Outside the Château de Rosé, Cline stepped down from the carriage, holding his cane. Gazing at the red-uniformed soldiers stationed at the entrance, he closed his eyes, steadying himself. Since the suspected "0–08" seal had been consistently creating coincidences—preventing the woman wearing the sapphire ring from meeting me—today would not be an exception. He need not worry about encountering her; as long as he could outperform the Prince of Edsack through sheer performance, everything would be fine. Cline's thoughts settled, and he took steady steps toward the château's main entrance. After handing over his gun satchel and revolver, and passing through the thorough inspection under the steward's guidance, he walked along the gray stone path, past the clear spring-fed pond, into the main house, up to the second floor, and to the room that, according to the layout, should be the sunroom. Throughout this journey, Cline remained on edge, anxious about unexpected encounters, fearful that the situation might deteriorate into the worst possible outcome. Ding-ding-ding. After lightly tapping on the door, the butler approached the doorframe and spoke softly, "The Moriarty detective has arrived." Silence held for a full fifteen seconds before a solid, resonant voice echoed through the room: "Prince Edsack, please invite him in." With those words, the door creaked open, releasing a warm breeze that diffused outward, slightly more comforting than the one along the corridor. Under the watchful gaze of the two tall attendants, Crane stepped onto the thick, warm yellow carpet, its patterned surface inviting. He walked a few paces, passing the museum cabinets on both sides of the partition, and spotted Prince Edsack seated by the floor-to-ceiling window, enjoying the rare winter sunlight in Beckland. The familiar, approachable round face, usually so expressive, remained expressionless, naturally lending a tone of solemnity and gravity to the atmosphere. Thanks to the elegant fireplace and the metallic pipes, the room was warmer than late spring. Prince Edsack wore no coat, his upper body dressed in a white shirt with sleeves like blossoms and a light yellow vest, accented by subtle yet elegant accessories—sleeve pins, lapel pins, and badges—that were not striking but clearly of high quality. Seeing this scene, Caine felt a quiet relief, for the lady wearing a sapphire ring was not accompanying the prince. He promptly approached and bowed. Prince Edsack held a steaming cup of tea in his hands and did not invite Caine to sit. Maintaining the same composed expression, he asked in a steady voice: "Have your investigations yielded any results?" "None," Caine replied, his expression solemn and clearly burdened with self-criticism. "My divinations, my spirit readings, my interviews, my inquiries—all have confirmed that Talim died suddenly from a cardiac condition. In every aspect, I feel myself too weak, Prince. You should have summoned someone more capable and more experienced." "You'd better hire someone else..." He silently added to himself. At this moment, Edsack seemed to finally catch a clear view of Sherlock Moriarty's face, noticing that he looked considerably older than before—worn out, as though he had not slept soundly for a long time. It wasn't just an illusion; before leaving, Klein had used the "Faceless Man's" ability to subtly adjust his facial appearance: making the skin dry and dull, allowing stray, disheveled whiskers to emerge here and there, and deepening the darkness and prominence of his under-eye circles. Edsack remained silent for a moment, then set down the white porcelain cup with golden trim. "I see it now. Indeed, it's been too much of a strain. I'll arrange for someone to take over the remainder of the work. Please prepare a comprehensive investigation report—don't omit any details." Excellent! Klein mentally clenched his fists, quickly pulling out a stack of folded papers from his coat pocket: "Your Highness, you need not wait. I've always maintained written records." "Have the attendant bring over the investigation report," said Prince Edsack, flipping through it casually before setting it aside. "Do you have anything else to attend to?" "No, Your Highness," replied Kline, with a sigh. "Allow me to bid you good day. By the way, I'll be traveling south for some time—I hope the warm sunlight there will melt the pain within me." "This is a common New Year tradition among the people of Ruin," Prince Edsack nodded gently, turning to the elderly house steward, Finkel. "Send Detective Moriat out and arrange a carriage for him." The Red Rose Manor is a fifteen- to twenty-minute walk from the nearest town, where one can hire a carriage. "Yes, Your Highness," the steward bowed with due formality. Kline remained alert, and quickly excused himself. He followed the steward to the manor entrance, retrieving his gun satchel and personal weapons. Less than a minute later, he boarded the manor's carriage. Leaning against the cabin wall, watching the manor grow farther and farther away, smaller and smaller, Caine relaxed, slowly exhaled, allowing his suspended "heart" to settle back into place. He understood that he had now stepped off the central stage. What came next was a farewell to Beckland, a journey southward to conclude his performance—then, a fresh face, returning