The bathroom windows were high, allowing only limited sunlight to filter in, which barely dispelled the darkness—everything appeared dim and hazy. As Crane's right hand approached the "Eye of Total Blackness," it suddenly trembled, causing him to drop the object to the other side of the vanity. The milky-white die rolled several times before settling with its red 4 facing up. Crane smiled faintly, took a step to the side, and picked up the die with grace, bowing slightly and asking in a composed tone, "It seems you're not inclined to listen. Then, give me a response: a 6 signifies cooperation; any other number means refusal." After speaking, he lifted the die above his hand and caught it as it descended. The milky die fell straight down, swiftly rolling once, landing with its vibrant red 6 facing up. "Excellent," Crane murmured with a low smile. He then returned the "Eye of Total Blackness" to the gray mist and turned to open the bathroom door, walking slowly back into the living room. Under the combined gaze of eager, worried, curious, and puzzled expressions from Dr. Dacwell and the owl Harry, he suddenly stopped, throwing the "Dice of Probability" into the air. "No!" "No!" Both Dr. Dacwell and the owl cried out simultaneously, dreading a result of three or fewer—especially the owl, who instinctively took flight, distancing himself from the possibility of being struck by lightning as the fat man fell. With a crisp sound of contact, the milky dice rolled continuously across the table, nearly settling on two points. Just as Dr. Dacwell's face turned pale, the die lazily spun again, finally landing on four. "Within the next twelve hours, it will remain relatively quiet," said Caine calmly, settling into his seat and beginning to enjoy his now-cooled lunch. Had his method actually worked? Dr. Dacwell bent low, fixing his gaze intently on the unusual die on the table. After several seconds, he reached out, deliberately flipping the die over—revealing six points. As soon as his hand had withdrawn, the dice moved of their own accord, settling back on four. What a miracle!... What exactly had Germán Sparo done? Had he really gone to the bathroom and soaked the dice in there? Oh, well... Dacquell decided to accept the result and stop wondering about the reason—otherwise, he feared he’d be forced to retch on the spot. He glanced up at Germán Sparo, quietly spreading cream on his toast, and suddenly felt that 1,000 pounds and the promise of securing a protector of this caliber were absolutely worth it. He could certainly stand shoulder-to-shoulder with any pirate admiral! If a wealthy man were to encounter something like this, he’d hesitate to take only half his fortune to secure such a service... Fortunately, I’ve only paid 300 pounds, the rest is covered by my teachers. Dacquell thought of the peace of mind he now had for the next twelve hours—no more worrying about the dice rolling haphazardly—and felt a surge of relief, rising to his feet and stretching. He walked to the window, pushed open the tightly shut pane, and there before him lay a sparse sky, vast and open. The boundless blue gently swayed, reflecting the bright, radiant sunlight as if scattered with countless golden fragments—this sudden uplift stirred Dakewell's spirit, opening his chest and heart with renewed clarity. While Beckland wouldn't begin to warm up until late February, the waters around the Rosedale Islands had already begun to shed their cold, and life was stirring anew. Facing the sea, spring was warming—beneath the golden bread, Klein moved to Dakewell's side and back, feeling as though he had just woken from a long winter hibernation. He did not utter the verse that flashed through his mind at once—first, it would not suit the persona of Garmen Sparrow, and second, it would likely make Dakewell reflect on the poetic gifts of the Emperor of Roser. By evening, though the dice had not yet been thrown, the weather shifted—strong winds swept in, dark clouds piled up, and a heavy rain was imminent. This is the most common peril at sea—even on well-traveled, safe routes previously explored—where such situations occur from time to time, though not as severely. Caine glanced at the towering waves and the dim, heavy sky, and realized the ship seemed to be moving through a valley, flanked on both sides by high, ever-ready-to-collapse deep blue "cliffs." The intense pressure made even this mid-tier extraordinary being feel subdued, prompting him to pray to the gods, hoping the passenger steamship would weather the storm unscathed. It was no wonder that seafarers, pirates, and merchants who lived by the sea for long periods held deep reverence for the "Lord of Storms," believing in them to some extent—Caine silently remarked. Though he didn't think this moderately severe storm could sink a passenger vessel powered by both sails and steam, he remained cautious, murmuring a prayer to his waistcoat, the sea deity Cawituvah. What he feared was that, during the storm, the "Dice of Probability" might suddenly erupt—landing a single point—and thus sink the ship to the ocean floor. So he had decided to take preemptive measures. Caine truly believed in the judgment of the "Serpent of Fate," Wil Anstey, that after the first disturbance, the Dice would remain calm for approximately twelve hours—provided there were no additional conditions. He believed that the sealed