With the touch of Caine's spirituality, the dots suddenly expanded into a vivid scene before him: Daniz, draped in a cloak of shadow, was praying at the edge of the square, reciting the sacred name of "The Fool" in ancient Hermes. Using this reference point, Caine broadened the scene outward, seeking the presence of Inz. Zangewell. Through the gray mist, what he saw now differed markedly from what he had just witnessed—the central plaza had, at some point, taken up a massive church, black in hue and adorned with embedded bones, its interior flickering with light and shadow yet silent. Seizing this moment, Caine responded to Daniz's prayer: "Depart from here, seek concealment." As he spoke softly, Caine, wearing a triple crown and deep blue robes, raised his left hand, allowing the sapphire-blue gem at the tip of his bone staff to glow. The sharp, piercing sound immediately echoed throughout the Resurrection Plaza in the real world. A sudden gale swept through the area, forcing people—whether leisurely strolling or merely passing—hurriedly to seek shelter. Even Anderson, who had been stiff with shock, regained his composed demeanor, shielding his abdomen and swiftly stepping out of the danger zone. Within just a few seconds, the plaza became remarkably quiet. Even those who moved at a steady pace found themselves experiencing a sensation of swift motion, propelled by the wind. The once-open space fell into brief stillness, then a flicker of light emerged from the window of the Church of the Dead Bones, growing steadily brighter and more intense. Without a sound, the colorful stained-glass window shattered, and a brilliant, nearly blue-white light surged out like a meteor. The light then dissolved, coalescing into Ins. Zangewell, dressed in a black clerical robe, with one eye deep blue and the other veined with blue. As soon as the "Night Watchman" appeared, his mouth opened wide, and he exhaled sharply through the classical quill in his hands: "If you hadn't been such a fool, ignoring my advice, how could things have turned out this way! I have no idea what you were afraid of—just let me pray to the Lord, quietly return to the Redeeming Rose, ally with the Great Serpent, prepare, and set traps. Today would have been our day to hunt Adam, not the other way around!" The slightly dimmed and frayed quill instantly rose, writing itself into the empty space of Inz. Zangewell's garments: "Thorin Einhorne Medici, ashamed and furious, has entirely blamed this incident on the 'Pen of Alerthod'; yet in truth, it was he himself who had prevented himself from praying to the 'True Creator'. Neither Thorin nor Einhorne wished to believe in that evil deity. Today's experience has deepened the spirit-splitting of this demon even further!" This is absolutely reasonable—this is the diagnosis made by the most professional, top-tier psychotherapists! Mr. Inz. Zangweil's eyebrows twitched instinctively, and he automatically raised his left hand to press gently against his temple. His deep, nearly black eyes quickly regained their luminous intensity, and his classical, sculpted face became profoundly serious. At this moment, having broken through the Hall of Bones, he found himself no longer facing the plaza, but a series of ancient stone steps ascending toward the summit of a majestic mountain peak, where a towering cross stood, surrounded by countless angels swirling and gathering. At that very instant, a dramatic, silvery-white lightning bolt pierced the deep sky and struck directly down toward Mr. Inz. Zangweil. The enclosed, enigmatic space began to crack, and the fountain's spray and blooms now appeared within his deep, nearly black eyes. Mr. Inz. Zangweil's form suddenly vanished, leaving behind only a transparent, hazy aura—this spirit itself being struck by the lightning and instantly extinguished. This "Night Watchman" didn't pause to consider the dangers still lurking outside—he seized the opportunity, blazing into a flame, piercing through the cracks, and surged forth. To him, no matter what lay ahead, nothing could be more terrifying or harder to face than the Son of the Maker, the King of Angels, Adam! As the square came alive with flames, freed from the bonds of the illusory world and restored to his dark-gold hair and pale hands, Inz. Zangwei, Klein instinctively lifted his head and sat up straight. A flood of images flashed through his mind: himself pierced through the heart, the gleaming boots he had seen just before his last death, Dunning Smith's smile as he winked at him with his left eye, and the Black Thorns Security Company reduced to ruins. Klein's lips quickly parted, curling into a comical smile. Then, in a low, ancient Hermes tongue, he spoke: "Misfortune!" The silver-gray talisman in his right hand suddenly flared with a deep, ethereal black light. This was a calamity domain talisman directly requested by克莱恩 from the "Goddess of Night," crafted using the blood of Wil. Aonsetin, the Water-Snake, and precious metals. It was the gift he had prepared for Iness. Zangewell—his arrow of vengeance, his divine curse!