When he saw Leonard Mitchell, Klein's back muscles instantly stiffened, his spirit tensed like a bowstring pulled to the very limit, ready to snap. He remembered clearly that his poetry classmate hosted an angel from the "Theft Path"—Parves Soloyasde—who was aware of his own uniqueness and thus could detect the disguise! If that elderly gentleman informed Leonard about the current guard's issues, things would become serious—then all he could hope for would be that the poet, fearing exposure of his own secrets, would simply pretend not to know. Previously, in Tinggen, although he often said everyone had their own secrets and didn't need to be overly concerned, those concerns had never directly involved the Church. Who knew whether he might suddenly feel a surge of justice, decide to uphold his duty, and risk revealing the truth—something very much like the incident involving Inz. Zangguel? At that very moment, Klein's forehead nearly beaded with cold sweat. To be honest, he hadn't expected to run into Leonard en route to the Charnel Gate, since Leonard was already a "Red Glove"—not just a regular "Night Watch"—and therefore didn't need to shift shifts anymore; he shouldn't even be down here at this time. However, Caine immediately recalled a crucial point: it was Palis Soloyasde who noticed his uniqueness, not Leonard Mitchell. Palis's attitude was therefore far more significant! The elder gentleman knew I was aware of His existence. Once He pierced my disguise and placed me in peril, I would have to be ready to expose Him—then we'd both suffer, and neither would come out unscathed. For an angel who had arrived by the path of the thief and did not believe in the goddess, this was entirely unnecessary. If I were He, I would simply pretend nothing had happened, never alert Leonard Mitchell, never place my own safety in the hands of the host's single-minded devotion. With renewed composure, Caine regained his calm and walked steadily toward Leonard Mitchell, who wore red gloves. Leonard glanced indifferently at the internal guard across from him, with sparse, silvering hair, and unconsciously lifted his right hand, half-covering his mouth as he yawned. Was he staying up late, doing nothing, simply going to the duty room to play cards? Truly the epitome of a "night owl." Caine now understood why his poetry classmate, the "Red-Gloved" poet, had come here. He recalled the reactions of the internal guards in Tingenthal when they encountered the "night watchmen"—silently nodding to Leonard with a gentle inclination of the head, and then, with their right index and middle fingers, tracing a clockwise circle four times over their chests, as if drawing a crescent moon. Leonard responded with the same gesture, moving straight ahead without the slightest awareness of the internal guard with the more relaxed skin and broader nose, passing him unimpeded. Kline exhaled softly, maintaining the same pace and stride, and continued steadily to his destination. The massive, dark-steel double doors were heavy and cold, bearing seven sacred emblems, as though nothing could ever shake them. Kline leaned slightly to one side, took two steps diagonally, and tapped the door of the guard room, opening the Charnes gate under the watch of the on-duty night watchmen. Instantly, the deep darkness within surged to life—despite the silver candles, each intricately carved with patterns, burning quietly, they could not dispel the sensation, and the pale blue flames only deepened the atmosphere of stillness and quietude. At the same time, Klein felt as though invisible entities were brushing against his skin, penetrating deep into his body, crossing the boundary between reality and illusion, and connecting with the "spirit of resentment" Senior. Suddenly, even without opening his spiritual sight, he saw the fine black threads filling the entire space behind the Charnis Gate, gently swaying, clustering together or extending like a lady brushing her hair or some strange creature waving its appendages. Klein moved forward calmly, stepping into the sealed realm, then turned around and pushed the Charnis Gate shut. At this moment, the sounds from outside seemed completely severed, and within, the quietness was that of a land belonging to the dead—so serene and profound that it naturally evoked a sense of fear, a memory that returned to Klein: as a child, even without hearing ghost stories, he would occasionally lie in his small bed, eyes open, gazing into the darkness, unable to fall asleep. It's no wonder the goddess is known as the "Queen of Fear..." Klein turned his gaze toward the side, lifted the lantern resting in the corner, and skillfully lit it. The warm, yellow light immediately spilled out, tinged with a hint of deep blue. Instead of immediately stepping into the underground passage to reach the second level and search for the Antigonous family's records, Klein remained just behind the door, patiently waiting. He was preparing for the possibility that the night watchmen might urgently need certain items but be unable to retrieve them due to the night's darkness, thus having to wait until morning. Based on his experience, the first five minutes after the internal guards enter through the Charnes Gate were among the most disruptive periods; as long as he could maintain calm during this time and no unforeseen events occurred, routine material requests would be fulfilled by around eight o'clock—by then, the standard working hours for both the night watchmen and the clerical staff. In other words, once Cline made it through the first five minutes, he would be largely undisturbed by the "Night Watch" for the next two hours. Of course, his actual window of action wouldn't be that wide—the Church of the Night Watch would open at 8 p.m., and the servants would rise at least one to one and a half hours early to prepare. After 6:30 p.m., other servants might at any moment notice a colleague missing. Time slipped by, and Cline's heartbeat grew steadily faster, finding those five minutes especially taxing. Finally, after counting silently, he turned his gaze toward the stone steps in the darkness—leading to the second floor. At this point, no one could hold him back. By now, Cline felt he had overcome 70% of the challenges; the remaining 30% would revolve around how to