"Destiny!" The ancient, heavy Hesperian word resonated through the air, and at that moment, the ethereal conqueror and the position where Kline stood momentarily dimmed—so subtly that it seemed merely as if a cloud had drifted past, without pausing. Yet, as the phantom-like shadow swiftly faded, the "Formless One," draped in a semi-transparent white robe, stood rigid in place, the surface of the robe revealing unmistakable traces of insect-like movements—slow, stiff, laborious. Opposite him, Kline's eyes had regained their full clarity, and the flesh growths beneath the triple crown had completely vanished. It appeared now as though it had not been the ethereal conqueror manipulating Kline's "spirit threads" and nearing success, but rather Kline himself guiding the conqueror's "spirit threads," and about to transform him into a secret puppet! The "Stole of Destiny" spell—destinies reversed! This high-level incantation crafted from the "Chrono-Insect" can steal a target's future fate and graft its own shorter-term future onto the target, thereby achieving a mutual exchange. As a result, Kline and the Spirit Devourer have instantly swapped their situations—one transitioning from death to life, the other plummeting from victory in sight to utter desperation. After confirming the Spirit Devourer's intelligence and resilience, proving it to be a formidable opponent difficult to hunt, Kline begins to stage a retreat—seeming hasty, yet deliberately drawing himself deeper into the Spirit Devourer's control, enticing it to emerge and always ready to deploy the "Fate-Stealer" incantation at the crucial moment. Thus, the more fiercely the Spirit Devourer pursues its enemy, the more desperate its own situation becomes. Of course, if the "Theft of Fortune" talisman failed to take effect, or if the sovereign spirit of the spiritual plunderers did not materialize, and if the situation had to be managed through alternative means, then even then, Kline still retained his final means of self-preservation—simply ending the summoning, returning to the gray mist above, and sacrificing only two secret figures and a few magical artifacts to ensure his own safety. Unsurprised that the "Theft of Fortune" talisman had proven so remarkable, and that the angels of the "Theft" path were so formidable, Kline, while the shift in fate was still unfolding, raised his "Poseidon's Staff" without hesitation. The deep blue robes of his papal attire billowed in the wind, the golden triple crown reflecting a shimmering interplay of sapphire and silver-white light. At the tip of the white bone staff, lightning surged in cascading bursts, weaving together into a sphere that struck the spiritual plunderer. The silver-white radiance flared intensely, engulfing the target and casting a bright, all-encompassing glow across the surrounding area. Once, twice, three times, Caine continuously summoned the terrifying spherical lightning, pouring forth his own spiritual essence without restraint. Finally, he heard a roar seemingly emanating from the very depths of his soul, instinctively sensing that the target had collapsed and disintegrated. Caine then lowered the "God of the Sea's Staff," watching the silvery lightning gradually fade and dissipate. At this moment, his entire spiritual form had become notably ethereal, even with the presence of the "Monarch" supporting him, appearing less solid than before. As the lightning vanished, the "Formless One," clad in a semi-transparent white robe, reappeared once more before Caine. Fleeting, wavering glimmers of light began to seep out from within, causing the spiritual plunderer to suddenly fragment into countless ethereal bubbles, each one breaking apart in succession. The "Monarch" had achieved its hunt. At this very moment, however, the deeper regions of Caldrun experienced a sudden, intense tremor, as though a massive entity had awakened from the death of the spiritual plunderer, or as though countless dangerous creatures surged forth. That indescribable sensation coalesced into a shimmering gray-white haze, like a flood rising layer by layer from the lower regions. What of the other spirit realm plunderers? No—more terrifying, more monstrous beings, it seemed. The beings the spirit realm plunderers served? And then, the core region of Caldrum, at the very end of the deep chasm beneath—still utterly silent, with not a single sound breaking the stillness. This only deepened the sense of dread. Kline forced himself to stay alert, keeping a close eye on the inner movements of Caldrum while anxiously awaiting the emergence and consolidation of the spirit realm plunderers' unique properties into usable materials. Without the exhilaration of a successful hunt, he remained tense, pacing along the edge of the abyss. During this time, Kline brought the "Winner" Enzo and the "Duke of Hell" Ludewell closer to himself, and entrusted the "Staff of the Sea God" to Enzo, allowing himself to shed his restlessness and impulsiveness, and think more calmly about how to respond to the changes that might unfold next, as well as whether any other details had been overlooked. A thought struck him suddenly: when he had made the magical