克莱恩 leaped to his feet, tugging at his shoulders and swinging his right arm, blending the deep black light with a subtle surge of gray mist, and hurling it into the scene extended by his prayer, toward Iness. Zangewell. Such a change vanished instantly, and everything around instantly returned to normal, appearing completely unchanged. Yet, as a "Night Watchman"—a being capable of bestowing a certain measure of misfortune upon others—Inz. Zangwei keenly sensed the presence of danger, without hesitation extending his left hand to harness the synergy between his inner demon and his "Gatekeeper" ability, aiming to enter the spirit realm and escape through it. Yet, none of the vibrant crimson flowers, the pure white fountains, or the deep black tile patterns around him deepened in color, let alone overlapped with one another. Inz. Zangwei's "spirit realm traversal" ability had failed! As his gaze froze, he instantly grasped the reason—because the demon dwelling within him was now engaged in a fierce internal dispute, refusing to lend him strength. "Look here! If only you'd listened to me earlier, everything would have been fine!" "Pah! I'd rather die than believe in the 'True Creator'!" "What good would listening to you do, then? Back then, he wasn't even like us—turned into a potion by Alistair Tudo. "Really? You weren't at all nervous? Didn't notice the clear divine aura just now? That power was truly refined—given our current condition, we simply couldn't have avoided it. Hah! Keep shouting, keep shouting! I'm waiting to die alongside you." ...Inzé Zangwéil felt his temples pulsing with rage, furious that the very spirit, Solon Einhorne Medici, had suddenly faltered at the critical moment, showing no awareness of the danger threatening him. As the former Archbishop, as one of the extraordinary figures who had once presided over the sacred relics of the Church of Night, Ins. Zangwiel did not allow his anger to impair his judgment. He instinctively sensed that the deep, shadowy glow just witnessed was connected to the affliction power of the "Goddess of Night," and believed that Thorin Einhorn Medici had suddenly entered a state of fragmentation due to this influence—otherwise, the "Red Angel" demon would not have erupted into a heated argument on the spot, disregarding his surroundings. Immediately, he turned and rushed toward one of the exits of the Resurrection Plaza, attempting to communicate with the other spirits in order to leverage their abilities and escape swiftly. Yet, there was not a single spirit present! At that moment, a figure stepped forward from a concealed spot at the edge of the open plaza. He was a mixed-blood of Ruin and Baylan, with a full-faced, plump appearance and loose garments, carrying a slender, sharp sword at his waist. This was Ludewil, the "General of Hell!"—a spirit who, normally, had no thoughts at all. After casting the "Divine Curse" talisman, Kline had already returned to the real world and activated his two secret doubles according to plan. While he instructed his "Winner," Enzo, to find a quiet corner and set up the prepared items for the ritual of seeking divine grace, he simultaneously guided his "Hell Commander" Ludewil to emerge from concealment and face Ins. Zangewell. The once-recognizable "Hell Commander," now transformed, raised his right hand, allowing his arm, forearm, and fingers to rapidly fade and expand, reaching out toward his target. This was the ability he had acquired through the冥界 beings within him—drawing another's spiritual essence through spatial projection. Ludewil's palm quickly turned pale, while a figure began to rise upward uncontrollably from the top of Ins. Zangewell's head. Yet, since Ins. Zangewell had once been a "Gatekeeper," mysterious, ethereal bronze gates instantly formed in his eyes, pulling the rising spiritual form back. Originally, given his level and strength, this should have been a straightforward success. Yet for some reason, he kept making several critical mistakes, nearly falling into the hands of the "General of Hell," and for a brief period, the situation had become a stalemate. At that moment, two figures swiftly materialized beside Ludewell. One was Leonard Mitchell, with dark hair and bright eyes, wearing transparent gloves. The other was Dely Simonne, adorned with blue eyeshadow and a matching blush. Their arrival was perfectly timed—enemy misfortunes often signaled good fortune for their own side! Dely first saw the figure she would never forget, and instantly a flame of rage surged in her eyes. Rather than acting impulsively, she observed carefully and then moved to stand behind Ludewell, opening her arms. At once, a bronze gate etched with countless strange patterns descended, creaking open a narrow crack. This was the gate to the Underworld—the gate that held an irresistible allure for all immortals! A terrifying suction force, impossible to describe, surged forth, and the figure above Ins. Zanggeweil's head completely detached from him. It was a translucent man clad in a black armor streaked with blood, young and handsome, with red hair, his face marred by patches of rotting flesh revealing the bone, and a banner-like mark spreading across his brow. This young man showed no surprise at being drawn away from Ins. Zanggeweil; instead, he exclaimed, "Oh, today's been a rough day, hasn't it? We've already died together—do we really need to go through this again, especially when such a frail, chicken-like figure is in control?" A vivid, blood-soaked gash appeared on his left cheek, opening and closing as he spoke. "Well, then, let's clear up the mess around us first..." Before he finished speaking, the man in the blood-streaked black armor extended his hand and drew forth a shimmering, long sword streaked with dark red rust from within his body. A dreadful pressure suddenly surged, and this spirit effortlessly escaped the extraction by Luther维尔 and Dailie Simonne, plunging downward with a sudden motion, aiming to return to the body of Ines Zangewell. At that moment, a low, sand-papered voice resonated, the "Lord of Hell," Luther维尔, solemnly reciting in ancient Hermes: "Destiny!"