to fade into the background. Calmly, he began to think through the steps ahead. At that moment, a sudden inspiration struck him, a surge of spiritual awareness, and he saw the carriage door swiftly open and then close silently! Before he could react, a figure swiftly materialized—dressed in a heavy black gown, wearing a sapphire ring on her hand. The sapphire ring! Upon seeing this, Caine, who had been preparing to launch an attack or jump off, froze, his eyes widening, and settled back in his seat, motionless. That was no ordinary figure—she was either a bearer of a "0"-level seal or a half-deity of that very level! Indeed, it seemed as though whatever he feared had just arrived—his carefully orchestrated coincidences, like "0–08" or others—had all come true Klein's mind and body instantly tensed, watching as the figure fully materialized. The woman's age contrasted sharply with her attire—she appeared only about eighteen or nineteen, with a slightly round face, long narrow eyes, and a refined, gentle demeanor that carried a subtle sweetness, making her an exceptionally beautiful woman. She... Klein was momentarily stunned, then recognized her immediately, exclaiming, "Trist!" Wasn't this the very woman who had transitioned from "The Instigator," Tris, to "The Witch," Trist? How had she, once wanted for arrest, become the Prince's wife? As a member of the Order of Witches, how had she managed to gain the Prince's favor? And now, she was even carrying a Seal of Rank Zero—or an item of comparable magical significance! Upon closer inspection, Klein noticed that Trist had undergone certain changes—her otherwise less striking features now appeared more refined and delicate, and together, they created a truly captivating presence. Hearing his astonished words, Trish didn’t react with surprise but smiled sweetly. "You know me?" "I knew you'd know me!" "A detective with such exceptional abilities must certainly pay close attention to every wanted notice!" He, well, she looked genuinely delighted... Caine, cautious yet slightly puzzled, asked, "What do you want?" He remembered clearly that she wasn’t someone particularly kind—Trist had orchestrated the tragic "Cloverleaf" incident, and Trish had caused the premature deaths of numerous innocent civilians in Tinggen. Trish smiled gently. "It's simple. You go right away and report me to the Night Watchers, the Substitutes, and the Heart of Mechanism. Have them come and arrest me!" Reporting oneself to the authorities? This, this woman—this woman was utterly mad! Caine found himself slightly bewildered. Soon, he grasped the deeper meaning: Trish preferred to be locked behind the gates of Charnis than remain at the Red Rose Estate—she was actively striving to leave! In short, she felt it was more dangerous, more desperate, than being caught by the night-watchmen and their substitutes. Caine tried to keep his expression steady, and asked quietly, "What are you afraid of?" Tris paused for a moment, then her eyes widened, her gaze distant and unfocused, as she said, "Someone is shaping my life—there's always a coincidence that strikes me as eerie afterward. And I'm becoming less and less like myself." As she said this, a smile played at her lips. "Can you imagine? The one who used to love those shy, sweet maidservants—every morning I find myself waking up in the arms of a naked man. Can you imagine the pain of that?" I can. So I've been distancing myself from the "Assassins," from the "Witches"... Caine found himself imagining that scene, and felt a shiver run through him. Tris continued with a seemingly self-deprecating smile: "I thought that by making consistent efforts to become 'joyful,' I could escape that odd state, so I had people gather all the relevant extraordinary materials—only to find things had gotten worse. Sometimes I forget things entirely, yet they actually happen. I endure the discomfort, trying to lure Talim, hoping he'll help me escape here. But then, I don't know when, I curse him to death. Do you believe something like that could happen? 'Hah,' they even changed my name, wanting me to completely abandon who I used to be! No way! They believed I could only overcome coincidences within a short time and would soon return to normal. Hmph—that's precisely the illusion I've deliberately created for them. That's why I've finally met you, Detective先生!" "Joy"... the witch... the ingredients... Klein suddenly recalled a past incident—the extraordinary gathering organized by the elderly Mr. Esgarrouth, Stanton, where someone had sought the primary ingredient for the "Joy Witch" potion. He had immediately recognized the formula upon hearing it, yet had not pursued it further, and eventually let the matter fade from memory. It had been one of Trist's assistants! She had already been serving at the side of Prince Edrasca at that time? Why did I suddenly feel that she now smiled with such poignant beauty? "Joy" is actually toxic... Klein took a deep breath, his thoughts becoming disordered. As he tried to organize his thoughts, he casually asked, "What name have they given you now?" Trist furrowed her beautiful brows, her eyes slightly misty, and replied, "Tristichk." Tristichk... Chk... Chk! Klein suddenly lifted his head, experiencing a sudden numbness throughout his body, his entire frame stiffening as if carved from marble.