Dakwelle lay there, momentarily forgetting to rise, his mind seeming completely blank. Since he had matured, he hadn't experienced such a moment of tripping over himself—something he'd never done before—especially not since the magical potion had enhanced his physical strength and vitality across all aspects of his being. Yet today, he had inexplicably fallen, and now found it utterly incomprehensible. Had he stepped on something? Dakwelle suddenly snapped back to awareness, braced himself with his hands, rolled over, and stood up, feigning that he had indeed stumbled. He looked left and right, but found no unusual object on the ground. With growing bewilderment, he took a few hesitant steps forward and picked up the pale white die. At that moment, a patrolling officer seemed to notice the anomaly, holding his short staff and pressing his left-hand revolver, jogging over quickly. Seeing this, the plump pharmacist Dakwelle suddenly grew concerned, suspecting he might have stepped on a hidden trap: "They've taken the old man, yet haven't come to find me. In fact, they've been quietly observing, waiting for me to discover the clue." "Now that I've got this strange die, are they suddenly rushing out? 'Are the official extraordinary ones coming to arrest me?'" Dacwel's instinct was to turn and run, but the fall had been a bit heavy—he now felt pain in his knees and could only shuffle forward. As the patrol officers drew closer, realizing he wanted to run but couldn't, Dacwel's mind flashed to the underground prison, the ever-present candlelight, and the extraordinary being beside him, gasping violently as if a monster in the dimness. "What's going on?" the officer asked, holding his gun at a respectful distance. Dacwel suddenly felt an overwhelming fear, his wrist trembling as the white die he'd just picked up tumbled to the ground and rolled several times. This time, it landed with six dots facing up. Facing the officer's steady gaze, Dacwel answered, voice trembling, "I tripped on a patch of banana peel and fell." As soon as he finished speaking, his heart skipped a beat—there was no banana peel on the ground at all. Damn it, he was so nervous he might as well have admitted right then that he had tripped on his own. Dacwell sighed in frustration. He decided to summon the owl perched on the opposite roof, ready to make one last, desperate effort. The patrol officer glanced at him, smiled gently, and said, "Don't forget to look where you're walking—just a moment ago, I thought you'd been robbed." He released his grip on the revolver and, holding the short staff, walked back toward the station. "..." Dacwell stared blankly at the officer's retreating figure, utterly puzzled as to how the officer had so easily believed his rather disjointed account. He turned his gaze back to the white die lying quietly on the ground, its surface now catching the light, and his brow began to furrow. I'm not even a native of Runa—why should these officers have to cater to me? Could it be that it's working? Whether it was my strange stumble or my odd persuasion of the officers—it was clearly working. It was the one the teacher had kept—the important seal object, wasn't it? Dacwell quickly formed an association, moved with care, picked up the die again, and carefully placed it back into the tiny ring box—inside, the die had absolutely no room to roll. He gave a subtle signal to his own owl, then picked up the newspaper he had bought earlier, stopped a hired carriage, and climbed aboard, limping slightly, with his destination set on the "Red Theatre." As the carriage moved smoothly, with the evening now settled and the gas streetlamps on either side spaced far apart, casting only a limited glow, he didn't immediately examine the ring box or the die within it, but patiently waited until he returned home. Upon entering the herb pharmacy and reaching the upper floor where people lived, he lit the gas wall lamp, drove the clumsy bird out of the room, and sat down at his desk, carefully inspecting the ring box and the pale white die again and again. Finally, he drew out a sheet of paper, folded to just half the width of a finger, from the inner layer of the ring box. Dacwell inhaled silently and swiftly unfolded the paper, discovering three passages written in ancient Fussak: "If I haven't appeared by the third day after our agreed time, it must mean I've been betrayed and captured. Therefore, do not seek help from other members of the order hastily, as I cannot confirm who has done this—such a move would pose significant danger to you. Your task is simple: take the die and go to Orlavi Island, deliver it to the clockmaker Cano in the port city. My teacher, the Senator Rijod, is hiding there. He will take care of everything from there on." "Don't worry that I'll reveal this secret—once I've finished writing this letter, the memories of it will vanish completely, and I'll no longer remember you as a student, until I'm rescued. Remember, try to use that die as little as possible. It possesses a certain vitality of its own; the more you use it, the more likely it is to awaken, turning itself over even when you're not paying attention, even in the absence of space. When it settles on '1,' believe me—your suffering will be worse than death itself, because you'll fail at nearly everything you attempt, including your favorite bed