What happened? Caine's spirit instantly tightened. He had experienced so many surprises and knew well that extraordinary events often occurred around him—when such things happened, he naturally became highly alert, as though suffering from post-traumatic symptoms. Gazing steadily at the silhouette of Hayou尔·Machet vanishing down the staircase, Caine noticed that she was merely hurried, not panicked. This suggests that the situation is under her control... Mahert is a member of the House of Lords, one of the highest ranks in the kingdom, just below the nobility, and likely has extraordinary individuals protecting her. Moreover, Lord Hol's eldest son is here too—his bodyguards are surely extraordinary. The Saint-Semuel Church is only about ten minutes by carriage from Berkland Street. If anything were to go wrong, the night watchmen and bishops could arrive promptly. Unless someone had already made up their mind to die, no one would deliberately create an incident at this ball... Klein gradually calmed down, forming a new hypothesis about Heilur: she had rushed up to the third floor to counteract the negative effects of the magical artifact! When Klein first asked Arodes, he inquired about sources of magical items capable of stealing others' extraordinary abilities, and one of the answers provided by the "Mirror" was precisely Heilur Mahert. As he recalled the scene from earlier when dancing, the image of Hayourel swiftly reformed in Cline's mind, centered around the various accessories she wore. The hairpins, earrings, necklace, brooch, sheer gloves—what would it be? Cline turned his gaze away, feeling a growing thirst, and picked up a glass of water, drinking it steadily until it was empty. Just as he set the glass down, he spotted Miss Vahanah Heisen approaching with a tray. The lady wore a red dress that never seemed out of place, and with a gentle smile, she addressed D'Artagnan Thonson: "I've noticed you aren't particularly fond of wine." "I've once delayed a very important matter simply because of drinking," Cline added, enriching D'Artagnan's image with a sense of experience and depth. Of course, he was well-controlled—he didn't use his "faceless" ability to dissolve a finger, thereby demonstrating just how resolute his earlier decision had been. Wahana smiled thoughtfully, saying, "Your past is full of mysteries—a quality that holds irresistible appeal for so many young women." She didn't pursue the topic further, but instead added, "By the way, I'd like to tell you that my husband's troubles have been resolved." As he stepped out of the restroom, Caine glanced up again at the staircase leading from the second to the third floor and noticed that Hayouer Machet was descending step by step, her pace no longer hurried, her expression calm and steady. Indeed, everything was fine—probably just the negative effect of the magical items she carried. He didn’t yet know what exactly caused it. Caine exhaled in relief and casually scanned the dance floor. Between shifts in the music, he approached a lady and invited her to dance. With Doun Thonat’s appearance and demeanor, there was no way the invitation would be declined. As they danced, exchanged pleasantries, and occasionally paused to eat, the evening slowly wound down, and one guest after another began to depart. Caine, who had completed his card-exchange duties, followed suit—neither the first nor the last to leave. The hall soon grew quiet. Lady Liyan supervised the servants as they cleared the space and called her daughter, Hayouer Machet, over. "Mr. D'Artagnan has performed far better than I expected. Already several ladies have approached me privately to inquire about him." Lady Liaina said subtly. "Hayourel, you just danced and chatted with Mr. D'Artagnan—how do you find him? You're more mature than most of your peers, and I'm certain you have good judgment." She knew her daughter well, so she deliberately added the last sentence, otherwise Hayourel likely wouldn't have felt inclined to respond in detail. Before her mother, Hayourel wasn't quite as proud. After a moment's thought, she replied, "He's not very familiar with this circle, so he sometimes raises topics that might offend people, but he's clearly well-informed." "Well-informed..." Lady Liaina repeated her daughter's words, slightly surprised. To her knowledge of Hayourel, this was a very high compliment. She found herself a little concerned, fearing that her daughter might have fallen for Mr. D'Artagnan. Haiyur didn't hold much regard for the eligible gentlemen around her—were they simply too young, too superficial, lacking in capability? Dauin Tangtse was exactly the type that early-maturing women favored... Liaena suddenly regretted inviting that gentleman to the ball. She knew, given Haiyur's nature, that if she fell in love and faced opposition, she might very well choose to elope. It seemed Haiyur had sensed her mother's thoughts, and responded with calm composure: "I only admire men who are strong enough." Relief washed over Liaena silently—she no longer worried