At the door, Walter, using the glow of the gas streetlamp, peered through the gaps in the iron fence and found no one outside— the street was utterly still. For a moment, Walter doubted he had heard correctly; there had been no doorbell sound at all just now! He steadied himself, then hurried toward the servant's quarters at the back of the house, waking several of them, instructing them to take double-barreled hunting guns and patrol the main house, keeping watch for any intruders or robbers who might have slipped in unnoticed. Walter did not immediately call the police, since nothing had yet happened—the doorbell sound might simply have been the prank of some wandering stranger. Meanwhile, in the most recent section of the sewer, the previous intruder, holding onto the metal handle, moved layer by layer downward, arriving in the dimly lit area. He soon stopped, leaning against the moss-covered wall, and slowly slid down until he settled onto the dirty floor. His eyes closed again, as though he were still unconscious. Before him, a middle-aged man in an old triangular hat and a dark red coat materialized instantly—none other than Klein's séance, "The Mourning Spirit" Senior. Senior bent down and searched the inner pocket of the intruder's clothing, retrieving a coin of seven souele and eleven deniers, along with several small cloth packets containing different powders. Klein, remotely operating the séance from several dozen meters away, identified each powder one by one and confirmed his expectations: they were indeed powders of medicinal herbs from the Domain of the Dead, some of which could be used for "spirit communication"! —It was highly likely that the extraordinary being from Baylang belonged to the "Burial Attendant" path. Even if not yet at Sequence 7, "Spirit Communicator," it was quite normal for such a figure to prepare corresponding herbal powders and essential oils and distilled waters, since these materials served purposes beyond just "spirit communication." Klein then instructed the séance Seniors to swiftly set up the ritual and pray to "The Fool." Then, he responded from above the gray mist, enabling the other party to carry out the next steps. After completing all this, he returned to the real world, taking full control of the "spirit" Senyor, and truly began to channel the spirits. Through the shimmering storm, Caine saw the spirits of the infiltrators—blurry, hazy, and half-conscious. "What is your name? Which faction do you belong to?" Senyor asked in a low tone. The infiltrator replied mechanically: "Goddops, I belong to the 'Black Skeletons.'" The Black Skeletons were a gang located in the edge of the eastern district, near the docks around the Beckland Bridge, primarily composed of people of Baylan descent. Though not as wild or aggressive as the Zmang Group, they were equally fierce and unyielding, willing to kill without hesitation. While recalling the information he had gathered previously, Caine prompted Senyor to continue: "What do you do primarily? Why are you seeking Richardson?" Goddops said, dazed: "We are fighting for the gods. "We were originally members of the Dong Bailang Council. We founded the Black Skeleton Party to gain intelligence and secure funding. Beyond that, there is another mission: to collect various items related to Death and return them to the Southern Continent. This time, we have solid evidence that among Count Wolf's collection there is a mask brought from the mausoleum of the Egges family—a family descended from the gods. To obtain this mask, we need to send someone into Count Wolf's household or to blend into his banquets and galas. Richard is an ideal candidate; he has no prior involvement with any organizations and possesses extensive experience as a servant." The servants in noble households are often "passed down" through generations—how easy it is to blend in… unless there's a sudden need for a large number of hands, in which case temporary hires are made on a short-term basis. Indeed, there are such cases. At tonight's ball, a lady mentioned that several nobles with less-than-stable finances have recently sold off numerous lands and manors, dismissed nearly all their staff, and are now maintaining a respectable standard of living with only around ten servants remaining. When large events like banquets or balls are needed, they hire temporary help from organizations such as the "Household Servants Association" to keep things going. Moreover, Count Wolfs has even preserved the masks from the descendants of the Death family—I recall Mr. Azk's surname is Egus. Unfortunately, I don't currently wish to be interrupted unexpectedly; otherwise, I might find a way to help Mr. Azk secure this mask. Klein murmured a few quiet remarks and then prompted Senior to continue, "How did you first meet Richardson?" "Godophs said stiffly, "We met at our manor in Eastern Baylant, back when we were both slaves. "Among the slaves, there was a quiet movement spreading the faith of the Death God—my mother, Richardson, and I, inevitably, became believers, joining the influential network among the slaves. "Later, Richardson's mother fell ill and passed away, and he was sent to Becland, while I remained in Eastern Baylant, seeking opportunities to escape the manor. "A few years later, I was assigned to Becland, where by chance I reencountered Richardson—yet he had forgotten his mother's death, forgotten the abuse he had endured, forgotten his faith in the Death God, and had been slowly eroded by the supposed tranquility of his daily life! "To avoid me, he deliberately made mistakes, changing employers three times in succession. Yet how could he have imagined that his