Though I've always felt a strong impulse to invoke the " Fool " in hopes of breaking the psychological suggestion planted by Father Utrofski, I am equally aware that calling upon the name of someone of unknown origin carries significant risk—not all hidden beings begin with bait, gradually guiding you. Often, they behave like sharks in the ocean, instantly rushing in as soon as they detect blood. Now, what exactly does Lord Nibais—no, the Primordial—intend to do? Emlyn White spoke with a certain sense of absurdity. "This will be extremely, extremely, extremely dangerous," he said. Within the coffin of black iron, Lord Nibais Odrasa responded in a voice worn and aged. "Yes, that is typically the case. "Yet not all hidden beings are inherently hostile. Among them, there are beings who uphold rules and value exchange—such as the seven beams of pure light in the spiritual realm. "Since the Primordial has granted such a revelation, it clearly indicates that the dangers posed by the 'Fool' will not be severe—perhaps none at all." "And throughout this process, I will remain by your side, protecting you." "Didn't you want to break free from psychological conditioning? Haven't you already become a devoted follower of the Earth Mother, forsaking the Moon?" "No, I haven't!" Emlyn quickly denied. After a moment of silence, he bit his teeth and said, "I would like a few days to consider." "Very well. I have full confidence that you will make a choice befitting the noble status of your kind." The voice of Nibais, soft and gentle, spoke from within the coffin, offering a warm reassurance. After returning Emlyn White to the second floor, Casimir Odra reentered the dim, eerie underground hall, expressing her growing confusion and curiosity: "Grandfather, how could the Primordial have revealed Emlyn White in the revelation? He is merely a young, relatively weak member of the bloodline." "Nebias's voice pierced through the thick, heavy lid of the black iron coffin, carrying a natural hum and resonance: 'No, the revelation granted by the Primordial never mentioned Emlyn White. It only depicted the scene of the End Times—the encroachment brought by the Red Moon—and referenced the figure of the 'Fool' and his corresponding title. Throughout this process, no vampire appeared. The pivotal figure—the one I imagined as essential—was actually a construct I created to persuade Emlyn White. Yet, the very act of daring to embark on a journey for the future of the vampire lineage itself constitutes a key moment." Casimire was momentarily struck, then asked with fresh curiosity: "Why did you choose Emlyn White? What makes him special?" Nebias Odrad suddenly chuckled: "Didn't he always insist on turning to the 'Fool' for prayers? Didn't he feel we weren't giving his concerns enough weight, that we weren't willing to oppose Bishop Utravský, and that he needed to seek alternative support?" "I'll fulfill his wish," Casimir said, standing there speechless for a long time. Emlyn White stood by the balcony on the second floor, gazing down at his fellow kindred members who labored without pause, and nervously sipped his "fine wine." So far, no one had ever suffered misfortune after praying to the "Fool"—perhaps, as Lord Nibais had said, the "Fool" was as orderly and devoted as the Seven Paths of Light in the Spirit Realm—a hidden, steadfast presence. Wait, what were the Seven Paths of Light? I'd never heard of them. They seemed to belong to the good faction. Would they be of any help to me? In any case, the "Fool" might not be so dangerous after all, and Lord Nibais himself was watching over me. Perhaps I could finally break free from this psychological conditioning. Emlyn comforted himself with a mixture of apprehension and anticipation. Klein crouched by the toilet, holding a brush, carefully removing the grime. According to his scheduled plan, after completing all the visits on Saturday and Sunday, he had intended to rest one day before reporting the final results to Prince Edsack and handing over the task. Yet, during this period meant for relaxation, he found the house already cluttered and dirty to an unusual extent. Only now did he recall the matter: his household cleaning had been handled by the housemaid of his neighbor's landlord, hired on a temporary basis, twice a week. With the Summer family now on vacation in the coastal city of Seville, the seaside town of Dici, the housemaids—one accompanying the family, the other receiving a year-end bonus—had returned to the countryside. Thus, his residence at 15 Minsk Street had remained uncleaned for a considerable period. Klein had originally planned to wait just two days, since he was about to "leave" Bekkanth. But once he found himself idle, he dared not take a moment to relax at the Crag Club for fear of offending Prince Edsack, so he stayed at home, where everything seemed out of place. Frustrated, he simply changed into old clothes and began a thorough New Year cleaning. He scrubbed the toilets, cleaned the bathtubs, wiped the