This was not the first time Klein had witnessed a familiar person die before his eyes, but it was the most sudden and unforeseen. His mind still lingered on Talim Dumont’s expression as he had asked about the true taste of loving someone—a look brimming with excitement and pride, yet restrained by certain factors, carefully guarded and hesitantly shared. Too fast… a normal illness wouldn’t cause death this swiftly! Klein’s expression remained calm and still as he gently tapped his teeth, then activated his spiritual sight. Kneeling down, he observed Talim Dumont’s aura and emotional hues rapidly fading. At the same time, fine threads of dark energy, like serpents, wound around the area where Talim’s heart had been tightly pressed, gradually dimming. A spell-like extraordinary ability? Klein instantly formed an initial judgment. Meanwhile, the attendant in the red uniform and a nearby female servant in black and white dresses rushed over, gazing in alarm at the lifeless body with wide, round eyes and a streak of white foam still clinging to the lips. Klein closed his eyes and spoke firmly: "Go to the nearest police station and inform them that someone has died here." "Yes, Mr. Moriaty," the red-suited waiter replied immediately, turning and rushing toward the door, so hurried that he even forgot to put on his coat. Under the steady gaze of everyone present, Klein did not take time to check Talim's personal belongings nor attempt to pluck a few strands of hair in hopes of making a divination later on. His status was already half-official, half-underground, and he could fully leverage the resources of the 'Heart of Mechanism' for the subsequent investigation—there was no need to act as a lone hero. Recalling their many card games together, the clients and investors Talim had introduced, and the romantic story that had occupied his thoughts for so long, Klein sighed deeply and slowly. "Who is the murderer of Talim?" "And against whom exactly did Talim incur the wrath of a seer skilled in curses?" "Given today's performance, he should be in a very happy and stable state, with absolutely no sense of having drawn attention from any formidable figures..." One after another, questions flashed through Clarendon's mind, yet lacking inspiration due to his limited understanding of Talim Dumont. When the police arrived and he served as a witness, undergoing questioning, the process consumed considerable time. Only after all this was completed did Clarendon have the opportunity to leave the Hillsdon district and return to the "Lucky One" bar in the Beckland Bridge area. Carlson was still there, now drinking a golden, foamy beer instead of the strong, pure-malt distilled spirit he had previously favored. Clarendon raised his right hand, half-covering and gently pressing his lips, moved closer, and lightly tapped the table. "Is your job simply to drink here every day?" Carlson was startled, then relaxed upon seeing it was Sherlock Moriaty. "You... have another matter?" "That reaction is so familiar," Klein murmured, speaking with a serious tone. "There's a case involving extraordinary beings." Carlson immediately glanced around, noticing that the "Lucky One" bar now had quite a few guests—some clinking their glasses and shouting loudly, others eager to challenge one another at the boxing ring. "Come on, let's play a game of table tennis," Carlson said, adjusting his thick glasses and heading toward an empty table tennis room with his beer. Klein followed closely behind, smoothly closing the door behind him. "Your drinking ability seems quite good," he remarked casually. "No, I just drink slowly," Carlson set down his glass and picked up the paddle. Then, unexpectedly, he added: "And lately, I've been wanting to spend time alone." "I don't care about this issue..." Cline said, pressing his lips together. "I encountered a death at the Crag Club in the Hillsdon district. It was a friend of mine—a noble descendant, a horsemanship instructor—who had always been in excellent health and recently had been in particularly good spirits. Yet he died suddenly right before my eyes, appearing to have suffered a cardiac event. But my spiritual sight tells me he may have been under a curse." "Are you skilled in spiritual sight?" Carlson asked instinctively. What specific details had Mr. Stanton fabricated for me? Since becoming a contact of the 'Mechanical Heart,' they had never asked me about my path or sequence as a unique one, nor inquired into my background or origins. Of course, it was a common organizational strategy to preserve certain personal secrets among contacts. "Yes," Cline replied calmly. "There were quick, fading ethereal black vapors visible on the chest of the deceased." "Indeed, it might involve a curse, something