On hearing Dr. Ponder's question, Caine smiled to himself, maintaining a composed and reserved demeanor. "From the moment you made your first payment." Dacquill had first pulled out a generous stack of cash, then, with a touch of concern, counted it carefully. "This is three hundred pounds. You may fulfill the agreement." Caine took the bills, nodded, and said, "No problem." Dacquill immediately felt at ease, as though a drowning man had finally grasped a lifebuoy. Half an hour later, at the "Teyana" inn, Dacquill stared in astonishment at the powerful adventurer, Germán Sparrow, and addressed the night attendant. "Please, arrange a luxury suite." As he spoke, Caine stepped back slightly, as if yielding the position to the stout pharmacist. Dacquill swallowed hard and hesitated. "Shall I pay?" "All expenses during the assignment are covered by the employer—this is standard practice among adventurers," Caine replied calmly. I believe you're a simpleton! Shall I have to pay for just a few female performers from the "Red Theatre" as well? After a moment's thought, Dacquell managed a smile and said, "We could simply use a regular room—this would be more convenient for our protection." "Then you can stay there yourself," Caine effortlessly assumed the role of Germán Sparrow. Dacquell chuckled heartily and walked to the counter, speaking with composed calm, "A luxurious suite." Upon actually checking in and entering the smaller bedroom, the plump pharmacist Dacquell opened the window to leave a space for the owl, Harry, and then withdrew the box of rings from his coat pocket, inspecting the condition of the unusual die. After confirming that the die remained exactly as before, with four points facing up, unchanged, Dacquell quietly exhaled. ………… Beckland, within a typical house. Insz Zangewell awoke from deep sleep, and his first thought was to verify his own condition. This was something he did every day, because he had no way of knowing what stories "0–08" would weave while he slept, or what unexpected developments it might bring. After confirming he had sustained no injury, Ins. Zangwei donned his shiny leather boots and stood up. As expected, he found "0–08" quietly resting on the desk, appearing no different from the most ordinary feather pen. Yet, the night before, it had been locked inside a metal chest adorned with layers of symbolic signs and magical seals. Ins. Zangwei approached it with gravity, holding "0–08" in one hand and opening the notebook beside it, where he discovered nearly a full page of new text: "Ins. Zangwei did not remember what he had done the night before, but he was acutely aware of certain issues. As he looked into the mirror, he felt a sense of unfamiliarity with himself—as if another Ins. Zangwei had come to life within his body." "He lowered his head and noticed obvious abnormalities in the crevices of his fingernails, yet couldn't recall what he had done the night before..." Upon reading this description, Insang Zangwei instinctively turned toward the full-length mirror in the room. There, he saw himself still blind in one eye, with a classical, sculpted face bearing no wrinkles—yet at the corner of his mouth, a faint smile remained, contrasting sharply with his serious gaze. At that moment, Insang Zangwei felt his face grow pale, with dark circles beneath his eyes. Combined with the smile he had no memory of having acquired, the overall impression was chilling, stern, and strangely eerie. He raised his hands, lowered his head, and observed patches of dry, black sludge lodged in the crevices of his fingernails—as if he had dug up tree roots in the garden during the night. Although he had transitioned from the Path of the Death God to the Path of Night, becoming a Night Watchman, Stanzel Zangwei had not lost his previous extraordinary abilities—he remained a powerful spirit-medium and mentor in the realm of the dead. Thus, he immediately set out to communicate with the spirits within and outside the house, seeking to understand exactly what had transpired last night. At the same time, his peripheral vision caught the final entry on his notebook: "Stanzel Zangwei attempted to spirit-medium, but sadly found himself with no results—seeming as though someone of equal expertise had already cleared all the traces. He was deeply concerned, unsure of what exactly had entangled his own actions last night." Stanzel Zangwei's expression grew increasingly solemn as he tried to spirit-medium, as expected, yielding no particularly surprising results. Klein turned down a quiet alley and found Us Kent carrying a small leather trunk. "Your reward," Us Kent tossed the trunk toward him. Five thousand four hundred pounds… Dacwelle, hiding outside the alley, heard Us Kent’s words and glanced at the chest. The stack of gold pounds inside shimmered, catching his eye. He had never seen so much money gathered together before. “Being an adventurer must be a lucrative profession—just one