Upon hearing Leonard Mitchell's invitation, Emling did not hesitate. With a silk hat in hand and a faint, gentle smile, he calmly entered the house. He did not remove his coat, for the "Professor of Potions" always carried numerous accessories that would otherwise become a visual clutter if exposed. Emling sat down in his crisp tailcoat, back resting against the support behind him, and spoke with ease: "Actually, it doesn't have to be this complicated. If you have something, simply state the price. If not, just be honest. Of course, I'm certain you do." He offered a light chuckle, his bright red eyes reflecting Leonard Mitchell's relaxed, unbuttoned posture. This scene—knowing his secrets while he remained entirely unaware of Emling's—left Emling feeling at ease and supremely confident. Leonard brushed his dark hair with a finger, settled himself into the chair across from him, and smiled calmly, without any sign of surprise or hesitation: "At least I need to know who it is that wants something." "Perhaps me, perhaps my friend," Emlyn gently lifted his chin, offering a graceful smile. Leonard narrowed his eyes, slightly tilting his head as if pondering something. Finally, he chuckled, "Well, since you've come with this badge, I'll be honest. I do indeed possess a magical item that allows me to steal extraordinary abilities from others—and that's the only one. If you'd like to purchase it, the price is 7,000 pounds, no negotiation." 7,000 pounds? That seems quite expensive for a magical item of this kind. Though it didn't require his own funds, Emlyn was still startled, nearly losing his noble composure. In his mind, he had already mentally converted the sum into the equivalent number of dolls and doll gowns. After a quiet pause, Emlyn smiled and said, "I'll think about it. I'll get back to you within the next couple of days." "Very well," Leonard Mitchell gave a slight smile. After leaving the house at No. 7 on Pinstreet, Emlin seemed as if nothing had happened at all, hiring a rented carriage to head toward the steam subway station in the northern district, and eventually returning to the southern district of the Bridge. Removing his hat and glancing back at the street filled with pedestrians, Emlin chuckled softly and stepped into the Harvest Church. Between a row of trees and a dark iron gas lamp post, a faint shadow suddenly stirred, emerging into view—Leonard Mitchell, with black hair and green eyes. He appeared silently, unnoticed by any passerby. "Someone from the Church of the Earth Mother?" Leonard furrowed his brows, as though speaking to himself. He paused for a moment, then walked away from the street where the Harvest Church stood. ... "Seven thousand pounds? Why didn't he just rob them?" Klein, listening to Emlin's report from above the gray mist, nearly let out a sound, almost gasping. Similar words had been spoken by him when he was Germán Sparrow, yet the emotions in the two scenes could not have been more different. According to Third Mate "The Necktie" Yodsen, Klein estimated that the price of such a magical item was around 5,000 pounds, perhaps reaching up to 6,000 with a premium. Who would have thought that Leonard Mitchell had directly set the price at 7,000 pounds! Could it be that the item belonged to a higher-tier legacy, with the mere theft of another person's extraordinary abilities being just one of its effects? No—if that were the case, the price should have started at at least 10,000 pounds. Poet classmate, I never realized you were such a shrewd merchant. You've always seemed so composed and indifferent to money. Klein couldn't help but sigh a few times. With clear leads now, a promising path emerging, and the matter being solvable through funds, he had no intention of pursuing any other avenues, lest unforeseen complications arise. He quickly calculated his current assets and found it was a price he could comfortably bear: "Adding the pharmacist's advance fee of 300 pounds, the reward for 'The Speaker' at 5,400 pounds, and the money recovered from the body, and subtracting the 200 pounds paid to the 'Magician' lady, I now have a total of 12,767 pounds in cash plus five gold coins—plus an additional 3 shillings and 8 pence. Moreover, by the end of this week, 'Justice' will settle her outstanding debt of 2,000 pounds and the 1,800 pounds for the 'Psychologist' specialty fee. I'm far wealthier than I expected—even in Beckland, I can truly be considered a wealthy man." Kaine took a deep breath, no longer hesitating, and let the cash fly from the top of the cluttered pile, landing neatly on the table. He carefully counted out 7,500 pounds in cash and set them aside—7,000 pounds for the magical items and 500 pounds for Emlin's 'Risk' fee. Oh, after all the hard work, they've just lost half of it... Klein materialized the "World," had it gesture as if in prayer to inform Emlin that everything was fine, and scheduled the ritual for one hour later to receive the transfer from the "Fool." Additionally, Klein