exit once he succeeded. Of course, unforeseen events were always possible. Cline remained vigilant, holding his lantern and stepping steadily toward the stone steps. To other extraordinary beings, the first level beyond the Charnel Gate itself is often more alluring than the sealed artifacts—it houses a variety of extraordinary materials, elixir recipes, and hidden knowledge, and even incarcerates captured cultists and wild extraordinary beings. Whether seeking wealth and advancement or rescuing companions, any visitor who engages merely within this level is already well-served. Yet Caine must delve deeper, toward the chambers housing the hazardous sealed items. As he passed several stone rooms locked tight, he clearly sensed the presence of people within—but they remained silent, without outcry, rage, pleas, or calls for help. They lay or sat quietly, their breaths now cold and faint. The flickering glow of the horse lamps illuminated the staircases descending deeper into the earth. Caine turned his attention inward, moving steadily toward the deeper underground. He did not run, for fear of provoking an overzealous response from the seal's core. The darkness grew denser and the soft blue glow from the elegant candelabras on either side grew fainter, creating the illusion that they were about to fade out—when that happened, the pure darkness might bring forth unimaginable terrors. Despite this instinctive fear, Caine finally made it down the stairs and reached the second level beneath. With the night-vision ability of the "Sorrowful Spirit," Caine observed that the walls here were crafted from steel, brick, earth, and silver, dividing the space into distinct areas—some open, others closed, each housing a unique seal. Holding his lantern and turning left, Caine was suddenly struck by a bright scene: flames blazing brightly, and vivid red anthracite coal and wood charcoal glowing in the light. That area was semi-open, with a steel tub-like structure in the center, its base hollowed out and filled with anthracite coal, wood charcoal, and various combustible materials. They burned steadily, producing a bubbling sound within the steel tub, releasing steam that rose to the ceiling and condensed into droplets, falling like rain. An object that required hot water to fully submerge in order to seal it... and the internal guardian had to regularly add charcoal or coal to prevent the flames from dying out... Well, if there were a sealing object that continuously emitted high heat, they could be combined, making the sealing process simpler. Caine glanced at the steel tub, moving closer with the intention of avoiding any unforeseen disruptions to his plan, and used tools to add coal stacked outside the fire. As he looked up, his peripheral vision caught sight of silver metallic objects suspended beneath the hot water inside the tub. Arranged together, they formed a heavy, complete armor, with patches of dark red blood stains and scattered red spots that could not be washed away. "1–42"... the ancient god's blood... it has been stored long-term in the Beklanth district parish. Klein had seen this seal before, and immediately recalled relevant information. As he was about to shift his gaze, he noticed the simple, silver helmet. The face plate of the helmet had been drawn down, revealing a deep, dark interior. At that moment, Klein felt as though eyes were peering out from within, directly at him. He shivered violently, took two steps back, and his heart raced wildly. Unable to look any longer, he calmed himself and turned his attention forward, stepping steadily away from that area. After passing several enclosed spaces, a sudden inspiration struck him—he sensed something on his right side calling to him, accompanied by a steady, pulsing rhythm, like the beating of his own heart. Indeed, the family's notes of the Antigonos lineage had been waiting for me all along... Caine calmly confirmed his earlier judgment, following the intangible call, altering his course and moving steadily closer. Within just a couple of minutes, he came upon a room with a stone door half-open, deep and dark, with no light at all. As the lantern's glow illuminated the space, a bare, bone-structured bookshelf appeared before Caine, upon which rested an ancient notebook with a solid, dark, glossy cover. The Antigonos family's notebook! "Hornachis... Freglara... Hornachis... Freglara..." the ethereal voice entered Caine's ears, confirming that he had indeed found his destination. Everything had gone smoothly, yet Caine could not afford to be careless or hasty. He entered the room with care, advancing slowly, afraid that the measures sealing the Antigonos family's notebook might harm him. Thus, as the distance narrowed, a hand suddenly extended from his chest and abdomen—dark red, the color of his sleeve! It was Senior, the "Spirit of Resentment." One of the "Master of Secret Figures'" principles: whenever possible, use a "Secret Figure"; should anything go wrong, let the "Secret Figure" bear the burden! At that moment, a sharp "snap" echoed suddenly from the doorway—as though someone had just stepped in! Klein's pupils dilated instantly. Without hesitation, he rushed toward the skeletal bookshelf, aiming to have the "Secret Figure" hand swiftly grasp the Antigonous family's notes. At the same time, he reached into his coat pocket with his right hand, preparing to open the iron cigarette box and don the "Crawling Hunger," so as to initiate a direct transmission before the seal's core could react! Throughout this action, a clear image of the doorway unfolded in his mind: A figure wearing a hood and a classical robe stood there, with a refined face yet expressionless, deep black eyes yet lacking vitality. Who among the church's upper echelon had directly erased Mr. A and terminated the great smog crisis in Beckland? How could she have remained hidden underground? This doesn't make logical sense! As a wave of fear surged through Klein's mind, he instinctively lowered his gaze to his own body. His body appeared as if erased by a rubber eraser—quickly fading from the page, already completely vanishing before it even touched the Antigonos family's notes. PS: Monday request for monthly ticket recommendations, and a heartfelt thanks to Mr. Y for giving the True Maker a birthday.