In a small town outside of Bekland. Having changed into dry, clean clothes, Caine laid out the wet banknotes one by one on the table surface, waiting for them to air-dry naturally in the warm room. Throughout this process, he moved with great care and delicacy, even suppressing his sneezes and coughs caused by his cold and fever. To ensure no mistakes were made, he did not use a heat source to dry them himself. After completing this, he walked to a corner of the hotel room where a full-length mirror stood. In the mirror, Caine had neat, black hair swept diagonally over his shoulders, deep brown eyes, a slender and well-defined face. He wore gold-framed spectacles, with no beard, appearing both youthful and seasoned. This was his revised appearance—tailored to reflect the ethnic characteristics of the northern continent—specifically the vibrant, energetic look he had during his university years, before societal pressures had made him bulkier. He intended to return to Bekkan to take a look around once things had settled down a bit, and meanwhile establish a legitimate identity—compared to when he'd left Tinggen, he now had ample channels at his disposal, such as Ian at the "Brave Ones" tavern, the circle of Miss Sharon, and the esteemed detective, Eseng Stanton. How nostalgic it all felt... Klein murmured, as he began the ritual within the room with curtains drawn tight, preparing to bring the "creeping hunger" into the gray mist for thorough, reliable study. In the quiet, ancient palace, he appeared at the head of the bronze long table, holding a slender pair of gloves made of human skin, leaning gently back against the chairback. Then, he closed his eyes, extending his spirit into the object that needed to be sealed. He immediately sensed the glove's hunger—it seemed to have a stomach that could never be filled—yet upon the gray mist, it was so gentle, so docile, as though barely daring to emit a single word of malice, like a hound lying still, motionless. Then, Caine heard the cries of resistance and the groans of pain. Suddenly, a series of distorted, fierce, wailing translucent faces emerged within his inspiration, radiating a sorrow and madness so profound they were hard to bear. These "faces" had deeply fused with the extraordinary qualities of varying colors, states, and expressions. As Caine's spirit extended, it could merge with the corresponding "faces" and draw upon their abilities. That was the way of use? Caine tried it repeatedly, combining it with divination, and gradually understood that the "creeping hunger" was currently "pasturing" five souls. First, the "Faceless One," who can only alter appearance and physique; Second, the "Psychologist," who can induce frenzy in the target, deliver psychological suggestions, simulate a dragon's presence to intimidate individuals or groups, and create disorder; Third, the "Interrogator," who can train the wearer of gloves to master various weapons, become an expert in explosives, and gain the ability to concentrate spirit and pierce the spiritual essence of targets; Fourth, the "Nightmare," who possesses only one ability—gently and silently drawing others into dreams—though unlike other extraordinary beings, this primarily relies on "the creeping hunger," allowing the wearer to move their body even while in a nightmare state; Fifth, the "Priest of Light," who generates a halo-like effect, purifying undead and impure beings within a certain range, and who also serves as a "Singer," enhancing his own and his companions' voices, capable of summoning a form of "Divine Light" weaker than "Yōen." The limit is five souls, and their abilities are fixed upon the first "pasturing" experience... This is not something one can decide on their own—it's purely a matter of luck. Perhaps three, perhaps only one. Klein nodded thoughtfully, sighed, and addressed the suffering souls: "Regardless of who you were before, I will gradually free you from your chains and grant you complete liberation. As for the souls I will pasture in the future, they will always be those deeply burdened by sin, unable to be forgiven. For every such extraordinary being I kill, one of you will be replaced and liberated—whether or not I need your ability." His solemn yet gentle voice resonated throughout the ancient palace, and the once-cries of the suffering souls fell silent, no longer twisted or fierce. Hmph… Caine exhaled, opened his eyes, and gently tapped the edge of the ancient long table with his fingers, murmuring silently: “The ‘Faceless One’s’ ability overlaps completely with my own—utterly useless. Once a replacement is found, I’ll release him first. Then, I’ll try to commune with him, speak to him—perhaps I’ll gain news on the high-tier path of the ‘Seer’ and clues about where the merfolk appear. No, I won’t wait for a replacement. In a few days, once my cold has cleared and my condition returns to normal, I’ll begin trying. The soul corresponding to the ‘Priest of Light’ should complete the recipes I’ve already obtained, and he’ll also bring along his own unique extraordinary traits. That way, the little ‘Sun’ won’t have to worry about future promotions. He’ll be the second one to find his release.” “As for the requirement that each time the ‘Crawling Hunger’ is activated, a human soul and flesh must be fed to it—well, I won’t need to worry about that. I’ll only draw upon it when facing truly dire enemies. In such battles, there will surely be enough lives to He did not attempt to divinate the origin of the "creeping hunger," fearing he might summon unfavorable entities. Although the gray mist separated and obstructed him, he did not fear for his own safety; yet, should he act, the "creeping hunger" might be harmed. He would only make the necessary efforts when it was no longer needed. Kline leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. He quickly recalled prior events, keenly noting a detail: "After the 'Universal Key' was extinguished, the extraordinary traits did not vanish—they transformed into luminous particles, striving to coalesce. It is foreseeable that the final form of the 'Apprentice' traits would no longer stem from the Mr. Door's cry. In other words, this method enables the removal of spiritual contamination within the extraordinary traits!" "But the problem was, under normal circumstances, it was simply impossible to disrupt the extraordinary properties that had solidified into tangible objects. At that moment, they had relied on a ritual capable of summoning a true god—one that required a vast number of innocent lives as prerequisites... 