about the earlier concern, for Haiyur was a girl who never fabricated lies. ...Late at night, Haiyur rose from her bed, using her night vision ability, and changed into more practical attire. She climbed down from the balcony of her bedroom, carefully avoiding the household bodyguards, and slipped through the garden to the midsection of Burkleand Street—not every manhole entrance allowed human passage with vertical metal staircases. Haiyur skillfully shifted the manhole cover, descended, and then closed it again from within. It was nearly three-quarters of an hour before she moved the cover and returned into the street's shadow. At that moment, she spotted a silhouette gracefully flipping into the garden nearby. "160..." she murmured, reciting the corresponding house number. That was Doane Tangtse's home. On the third floor, Kline awoke once more from a dream, stirred by a spiritual intuition, eager to seize the intruder and feed them to the "creeping hunger." This time, he simply opened the iron cigarette box and summoned his "ghostly spirit" figure. Senior's silhouette in his deep red coat first entered the full-length mirror, then leapt onto the convex windowpane of the servant's room. "He" watched Richardson, seeing the man roll over and sit up, trembling with a mixture of fear and anxiety, gazing toward the door. The door opened silently, and a figure stepped in. Under the soft crimson moonlight, the intruder revealed his warm, golden-brown complexion, gentle contours, and dark, wavy hair—clearly of the Baylan race from the southern continent. Standing at the doorway, he spoke to Richardson, who was now looking at him, his voice calm yet firm: "Have you thought this through? Do not think that once you leave us, you'll find the peaceful life you seek—your blood runs with that of the Children of Death, destined to give everything in service to the restoration of the divine glory. Think of your mother, of the mistreatment you've endured—do you wish your children to grow up under the same eyes of prejudice, forever serving others?" “…But what can I possibly do…” Richardson lowered his head, speaking with difficulty. “Wait for your assignment,” the infiltrator’s voice softened slightly. Richardson didn’t know whether to respond positively or not—his mind still seemed to be struggling. The infiltrator didn’t notice his hesitation. Once he had made his commitment, he turned around and exited the room, retracing his steps. The blow struck the black silhouette, yet passed straight through it—as if the shadow had been cast by the glow of the gaslight. At the same time, he was struck hard on the back of the head and collapsed unconscious. Sea-Huel appeared suddenly at the side and rear of the intruder, her expression slightly animated, as though she had successfully executed a well-crafted deception. She quickly composed herself, maintaining her dignified posture, and glanced toward the black iron gate of No. 160 Berkland Street. The young woman bent down, grasped the intruder's arm, and steadily dragged him toward Doane Thénardier's door. Then, Sea-Huel released her left hand to erase traces, raised her chin slightly, and took two steps forward to ring the bell. Finally, she straightened her back and swiftly departed, moving along the street's shadows back home. And beneath the gas lamp outside No. 160, the figure in a dark red coat, wearing an old triangular hat, stood still, reflected in the glass surface enclosed by the black metal grille, silently observing the entire scene. ……How should he handle this? Klein thought, troubled. He knew that Hayur had kindly assisted the neighbor in resolving the intruder issue without revealing her name. However, once the housekeeper reported the matter and the investigation deepened, it would inevitably be passed on to the night watch staff. Then, who had fainted the intruder would become a crucial point of inquiry. If Klein were merely an ordinary person, there would be no issue—let the night watch staff handle the matter as they saw fit. But he was not only a strong Sequence 5, and moreover, he had been actively planning to steal items from behind the Charnes Gate, and he did not wish to have his plans unexpectedly interrupted. Thus, he would have to once again assume a different identity. To be frank, his initial idea had been to find a pretext for dismissing Richardson. Yet, the conversation he had just heard had somewhat unsettled him. If I dismissed Richardson now, Richard, who longed for a peaceful life, would be pushed into the depths by my own hands—forced to mingle with that crowd. Unfortunately, the identity of Daven Toutes carries a "mission"; otherwise, offering him a simple helping hand wouldn't be much of a burden. Klein sighed and thought this over. A few seconds later, the unconscious infiltrator who had been lying at the door suddenly sat up, moved his neck, and slipped into the nearby shadows, while at that very moment, the butler Walter, just stepping out of the house door, was now dressing and hearing the sound of the doorbell.