The texture of the comb-needle fish may not quite match that of the fish people, but the well-balanced, layered use of various spices still earns Clain's genuine praise. He finds himself eager to keep eating, simply unable to stop. "In truth, there are indeed exceptional individuals in the region who wish to step away from the risky circles and embrace a more ordinary life. They could absolutely open a Roath-style restaurant in Beckland, specializing in similar roasted fish. With the city's openness and adaptability, the business would surely thrive. The only challenge would be the cost—many of the spices would likely be more expensive than here, leading to higher operational costs. The target customer base would need to be clearly defined..." Clain sets down his rather coarse chopsticks, wipes his lips with a napkin, and drifts off into idle thoughts. In his view, ordinary people often fail to find ways to become wealthy because of their limited horizons. Yet this very horizon is constrained by the education they receive and their daily experiences, and is deeply shaped by the social class they belong to—making it extremely difficult to transcend. To break free from such limitations, the most effective approach is to relentlessly pursue higher and better-quality education. The second option is to be bold and take risks, venturing out and exploring widely—though this path comes with significant risks, as many people fade quietly without ever reaching their destination. The indigenous people of the Rosd Islands have a darker complexion than the people of the southern continent, resembling the bronze hue often achieved through sun exposure. Their hair is predominantly deep black, naturally slightly wavy, differing notably from that of the colonists of the Roon Kingdom. The region has only been fully colonized for less than fifty years. Initially, Roon collaborated with the indigenous chieftains under the banner of the Zhong Sunnia Company to extract economic benefits. However, the management of the Zhong Sunnia Company quickly became corrupt, engaged in power struggles and even launched wars for personal gain, challenging their rivals. Most astonishingly, they began to accuse one another of accepting bribes, each seeking support from their backbench legislators in the parliament to launch mutual attacks during sessions, nearly bringing the matter to court. (Note 1) The native inhabitants could hardly imagine that a figure who, in their eyes, bowed deeply to kings and chieftains, kissed their shoes, and presented one cart after another of gifts—someone who, in Beckettland, was barely considered a member of the legislature—was, in fact, a relatively minor figure. Though most of them came from noble families, their claims to succession were quite secondary. Following the dispute, the king and prime minister reached an agreement to redeem the shares, dissolve the Zhong Sunya Company, dispatch a fleet and military forces to fully occupy the Rosted Islands, and establish genuine colonial rule. Today, the islands are governed by a governor's office, a parliament, and a judiciary, with all senior positions held by Ruinians. Among the mid-level officials, some members of the parliament, and judges of the local courts, there are descendants of the original royal and chieftain lineages. The lower levels are open to the native, educated population, including the police officers below the rank of chief inspector. The one wielding a short staff to drive off the homeless is precisely such a local police officer, whose features clearly reflect the Rosted ethnic characteristics. As soon as the police officer saw Caine approaching in a double-breasted formal suit, wearing a half-high silk hat and holding a black civil staff, he immediately set down his short staff, straightened up, brought his legs together, and bowed: "Good afternoon, sir. Is there anything I can assist you with?" Caine felt a certain complexity, and nodded gently. "Is there no carriage here?" "The governor's office has stipulated that no carriages are allowed on this street. You'll have to walk to the next street," the officer explained, both anxious and enthusiastic. "Thank you," Caine remarked casually. "Your Ruessian is quite good." The officer was surprised and nearly moved with excitement. "I believe, I believe, this is an essential quality for any good police officer." He had intended to add that he himself considered himself a native Ruessian, but was afraid the gentleman might become displeased. Caine exhaled softly and began to walk slowly toward the street corner. Along the way, he noticed that the local fashion style was distinctly different from that of continental cities such as Beklan and Tinggen, and even diverged from that of older colonial ports like Damir and Bansi, which have been under colonial influence for over two centuries: people from Run dressed formally in suits, wore high hats, tied neck ties, and carried civil staff, making the surrounding locals feel hesitant, reluctant to make eye contact or engage directly. The native inhabitants or mixed-race individuals, on the other hand, preferred thick, jacket-style outer coats paired with loose, wide-legged pants, and wore continental-style baseball caps—disliking black and favoring beige, brown, and light gray tones. To Klein, this indeed seemed unusual, yet it provided him with a strong sense of being in a foreign land. Of course, higher-status natives and mixed-race individuals were also adopting the attire of the Runners, viewing it as the true mark of civilization. He noticed that the most striking difference here, compared to other places, was the three blackboards supported by wooden frames along the side of the bar, each displaying a faded, slightly yellowed notice pinned to it. The content varied