The Olav Medical Aid Foundation. The woman responsible for volunteer registration hurried to bend down, frantically searching for the pen that had fallen to the floor. At that moment, Crane noticed that she had just been reading a few days' old edition of The News Report—the one featuring his portrait and biography. Did they also subscribe to the newspaper from Rosedale Island? Considering the duration of the ship's journey, it made sense that they could only access news from three or four days prior. If only he had thought of that earlier—he could have reshaped his features and come up with a false name instead. Standing before the office desk, Crane sighed with resignation. Finally, the woman in her thirties managed to pick up the pen, raised her face, and spoke in a trembling voice: "You—you're going to volunteer, aren't you?" "Yes," Crane confirmed. "But—but you're an adventurer," the woman stammered, offering a reason that seemed to have startled her. By instinct, she didn't want such a high-risk individual to become a volunteer. Fame isn't always a good thing... Well, I'll just change my face, my clothes, and my name later. Kline had already given up internally, yet on the surface, he calmly asked, "Who decided that adventurers can't be volunteers?" The lady handling the registration looked as though she was about to cry and blurted out, "Not me!" The volunteer registration room fell instantly silent. Kline was first taken aback, then found himself wanting to laugh—struggling hard to maintain the image of Garmen Sparrow. The lady regained some composure, realizing her response was clearly flawed, and managed a smile, saying, "No, what I mean is, no one has actually set such a rule. "I just remember that adventurers are always busy—always at sea—and rarely find time for volunteer work." "That's exactly what they are," Kline replied simply. The lady reached up and covered her mouth again, offering a fresh smile. "Alright, I'll register you right away." She spoke while drawing out a form and passing it over: "Fill it out, and we'll provide the training and volunteer positions you request. We'll reach out to you directly, or you're welcome to come by yourself." She had already decided in her mind not to file Germaine Sparo's form in the records, but to submit it directly to the foundation's director and to the police department. Oh, Goddess—how could someone so dangerous have come to volunteer? She silently traced a crimson moon on her chest. Klein nodded silently, took the form, sat down, and picked up a pen, swiftly filling in the basic information. During this time, a man in a doctor's white coat entered and asked, "Juanita, is there a new volunteer? We're about to begin our morning training." Juanita, who was meant to be in charge of registration, wanted to shake her head, but even without speaking or lifting her gaze, Germán Spáro conveyed such strong urgency that she felt she couldn’t lie. "Yes," she answered the man in the white coat first, then looked at Caine. "Mr. Spáro, would you like to begin your volunteer orientation training now, or wait until tomorrow?" Caine thought for a moment and replied, "Now." He wanted to get familiar with the setting, building a professional foundation that would allow him to seamlessly transition into a volunteer role later, so he could quickly become useful in the hospital. Juanita clearly took a deep breath. "Then, after you've completed the forms, you'll follow Mr. Graia." "Agreed," Caine responded calmly. Half an hour later, Germán Spáro—calm, polite, yet quietly driven by a mad sense of adventure—stood before the remarkably dirty toilet, holding his breath: "Brush it?" "Yes, you've just received a basic training on patient transfer, but that's not what we do most often at the hospital. Our primary responsibilities are cleaning up vomit, changing bed linens, and keeping restrooms clean and hygienic. Wound dressing and similar tasks are handled by professionals—our role is simply to have a foundational understanding." Glaia patted her nose and pointed to the toilets ahead, stained yellow and black. "There was already a volunteer who demonstrated the procedure—now it's your turn." This is different... different... Initially, Caine wanted to turn and leave right away, but ultimately, he composed himself, picked up the cleaning tools, and despite a strong sense of nausea, approached and knelt down. He then slightly leaned back and extended his right hand. At noon, Caine removed his white coat, donned his hat, and left the Orlavi Medical Aid Foundation with a cold, composed demeanor. He experienced a strong wavering about whether to continue volunteering in search of performance opportunities. It wasn't until he arrived by carriage at the Sweet Lemon Bar that he finally made up his mind to keep trying. "I must become a 'Master of Secret Masks' within 1,350 years and absorb this potion, then begin seeking clues related to higher sequences," he reiterated his goal in his mind. Calming himself, he entered the Sweet Lemon Bar and ordered a pork chop with apple juice and a slice of buttered bread for eight pence at the counter. With the addition of a rye beer priced at one and a half pence, this formed his lunch. He ate it leisurely, wiped his lips with a handkerchief, and then said to the bartender, "Where is your manager? I have something to speak with him about." Since he had already verbally committed to joining the "Knights of Adventure," Caine naturally wouldn't miss the opportunity to leverage this loose alliance. He intended to ask Billter