After a brief moment of astonishment, Emlyn couldn't help but glance around, beginning to doubt whether the "World" was indeed hidden among the few faithful present. After all, he had never mentioned the "Heart-Phantom Candles" in the Tarot Circle, and Bishop Utrofsky was usually very reserved, rarely engaging in disputes or employing any magical artifacts. It wasn't until Emlyn had been subtly encouraged to visit the Harvest Church regularly and received a reminder from Sherlock Moriarty that he had even asked the bishop about the candles—only then did he become aware of their existence. At that very moment, Emlyn saw everyone as the "World"—whether it was the middle-aged man with a stout build, the elderly woman wrapped in a gray-dappled shawl, or the elegant, fashionable young woman—each of them seemed to share a certain resonance with the archetype. No, I need to clarify—how could he know so much about my surroundings? I hadn’t even mentioned certain things to the esteemed “Fool”先生. Emlyn was genuinely startled, rising to his feet and stepping into the back room where the clerical staff rested, where he could respond calmly and privately: “Respected Sir Fool, I would like to speak directly with ‘The World.’” Within less than ten seconds, a tidal wave of deep red light surged before him, engulfing him. Then, he found himself back on the gray mist, within the magnificent palace, once again at his own place. At the far end of the weathered table, the form of ‘The World’ was already waiting, indistinct yet present. Compared to before, Emlyn had improved significantly—he did not rush to speak to ‘The World.’ Instead, he first bowed respectfully to the “Fool” seated regally at the head of the table, then turned to his destination and said, “How did you know I could obtain the ‘Heart’s Torment Candles’?” "World," under Klein's guidance, chuckled softly and lowly, "we may have met." He said little, merely highlighting the essentials; whether the other could deduce the actual situation was entirely his own concern. Of course, Klein believed that Emlyn currently lacked the necessary clues to connect him with Sherlock Moriarty. Emlyn's brow furrowed gradually, accumulating one suspicion after another, yet still unable to pinpoint who exactly "World" was. "Believe me, I have no ill will toward any of the Tarot Circle members," said "World," adding this after Emlyn remained silent for some time. Hmph—eventually, I'll find you! Emlyn murmured silently to himself, then asked, "What are you doing with the 'Heart's Lament Candle'? I must have a solid reason to borrow this remarkable object." Klein restrained the urge to lift his hand to rub his temples, allowing "World" a brief pause: "To treat my mental ailments." "Treating... mental issues... Emlin instinctively stepped back, then straightened his spine again. Looking at "the World," the spark in his eyes clearly conveyed that he was indeed a dangerous madman. "The 'Heart-Phobia Candles' do have this effect," Emlin mused. "I can only borrow them for half a day—will that be all right?" "Fine," Caine held firm, suppressing the fear and pleading voices within his mind as he guided "the World" to respond. If the candles proved effective, Caine could resolve the issue within a single hour; if not, he'd hold them for days or even months—so the rental duration wasn't crucial at all. He was entirely indifferent to such a request. Emlin calculated mentally for two seconds. "The rental is 300 pounds, plus five pages of extraordinary ability recorded in 'Leyman's Travel Notes.'" He had offloaded half of his responsibilities. Five pages… How many pages had this man actually used? Klein muttered to himself while saying to the "World," "No problem." Immediately after the agreement was reached, Emlin returned to the real world and stepped out of the clergy lounge at the Harvest Church. He glanced at Bishop Utrovsky, the half-giant bishop standing beside the altar, waiting to speak with the congregants, and suddenly felt a bit uneasy. Though he had sounded confident to the "World," he had never before borrowed such an item from a priest and had no idea what the priest might think. His eyes involuntarily wandered, and Emlin unconsciously took in the small chapel. I've helped the priest and the church save countless plague-stricken civilians, and I've been teaching those willing to learn about herbal medicine, spreading the faith of the Earth Mother fairly well in this region—what could possibly go wrong with a half-day's supply of "heart-phantom candles"? Emlin lifted his chin, walked toward the bishop whom he had to look up to, and