former companions had transformed into anything other than ordinary people!" "Everyone has the right to choose, as long as they don't harm others. Yet, I and Richardson are two very different people... Inside the room, Klein closed his eyes and asked Senior in a low voice, 'What is the name of the influential organization among the slaves?' Goudops hesitated before responding, 'The Immortal Order—those who believe in the god of death will achieve immortality in the underworld after leaving the painful realm of the living.' The Immortal Order... I'm familiar with that—the branch of the Spiritual Order. Having come from the 'Watchers,' Klein knows this well. He continued to manipulate the spirit figure Senior, gathering extensive information about the Immortal Order, the Eastern Béran Reunification Council, and the Black Skeleton Party, confirming that Goudops and his associates had stained their hands with the blood of countless innocent people. After concluding the spirit communion and tidying up the traces, he waited for two full minutes, then summoned the 'Spirit of Resentment' into Goudops' body once more, guiding him to crawl out of the sewer and back into the shadowed alley beside the street. At that moment, the servants carrying double-barreled hunting guns in the 160th street house were no longer as vigilant, as though they believed the hidden danger had passed. Crane appeared unaware of anything out of the ordinary, still asleep in the main bedroom, yet he had already set up the ritual, summoning himself and responding to himself, carrying the Azkic copper whistle, the iron cigarette box, and "the creeping hunger," and leaving the house silently and imperceptibly in the form of a spectral ghost. He trailed behind Goudops, maintaining a distance of eighty meters, thus manipulating the "prisoner" under the influence of the secret doppelgänger, guiding him to turn into other neighborhoods and board a rented horse carriage at the intersection. An hour later, the figure known as "Goudops" returned to the headquarters of the Black Skeleton Party, a small house located near the docks. This headquarters housed a substantial stock of military supplies, and several members sent by the Eastern Baylant Congress, who formed the upper echelons of the party. "Godopos" knocked on the door as agreed, and to the member who approached, said: "Richardson has yielded." "Good," the member glanced at Godopos only briefly, then stepped aside to let him pass. Godopos surveyed the room and noticed stacks of high-performance explosives and a batch of rifles stored in the corner, while several senior members of the Black Skeletons gathered together, discussing something. "Godopos, would you like a smoke?" the same member offered a cigarette. This was a southern continent-style cigarette, made by wrapping dried tobacco leaves with a small amount of herbs. Godopos accepted it, picked up a match from the table, struck several matches with a swift motion, and then tossed the burning matches toward the corner, toward the more easily ignitable explosive material beside the high-performance explosives. “……” Everyone present stared at Goudophs, momentarily stunned, as if they hadn’t quite realized what had happened. Thunder! At a distance of several tens of meters, on the sidewalk bench, Caine sat there, back turned to the house where flames surged and gusts of wind roared. A few seconds later, Senyor, dressed in a dark red coat with slight traces of scorched fabric, appeared beside him. The "ghostly figure" placed a hand to his chest, bowed slightly, and then returned to the surface of the gold coins resting on the iron cigarette box. Alas, he hadn’t been able to claim his extraordinary trait—otherwise, this wouldn’t have been merely an accident. After all, the senior ranks of the Black Skeleton Party were absolutely expected to possess such abilities. Caine sighed quietly, smoothed out the traces, concluded the summoning, and resumed his position atop the gray mist. The next morning, he went about as if nothing had happened—rose, brushed his teeth, and waited for his personal servant to enter and help him dress for the day. Richardson entered silently and carried out his duties with practiced ease. Then he stepped back, lowering his head and saying, "Mr. President, after completing this week's duties, I would like to resign." Normally, he received his weekly salary from the housekeeper, Tania. "Why?" Klein looked at his reflection in the mirror, while adjusting his waistcoat, and asked. Meanwhile, he thought quietly to himself: It's quite good—he's taking the initiative to resign, not causing any trouble for the employer. Richardson had already prepared his excuse: "I feel my abilities are still insufficient for the role of a personal butler. Last night, during the ball, I spoke with the servants of other guests and realized how much I still have to grow." Klein smiled and replied, "Everyone starts from no experience, so please take a moment to consider it. Give me your final decision tomorrow." "Very well, Mr. President." Richardson said no more, and quietly stepped out of the room to go down to the first floor to fetch the morning newspaper for the employer. During this time, he would glance through it and place the most interesting article on top. As he scanned the news, his gaze suddenly froze, fixed on a single report: "A powerful explosion occurred at No. 79 Diaram Street in the Beckett Bridge district—believed linked to the 'Black Skeleton Party'... "According to police, the party's senior leadership was killed in the accident, including Lima, Moreira, and Godopas..." That... Richard shook his head, doubting he was dreaming.