activities." Indeed, the die was quite dangerous… Dacwel unconsciously murmured this, only to realize later that he had made a fool of himself. To save his teacher, Roy King, and overcome his own timidity, he had stayed in Bayam and sent out appeals to the members of the Life School who were aware of his efforts. According to the letter, this meant he was now likely to be targeted by the very person who had betrayed Roy King! "Why didn't you say so earlier?" No, how didn't I think of buying this die earlier!" Dacquell lifted both hands, tugging at his hair on either side. He no longer dared to stay here and decided to move his quarters tonight, to buy tickets for the Black Ship tonight and head to Orlavi Island tomorrow morning—the island located on the route between the "Rosted Isles–Toskatt." "My incantations, my pistol, my ammunition..." Dacquell counted off the items that provided him security, worrying about his lack of combat strength. He quickly formed a plan, pacing back and forth, murmuring, "I need a bodyguard, I need a bodyguard..." Who? How much would it cost? While pondering, his eyes swept over the copy of The News Paper he had brought back. Suddenly, a brilliant idea struck him: Germán Sparrow! A powerful adventurer capable of hunting down a sea pirate worth 5,400 pounds! If he agrees to take on this task, as long as it's not the "member of parliament" who intervenes, I should be able to reach the island of Orlavi without any trouble. How can I find him? Ah! Post notices in the taverns where adventurers frequently gather! Dacwel gave a barely perceptible nod, tucked a few items back into the previously packed luggage, and, with his plump owl, once again left the herb pharmacy with a heartfelt sense of regret. . . . Outside the waters of the Rosted Islands, in a small port belonging to the kingdom of Run, the Black Death anchored there without hesitation, surrounded by three ships. The "General of Illness," Tracie, having just taken a hot bath, wore a loose men's shirt to finish treating her wounds that were now nearly fully healed. For a sorceress, scarring from acne is simply non-existent. At that moment, the blonde maid knocked on the door and entered the captain's cabin upon being granted permission. She glanced at Tracy, her cheeks flushing as she looked away: "Captain, there's a telegraph from Bayam arriving at this port. 'Mysor—well, the third officer was killed.'" Tracy paused, her expression growing serious, and hesitated before asking: "Do you know who did it?" She had sent Mysor, the 'Speaker,' to investigate the attack at Bayam—not only to hold the officer accountable for his negligence, but also to publicly highlight her own severe injuries, thereby encouraging any ill-intentioned parties to launch a follow-up assault. She had not expected Mysor to make any significant breakthroughs in the short term. After the arrival of the half-divine, known as the 'Immortal Woman' and dubbed the 'Death Magistrate,' she deliberately withheld the news, not informing Mysor promptly, allowing the punishment to continue, hoping that whatever he uncovered would be satisfactory—though not particularly disappointing. As for whether Mysor himself would face danger, she didn't particularly care; that was, after all, part of the punishment. To her surprise, Misoor had been killed so quickly! The blonde attendant handed over the telegram: "A named adventurer, Geremar Sparo—what's confirmed is that he possessed a remarkable ability similar to 'Dragon's Might.'" "Geremar Sparo... 'Dragon's Might'... Hm, Qilin-gus also has 'Dragon's Might.' He must have used 'The Crawling Hunger' to pasture a 'psychologist' or 'hypnotist.'" Tracie took the telegram, chuckled softly, and murmured to herself. She could now be fairly certain that Geremar Sparo was the enemy who had impersonated Elean and attacked her, employing precisely the same 'The Crawling Hunger' ability that Qilin-gus had used to pasture his 'Faceless One.' "The Crawling Hunger' is manifest in him—there is an ancient half-god behind him, known to his mother as the 'Death Magistrate.' Does this mean that Qilin-gus himself was slain by that very 'Death Magistrate'?" Tracie spoke quietly to herself, then waved the blonde attendant away. When the door to the captain's cabin closed once more, she smiled lightly. "If I reveal this information, the organization that orchestrated Zilings' assassination of Duke Nigan will certainly be interested." For a moment, she truly felt this urge, but reason held her back. After all, that would mean directly challenging the 'Governor of Death'! And with the other party having only recognized her once, the suspect could be immediately pinpointed. Then, unless she retreated back to her mother's side, she would always be shadowed by the threat of death... For other saints, I need not fear so much—those who wish to attack me would first have to locate me, and would typically show clear signs, requiring considerable time and offering me ample opportunities to evade danger. But the 'Governor of Death' can traverse the spiritual realm; once he knows my location, he can appear beside me swiftly. Tracie bit her lip, feeling discouraged. She abandoned her original plans and decided to keep a close eye on Germán Spalro, never missing a good opportunity. At this moment, Crane remained at the "Teyana" inn, waiting for the reward to be announced.