Outside the "Brave Ones" tavern, a rental carriage glided smoothly by. Inside, Caine sat across from Sharon, who still wore her black Gothic court gown, her half-high silk hat resting gently on her head. Gazing at Sharon's pale, expressionless face, Caine found himself at a loss for small talk and simply moved straight to the point: "I'm ready." Although the Sequence 6 "Faceless One" had granted him a remarkable ability, the qualities he already possessed had also seen clear enhancements, significantly strengthening his overall power—this was his best preparation. And the "Faceless One's" own abilities, in certain situations and at specific moments, were nothing short of magical! For instance, when being pursued, or when attempting to move stealthily—Caine found himself mentally envisioning countless such scenarios. Sharon listened quietly and then spoke succinctly: "Tonight?" Her tone rose slightly at the end, indicating a question. "If you have no questions, then I also have none," Caine replied, fully prepared. "Very well," Sharon nodded. A brief silence followed, after which Cline carefully asked, "Have you ever heard of merfolk? Do you know where one might encounter such legendary beings?" Sharon's blue eyes fixed steadily on Cline, as if she had truly become a life-sized doll. After a while, she spoke without any emotional variation: "Where human footprints have reached, the merfolk no longer appear. Only the fishermen of the Galgas Islands, during their long voyages hunting humpback whales, occasionally hear the merfolk's songs in the midst of storms." The Galgas Islands lie deep within the Sunia Sea and represent humanity's most distant colony in this ocean, renowned for its whale oil and whale meat exports. Whether this tale is true or merely a myth... Cline gently nodded. "I understand." ...... The evening bell rang quietly, spreading out as if coming from an exceedingly distant place. In the middle of Williams Street stands an abandoned chapel, its walls covered in withered vines, gray stone scattered everywhere. Inside, manure and debris are interwoven, stone heaps alternating with dry grass. In a half-collapsed corner, a middle-aged man in black tailored clothing clears stones blocking the entrance to a tunnel, carrying digging tools, lighting equipment, and wheelbarrows, carefully and eagerly descending into the passage. His hair is silvered at the temples, his eyes puffy and swollen—Lavert Ponde, the Viscount, long believed to suffer from mental illness, a hidden descendant of the late Tudor dynasty. This man, usually entangled with high-end call girls, now appears serious and animated, his eyes bright, completely at odds with his reputation as a man consumed by wine and women. He props himself up on his elbow and quickly climbs downward, as if the tunnel's far end holds his greatest and only hope. Not long after, he reaches the damp earth and cold stone ahead. This did not dim Lord Rafter Pound's enthusiasm; he repeated with flawless mastery an action he had performed for some time now. Digging, carrying, transporting—suddenly, ahead of him, the ground opened up, revealing a dark, cavernous palace beneath. Lord Rafter Pound's expression instantly became wildly excited; he lunged forward with a sudden surge, seizing a black iron seal. On the seal, a hand holding a staff was clearly visible, and Lord Rafter Pound's eyes sparkled with intense radiance, as though burning. Just as he placed the black iron seal upon his chest, the entire scene shattered around him. He remained within the narrow, irregular tunnel, the damp earth and cold stone still stretching before him. Not only that, but there was another person there, quietly observing him! A person without eyes, without nose, without mouth, without eyebrows, without ears! Lord Rafter Pound's pupils contracted; a sense of numbness surged from his waist downward, traveling up his spine, and reached his brainstem. He didn't think twice—he immediately set down all his belongings and rushed backward in panic. His elbows cracked against the ground, bruising and bleeding, yet he felt no pain at all. At last, Laverst. Pound stepped out of the tunnel and returned into the abandoned chapel. With his lantern lost, he now saw only deep darkness, with a faint, dim "crimson" glow at the edges. Suddenly, the withered vines climbing the walls undulated like serpents, and a figure emerged from the night. She wore a Gothic court gown, a small black soft hat, a face pale as if nearly translucent, and hair of a pale gold that seemed unlike human, with eyes of a clear blue. Laverst. Pound nearly shouted—such a figure appearing in this setting was nothing short of a ghost story from folk legend! Tapping, tapping, tapping—he retreated several steps, nearly tripping over a stone. At that moment, he seemed to recall something, instantly suppressing his fear and displaying a face woven with both nervousness and hope, excitement and anticipation: "You—are the spirit from within the underground palace?" "Yes, it's definitely you!" the Viscount seemed