cleared his throat. "I have a friend who's experiencing a mental disturbance. I'd like to borrow the 'candle of heart's dread.'" He didn't mention his own contribution directly, for his pride wouldn't allow it. The bishop, bowing slightly and gazing at Emlin in his priestly robes, smiled gently. "Very well." ... That's it? Emlin was momentarily stunned, unable to believe the bishop had agreed so simply. He didn't accept the offer gracefully, but ventured to ask, "Don't you fear I might lose that candle?" The bishop smiled warmly and replied, "Every person and every object has its own end, returns to the earth, is buried deep, and then re-emerges, grows anew, and blossoms—through one lifetime after another." "This is the fate of all things. If the 'Heart-Phantom Candle' is lost, it means the bond between me and it has reached its end, and I must patiently await the arrangements of fate and my mother." Is the loss of the 'Heart-Phantom Candle' its fate? And will I be killed by you as a result—also fate? Emlyn muttered this under his breath, didn't ask further questions, and took the peculiar candle offered by the half-giant priest. Klein didn't delay, refusing to give the secondary persona a chance to grow strong. He needed to act while it was weak, to resolve the issue completely—otherwise, Klein himself would face an irreversible fate of loss of control. The mysterious environment above the gray mist would fully shield the body from the negative effects of the internal struggle between the two personas. Huff... Klein slowly exhaled, then extended his hand to summon the "Poseidon's Staff." At this moment, he didn't perform any divination, since he couldn't be certain which "I" the term would refer to—thus, the act held no real meaning. Tap! Klein snapped his fingers, lighting the "Heart-Phantom Candle." A delicate blue ethereal flame gently glowed at the black wick, illuminating the palace that resembled a giant's dwelling. Unconsciously, the environment had changed—cupboards, desks, the coal stove, the high and low beds, and the gas meter all came into view at once. Soft, crimson moonlight streamed in through the window, gently draping a veil over every object. This is the room of the apartment where the Moretti family previously lived! This is where Klein Moretti shot himself! At this moment, a figure sits beneath the high and low bed, his face contorted as he gazes at Klein, who holds the "Poseidon Staff" in his hands. He has black hair, brown eyes, a slender build, ordinary features with a distinct, deep contour—clearly another "Klein." This "Klein" speaks with anger: "You have taken possession of my body—do you intend to extinguish my spirit entirely? 'I am Klein Moretti!' You, this base, dishonorable, intruding traveler, this parasite!" It seems he has only recently grown into his own, still unable to effectively utilize external objects. Klein says nothing, his expression serious, and he takes slow, steady steps toward him. The "Klein"’s demeanor gradually shifts, fear slowly taking over his gaze. He curls into himself, trembling slightly, and pleads, "Please, spare me. Spare me." "You took my brother, you took my sister, you took my life—doesn't that suffice? I will remain quietly within your body, analyzing issues, offering suggestions, never challenging you for control. Please, let me go. Please, let me go..." Klein said nothing. He raised his right hand, still holding the "Poseidon's Staff." That Klein, now tear-streaked, furious and terrified, cried out: "I simply wanted to remind you! Wouldn't I have exposed myself if I hadn't wanted to remind you? Please, let me go. Please, let me go—I have no ill will!" Klein silently gazed at the other, allowing the sapphire-blue gem of the "Poseidon's Staff" to glow one by one. A series of lightning bolts surged forth, twisting and entwining, forming a storm that engulfed the figure of that Klein. With a piercing, desperate cry, the form rapidly faded, erased by the cascading electric serpents. "Never mind, it's truly me—knowing where my tender spots lie, knowing exactly how to plead most effectively... Yet, I've already come to understand myself: a synthesis of Zhou Mingrui's memories and emotions, blending in parts of Klein's. If I let you go, it would mean separating these two elements, acknowledging their opposition. And as soon as I return to the real world, I'll immediately lose control." Klein set down his staff, closed his eyes, and murmured a soft sigh. Then, maintaining his clear awareness, he departed from this realm of the mind. PS: First release, then revise—tomorrow everything will be normal.