entity, possessing life, should be treated more as a person than as an embodiment of rules, and therefore must remain vigilant against any sudden challenges. In the master bedroom, Caine stepped into the gray mist and waved his hand, summoning the "Rod of the Sea God" from among the clutter. Holding the short rod topped with a deep blue gem, he swiftly responded to his own petitions. Caine did not expend much spiritual energy to directly calm the storm, for two reasons: first, he had not yet moved far from the waters of the Rothesdale Islands, where such a vivid and dramatic supernatural phenomenon would inevitably draw the attention of either the "King of the Sea," Ayn Cortman, or the storm chaplain aboard the ship; second, he needed to preserve his strength, guarding against the "Dice of Probability." What he did was simple—he layered one after another of extraordinary effects onto the vessel, ensuring it remained steady and upright amid the rain and waves, never tipping over. For half-deities and below, sequence 5 and sequence 6 extraordinary beings, undertaking something similar to what was done on a passenger ship capable of carrying hundreds of people requires extensive advance preparation, an exceptionally complex ritual, and nearly exhausts their resources—only to succeed. To the "Sea God" in this domain, however, everything is effortless and simple. "Indeed, the half-deity already possesses the essence of a god," Klein murmured, setting the staff back into the pile of clutter, and then vanished silently into the gray mist. She didn't sit again at the café but strolled slowly along the street, observing the pedestrians and the surrounding buildings, and occasionally jotting down distinctive individuals as potential material for her novel. "There really are so many foreigners here, mostly Fussaks and Intis—ah, one a wild, sturdy white bear, the other a bright-robed rooster..." Folshe laughed to herself softly. At this point, she reached the midpoint of Williams Street, where there stood an abandoned chapel, its walls and roof covered with withered vines, and gray stones scattered throughout. Motivated by her desire to earn her "World" gentleman's fee, she approached it closely, checking for any anomalies. She first walked around the chapel, finding nothing out of the ordinary. Then she entered, carefully stepping over the foul feces and decaying matter, and quickly examined every corner. Suddenly, her gaze halted, and her brows began to furrow gradually. In a somewhat collapsed corner, the ground appeared to have been dug up by someone—only slightly sunken, with faint traces of fingers still visible! This was indeed an anomaly. Vorse exercised caution, stepping back without conducting a more detailed examination. After walking the entire length of Williams Street, she immediately returned home, gathering together her observations and recorded materials, and performed a ritual offering to Mr. The Fool, requesting that He deliver them to The World—Vorse did not withhold any of what she had seen, even if the surface appearances seemed unremarkable, because she was certain that it was The World, and not herself, who should judge whether something was truly anomalous. He had nearly died the last time he was possessed by spirits—without any helpers, it would have been extremely unlikely he'd dare take another risk... Who could it be...? Kline pondered for a while, unable to pinpoint the suspect, and continued reading. As he glanced at the beautifully composed records, he keenly noticed a discrepancy: "There are quite a few foreigners living on this street, primarily Fasak and Intis people. "When I visited Williams Street before, it wasn't like this—there are new Fasak and Intis companies opening up nearby?" "Fasak, Intis..." Kline chewed on the names, and suddenly remembered something! The royal family of the Fasak Empire, the Einhorne family, and the former royal family of Intis, the Solon family, both hold the 'Hunter' path—also known as the 'Red Priest' path—which is one of the two designated bloodlines specified by the spirits for unsealing the seals. With the descendants of the Medici family from Banxi Port now also holding this path, all three major powers controlling the 'Red Priest' lineage are now directly involved! "Banxi Port was destroyed, causing the Medici family's remarkable traits to converge—through some奇妙 connection—into the suspected 'Red Angel' spirit, thereby attracting members of the Einhorn and Thorin families? 'No, that doesn't quite make sense. If the Storm Church hadn't noticed the extraordinary traits, it would surely have detected this issue. 'Is there another reason? Did the spirit attract the Einhorn and Thorin families through some other means? Through what method, and via whom? Only a few people know of the spirit's existence—me, Miss Sharlen, and...' As her thoughts raced, Cline suddenly recalled a possibility. It was that Lafort Ponde, a descendant of the Tudor family, had, after being briefly possessed by the spirit, gradually become its servant without realizing it—unconsciously spreading its message! 'And the spirit's appeal to me and Miss Sharlen for help was merely a strategy to distract and mislead us, making us believe only we could save it—willing to sacrifice even its own descendants for this purpose!" Klein was suddenly startled, as though deceived by a malevolent spirit.