7 Pine Street, Leonard Mitchell walked to his desk and unfolded the letter. He then picked up his rounded, absorbent steel pen, lowered his wrist, and prepared to write. But as soon as he produced a deep blue dot, the pen paused, and his wrist attempted several movements before settling back into stillness. He raised his wrist, lowered the pen, and repeated the same motion over and over, until finally his wrist froze mid-air. *Plink!* Leonard set the pen down, crumpled the letter, and precisely tossed it into the wastebasket at the foot of the desk. ... 160 Burkleth Street, Caine took the thin letter from the mouth of one of the two heads of the messenger girl, Renette Tynecole. He held it in his hand, weighing it, until his spiritual intuition no longer signaled a warning, then opened the envelope and extracted the paper inside. The sheet was only one page, written in neat script with two lines of words: "I have something I'd like to ask for your help; I'll go into greater detail when we meet." "Sharon." It was Miss Sharon's letter—now Clarice's confusion was resolved. She took out a coin at random, performed a simple divination in front of Lady Renette Tiniel, and then drew another sheet of paper, writing a single word: "Tonight." Folding the paper neatly, she handed it to the messenger and asked, "Can you still locate the sender?" If not, she would provide Sharon's address: 126 Garth Street, Hillsdon District, Mrs. Maria. "Indeed..." one of Renette Tiniel's golden-haired, bright-eyed heads responded. She then opened her mouth and bit down on the folded letter. Once the image of the messenger girl faded from the room, Caine immediately set up the ritual, preparing to bring the "Thriving Hunger" from the gray mist into the real world and send it on a journey to various islands in search of lucky pirates. ——The "Thriving Hunger" has not yet been sealed and continues to consume one person each day; Caine can only manage to keep it active, retrieving it whenever needed to feed it, and returning it to the gray mist once the timing is right, since the gap in consumption won't be fully made up. "If the 'Thriving Hunger' dares to cause trouble, feed it mushrooms!" After concluding the ritual and tidying up the scene, Caine donned the thin human skin gloves, his form swiftly becoming translucent and vanishing into the air. ………… After dinner, once the "Thriving Hunger" had finished its wailing atop the gray mist, Caine claimed he felt unwell and entered the restroom, retrieving it once more—thus "transmitting" it outside the "Brave Ones" tavern in the Beckland Bridge district. During this process, he naturally transformed in appearance, becoming the distinguished detective Sherlock Moriarty—black hair, brown eyes, a beard, and spectacles. Bending slightly, rolling up his pants, Crane chuckled to himself, lowered his hat, and pushed open the heavy wooden door, entering the bar. After asking the bartender, he took a glass of South Wiltshire beer and went to the outside of table three's billiard room, lightly tapping his fingers against the locked door. Dumb, dumb, dumb... with a rhythmic pattern, the door creaked open a crack. Ian, with his bright red eyes, peered out and immediately smiled, "Mr. Crane, please come in." As the weather grew hotter, he had removed his old coat and simply wore a linen shirt. Crane nodded with a smile, stepping in with a fluid motion and quickly taking in the entire scene: Marić, his hair slightly disheveled, was wearing a white shirt, a black vest, and black trousers, bent over, holding the cue stick, playing billiards. Perhaps the disruption he caused to Sherlock Moriarty left a lasting impression, and this time he did not summon his undead allies to play cards. "Long time no see," Crane said warmly. At the same time, Sharon appeared on the other side of the table, floating slightly as she settled into a high stool, dressed in a sleek black court gown with a small black hat. "Good evening, madam," Crane said, glancing over and bowing politely. Sharon lifted her skirt slightly, inclined her body with a graceful courtesy, and responded. Mariachi set down his club, his voice low and slightly husky: "It seems you've still been staying in Beckland." Though his complexion remained pale, the malice in his brown eyes had softened considerably, suggesting that his recent restraint had been quite effective. Clearly, the acquisition of the "Deep Crimson Coronet" had eased the strain of his condition, so that he no longer nearly collapsed every full moon, and had even begun to regularly switch out his tranquilizers. Regarding Marić's words, Crane offered no direct response. He walked to the table, set down his beer cup, and smiled. "I'm sorry, I originally could have sold you the extraordinary trait of 'the Soul of Resentment,' but it seems to have been lost." Sharon's blue eyes remained still, neither seeking clarification nor probing further. She simply asked, "Are you all right?" She knew that the 'Soul of Resentment' trait spoken of by Sherlock Moriarty belonged to Senior, the 'General of Blood,' and that Senior himself was Moriarty's secret companion. The disappearance of the trait thus meant the damage and loss of that companion—a significant matter for the corresponding extraordinary being. "I'm fine, at least I haven't sustained any personal injury," Crane sighed and smiled. "That explains why I didn't see Senior this time," Marić murmured, somewhat enlightened. Marijch and Miss Sharon didn't particularly mind the "spirit-bound" peculiarity—at least not yet. They had other channels, or other means, surely? Caine敏锐ly