Blancoud to reach out to wild craftsmen or those willing to take freelance work, so they could create items similar to the Azk copper whistle—thus eliminating the need for each time to set up elaborate rituals, recite incantations, and endure the complexity, hassle, and delays involved in summoning messengers. Of course, if Billter Blancoud didn't know any such craftsmen, Caine wouldn't insist—after all, joining the "Knights of Adventure" was free. The bartender pointed toward the staircase. "He's on the second floor." "If you've already agreed to join his alliance and have met the guards, they'll let you up." Caine gave a barely perceptible nod and rose slowly, making his way toward the staircase. Indeed, no guards obstructed him until he reached the second floor, when one guard approached to inquire. Thanks to the reputation of Germán Spáro, he met with Biltre Blancode smoothly and discovered a stranger at the side of his host. "My friend, Sotós Yang, a key member of the Mutual Association," Biltre indicated the man wearing a dark red headscarf. At the same time, they exchanged glances, each seeing in the other a similar weight of seriousness and bewilderment. After a brief greeting, Caine took a chair and spoke directly: "I would like to obtain the assistance of the 'Craftsman.' I'm wondering whether the Mutual Association can provide any leads." "The Craftsman?" Biltre drew a long pull on his cigar, paused for a few seconds, and said thoughtfully, "I do know a 'Craftsman,' but he refuses to meet people he doesn't know well—this poses a significant risk to him. If you have any needs, I can act as an intermediary for you. I believe I have the credibility to do so." "To various churches, occasionally, even mid- to lower-tier extraordinary individuals without ill intent can be overlooked. However, the 'Craftsmen' must treat them uniformly—otherwise, magical artifacts would proliferate, causing significant instability within human society. It seems the organization 'The Adventurers' Mutual Association' under Bilt is not merely wasting resources; it has already gathered considerable assets and networks. Caine presented the already-prepared harp of a merfolk: 'I'd like to transform it into a ring, primarily to enhance underwater capabilities.' He had deliberately withheld mention of the messenger aspect, intending to first test the 'Craftsmen's' capabilities and the credibility of Bilt's group—the spell to summon messengers, if widely disseminated, might generate numerous unforeseen complications." The extraordinary qualities of Sequence 9 aren't expensive—even if Bilt grew greedy and overlooked the already-crafted magical items, it wouldn't matter, since I still have a pile of divine sea domain spells... And besides, I'm not exactly unable to visit him personally to collect my dues. In fact, that might be even better. With his newly formed "Adventurers' Mutual Aid Society," he's surely got plenty of funds and materials. While thinking about this, Kline found himself glancing at Bilt more intently than usual. At that very moment, Bilt unexpectedly shivered, his hair on the back of his neck standing straight up. He felt as though Germain Sparo had been examining him like a treasure—something far from a pleasant experience. Bilt glanced at Sotus beside him and managed a smile. "This is the fishman's bladder, isn't it?" "Materials of this caliber typically don't cause any unexpected issues when crafting magical items." "The craftsmanship fee is 150 pounds—payable upon completion of the work." "A very fair price... Kline nodded silently, tossing the fishman's bladder over. Only after Billt caught it did he add: "Could you also ask that craftsman about the possibility of solidifying the ritual to summon spirits into a single item—something that could be used for at least a full year." "Got it." Billt exhaled in relief and gave a glance to Thosot. Thosot rubbed his sunken eyes and stepped forward. "Mr. Gelmann, have you recently been interested in sailing? We already have several good vessels and are planning to gather a crew to hunt pirates in the east." That sounds interesting... but lately my focus has been on absorbing the potions." Kline shook his head calmly. Thosot's smile stiffened slightly, then faded entirely. He said nothing further, for that was the quiet refusal of a seasoned pirate-adventurer—a captain-level explorer—whose team, along with Bilt, had gathered the relevant newspapers to verify the authenticity of Germán Sparrow. Klein rose slowly, placed his hat upon his chest, and bowed slightly. "Thank you for your assistance." Bilt's facial muscles twitched momentarily, as though struggling to suppress something, with words nearly spilling out. In the end, he drew a slow breath and smiled. "Let us say we've had a most pleasant collaboration." Klein had sensed the unusual demeanor of Bilt and Sotós, yet he held back his questions. He could not ask—once he asked, complications would arise, and matters would unfold... I need to focus now on absorbing the elixir. Klein turned around, walked to the door, and turned the handle. "Mr. Germán," Bilt suddenly interjected. Klein's lips slightly tightened, remained calm, and turned to face him. "Nothing?" Ha! I mean, as a member of the mutual society, having a drink with me will be a bit cheaper." Bill特 forced a smile. Do you really think I'd ask you what's going on? Hmph... Kline nodded gently, opened the door, and stepped out. Watching his silhouette fade into the distance, Bill特 stood there, stunned for a moment, then sighed deeply.