The funeral bell? Every shot fired is a funeral bell for the enemy? I like that name. Kline controlled his expression, showing neither anticipation nor excitement, and stepped forward to take the longer, iron-black revolver. He had originally worried that by clearly expressing his eagerness, he might be asked to pay a last-minute premium—something common in transactions. But after all, Germán Sparrow was well known, and Anderson, the strongest hunter from the Mists Sea, was there as a witness. As for Oakfa Connerkris, though he might once have been a strong contender in Sequence 5, he had stepped away from the adventurer circle altogether, seeking a quiet, stable life. He certainly wouldn’t dare offend Kline, fearing that if the frenzied adventurer didn’t act immediately, he’d simply slip in at night to the manor. Thus, his composed demeanor became purely a matter of maintaining his persona. Gelman Sparo, after a careful examination and in-depth study of "The Bell of Doom," elaborated as follows: "Its ability is actually quite singular—namely, to harvest lives. This manifests in three distinct ways: "It can also pair well with bullets of different characteristics, tailored to different types of enemies." That sounds exactly like the Sequence 5 "Harvester" path for the "Hunter" route... Caine glanced at Anderson beside him, thoughtfully asking, "If the target is a dragon with physical strength reaching Sequence 4, how many shots would it take to kill it?" Oakfa paused for a moment, then shook his head in mild astonishment, "I've never encountered a dragon." Never mind a dragon with physical strength at the level of a half-god! Could Germaine Sparrow really be aiming to slay such a creature with this gun? Or even a half-god-level dragon? Wouldn't that be a bit too ambitious? Oakfa suddenly felt that today's adventurers were completely different from those he had known during his own active years—completely unconcerned about whether they'd survive or not! Anderson cleared his throat and said, "It really depends on luck. Truly, believe me—luck is absolutely crucial." "If the dragon you're facing has already been severely wounded and is on the brink of death, then a single shot will be sufficient. But if not, my recommendation is to get out of there as quickly as possible—after all, survival is more important. Of course, if a half-divine dragon stands idle and doesn't defend itself, allowing you to strike, then around five well-placed fatal attacks should be enough to kill it." Oakfa glanced at Anderson, then at Germán Sparo, and decided to drop the topic. Instead, he said: "Anderson has told you about the drawbacks of 'The Bell of Doom,' hasn't he? Each time you use it, you gain a weakness that didn't previously exist—or your existing weaknesses are amplified, becoming more pronounced. This effect lasts for six hours. Once, I became extremely afraid of cats, to the point that after having just defeated a renowned pirate, I found myself trembling, knees weak, and collapsed before a young kitten barely a few days old—screaming for help and weeping in desperation." "As long as it's just carried, there shouldn't be any major issues—only a slight tendency to feel thirsty, which can be easily managed by drinking more water and visiting the restroom more often." I just keep feeling that having one more vulnerability will inevitably lead to a series of unforeseen complications... Still, relatively speaking, it's something that can be managed. After a moment's thought, Caine said, "Let's set the price." "Nine thousand pounds, Anderson should have mentioned that—this is my minimum." Oakley, looking at the "Bells and Whistles" revolver in Germán Sparrow's hand, remarked, "This is already quite competitive. If it weren't for my concern that getting to know more extraordinary individuals might disrupt my current lifestyle, I'd definitely be able to sell it for twelve thousand pounds." Indeed, magical items of this caliber—so long as the negative effects aren't severe—can often fetch top prices when encountered by the right buyer. A reasonable range would typically be between ten thousand and twelve thousand pounds. While Caine had intended to offer a bit more, the buyer's price was so low that he felt somewhat embarrassed to press his advantage further, and thus simply nodded, saying, "I'll see what I can do. If there's no issue, we'll close the deal." Of course, he wasn't actually testing the offer—doing so would have introduced an unnecessary vulnerability. Instead, he employed a