asked the "World" to remind the "Moon," Emlin, not to rush into completing the transaction once he receives the cash—instead, to wait until tomorrow. He's afraid that the Zoroastrian angel within Leonard Mitchell might detect the faint misty aura on the bills and wish to allow it to "breathe out" a bit, just as he had done when giving Emlin the medal. One hour passed, and Klein glanced at the remaining pounds, now reduced in thickness by more than half, sighed, and returned to the real world. It was now Friday at 10:40 a.m., just under eight hours before the passenger ship arrived at Orlavi Island. It’s time once again to intimidate the "dice of probability"... Klein murmured, performed the ritual, and brought forth the iron cigarette box containing the "Eye of Pure Black." He knew that the stout pharmacist, Dacwell, would have doubts, so he deliberately took the dice to the bathroom to handle them. As the "dice of probability" settled back into quiet, Klein swiftly finished preparing the "Eye of Pure Black" and the iron cigarette box, exhaled deeply, and mentally calculated the time: "We should be able to hold on until we hand it over to Dacwell's contact—no further action will be needed." Then, with a renewed sense of concern, Klein pondered another issue: "The 'Eye of Pure Black' has already appeared before the 'True Maker,' and has even suffered from His spiritual contamination. If we're presenting it again after several hours, perhaps the True Maker will lock onto it and dispatch a stronger force to locate it." "But each time it's only a couple of minutes—shouldn't be too bad. Even if they notice, their sense of location won't be very precise. After all, when it comes to the 'True Maker,' divination can't settle it—we can only remain vigilant. Fortunately, this is the last time, and we've only got about seven or eight hours until our destination... Why on earth have I set such a flag for myself? Pfft, pfft, pfft—nothing came to mind just now." Oh, I simply don't know enough about it—after all, it's precisely the kind of keyboard warrior who knows a little about everything, but only a little. Caine sat down on the sofa, placing the pale white die into his ring box, patiently waiting for evening to fall and the ship to arrive at port. Time passed slowly, the bright sun in the sky gradually shifting westward, descending lower and lower. Then, while Caine was resting with his eyes closed, he suddenly straightened up, sensing an intense threat looming! This went beyond the intuitive spiritual sense of a seer or the instinctive sense of danger shared by a clown—it felt as though an invisible gray mist, strangely rippling around him, had begun to stir. "There's an enemy! Either Ulus, the 'Devourer of Tails,' or one of the 'Aurora Circle' saints?" Caine opened his eyes, his expression unusually serious as he pondered his course of action. At this moment, any misstep would mean he'd have to consider the possibility of coming back from the dead. As for the plump pharmacist Dacwell and the owl Hare—they were absolutely certain to meet the same fate. At first, he had hoped that the arrival would only produce a vague sense of awareness, identifying only a broad area—definitely not pinpointing himself or "the dice of probability." However, given that this was a ship navigating the vast, uninhabited sea, locking onto a target seemed quite feasible. Once the target was found, the situation would likely become far more complicated, so he decided to act decisively and abandon his hopes. He no longer hesitated. Drawing upon the contingency plans he had prepared over the past few days, he leaned forward and picked up the "Dice of Probability." "I'll call for a judgment of one point for the newly arrived malice," Caine said firmly, tossing the pale white die into the air, and unconsciously prayed to the goddess in his heart, hoping the die—still fresh with its recent scare—would respond well and fulfill its purpose. At the same time, he remained exceptionally composed, ensuring the die wouldn't sense his own tension and thus disrupt its performance. At once, Klein felt the danger recede, and involuntarily let out a quiet breath of relief. He gazed at the "Dice of Probability" on the coffee table, and silently murmured to himself: "If this dice didn't have such strong negative effects, it could be so fully utilized—truly a marvel! 'No wonder it's a Class 0 sealing object. No wonder it's the unique essence of the 'Monster' path.' " "What exactly happened just now?" Dr. Dacwell, the stout pharmacist, finally found the courage to ask, speaking with cautious care. Klein remained motionless, responding calmly: "You don't need to know." "I understand. I understand. The more I know, the more dangerous it becomes," Dacwell wiped the cold sweat from his brow. For the next several hours, nothing unexpected occurred. When the sun dipped below the horizon and the sky turned completely dark, Klein finally saw a tall lighthouse emerging in the distance.