Above the gray mist, within the palace-like dwelling of the giants. Caine lightly tapped the edge of the weathered long table, his thoughts continuously revolving around the strange die. "It can allow me to accept its influence without any awareness or disturbance—this is already quite similar to the initial '0–08' situation. Now one is right before me, and one remains hidden in the background. It must be a seal, of the highest tier—perhaps not '0' level, but certainly a particularly exceptional one among the '1' level. Even if not '0' level, it's clearly of a rare kind. As for fate, I currently cannot intervene directly, yet I cannot remain passively receptive. Over time, such seals of comparable strength often cause increasingly severe damage—perhaps affecting people around the stout pharmacist, such as myself and the passengers aboard the ship." Caine pondered for a while, still without a clear course of action, and decided to return immediately to the real world. He didn't know exactly how to seal the die or diminish its influence, but he was certain that someone did. This person was Wil Anderst, the "Mercury Serpent" still in his mother's womb, in fetal form! Upon entering the master bedroom, he took out the crane from his wallet and laid it open on the table. Then, he glanced at the surface, still bearing traces of wiping, picked up his pencil, and wrote down a simple question: "What to do with that die?" He folded the crane back exactly as it was and returned it to the wallet. Then, he went to the outer door of the servant's room and lightly tapped it three times. This did not contradict Germain Spalro's established persona—he was, after all, a well-mannered madman. Moreover,克莱恩 was primarily afraid that opening the door abruptly might directly strike and kill the unlucky, stout pharmacist, Dacwel, which was a lesson learned from the "The Dead Are Rising" film series. He also had some concern that opening the door might reveal an awkward sight. Given Dacquill's evident preferences, he found himself plunged into an extremely perilous situation—one he struggled to escape, and which would likely only resolve after his death, with a good chance of finally delivering his last flourish. While murmuring such thoughts, Kline heard the stout apothecary's weak reply: "What's going on?" Relief washed over him—still alive, that was good. Kline opened the door carefully, slightly leaned forward, and calmly observed Dacquill and the open box of rings before him, asking, "What time is it?" "Isn't there a wall clock?" Dacquill remained as listless as ever. "I mean the dice," Kline clarified succinctly. "Still three o'clock," Dacquill responded instinctively, then turned his head and leapt up, "Do you believe me now?" Kline said nothing, not wanting to remind Dacquill of the scene just moments ago when Germain Spalro had been outwitted by the dice. He turned to face the other way, speaking with steady, unvarying tone: "Bring the dice outside." "Yes!" "Very well!" Dakewell and the hefty owl Hary gasped in surprise, almost simultaneously. One raised both arms, the other spread out his wings. With great care, the stout pharmacist emerged holding the box of the ring. Klein gestured to the coffee table and said, "Place it there." As he spoke, he sat down on the adjacent sofa, resting his elbows on his thighs and leaning forward to examine the strange die. Visually, the die showed no unusual features in terms of mysticism—its only distinction from a normal one was that even a three-point face was rendered in red. Klein carefully avoided touching it, slightly straightening his posture and turning his gaze toward Dakewell, who sat across from him, and Hary, whose large body had settled against the back of his chair. "Please describe the specific circumstances." Dakewell offered no further concealment, speaking with a smile so strained it seemed more like a cry. "This is a significant sealed artifact within our organization. My duty is to deliver it to the designated personnel on Orlavi Island." "Yet, you've also seen how dangerous it is—it rotates on its own, even without any corresponding space! When it reaches 6 o'clock, the holder will be so fortunate that any endeavor succeeds effortlessly, just as I previously managed to deceive you with rather clumsy lies." Don't mention this matter... one day, you'll be severely reprimanded for that mouth of yours. Kline listened without expression. "You're not quite unlucky yet, otherwise I'd have already given you a good beating," Klein thought for a moment, then calmly instructed, "From now on, you'll take turns monitoring this die. As soon as it drops below three points, inform me immediately." "Us?" Dacwell looked momentarily puzzled. "Including me?" The owl perched on the back of the chair raised its right wing. Klein leaned back against the sofa, lifted his right leg, and spoke calmly, "This helps maintain energy and focus." Then, with a nod of his chin, he pointed to the owl, "You start." "The name's Harry," the owl mumbled. Harry... Klein suppressed a smile and turned to Dacwell, "You go ring the bell and summon the waiter. Starting now, we'll opt for room service." "Until you arrive at Orlavi Island, you must remain in the living room at all times—no exceptions." "Even if you want to go to the restroom, you'll have to wait until the 3 and 4 point states." "If you really can't hold it any longer, I'll give you a bucket." Listening to Germán Sparo's calm and methodical instructions, the plump pharmacist Dacwell gradually found his composure, no longer as anxious as before. Earlier, he had been most concerned about two things: first, that Germán Sparo's greed would be triggered, prompting him to commit murder and seize the cargo, and second, that this slightly eccentric, cold-hearted adventurer would be daunted by the dice, deciding to abandon the commission and withdraw his protection. Now, it seemed clear that Germán Sparo was not only unafraid but even confident! Dacwell silently breathed a sigh of relief, thinking to himself: "His performance just now was truly professional... "And he wasn't afraid at all! "He managed to overcome the influence of the dice and accept my explanation—indeed, a powerful adventurer capable of effortlessly hunting down the 'Master of Words'! Definitely a strong contender at the level of a pirate general!" Dacwell stood up and walked to the door, pulling the service bell. As he was returning to the sofa area, a sharp voice from the owl Harry suddenly rang out: "Changed! Changed! It's two o'clock!" Instantly, Caine pushed his feet