picked up on the situation and turned to ask, "What's this time?" Marijch immediately glanced at Ian. The steady young man, still capable of being called a big boy, didn't ask any further questions and quickly exited the table-tennis room, closing the door behind him. Sharon's face, like that of a doll, remained expressionless, allowing Marijch to speak. "Two days from now, a ship from the Southern Continent will arrive at Port Priz. It has close ties with the Roon military. "The ship carries a considerable amount of treasure and artifacts looted from the Star Plateau, the Pas River Valley, and the Haga-Ti Grasslands. Among them is a mummy—belonging to King Tutankhamun II, the nineteenth ruler of the ancient Highland Kingdom." The original language of the Southern Continent did not originate from ancient Fusakian, possessing its own structure. In ancient highland dialect, the king was known as "Kaduf," a specialized term that was translated by Emperor Rosel into "Pharaoh." It's unclear what reasoning he had, but he also coined the term "mummy." Essentially, "Pharaoh" means the human king, a son of the divine. Emperor Tutankhamun II was once a high-tier exceptional being, but after his death, his exceptional qualities were reclaimed, leaving only his physical body preserved and mummified. For other exceptional beings, this spiritually charged material is ideal for creating living corpses. However, for us, it holds an additional significance—of great importance. Our current objective is to obtain this mummified body of Tutankhamun II. What additional significance? What value does a physical body of a high-tier exceptional being, devoid of exceptional traits, hold beyond serving as raw material? Klein's mind snapped into focus, suddenly connecting the dots with the lady of the "Recluse" seeking a single drop of mythical creature's blood. Could this be part of the ritual for the Sequence 5 "Spirit of Resentment" ascending to Sequence 4 "Puppet"? Miss Sharon had already developed the formula and consumed the "Spirit of Resentment" potion—indeed, from her daily demeanor, she seemed to be embodying the "Spirit of Resentment" constantly, possibly having finished it long ago. Yet, the words of the spirit from the underground ruins earlier suggested that at that time, Miss Sharon hadn't yet acquired the "Puppet" potion formula. After all, everyone has their own circle, and it wasn't surprising that Sharon could secure it somehow. Klein glanced at Sharon thoughtfully, noting no obvious changes in her—still as much like a puppet as a living person, though without any more ominous signs. Sharon, in turn, sat quietly, intently observing Sherlock Moriarty and Marič, listening attentively to their conversation. "If the mummies in question are merely high-sequence mummies lacking exceptional qualities, the level of protection wouldn't be very high. Even with just you two, it should be fairly manageable to steal them," Klein mused, raising a question. In his view, sequence 5 could already be considered a near-strength level. Unless the ship was guarded by a half-god, it would be difficult for the same-level guardians to effectively prevent the theft—given that Miss Sharon's objective was simply a mummy. After all, the extraordinary beings responsible had too many important items to protect, and those items might be scattered across different cabins due to varying preservation methods. This time, it was Sharon who offered the explanation, speaking as always with concise clarity: "Our concern is the rose school's trap. If there's no threat, we'll pay 1,000 pounds; if there is, we'll take responsibility for drawing attention, and you'll take the mummy. The amount will vary depending on the level of danger—between 5,000 and 10,000 pounds." "Ah... Kline didn't respond immediately. After a moment's thought, he asked, "Do you know of the Spirit-Realm Raiders?" "Wandering spirits" are also a category of extraordinary beings capable of active service within the Spirit Realm. Sharon nodded slightly. "I'll pay you in gold pounds combined with relevant materials on the Spirit-Realm Raiders." Kline hummed in response. "I'll think about it and write back to you by dawn." As an accomplished "seer," he needed to verify the severity of the threat at the Haze's edge, though he was now certain this wasn't a trap specifically set against him—since he had no need for mummies. "Very well," Sharon said, maintaining her composed expression. Kline didn't immediately leave. He walked to the door and invited Ian in, then casually inquired, "Have there been any noteworthy developments recently?" Ian thought for a moment and then shared one after another of the more significant updates: "…there's interest in an organization devoted to the faith of 'The Fool'…" Kaine blinked in mild surprise and smiled: "A young man with black hair and green eyes?" He suspected it might be Leonard Mitchell. Ian shook his head: "No, black hair and black eyes." Which member of the Aurora Circle? Kaine mused a moment and asked: "Can you describe him clearly?" "...," Ian paused, then self-consciously added, "Then perhaps you'll never be able to recognize him at all." At that moment, Sharon interjected: "I can help you with that." "Good," Ian exhaled in relief and then, as instructed, began preparing a rather simple ritual. He then, trembling and convulsing under the influence of the 'spirit of resentment,' sketched a quick outline: A young man with black, slightly wavy hair, a broad forehead, a lean face, deep black eyes, wearing single-lens spectacles. Amon! "The one who disrespects the gods," Amun!