widely—some requested bodyguards, others asked for help in locating missing persons, some sought information about a specific island, others offered substantial rewards for the heads of certain pirates, and a few claimed to have discovered a treasure map and were seeking partners to form a team. In short, matters that had long been taken over by private detectives and security firms within the kingdom of Ruin remained the domain of adventurers. After grabbing a beer, Caine sat in a high stool at the bar, sipping it slowly and quietly listening to the conversations around him, searching for valuable leads. After nearly an hour, as the number of guests grew, Caine finally heard a conversation that might be useful. He perked up and became even more focused. At the table just under three meters away, four people were expressing their regret about a man named Wint: "I always thought Wint had gone on a trip abroad, but it turns out he's been at home, seriously ill." "Oh, if only I had visited him two days earlier—he wouldn't have passed away. You wouldn't believe how terrifying the room was; mushrooms had grown on his body, one after another, white and spreading." "Dog food! Stop talking! Haven't you seen me eating sausages? "Good, good. Winter's room was filled with insects—moths, flies, butterflies, bees, and crickets. The storm above, I simply couldn't believe this was a human dwelling. The arriving police were also stunned!" One by one, these conversations reached Klein's ears, who furrowed his brow, sensing that Winter's death was far from ordinary. Just a few days after passing, his body was covered in mushrooms, and the room teemed with flying and crawling insects. Was this connected to some extraordinary event? Such anomalies would surely prompt the police to report it to the "Enforcer" team. It sounded like something that had happened three or four days ago—by now, all such cases should have been addressed. Klein seriously considered whether he should visit. After all, Winter, a lone adventurer in Byam, had no companions to deliver the news of his passing. After listening attentively for a while, he gained a clear picture of Winter's residence—located at Apartment 47 on Black Corner Street. Drank the last of the Zalha beer, Caine put on his hat and left the bar, heading straight for the apartment. Upon entering the building, he half-closed his eyes and murmured softly: "A room where someone recently passed away." Repeating this seven times, Caine used his cane to efficiently reach the room where Wint had previously lived. The room had not yet been re-rented, and the anomalies had been addressed—everything appeared normal. Caine folded the note he'd used to open the door, closed and locked the room door, then carefully went through the space once more. After confirming everything was in order, he quickly arranged a spirit ritual—placing essential oils, herbal powders, and specially crafted candles—before the bed. Though it had been several days since the event, and the information he received remained only the most rudimentary, fragmented, and faint, Caine believed that having something was better than nothing. Undoubtedly, he was still praying to himself, stepping into the gray mist and responding with the power of spirit communication. The candle's flame suddenly rose, taking on a deep blue hue as it swayed gently. Klein felt everything grow still, as though he had stepped into a realm beyond reality. His pupils were filled entirely with pure black, even the whites of his eyes being driven away. No longer needing the techniques of "dream divination," the man now elevated to the rank of "Faceless One" directly perceived the lingering, persistent thoughts of Wintling, aided initially by the ethereal gray mist of reality. There were three scenes. First, Winde—slender and tall, with wavy black hair and a refined facial structure—approached a discarded corpse, only to be stunned to see a shimmering glow coalesce into a vibrant, life-filled jade-green gemstone on its surface. Second, Winde lay in bed, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, with various mushrooms sprouting across his skin, and countless cockroaches and moths swarming around him; at his chest, a silver necklace hung, its pendant precisely the jade-green gemstone that had first appeared. Third, a delicate young woman with light linen hair sat by the seaside, surrounded by Winde’s reluctant voice: “Rin, I’m dying. I’m so sorry. I’m so regretful—I never told you how much I loved you. I wanted you to marry me…” The scenes fragmented, and the spirit communication ended. Caine glanced around, noticing that the house still carried an aura of dimness and gloom. What a series of misfortunes this man has endured… Caine shook his head and sighed. He has now初步 grasped the cause of Winter's death: it was due to his indiscriminate gathering of items. Most extraordinary beings are unaware of the principles of impermanence and conservation of properties—neither do they conceive that the properties of the deceased can be extracted and become material. This process unfolds gradually and is often overlooked. Thus, after killing an extraordinary being, others typically search through the body and discard the corpse, leaving Winter—such a passerby or a creature from the deep sea or wilderness—to benefit. Winter himself did not recognize these properties as such; he thought them to be magical gems and thus crafted them into a necklace, keeping them close to his body. Over time, however, these items gradually contaminated him, ultimately leading to his suffering and death. Note 1: This incident occurred in India under the British East India Company—an administrative empire that truly embodies bureaucratic excellence. I found it utterly amusing when reviewing the records earlier.