As soon as a stranger appeared across from her, the Lady of Despair instantly forged a sharp, translucent ice spear in her hands and launched it toward the target. Using the recoil force, she tried to push herself backward, breaking through the carriage and into the street. While she did have questions about this sudden development—the emergence of such an unexpected foe—her bewilderment was profound. She couldn't understand how someone could have so swiftly located her, whose movements had been so carefully concealed. It was no less difficult than destroying an entire metropolis or teleporting directly from Beckland to the eastern city of Baoyang on the southern continent. Yet, as a Sequence 4 "Lady of Despair," having grown from an assassin, she knew that at critical moments, one must not hesitate or lose focus. All questions could be addressed later. Therefore, she chose to launch a direct assault, aiming to gain the upper hand and escape. She could already imagine the ice spear, as it passed through, condensing white frost, sealing the world in cold—this strange woman with black hair and black eyes frozen within layers of crystalline clarity, struggling to break through the barriers, only then able to muster strength to pursue. By then, she was surely already beyond that street, blending into the crowd. Yet the scene she had anticipated did not unfold. As the shimmering, dreamlike spear just lifted from her hand, it vanished silently into the air, without a trace, as though it had been carried away somewhere. Angel! With a sudden focus, the despairing mage’s body surged with black flames, spreading illness and intent on igniting everything around, setting off a widespread fire. Yet at that very instant, her body unexpectedly trembled, then froze in place. She watched her left hand inching away, one centimeter at a time, spreading rapidly upward—uncontrollable. In her own eyes, the woman across from her, graceful and still, had deep, richly black pupils, as if holding a pure, unlit darkness. "You're not!" You are... The despairing mage's words came to a sudden halt, as if her entire form had been gently erased by a soft eraser, leaving no trace at all. Her final gaze was filled with awe and dread; the space where she had sat now appeared completely empty, as though she had never been there at all. A woman of graceful features, expression glazed and motionless, pulled at the hood of her classical robe, her lips barely moving—almost imperceptibly—and then vanished without a trace. ... Outside the royal quarter, on a horse-drawn public carriage. Trist wore a hat with a veil and sat quietly in the corner. She did not, as others expected, head straight for the Tassok River to flee downstream, or rush to the nearest railway station to climb aboard a train. Instead, she chose to return to Bekland. Only in this bustling metropolis—home to over five million people, with its intricate web of hidden powers and numerous extraordinary beings—could she hope to evade the subsequent pursuit by the mage's order! At this very moment, she was highly alert, ever on guard against the formidable elderly housekeeper, Finkel. Suddenly, she felt a dizzy spell. When her vision stabilized, she found herself miraculously having stepped off the public carriage, standing beside a muddy country road. Tris's pupils contracted rapidly as she scanned her surroundings with cautious vigilance. Then, she spotted a figure dressed in a classical robe, wearing a black hood, and noticed the pair of dark eyes hidden in the shadows. For some reason, Tris felt as though she had returned to her infancy—so delicate and helpless that she could not resist. A cold sweat beaded on her forehead, her legs trembled violently, yet her body remained motionless. This is the most terrifying enemy I have ever faced... even the high-magic women I've encountered before did not leave me with such a profound sense of dread... Am I truly going to die right here? Will my relentless, repeated attempts to escape after each failure finally come to an end? A deep, overwhelming sense of despair and an unyielding sorrow settled in Trish's heart, as if she had plunged into the deepest, most profound nightmare. Suddenly, a flash of deep blue light illuminated her vision, breaking the curse that had rendered her immobile. When she looked ahead again, the terrifying figure was gone—the entire sequence of events seemed like a vivid, genuine illusion. Yet, when Trish lowered her head, she was stunned to find that the blue sapphire ring on her left little finger had shattered into fragments, losing all its luster. *Clack. Clack. Clack.* The ring and its splintered gem pieces fell one after another. ... ... Caine rolled and stumbled, weaving past the collapsed stone pillars and the injured Mr. A, who was receiving treatment, and reached the entrance on the opposite side. As for the subtle, gradually coalescing properties left behind by the "Universal Key," he glanced at them neither once nor twice, deliberately avoiding drawing attention from Mr. A. He was well aware that even with all his magical artifacts and thorough preparations, he himself might not stand a chance against the "Shepherd." With only the Azkai copper whistle, three extraordinary bullets, and no matches left, his current situation was far from favorable. Even though Mr. A was now severely wounded, Klein dared not take any risks. He had heard that the "Rose Bishop" at the outset of the "Shepherd's" sequence was exceptionally skilled in flesh-and-blood magic, excelling in healing physical injuries—no less effective than his own ability to relocate wounds! Clunk! He pushed open the heavy door. Natural light poured in, and the sky's cloud cover had taken on a thin, pale yellow hue. The sun itself appeared pale and dim. As Klein stepped out, he realized they were now deep in the mountains, surrounded by towering peaks, making the location exceptionally concealed. Thud! Thud! Thud! He ran wildly, not taking the mountain path at all, but instead using the agility of a clown, descending the slope directly—sometimes rolling, sometimes swinging from trees. Hush! Hush! He heard the sound of the river flowing, right ahead, right below! But at that moment, a fierce wind blew toward his back. Without hesitation, Klein collapsed slightly, rolling diagonally forward. Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh! The ground where he had stood and the path he was moving along were sliced deep by successive wind blades. Mr. A fell from the wind, his blood-streaked cloak still pulsing and trembling. He pointed a hand, and chunks of flesh shot off his body, expanding midair before bursting violently. Boom! Dripping blood and splashes of meat flew everywhere. Klein hand-supported himself, side-flopping, just barely avoiding the worst of it and taking shelter behind a massive tree. The great tree was splattered with blood holes, and signs of decay rapidly spread outward from each wound. While running, Kline had already loaded the revolver, and as he raised his hand to shoot Mr. A directly in the eyes, he noticed a deep darkness emerging in the other man's gaze. Suddenly, Kline realized that although the surroundings remained unchanged, he had been forcibly drawn into a dream. He had once defeated a "nightmare"—at least, he had experienced one. Kline maintained his awareness, watching as Mr. A inexplicably materialized beside him, transforming into a blood-red tapestry that settled over him, impossible to evade. Could a nightmare simply scare my heart into stillness? Kline thought, and responded instantly. This was Mr. A's dream—Kline, in his wakefulness, could simulate any scene! Thus, a pure, brilliant golden sun appeared in place, its clear and scorching flames instantly igniting everything around. This was exactly the image Kline had imagined during the earlier "dream divination" of the "eternal blazing sun." Almost simultaneously, he broke free from the dream and heard a dull exhalation. Mr. A stepped back, with two streaks of blood flowing from his nostrils. The long robe woven from flesh slowly flowed across its surface, as if melting. *Crack!* Klein snapped his fingers, igniting trees some thirty to forty meters away. Already, the dry, yellow grass beneath his feet caught fire, rising into flames that enveloped his body. Mr. A's face, originally strikingly beautiful and unlike that of a man, now took on a softer, more feminine grace. With a hand gesture, he summoned a crystalline, cold, weightless ice spear and launched it toward the burning trees some fifty meters away. As Klein emerged from the flames, the dream-like, translucent tip of the spear appeared in his pupils—growing larger and clearer, eventually filling his entire field of vision. He suddenly rolled sideways, a thin layer of white frost now coating his body. The transparent spear then extinguished the flames and caused the thick ice to spread rapidly outward, soon enveloping Caine within. Midway in the air, Caine suddenly curled into a tight ball, half-rotating his body so that his head faced downward. With his left hand, he gently pressed against the ice surface, lifting himself once more and escaping the cold realm—though the surface skin of his palm was frozen at the point of contact, tearing off with a sharp rip. Rolling to his feet, Caine reached into his coat pocket and drew forth his self-crafted "Sleeper Incantation." As he opened his mouth to begin reciting the activation spell, a sudden itch in his nose caused him to sneeze forcefully. *Hic! Hic! Hic!* He felt a pounding headache and fever, unable to muster any counterattack. Was he ill? Infected? Just as he formed this realization, countless invisible filaments began to coil around him, wrapping him tightly as if transforming him into a mummified figure. He was no stranger to such experiences, clearly recognizing this as the extraordinary ability of the "Joyful Witch." Initially, he had relied on incantations to induce a deep sleep in both allies and enemies, then used his own unique qualities to break free from control. Now, however, Mr. A maintained a distance of about twenty meters. Yet Klein had long surpassed the role of merely a "clown"—his fingers now snapped crisply with movement! Suddenly, the "spider threads" surrounding him burst into flame, transforming into towering torches. As Klein leapt out of the crimson glow, he began sneezing violently, accompanied by severe coughing, causing numerous extraordinary abilities he sought to employ to falter or interrupt spontaneously. At this moment, the gentle femininity on Mr. A's face gave way, replaced by an air of dignified authority. With a gentle grasp of his right hand, he conveyed to Klein the unmistakable sense that should he attempt to flee, he would merely circle in place, unable to make progress. Mr. A, draped in a robe of blood-red hue, smiled with a cruel grace, and a translucent, ethereal ancient codex materialized before him. A distant, resonant voice then echoed: "I come. I see. I record." Ah-cough! Cough! Cough! Klein tried to evade, but could not. At this very moment, he felt, more profoundly than ever before, the overwhelming strength of the "Shepherd." Indeed, he was no mere extraordinary being—he was among the very strongest, the most well-rounded, and without any notable weaknesses, even beneath the half-gods! Though unprepared and many of his magical items unused, the way he had been reduced to this helpless state spoke volumes.