object sing, "The Hunger That Crawls" had praised "The True Maker" and recited the full divine name. Although the leather glove used was not an ancient Hermes tongue—capable of moving natural forces—but rather the more common Hermes tongue, the latter was still effective in the realm of sacred rites! This meant that "The True Maker" had likely heard the praise, and had noticed the activity unfolding here. Besides the rising "gray-white flood" and the terrifying creatures deep within the city, there were other dangers... Wait—now I am a spirit, equivalent to a wraith, not in my normal state. As the thought formed in his mind, inspiration struck, and instinctively his gaze turned toward the entrance of Caldrón. A figure appeared there, the light shifting briefly. The figure wore a simple, plain linen robe and had silver hair flowing down to its shoulders. He was a man with gentle features, refined and handsome, his gaze warm yet slightly detached, as though observing fate—watching every person in the world from the perspective of a passive witness. Behind him, one after another, beams of light coalesced into a shimmering, layered veil of pure, ethereal wings that unfolded outward, fully encompassing the entire entrance area. "...", Kline nearly forced out a strained whisper, a series of names flashing through his mind: "Ululius!" "The One Who Swallows the Tails!" "The Angel of Fate!" "The King of Angels!" Without pausing to assess the feasibility of his thoughts, his body seemed to swell into formless volume, expanding until it embraced both the secret figure Enzo and Ludewil, as well as the lingering, still-fusing foam remnants of the spiritual realm's conquerors. At this moment, Ulrich's silver eyes now reflected the figure far off—a dignified and fiercely tyrannical presence, clad in deep blue robes and bearing three crowns—alongside a hazy gray-white mist, obscured by the weight of the "tyrant's" aura. Within each of His eyes, a river shimmering with ripples flowed simultaneously, encircling the form resembling the "tyrant," and encircling the outer region of Caldrón. Without a sound, the square houses and pale pillars that had been destroyed in the lightning storm reappeared, and the giant blacksmith, whose only remnants had been two charred toes, regained his form and emerged within the tomb, striking the anvil with rhythmic thuds. Everything returned to the state it had been in just shortly after the "tyrant" had entered. Yet, the man dressed as the Pope, Caine, was gone—along with both of his secret doubles and the lingering foam of the spirit raiders. The figures that could not return caused the freshly restored scene to fracture, reverting once again to the wounded, battle-scarred state. Ulros, the One Who Swallows His Tail, watched silently, motionless, as the rising "gray-white" within Caldron gradually receded. Klein couldn't look at it closely, for though it was weightless and transparent, its finer details revealed a far richer structure—patterns and symbols that seemed to embody concepts such as knowledge, power, change, secrecy, strangeness, and madness, making them no longer abstract. This overwhelmed Klein with dizziness, even bringing on a sensation of near mental collapse and the imminent unraveling of his spirit. "This must be the true soul-body of the spirit-robbers from the realm of spirits—there's also the corresponding dust now, about 70 grams, more than required, and more than I anticipated." Klein gave a barely perceptible nod, placed the dust into a box, and together with the true soul-body, set them aside among the clutter, then covered them with gray mist. Having completed these tasks, he raised his hand to rub his temple, silently chuckling to himself: "If I hadn't been holding the 'Godstaff of the Sea,' I'd likely have simply decided to leave Caldrun right after the attack by the spiritual raiders, waiting until I had allies in place to make the most secure hunting expeditions—careful not to disturb the unknown entities in the core region. "Well, here I am, rushing headlong all the way, and though the outcome is good, it truly doesn't reflect my nature, nor does it align with the portrayal of a 'Seer.' From now on, I'll need to make a point of using the 'Godstaff of the Sea' less when dealing with external matters. "Hmm... the spiritual raiders have now been successfully hunted, so I won't need to ask Miss Sharon for assistance anymore. I'll send her a letter soon to reassure her that everything is under control. "Still, I have a feeling I'll return to Caldrun again in the future—perhaps then, I'll need to ask Miss Sharon for help once more." "Also, we need to gather more intelligence on strange and arcane phenomena—we can't rely entirely on the Silver City..." As thoughts raced through him, Caine abandoned his spectral companion, returned to his physical form, concluded the ritual, and made his way to the bed, collapsing immediately into sleep. The member of the spiritual order replied slowly. "Who is that?" Daili Simonne asked, while Leonard Mitchell and the others turned their attention toward him. The man who had been contacted spoke with a steady, even tone: "Inez Zangewell."