'And once the 'Eye of Pure Black' was shattered, the spirit of the 'True Creator' hidden within would inevitably be contaminated and unleashed. Who could possibly endure that? Who could bear it atop the gray mist?' As thoughts flowed through his mind, Caine recalled the possible fate of the Eastern District and quickly materialized paper and pen to perform the corresponding divination. After receiving the revelation, he lost all expression, slowly and deliberately leaning back against the chair's backrest. Below him, the boundless gray mist remained eternally still, silently rising and settling. ........ Audrey stood by the window, watching the interweaving hues of pale yellow and iron black fade swiftly, and observing the rain—uncharacteristic for winter—pouring down in a powerful deluge. Her mood grew steadily more composed. After an indeterminate length of time, she and Suzy finally waited for the Count to return. 'Father,' she asked, 'how did it go?' "Audrey asked with concern. Count Hall handed his coat and hat to the waiter, offering a gentle smile. "It's settled, though the exact details remain unclear. My little princess, you've truly made a difference this time—you deserve a ton of medals!" That's perfect. That's perfect... Thanks to Mr. The Fool's reminder, thanks to His followers who took the risk and investigated... Once again, our Tarot Circle has thwarted the demon's descent and saved the world! Audrey felt a deep sense of pride. Count Hall took the towel from the maid, wiped his face, and sighed, "Yet this time, the losses were more severe. The smog in Beckland has proven so deadly... Although the official statistics haven't been finalized yet, I estimate over ten thousand have died in the eastern district, the port area, and the industrial zones, and the epidemic is still spreading. So, for now, try to stay indoors as much as possible." Over ten thousand? This was a number Audrey could understand but never imagine—only during the annual Independence Day parades, when thousands or even tens of thousands gathered together, could she witness such scenes. Yet it did not lift her spirits; instead, it weighed heavily on her heart, and her mood instantly turned somber. ………… Daisy stood outside the apartment, watching doctors and nurses in white coats and large masks enter, lifting one body after another. She had already known the outcome—her expression was numb, her eyes hollow—and she instinctively moved closer to the door. At that moment, a police officer stationed at the perimeter stopped her. "Stay here. Would you like to catch the epidemic?" Daisy paused, watching two bodies being carried out, watching her mother, Livia, tightly embracing her sister, Freya, as they were lifted onto a delivery wagon hastily converted with black cloths, watching them vanish from her sight as they were covered with white sheets. The wagon moved slowly, heading toward the other end of the street. At that moment, Daisy seemed to awaken from a dream. She turned around and rushed forward, chasing after the carriage. The ground, still damp from the rain, was incredibly muddy; she stumbled and rose again several times, her clothes stained with mud. Yet she still couldn't catch up with the carriage, watching it vanish around the corner. Daisy slowed her pace, her body gently swaying, her expression unusually blank. She steadied herself against a tree by the street, gazing intently at the spot where the carriage had gone. Suddenly, she collapsed completely, and a soft, low cry escaped her: "Mother... "Freyja..." The sound was thin, faint, sharp, and fragile, lingering and unceasing. At that very moment, across the eastern district, the dock district, and the industrial district, tens of thousands of people were similarly weeping and shouting. ........ Queen's District, the Sodrak Palace. King George III, wearing the crown, his face resolute and his features marked by a dignified pair of small whiskers, sat on the throne, gazing steadily at the Earl of the Palace, silent for a long time. "Your Grace, representatives from all three churches are outside, awaiting your explanation," the Earl said, his brow damp with sweat. "An explanation? The Prince of Edessa has been seduced by a sorceress and has allied himself with the cult, plotting a rebellion—this is the explanation! His plot has now been uncovered, and he has taken his own life. What more do they want?" George III suddenly erupted into anger. He took a deep breath and regained his usual composure. "Tell them that anyone who attains a corresponding peerage through any means shall be entitled to a seat in the House of Lords—property requirements for election will be relaxed, and invalid constituencies will be eliminated. This is a measure to reassure the industrialists and bankers. Likewise, the Committee on Air Pollution will issue its findings immediately, and relevant bills will soon be passed. Measures ensuring minimum standards and working hours will also be formally enacted into law shortly!" "The Poor Law will be reformed according to their demands... allowing the three churches to send representatives into the military!" "Your Majesty..." Count of the Palace was startled. Such concessions were utterly beyond his expectations—especially the last point. King George III erupted in fury once more: "Tell them exactly that! Since they desire a new order, I shall give them a new order!" "Yes, Your Majesty." The Count said nothing further and withdrew from the palace. King George III remained seated in silence, motionless as a statue. It was not long before his expression softened.