At eight o'clock in the evening, St. Abundance Church. Having changed back into his usual attire, Caine gently pressed the edge of his hat, silently surveyed the room, and then stepped into the hall, making his way toward Emlyn White, who stood before the third row of candlelight. A black suitcase rested at Emlyn's side, its surface seemingly veiled by a "spiritual wall." Upon sensing Sherlock Moriarty's arrival, Emlyn first expressed delight, then adopted a watchful demeanor. He bent to grasp the suitcase, stepped back a few paces toward the rear, and drew closer to the priest, Utrovsky, who was intently praying. He was afraid I'd seize the extraordinary materials, Caine said, stopping three meters away with a smile. "Let me first verify whether these are indeed the two materials I need." Emlyn White combed his hair and lifted the suitcase to his chest, then snapped open the hidden latch with a crisp sound. The "spiritual wall" shattered, flowing gently through the prayer hall like a breeze. Klein, already attuned to spiritual vision, immediately perceived waves of strange and radiant light—spiritual glimmers emanating from the extraordinary qualities of the items. Inside the chest were two small boxes: one crafted from white tin, intricately patterned and ancient and substantial, the other a simple paper box. Emlyn held the black chest in one hand and opened the silver-white but slightly dim tin box. The contents within resembled a walnut with its shell removed, displaying a warm brown hue, with raised and recessed patterns resembling the brain's convolutions. As the candle flame flickered, the form of the object constantly shifted—sometimes gray-white, creased and textured; sometimes deep brown, smooth and refined; sometimes a blend of both tones, forming a face devoid of facial features. Upon seeing it, Klein sensed a subtle shift in the magical potion's power that had fully integrated into him, as though two magnets with opposite poles were drawing toward each other. Using his "clown" ability to steady his body, he suppressed this mutual attraction, already recognizing in his mind what it truly was: a genuine cerebral mutation of the pituitary gland in a thousand-faceted hunter. It seems that King Roscel's conjecture in his journal is indeed plausible—high-tier items along the same path periodically and unconsciously attract exceptional beings of medium and lower tiers to their vicinity, tending to gather and cluster together... Although the cerebral hypophysis of the Multifaceted Hunter is still far from high-tier status and thus lacks this remarkable attraction, it already possesses a rich accumulation of exceptional properties. Combined with the fact that I have absorbed the Sequence 7 elixir, similar phenomena have emerged when we are close enough. Previously, I had not noticed this phenomenon—first, because the corresponding exceptional materials were of lower quality, and second, due to my own relative weakness and insufficient sequence. Ah, each time I absorb an elixir, a kind of ethereal starry sky seems to appear around me, filled with countless brilliant points that pull and draw toward one another—this may be the very image of the "aggregation" law of exceptional properties within the same path, with greater "mass" resulting in stronger gravitational pull. Then, will exceptional properties from closely related paths conform to this law as well? Klein remained expressionless, recalling the entries from Rosser's journal and combining them with his own experiences of three times digesting the magical potion, thus roughly establishing the existence of a certain law. Emlyn White glanced at him with cautious alertness, quickly closed the tin box, and then opened the adjacent paper box. Inside, the box was lined with a dense layer of padding, and at its center stood a glass bottle capable of holding 200 milliliters of liquid—half empty, with a viscous liquid flowing throughout the rest, its color shifting dynamically according to the light. "Is there anything else?" Emlyn closed the paper box. "I'd like to confirm one more thing." Klein withdrew a gold coin, letting it spin and leap between his fingers as though it had come alive of its own accord. It bounced up, then settled again, resting flat in the palm of Klein's hand. This time, the coin oriented face-up, indicating affirmation. Klein nodded gently, then pulled out stacks of bills from various pockets of his clothing—some in the amount of ten pounds, others five, and a few in one pound each. "One thousand four hundred and fifty pounds." Caine piled the cash onto the nearby table and chairs. "Step back—no, five steps!" Emlyn called out cautiously. Caine smiled and raised both hands, then stepped back five paces. Emlyn approached carefully, checking the stack to ensure there were no blank sheets among the bills. After a brief count, he tossed his leather case toward the counterparty. Caine jumped slightly, nimbly and accurately catching the case. He was afraid the glass bottles would shatter, spilling the blood of the Multifaceted Hunter. Taking this opportunity, Emlyn gathered the cash and quickly retreated to stand beside Father Utravsky. Only then did he breathe easier, carefully verifying the amount and authenticity of the notes. Witnessing this scene, Caine found himself reflecting on the just-occurred image, suddenly feeling a touch of embarrassment: he and Emlyn had turned the magnificent Temple of the Earth Mother into something resembling a military supply depot or a drug trafficking operation. After confirming the condition of the two materials, Caine snapped his fingers, igniting a match he had carefully set aside in his pocket. The sudden surge of crimson flame enveloped him completely. When the flames subsided, he was gone. ——Given that he frequently met with Emlyn White at the Harvest Temple, Caine no longer minded if Father Utravský learned that he was the extraordinary one who had helped Emlyn eliminate the