"Wait a moment," Beilin asked warmly, "would you like coffee or tea?" Klein smiled and said, "When I was younger, I preferred coffee—its rich, bold flavor always appealed to me. Now, however, I find I appreciate tea even more." "I do too," Beilin replied with a smile. "How about a Duchess tea?" The coffee and tea served by the "Urban Metropolitan Association for Household Servants" were of average quality—somewhat below average—while the Duchess tea was brought by Beilin from her home for her own enjoyment. Klein, though well-informed and observant, had already, upon entering, subtly noted the details of the surroundings. He observed that the coffee and tea cans displayed on the shelves were quite ordinary, and thus inferred that the quality of the contents must not be high. Therefore, he concluded that the Duchess tea either belonged to the association's special collection, reserved for guests of distinction, or was a personal possession of the lady before him. In either case, it clearly conveyed her thoughtfulness. He didn't counter, merely smiled and said, "Thank you, I can't possibly decline your suggestion. 'How should I address you, madam?'" "Belin," she replied, her smile blooming like a flower. She then light-footed entered the inner room, allowing the colleague actually in charge of the records to select the most suitable candidate, and then returned to the reception desk, where she skillfully poured a cup of tea from a silver-lined tin. Oh, such a pleasing face, a refined presence, and an elegant attire that conveys status—despite being in her mid-career, one still senses the warmth and kindness of a young, attractive woman... For the first time, Cline experienced something like this, and couldn't help but feel a deep sense of admiration. It only deepened his appreciation for the principle of the Faceless Ones—"One must always remain oneself." If one fails to remember this, and becomes overly absorbed in the advantages conferred by one's appearance, one will continue to maintain that outward form, gradually forgetting even rejecting one's past self, and eventually losing one's way. Soon, Belin brought over a white porcelain cup with golden accents, placing it before Mr. D'Artagnan. With a gentle smile, she said, "It still needs a few more minutes to cool." Crain looked down at the cup, half-jokingly remarked, "That's exactly what I needed—to settle my thoughts and approach this cup of tea with greater formality." The unspoken appreciation and thanks warmed Belin's heart, making her feel certain that Mr. D'Artagnan was a true gentleman, one who knew how to speak. He was certainly not a devoted follower of the Storm's Lord... Belin combed her brown, slightly wavy hair and returned to the inner room, prompting her colleague. Not long after, she brought over a stack of documents and settled into the adjacent armchair. "After careful selection, here are three suitable candidates for the position. I'll give you a brief overview." "The first, Mr. Asniya, 55 years old. He previously served the Viscount of Yorkville, but after the Viscount's investment in mineral exploration failed, the family faced financial difficulties and was forced to sell off lands and estates, laying off numerous servants, thus leaving Yorkville. Over the past decade, he has been successively employed by two wealthy patrons, where he has made outstanding contributions to their family management." As she spoke, Belin's brown eyes sparkled, like they held two stars, radiating the youthful energy characteristic of a young woman. "So, why did Mr. Asniya leave those two patrons?" asked Caine, nodding gently. "The first patron made substantial investments in East Baylant and relocated his entire family there. Mr. Asniya, unwilling to leave Bekerland, voluntarily resigned. The second patron, due to his less-than-ideal health, entrusted all family affairs to his children, and thus Mr. Asniya found himself with a more trusted housekeeper he could rely on." "Mr. Asniya is a devoted follower of the Goddess of Night, with a political leaning towards the Conservative Party, and is seeking an annual salary of 130 pounds." "May the Goddess protect him," said Crane, drawing a crimson moon with four clockwise strokes on his chest. "Mr. Tang Taise, are you also a follower of the Goddess?" asked Belin, her eyes brightening. "Of course," Crane nodded with a smile, offering no further explanation. How remarkably gentle! Belin silently admired him, then continued: "Mr. Riback, aged 48, previously served the Negan family, holding the positions of deputy housekeeper and assistant housekeeper for many