firmly against the sofa and leapt up without warning, rushing to stand beside Dacwell. Bang! At the same moment a gunshot echoed outside, Caine caught Dacwell's arm, pulled it back, and his wrist trembled, sending the plump pharmacist sprawling to the other side. Now, where Dacwell had been standing, a fresh hole from the bullet had appeared in the wall. Had the waterman's gun discharged accidentally? Or had the shot struck something—perhaps a seabird—before rebounding into the room? Regardless of the explanation, such an occurrence was rare. Yet... Caine turned his head to the plump pharmacist and asked, "Any injuries?" Dacwell shook his head, relieved, "None." In the following hours, Crane gradually resolved a dozen incidents—such as a chandelier suddenly falling from the roof, a maintenance worker's hammer striking directly into Dacwell's head after slipping, and a plump pharmacist nearly dying from a fishbone lodged in his throat. These might not seem particularly dramatic, yet they required Crane to maintain intense mental focus, leaving him inevitably weary. Fortunately, the die once again settled on a 4, finally ending that hour of relentless misfortunes. Not good—should this continue, perhaps even my rescues would themselves become accidents. After sending the captain who had come to apologize, Crane said to Dacwell, "I'll sleep for half an hour. Keep an eye on the die; wake me immediately if anything happens." Both the pharmacist and the owl nodded in quiet, chicken-like agreement. Leaning back against the sofa, Crane quickly fell asleep with the aid of meditation, hoping that Will. O'Connechty had responded. When he became清醒 in his dream, upon seeing himself on a dark, desolate plain, he quietly exhaled, and followed the familiar path all the way to the depths of the black spire. On the raised ground surrounded by a series of tarot cards, rows of silver-white words now appeared, dense and numerous. Cain paused and quickly scanned them: "It's called the 'Dice of Probability.' It is the highest-ranking seal within our academy, and I believe it meets the standard of 'Level 0.' It governs the probability of every event—when it lands on 1, it amplifies the likelihood of adverse outcomes to their extreme; at 2, it significantly increases the chance of unfavorable results. However, this doesn't mean that a 2 is necessarily safer than a 1, since once the probability rises, unforeseen complications can arise. At 3, the adverse probability is moderately amplified; from 4 to 6, the effect is reversed. Even for me, who can partially reset the process, it remains a notably dangerous seal." With it, you can kill a half-god—though, of course, you might also end up killing yourself. I see, your struggle against the Dice of Probability is much like the contest between the great god Savrola and the god of the Dice (note 1)... Klein muttered under his breath as he continued reading: "The Dice of Probability possesses a living nature, constantly shifting the holder between misfortune and fortune, and if not careful, an unexpected death may occur. As its awakening level grows stronger, it gradually brings the people and things around the holder under its control, manipulating the probabilities of their actions. 'Although this has not yet been confirmed, I suspect that, given sufficient time, it could influence the entire world, determining the actions of all living beings through its own rolled numbers—though, of course, the gods themselves would remain exempt.' In short, it would digitize the entire world... This—this is absolutely within the realm of zero-tier sealed objects, posing an extremely severe threat!" It's truly terrifying... Caine could not help but furrow his brow, urgently turning the page: "To truly seal the 'Dice of Probability' is quite complex—basically, you need to use specific sealing materials to isolate it from its connections to the spiritual realm, the stellar realm, and the real world. You can try that. "Ha! I'm ready to concede—I've already noticed you can counter my foresight. Perhaps you can leverage that very point to seal it. "There's another method, though it only temporarily reduces its impact—this is sufficient to safely deliver the 'Dice of Probability' to someone capable of sealing it. "The method involves utilizing its living nature: by effectively intimidating it, it will become docile, yes, quiet for a period of time—roughly twelve hours—after which it resumes its usual behavior. "The more times you intimidate it, the less impact it will have. After a week, it will grow resentful and begin wildly manipulating your probabilities. "Finally, thank you for your assistance. My sincere friend, Will O'Ceantin." "Indeed, no surprise that it's 'The Serpent of Fate'—it has truly sensed my unique nature. If I cast the 'Dice of Probability' upon the gray mist, it should be sealed. Yet the issue lies in this: this living, organic 'Level 0' sealing agent might affect the mysterious space above the mist, expelling me and making itself the master. Such an outcome cannot be foreseen through divination—it will surely resist, just as '0–08' did. Caine rejected the idea of using the gray mist. In an instant, a new plan struck him. Caine quickly broke free from the dream, regained full awareness, and turned to the stout pharmacist, Dacwell, saying: "I now have a way to counteract its influence." "What way?" Dacwell asked, visibly surprised. Caine didn't answer immediately. Instead, he picked up the 'Dice of Probability' showing '4' facing up and walked into the bathroom. What was he doing? I recall certain folk traditions where the remedy for supernatural phenomena involves pouring excrement upon them... Oh, heavens—Dacwell would rather not think about it anymore. Once inside the restroom and locking the door behind him, Kline immediately began the ritual, summoning himself. Then he ascended to the gray mist, bringing forth the iron cigarette box. He picked up the "Dice of Probability" and opened the box—inside lay the "Eye of All Black" from the Master of Secret Figures. In the dim light, Kline's face was shadowed, his gaze deep and composed, as he brought the "Dice of Probability" close to the strange eye—this eye possessing the extraordinary trait of embodying the spiritual contamination of the "True Creator." A slow, gentle smile spread across his lips, and in a soft voice, he said to the die: "Come, I'd like to invite you to a concert." Note: The god Savorlud is a homophonic blend of "save/load," meaning "save" and "load." PS: Starting today, we're resuming two updates per day.