dark persona. In fact, he even saw this as a chance to cultivate a personal connection. Emlyn, busy counting the cash, looked up and stood there, stunned for a full two seconds. He stammered, softly murmuring, "My trunk... " "My tin box..." ...On the street illuminated by gas streetlamps, a carriage rolled over successive puddles, moving steadily toward the outskirts of the Quarter. Folth had informed her friend, Thu Dillchar, about having a teacher and about taking up a fresh "apprentice" potion. Once assured that she showed no signs of instability, Thu looked out the window at the gas lamps, which stood much taller than himself, and asked with curiosity, "I've always been puzzled as to why the materials are preserved in that form rather than as potions. Your teacher could easily have pre-prepared the potions and brought them over, without having to be busy on site." Folth smiled gently. "I've asked him about this, and he explained there are two main reasons. First, different extraordinary materials serve different purposes, and once turned into potions, their versatility is lost. Second, when the extraordinary properties are solidified, they remain stable and can be preserved indefinitely; once transformed into potions, however, they lose that stability unless special isolation techniques are employed." "Why?" Thu asked in surprise. "This isn't just ordinary potions or ordinary weapons—how could the spirit not gradually dissipate and weaken over time?" "Vorth didn't feel any joy, yet had to maintain a smile: 'It's not a matter of properties fading away. Once extraordinary materials become potions, not only humans can absorb them—other living beings, even lifeless materials, can too. Just that the process is much slower. For instance, I store my potions in glass bottles, and at first it seems perfectly fine. Yet perhaps after a few days, the glass bottle itself could fully "drink" the potion, transforming into a unique, magical object—possibly even gaining a certain level of intelligence. Of course, my teacher explains that such a side effect is quite severe, akin to the aftermath of a person who has lost control.' 'The Seven Churches and certain secret powers have mastered special isolation techniques, but they're quite cumbersome, especially when it comes to lower- and mid-tier potions.' 'That's truly remarkable!' Thu sincerely remarked. She glanced out the window once more, lowering her voice: 'We're almost there.' She and Vorth had come to attend the gathering of extraordinary beings convened by Mr. A." Forsyth laughed with a pain that cut like a knife, saying, "I hope to find the stomach of a gastronome." Her teacher, Dorian Gray, had taught her the art of performance and had given her a magical recipe for the "Master of Illusions," instructing her to seek out extraordinary ingredients on her own. Should she fail to gather them by the time the "Apprentice" potion had been fully digested, she was to write to him for assistance. This left Forsyth in a state of uncertainty: "What exactly was I trying to achieve by purchasing the recipe for the 'Master of Illusions' and the art of performance at such a high price?" "To date, the Tarot has had the most significant impact on me, and what stands out most is the advice given by Mr. Temperance and Miss Justice, as well as the disruption caused by Mr. The Fool during the readings—otherwise, I would have been discovered by my teacher long ago and would never have become his student..." "Oh well, this must be the price paid to offset the full moon curse..." As her thoughts turned, Fleur suddenly noticed that the house where Mr. A had been hosting the gathering had visibly collapsed, with several areas even showing signs of charring. There had been a fierce battle here—whom was attacking Mr. A? The official organization? Fleur immediately signaled to Hous and instructed the driver outside: "Not here. Take us two streets further ahead." ... "Fortress of the Aurora discovered; terrorist organization suffers heavy blow." The next morning, when Caine opened the newspaper, he immediately saw this news. "May Mr. A perish in this campaign." He solemnly drew a crimson moon on his chest. He had already cast the altered pituitary gland and blood from the thousand-faceted hunter he acquired last night into the gray mist, ensuring they would not be lost. Even if I die, they will not—Clayne chewed calmly on a piece of bacon with complete confidence. After last night's transaction, his cash had dropped back below 1,000 pounds, down to just 735, enough only to purchase the hair of the deep-sea naga, and no longer able to support the properties of the human skin shadow. With neither better leads nor funds, Clayne rested at home for the entire morning, only leaving for lunch, then dressing neatly and heading straight toward the Beckland Bridge district. He had previously arranged with Carlson of "The Heart of Mechanism" to go to the "Lucky Patron" bar near the Westbryant dock for any information; if the news were particularly significant and Carlson were absent, he would proceed directly to the Leverage Church—after all, Sherlock Moriarty was no member of any secret society, so no need for discreet movements. The "Lucky Patron" bar wasn't very busy in the afternoon, and Cain spotted Carlson sitting alone at the corner of the bar, sipping his drink. He walked over, tapped the table, and spoke softly: "Many people in the East District are spreading the faith of the Primordial Creator." Carlson sipped his pure barley-wine, simply replied, "I see." Indeed... Cain murmured to himself, then smiled and added, "I have a lead on the fourth-century noble tombs." "Ah?" Carlson paused mid-sip, turned surprised toward Cain, and unconsciously pushed his thick glasses up on his nose. Yet, he noticed that Sherlock Moriarty the detective didn't elaborate further—he instead turned toward the bartender a few steps away and smiled calmly, saying, "A glass of South Wiltshire beer."