years. He later became the housekeeper to Baron Sindras in a business transaction. Shortly after the Duke of Negan was assassinated, Mr. Riback, whose contract had expired, was not offered a new position by the Baron and thus came to our association for assistance. He is a modest follower of the Lord of Storm, with no notable personality issues, and holds a conservative political stance, seeking an annual salary of 120 pounds." Klein listened quietly, occasionally nodding in agreement without interrupting Belin's narration. Belin flipped through the papers with a rustle, glanced at them several times, and then said, "Third, Mr. Walter, 42 years old, who previously served as a steward and assistant to the house manager at the Viscount Conrad's estate. Due to some disagreements with the house manager, he chose to leave voluntarily, requesting an annual salary of 115 pounds. He is a devoted follower of the Goddess of Night, and his political affiliation is with the New Party." The new governor of Orlaivi Island is a member of the Viscount Conrad's family, a family loyal to the royal house—this information flashed swiftly through Klein's mind. After completing the introduction, Belin handed over the stack of documents and said, "Mr. Dantès, which of these three would you like to select?" Klein paused for a few seconds, then smiled and said, "How about this—let them all come to my place at 9 a.m. tomorrow. I'd like to meet with each of them, have a conversation, and then make my final decision." "He knows that similar associations only act as pure intermediaries and don't provide accommodations—even if he has already decided on a candidate, he wouldn't be able to see his butler until the afternoon or possibly tomorrow. So, why not arrange a small interview session to select someone better aligned with his own intentions?" "Sounds perfect," Beilin smiled. "May I have your address?" Clayne sipped his红茶, picked up the paper and pen on the table, and wrote down the current hotel's name and location. "Have you just arrived in Beckett?" Beilin asked, looking up. Until now, she had noticed that Mr. Doane Thonstad's skin tone was slightly deeper than average, with a warm copper hue, as though he had been exposed to prolonged sun exposure, giving him a somewhat rugged appearance. Hmm, his accent wasn't quite that of Beckett either... Beilin slowly recalled more details. Clayne smiled. "I came from the Dese Gulf, specifically looking for an excellent butler to help me find a suitable home and staff." After paying a deposit of three pounds, he politely took another sip of tea and rose to leave. Belin saw him all the way to the door, watching him board the carriage. Mr. Tancred seemed to be a wealthy man—indeed, it was his demeanor, his gentlemanly grace, that truly captivated her. Belin stood there, thinking casually. Inside the carriage, Clain half-closed his eyes, leaning against the wall, struggling to calculate the upcoming expenses: "The housekeeper will cost about one hundred and twenty pounds. For the personal servant, I'll take the average—thirty-five pounds. The chef, thirty pounds; the gardener, twenty-five pounds; the coachman, twenty-five pounds; the house nurse, twenty pounds; three regular female servants at fifteen pounds each; and three domestic assistants at ten pounds each. Thus, the annual cost for servants alone comes to three hundred and thirty pounds—equivalent to six pounds and seven shillings per week. That exceeds my weekly salary when I was in Tingenthal." "And then there's the carriage—around one hundred pounds—and the garden house, which costs roughly two pounds a week in rent. Not to mention the expenses for food, clothing, wood, and other necessities for all these people. The total is simply staggering. 'Is this what a wealthy man's daily life looks like?' Kenneth suddenly regretted having made such a character. He exhaled, made a conscious effort to push the matter aside, and took the carriage to Pasefield Street in the northern district. There stood a black church, flanked by two bell towers, symmetrically balanced—this was the headquarters of the Night Goddess Church, the Beckettland parish, St. Samuel's Church. Kenneth smoothed the handkerchief in his left pocket, held the golden cane, and stepped into the church, walking through the quiet corridor, where the sunlight streaming through the stained glass illuminated the high ceiling, arriving at the main chapel." It was quite dim, naturally calming the mind. Caine casually found a spot, settled himself against his walking stick, removed his hat, and began closing his eyes in quiet prayer.