22 Hope Road, Chawood District, The Hat Trick Inn. The front-desk attendant, who was about to take a sip of water, noticed a lady entering at the door. The lady stood about 1.65 meters tall, dressed in a light-colored, ruffled long dress, with wavy brown hair flowing down her shoulders, wearing a pair of glasses made of colored glass, giving off a relaxed, just-returned-from-the-Desire Gulf atmosphere. She carried a deep brown leather suitcase and walked steadily toward the front desk. A distinguished lady... such a lovely outfit... it would be interesting to see her remove her colored glasses... As a woman, the attendant naturally began by assessing her attire and accessories. Soon, she heard the lady speak in a languid tone: "I'd like to stay one night, in a single room." "Two shillings and eight pence," the attendant announced the current room rate before asking, "Do you have any identification?" She wasn't enthusiastic about the registration process, since the hotel itself was completely unable to verify the authenticity of the documents. "Yes," the lady set down her brown suitcase and, from her handbag, produced a stack of identification documents, which she handed over. "Margaret Taylor..." the waiter murmured, taking notes, and then retrieved a set of keys, "Room 2012." "Thank you," the stylish woman at the other end took the keys, lifted her brown suitcase, and walked toward the staircase. At that moment, a waiter in a red uniform approached, bowed politely, and asked, "Can I assist you with anything?" His eyes immediately fell upon the brown suitcase she was carrying. The lady smiled gently, shook her head, "No, it's quite light." Then, without pausing, she ascended the stairs layer by layer and entered Room 2012. Once the door was closed and the luggage cart placed, she suddenly raised her right hand and pressed it to her chest, taking a long, deep breath: "It feels like I'm a psycho killer..." She was indeed the disguised Furse, and her luggage cart contained nothing but the head of Mr. X, wrapped in a newspaper! The two attendants just now certainly couldn't have imagined that a fashionable lady carrying a luggage cart would have nothing inside—no clothes, no skincare products, no cosmetics—only a head that was nearly shattered, stained with blood. If discovered, the entire hotel staff would be stunned. That's exactly the kind of material for a detective novel! Furse calmed her nerves and picked up the luggage cart again, opening the door. She glanced down the corridor, noting that no one was passing, and hurried out, reaching the door of Room 2016. She tapped gently on the wooden door with her fingers. Her teacher, Dorian Gray Abraham, lived in this room, which she had previously occupied. Noticing that someone was observing her from the cat's eye, Furse heard the sound of the handle turning and the lock mechanism engaging. Dorian Gray, dressed in a black suit with broad shoulders, scanned cautiously to the left and right, then stepped aside to make room for the students. "Has no one noticed?" he asked, closing the door carefully. Furse set down her suitcase and removed her tinted glasses, which had partially covered her face. "No, I'm using a false identity." As a fairly experienced extraordinary among the undercurrents of Beckett, she regularly maintained several sets of identification documents. Moreover, she had expert help from Hugh. The only issue was that false identities, no matter how well crafted, could always be uncovered under a thorough police comparison check. However, Folth heard that certain channels could secure genuine identification documents—official documents registered and on file with the police department, which could also be updated with new photos—though at a significantly higher cost. Dorian nodded gently, exhaled silently, then invited Folth to sit down, pulling a chair over. "You mentioned in your letter that at a remarkable gathering of the Beaconland exceptionalists, someone had placed a bounty to locate a direct descendant of the Abraham family, aiming to obtain the information from 'Mr. Door,' correct?" "Yes, Teacher," Folth replied with unwavering truth. "I myself am unfamiliar with that family, so I thought it best to consult you to see if you might be aware of them." She only withheld two details: first, that the gathering was known as the Tarot Circle, and second, that she had long known the Teacher to be a member of the Abraham family. Dorian sat down, lifted his white-glazed porcelain teacup and took a sip, maintaining a calm demeanor as he asked, "Who exactly is the person placing the bounty?" "I don't know for sure, but I'm certain it's a lady who has concealed her appearance—well, she must be quite strong in ability, and her backing must also be substantial." Vorth described the "hidden lady" as she imagined her in her mind. She didn't mention that the lady had a close relationship with the "Mysterious Queen" Bernadette. Dorian Gray pondered for a few seconds before saying, "The information I have isn't extensive. I only know that the 'Gate' gentleman was an ancestor of the Abraham family, who disappeared during the 'Four Kings' War. You can use this detail to earn a reward." Is the 'Gate' gentleman an ancestor of the Abraham family? The very man who had been responsible for the full-moon curse that had plagued the Abraham family for so long, causing countless