windows, mopped the floors, polished the kitchenware, and pressed the laundry—working from 8 a.m. until 11 a.m., just barely completing his tasks. Of course, he didn't go into great detail; sometimes, the house was simply too large to be manageable. After washing his hands and drying his face with a towel, he stepped out of the bathroom and looked at the now clean and orderly living room and dining area. The sunlight streaming through the transparent windows, breaking into golden patches across the room, gave him an unexpected sense of accomplishment, lifting his spirits in a quiet, pleasant way. Rewarding oneself for lunch, heading out to a good restaurant… Caine returned to the second floor to change his clothes. As he flipped through the newspaper, waiting for the pleasant lunch hour to begin, the doorbell suddenly chimed repeatedly. "It's nearly New Year's, and someone's still coming to us with assignments?" Caine rose to go to the door, already making up his mind to politely decline. Though he had only 34 pounds left in cash, he needed to leave for southern "vacation" soon to escape the royal pressures—no more assignments could be accepted. To his surprise, the visitor was no stranger, but the elderly house steward of Prince Edessa. The steward wore a well-fitted, tailored morning coat, bowing with neither arrogance nor formality: "Mr. Moriaty, Prince Edessa awaits you on the horse carriage at the street corner. He would like to know the progress of your investigation." So eager? That was convenient—no need to visit the Red Rose manor tomorrow then. Caine quickly revised the lines he had planned last night in his mind, responded calmly: "Certainly." He was about to take his hat from the hat stand when a sudden pain shot through his abdomen—just like the kind that makes you want to rush to the toilet. He tried to hold it, but soon found himself unable to do so. Apologizing to the elderly butler, he said, "I'm very sorry, I'll need to go to the restroom for a moment—I'm not feeling well." The butler showed no surprise. "That's entirely your affair," he replied. "Receiving a reply, the attendant immediately shed her burden, smiling lightly. 'Moriati Detective, you've missed the lady once again,' she said. 'Ah?' Crane seemed slightly puzzled. The attendant lowered her voice. 'This time, the lady came with the Prince himself, and it was she who suggested making a detour to visit you.' So I missed her because of a stomachache? That doesn't quite make sense... Crane furrowed his brows. …… In a room carpeted with thick, soft rugs, the quill held in her hand halted, no longer writing. The notes spread beneath it bore rows of words and numerous smudges and corrections: (Scratched out) 'The target attempted to break free from control, but unfortunately, Detective Sherlock Moriati had already departed before she descended the stairs.' … 'The target has been influencing the other attendants, yet this issue was unexpectedly uncovered by Mr. Finkel, the Prince's steward, and subsequently addressed.' “… (Erased) The target once again broke free from her course, stepping in to attend Talim’s funeral in place of Prince Edsack. Yet, soon recovering to her normal state, she found herself unable to recognize who Sherlock Moriarty was, and thus sadly missed the occasion.” “… Sherlock Moriarty went to investigate at the Red Rose Estate, but the timing was off—by coincidence, the target had just gone horseback riding at the golf course.” “… (Erased) The target once again outmaneuvered the arrangements, encouraging Prince Edsack to visit Detective Sherlock Moriarty. Unfortunately, however, Sherlock Moriarty was suffering from a stomachache and spent 7 minutes and 45 seconds in the restroom, leaving the prince unable to wait.” “… The middle-aged man, with features finely carved and one eye blind, set down his quill and looked toward the woman beside him. ‘What have you placed within her? Repeatedly breaking through constraints begins to pose serious issues.’” The woman chuckled softly, saying, "It's just an accident—don't worry, there won't be any issues." As she spoke, she lifted her hair, revealing her fair, slender neck. Then, she slowly applied various substances to her face, growing ever more radiant. Watching her gracefully dress and fasten her accessories, the middle-aged man with dark gold hair frowned slightly, asking, "Where are you going?" The woman didn't answer directly, but smiled gently. "Be careful with your feather quill—it nearly swapped bodies with someone last time." "No need for your reminder," the middle-aged man with deep blue to nearly black eyes replied, his expression stern. The woman tightened her sash, becoming even more slender, and then gave a small, subtle stretch,掩嘴 yawned. "I'm going to visit Mr. A of the Aurora Association. I hope he's as crazy as the stories say." As she spoke, the middle-aged man who had lost sight in one eye suddenly grew serious, for the ordinary feather pen began to write itself, as though an invisible hand were holding it.