combination of spiritual exploration and divination-based truth-testing, conducting the assessment with remarkable composure, fully unbothered by the attentions of Oakley and Anderson. Wait a moment—let me double-check one more thing up in the gray mist... But Oakfa wouldn't dare deceive me. He must be afraid of the aftermath of the mad adventurers' retaliation, after all, he's now settled into a quiet, stable life, with a wife and children. Caine placed the "Bell of Doom" on the table, lifted his suitcase, and withdrew the substantial sum of 9,000 pounds—previously carried from the gray mist into the real world to dissipate its scent. Oakfa took the money, quickly counted it, verifying both authenticity and the total amount. "Indeed, you're the most renowned adventurer of recent years—rarely has anyone presented such a large sum of cash in one go. Even some wealthy patrons don't have that much liquid capital," he said, folding the bills neatly and expressing genuine admiration. I had even paid 5,000 pounds for a mere key just earlier... As the 9,000 pounds settled into Oakfa's drawer, Caine felt a sudden sense of emptiness. After all this time at sea, having saved so much, I've lost it all so quickly... Now I'm left with just 2,683 pounds in cash and six gold coins—enough to buy even a decent manor, I'd think not. Klein sighed quietly, removed the ordinary revolver from his armpit holster, extracted the cartridges one by one, and carefully inserted them into the "Bell of Death." "Thank you for your generosity—now I no longer have to worry about this." Oakfa smiled and gestured toward the door. "I've asked my male servant to see you off." Anderson opened his mouth, then chuckled. "Oakfa, aren't you going to keep us for dinner?" "Until you marry and have children, I'll invite you to my most luxurious restaurant to share a feast," Oakfa replied, laughing with a touch of insouciance at his companions' evident disappointment. Outside the manor, Anderson narrowed his eyes and looked up at the sun sinking toward the horizon, then smiled lightly. "When I first met Oakfa, he was merely a physician skilled at cultivating odd plants on ships to improve everyone's lives. I always thought he'd perish early in the course of adventure. Instead, he's been remarkably fortunate—eventually even becoming a 'Druid'." Why do your thoughtful words always come across as so blunt...? Caine said deliberately. "Indeed, they do." "As your companion, surviving requires a good deal of luck." Anderson glanced sideways, studying Gorman Sparrow for a moment with a touch of surprise. "You've learned to mock people too? Has it been my influence?" He didn't particularly care about it, simply straightened his clothes, removed his hat, and smiled. "Well, you've now obtained the magical item you needed. If there's nothing else, I should be off on my own journey." "Don't forget about the half-god's task," said Kline in a single sentence, successfully turning Anderson's expression into one of bitterness. "I already feel a strong urge to get this done soon. No need to say goodbye—perhaps we'll meet again one day." Anderson chuckled to himself, shook his hand holding the hat, and stepped into the other path leading toward Bayam. Silently watched the strongest hunter depart, Caine slowly exhaled, carrying his luggage, and stepped steadily along the original path toward Bayam, the golden hues of the sunset casting a warm glow, framed by trees that stood out with their distinctive palm-like forms. "This matter must be settled before we return to Beckett—there, even the extraordinary ones hide in fear, hard to encounter, and no matter what we do, we risk drawing the Church, some high-ranking figure. It's not a place ideal for selecting or crafting puppets. The sea is better. Right away, I'll head to the tavern. Let's find a pirate with a crime severe enough to warrant execution and test him out." With that, Caine immediately rose and left the room, moving with the same purpose and directness as someone presenting a deposit slip to a bank—straight to the nearby "Seaweed Tavern," a place where renowned pirates often gather. Soon, he reached the tavern's entrance, smoothed his clothing, and pushed open the heavy wooden doors. A series of glances passed over his face, initially passing him by without any noticeable reaction, then someone called out: "Germán Sparrow!" A flurry of figures rushed swiftly toward the back door. By the time Caine had even begun to process what was happening, the bar had grown noticeably quieter.