaining utterly vigilant. "We're nearly there... right at this moment!" He suddenly clutched his right hand tightly, as if grasping someone's heart!