members to fall out of control, is actually an ancestor of the family? Vorth was stunned. Having already learned a bit about the Abraham family's issues from the 'Fool' gentleman, she couldn't believe that the root cause of all this was the very source of their lineage! Did the 'Gate' gentleman not understand the consequences of his own actions? Forsyth spoke silently to herself, her brow unconsciously furrowing. Dorian Gray noticed the student's unusual reaction and asked with slight curiosity, "Is there anything wrong?" Oh dear, he hadn't managed to hide his expression after all... Forsyth paused and said, "I just don't understand—after all these centuries, besides the direct descendants of the Abraham family, who else would want information from Mr. Door, and what would their purpose be?" Perhaps they simply hoped to find Mr. Door again? Ah, yes. The "Mysterious Queen" is the daughter of Emperor Roscel, and Roscel's diary mentions a gentleman known as "The Door." Therefore, it's quite natural that the Queen seeks out "The Door" to uncover the truth from that time. Yet, "The Door" vanished during the War of the Four Emperors—separated from Roscel's era by over a thousand years. How could these two be connected? Could Emperor Roscel himself hear the moon's whispered murmurs? Hmm, I recall that "The Fool" once teased "The Door," suggesting that perhaps He was calling out in distress. If that's true—truly, truly—well, as a writer, I find myself utterly at a loss for words to express my current feelings. Dorian offered a wry smile and said, "I must admit, I'm also puzzled by this very question. If you find an answer, please do let me know." Fleur, unwilling to dwell on this matter any longer, fearing that Dorian Gray might notice her hesitation, shifted the conversation and asked, "Teacher, how did you suddenly come to Beckland?" Dorian smiled, pulled out a cigarette, inhaled deeply through his nose, but didn't light it. "I've just got a few matters to attend to in Beckett. I'd also like to check on your progress with the astrological studies." In fact, he had been surprised by the news relayed in Firth's letter—unbelievably, someone still cared about the 'Gate' man. After all, the internal efforts of the Abraham family had largely given up on this, and only he had remained committed, actively teaching his students. This reminded him of a prophecy circulating within the family, predicting that the Abraham lineage would gradually draw closer to its demise. Linking these two developments together, he hurried to Beckett to verify his students' status, hoping she would soon be promoted and thus preserve a glimmer of hope for the Abraham family. "I've just begun to grasp the fundamentals of astrology," Firth replied, a bit self-conscious. Recently, due to financial constraints, she hadn't yet been able to afford the high-quality crystal spheres required by an astrologer. To shift the conversation away from this topic, Fotheringhame turned to Dorian Gray for guidance on the principles of embodying a "horoscope reader," receiving insights such as "astrology is not all-powerful." As they drew to a close, Fotheringhame glanced at the deep brown suitcase beside him and said, "Teacher, there's one more matter." "What is it?" Dorian leaned back against the chair, sipping his tea leisurely. Fotheringhame delivered her well-rehearsed point: "Since I've learned of Louis Venn's betrayal of the organization and the significant damage it has caused you, I've always wanted to find him and avenge that harm." "Abandon this idea!" Dorian sat up straight at once. "Even if you have 'Lehmann's Travel Notes,' you won't be able to defeat him, let alone kill him. I'm truly touched by your sincerity, but you have no need to risk it." "I simply can't manage this alone..." Folsom murmured silently, then said directly, "I know a remarkably skilled bounty hunter. I paid him nearly ten thousand gold pounds to assist me." She couldn't gauge the true value of what she had offered, so she used the price that Miss Audrey had previously set for the assassination of Ambassador Indis. Perhaps he's a fraud... Louis Vain is likely a true traveler, and he has the backing of the Aurora Circle. Dorian was about to point out that no bounty hunter could possibly be a match for Louis Vain when the student interjected, "He's already succeeded." Cough! Cough! Cough! Dorian was suddenly choked by his own saliva, coughing so violently it seemed as if his lungs were being torn apart. The teacup in his hand tumbled to the floor, only to spring back up magically and settle neatly onto the table. "He gave me Louis Vain's head." "Vorst opened the deep brown suitcase and removed a spherical object wrapped in newspaper. As the newspaper unfolded gradually, Dorian saw the face he would never forget—no longer the confident smile he had seen when Louis Vene attacked the Abraham family headquarters, now replaced by a grim, painful, and desperate expression. Cracks ran across his head, as if composed of separate fragments stuck together. As a 'horoscope reader,' Dorian's intuitive sense of spirit undeniably told him this was Louis Vene's head. 'Well, well...' Dorian murmured, slightly excited, and looked up at the student. 'Who is this bounty hunter? I can't imagine there's such a powerful figure hidden among the bounty hunters of Beckland.' Vorst paused thoughtfully. 'Germán Sparo.'