to have misunderstood something. "Clayne, the Faceless One, emerged from the tunnel and stood quietly in the shadow. Their original plan had been to create a spectacle and scare away Lafford Ponde, hoping he would never return to inspect the underground ruins—yet his reaction had been somewhat unexpected. Sarlen paused for a moment, then, in a quiet, default manner, asked: "What would you like to say?" Lafford Ponde exhaled softly, then smiled gently. "After all these years of effort, I believe you must have realized by now that killing any descendant of the Tord family will not help you break the seal. Only by working with me—someone who carries the noble blood of the Tord family—can you hope to overcome this predicament that has lasted over two thousand years." The people of the Thorne family knew of the presence of spirits yet still perished in that room... Kaine frowned, puzzled, and before Sharon could speak, he lifted his voice, mimicking her ethereal, translucent tone: "Why only now?" This was a branch of the "Faceless Man's" extraordinary ability—simulating a target's voice, as long as it had been heard. Of course, Kaine believed he couldn't replicate the murmured words of the "True Maker" or the cries of the "Gate" gentleman; this ability remained confined to ordinary individuals at present. Sharon subtly turned her head, glanced at him, and did not reveal the truth. Lavette Pound remained unaware, chuckling warmly: "Because the 'Black Emperor' has appeared. 'Destiny has told me that the glory of the 'Blood Emperor' is about to be restored!' " What logical connection is there? Kaine found Lavette Pound today to be more like a madman than before. He repeated Sharon's voice: "The Black Emperor?" "Ha, ha." "Lafitte Ponde smiled." "Yes, the Robin Hood 'Black Emperor'—he must be closely connected to the real 'Black Emperor'!" How could I not know? Caine found this quite amusing. He thought for a moment, then decided to remain silent, letting go of his questions. As for Sharon, for some reason, she also stayed quiet. Seeing this, Lafitte Ponde felt a surge of satisfaction and quickly followed up, "So, what's your answer?" "I decline," Sharon replied, emotionless. Lafitte suppressed his growing anxiety and tried to persuade her further. At that moment, however, his eyes suddenly went wide, and he took several steps to the side, coming to stand before a still relatively intact stone wall. This... both Caine and Sharon sensed the anomaly at once and reacted accordingly—one drew his revolver, aiming at Lafitte Ponde, the other allowing the ruins of the small chapel to be bathed in a deep crimson moonlight. Lavert Ponde didn't even glance at them. Facing the stone wall, he straightened his back and forcefully drove his head into it. Thud! Thud! Thud! He struck three times, bleeding from the forehead, and collapsed unconscious. Immediately afterward, he rose again, his eyes now streaked with blood. Lavert Ponde raised his right hand, wiping the blood across his forehead, so that his palm was now streaked with it. He extended his tongue, savoring the crimson liquid, and with a delighted tone said: "The blood of Tudo is truly delicious—so intoxicating. This will push my hatred beyond its limits, allowing me to temporarily expand the boundaries of the seal." Cain's gun remained aimed at him, and he asked in mild astonishment: "The spirits of malice within the ruins?" A streak of blood slid down Lavert Ponde's face, and he smiled with a most dreadful composure: "You were right." "I previously thought you were weak, and intended to corrupt your spirit, enter your dreams, and manipulate you into coming to my rescue. Who knew—ah, you're also someone with your own secrets." Don't say it so plainly... Cain unconsciously glanced at Sharon, noting that she showed no signs of disturbance. "What do you wish to do?" Cain asked directly. "With that," he looked at Sharon with eyes filled with blood vessels, "you should be the 'Grieving Spirit' of the Other Path—the key stepping stone toward becoming a half-god. I don't know if you have the magic potion recipe for the 'Puppet,' but I can help you obtain it, and even become part of your ritual. That is my promise in return." "Puppet"—wasn't the sequence 4 of the Other Path called 'Puppet'? A strange name... Klein murmured it to himself. The spirit then turned to him, "You also have a reward. It is an item truly remarkable and precious—drawn by a certain attraction, it came to the underground palace and perished beside the descendants of Tudo. Here it is," the spirit said, spreading her palm so that the crimson moonlight solidified into a vivid image. Within the frame, there is a standard-sized tarot card, its imagery distinctly different from others. Seated in the chariot is not a king, but a male priest dressed in deep red robes. The priest's appearance is unmistakably that of Roxel Gustav! This... the Card of Profanation! Klein's gaze instantly shifts, and at the upper left corner, the starlight coalesces into a line of text: "Sequence 0: Red Priest!"