extraordinary," Carlson didn't ask further, simply nodded slowly. "The Hillsdon district—this falls within our 'Heart of Mechanism' jurisdiction." In the northwest region of Beckland, the city's core, the Queens district and the Joewood district belong to the 'Enforcers,' the West and North districts to the 'Night Watch,' while the Hillsdon district and the Beckland Bridge area are managed by the 'Heart of Mechanism.' Turning to Caine, Carlson sought confirmation: "Which deity does your friend worship?" After a moment's thought, Caine replied hesitantly: "The Lord of Storms." "Only one deceased devotee of the Lord of Storms?" Carlson asked, frowning. "Yes," Caine affirmed. Carlson ran his fingers along the top of his club, exhaled, and said: "We have no authority to take over—this is the 'Enforcers' domain." "But I'll pass on the information you've submitted to them." In the Kingdom of Roon, the principle governing extraordinary events is first based on faith—when multiple churches and deities are involved, jurisdiction is determined by geographic scope. Kline was familiar with this arrangement and saw no need to trouble Carlson, so he spoke sincerely: "Thank you. I hope they can quickly identify the true culprit." Carlson lifted the wine glass placed beside him and took a sip. "She was a noble descendant—definitely someone the Enforcers will take seriously." He paused, studying Kline intently, then spoke in a low tone. "I find it hard to believe you've only been in Beklanth for over three months. It seems as though you've already built a wide network of connections and secured substantial resources here." "Some people are just born with this ability," Kline replied, shaking his head with a touch of self-mockery, and then bid farewell. When he returned to Minsk Street, the sky had completely darkened, and the gas streetlamps were being one by one lit by the staff. Though their friendship wasn't particularly deep, Talim Dumont was someone克莱恩 met almost every week, a regular with whom they gathered occasionally to play cards. Talim was genuinely enthusiastic, consistently praising Sherlock Moriaty and actively introducing克莱恩 to cases and investment opportunities. Talim's passing left克莱恩 equally saddened and filled with a sense of helplessness regarding fate. Beyond that, he harbored considerable anger—specifically, resentment toward the cursed murderers. "I hope we can figure out what's really going on,"克莱恩 sighed, "and that the 'Avenger' doesn't get overwhelmed by staffing shortages following the Duke of Nigan's assassination..." As he stepped down from the carriage and headed toward his own door, he noticed that the Sommer family's house was dark. "It seems they're en route to the Dicsy Bay now... That's the festive atmosphere of Beckettland, isn't it? Yet I feel completely disconnected from it..."克莱恩 paused, momentarily moved. With such emotions, he went to bed early and woke up at the sound of the seven o'clock chime. To shift his mood, Caine decided to try making a cake from scratch that day. "Go buy the ingredients after breakfast," he murmured, sipping his milk and casually flipping through the newspaper. Perhaps it would be worth going to the hazy upper realm to consult whether this were a trap set for the "Agent of Reprisal"—but likely the outcome would still be a failure, since neither any personal belongings nor a direct focus on himself was present. He took a deep breath, settled himself, and methodically filled his stomach. Subsequent attempts did not surprise Clain; he therefore left Minsk Street, took a taxi to the Hillsdon district, and visited Eshing Stanton. "Eisenberg smoothed his collar and ran his fingers over the pipe in his pocket," "You seem a bit anxious," he said. "Mr. Stanton, I have something I'd like to consult you about." Kline then gave a complete account of Talim Dumont's death, his own visions, the process of offering his recommendations to the 'Heart of Mechanism,' and the morning's official obituary. Of course, he omitted the fact that he had become a source for the 'Heart of Mechanism,' mentioning only that he had found an official extraordinary agent he knew from the 'Apostles of Desire' case, for the sake of a friend. "Do you think this is a trap set by the 'Sentinels of Reckoning'?" he asked finally. Eisenberg held the pipe, pondering. "I've always made a point of avoiding the Sentinels of Reckoning, and I'm not very well informed about their activities. I'll have someone inquire, and I'll write to you as soon as I hear anything." "Thank you," Kline said, bowing sincerely. In the evening, he received a letter sent specially by Esgaroth, stating only: "This case was not handled by the 'Substitutes.' The royal family has taken it over on the grounds that Tarym Dumont is of noble descent."