successful pirate hunt brings several thousand pounds, and protecting me for three days earns a thousand pounds plus a request. Occasionally, one discovers sunken ships and treasures… Why did I choose to be a pharmacist instead of an adventurer? I should have chosen that path of fortune and luck much earlier!” Dacwelle thought with deep admiration. Yet he quickly recalled the reality—that most adventurers did not live particularly well, even if they achieved financial success. A third of their income often had to be given to the pharmacist, either for treating injuries, managing chronic conditions, or simply purchasing medicines to keep up appearances. Being a pharmacist was safer, he sighed to himself. At that moment, having only roughly confirmed the amount without carefully counting, Caine closed the leather trunk and said to Us Kent, "I'll be away from Bayam for some time. How should I notify you if there's any news?" "You're leaving Bayam?" Us Kent asked, slightly surprised. Caine nodded gently. "I've just accepted a bodyguard assignment." Us Kent first felt a moment of clarity, then a sense of unexpected ease. After all, if this madman stayed in Bayam long-term, he'd eventually cause some major trouble. It would be better if he drifted at sea, fighting off the pirates. Us Kent smiled immediately. "You can simply send a telegraph directly, and include my address. The telegraph office has our staff on duty." "Good," Caine said, wearing his black wool coat, without further comment. He picked up the trunk and turned to leave the alley. He and Dakerwell headed straight for the port district, preparing to board the earliest passenger ship bound for Orlaivi Island, while the owl fluttered silently among the street trees—watchful, stealthy—having already secured their reserved tickets for the black ship. Half an hour before boarding, Dakerwell felt increasingly anxious, fearing that the person who had betrayed their teacher might suddenly arrive and attack him. This unease eased only when he entered his first-class cabin—once the ship had set sail, most passengers without flight capabilities or their own vessels would find it difficult to intercept him en route. "Set sail, set sail…" Dakerwell murmured, gazing out the window. At that moment, the owl joined him, perched on his left shoulder, while Caine sat on the room chair, on guard against any possible assault. Then, the sky darkened swiftly, the wind grew stronger, and the humidity in the air noticeably rose. "Is there a storm?" Dakerwell asked, blinking in surprise. This means the ships might not depart on time—perhaps they'll be delayed for several hours! And in that case, Dacwell will have to bear many unnecessary risks! He turned to Germán Sparo, forcing a smile and asked, "Do you have any ideas?" There are indeed solutions—such as you immediately pray to "Neptune" Cavitua, while I rush to the gray mist above to respond and drive this storm away... But don't worry—within minutes, or even just a few seconds, "Poseidon" Ayn Cortman will arrive, and his assault will come even earlier. Klein looked at the plump apothecary, responded calmly, "I'm merely an adventurer." Dacwell knew he shouldn't harbor any unrealistic expectations, so he muttered a curse under his breath at the weather and turned back, leaning his head out the window to study the situation. Thunder! A silver-white lightning bolt struck down, hitting Dacwell dead on before Klein could react. Dakewell convulsed and collapsed, smoking, his skin blackened and streaked with electric arcs. Klein nearly stumbled in shock—this was the first time he'd ever seen someone struck by lightning during a thunderstorm. How unfortunate! He had even momentarily forgotten to rescue Dakewell. The owl, Mr. Harry, likewise stood stunned for several seconds before shrieking, "Hurry! Hurry! There's a potion in the second dark pouch on his left—give it to him now!" The owl speaks! Klein raised an eyebrow, stepped forward, bent down, and located the blood-red potion, then forced it into Dakewell's mouth. After nearly two minutes, Dakewell finally regained consciousness, shedding blackened skin as he struggled to rise and said, "I'll attend to my injuries." He wavered into his bedroom and locked the door behind him. Having completed these actions, he produced the ring box and opened it with a heavy, deliberate motion. Inside the ring box, which offered almost no room for movement, the pale die had somehow changed—its two red dots now facing up. In the living room outside, Caine stood in place, recalling what had just transpired, his brow gradually furrowing. At this moment, he felt an inexplicable sense that the enemy he was about to face in this bodyguard mission might be different from those he had encountered before. Once Dr. Kewell had recovered sufficiently and reappeared, Caine sat in the chair, slightly leaning forward, and began: "Please explain. This concerns how I will provide protection."