As soon as the "Stole-User" talisman left Leonard Mitchell's hand, it vanished into the air, disappearing without a trace, leaving both Leonard and Inez Zangweil's positions dimmed—so much so that even the expanding silver-white storm could no longer illuminate them. At that moment, Leonard felt a tingling sensation spreading across his skin, as if lightning were jumping over it, delivering sharp, needle-like pains that could instantly carbonize his body. Yet instead of being overwhelmed by unbearable agony, he remained unharmed, as though nothing had happened. Not quite. A lightning bolt, its claws fully extended, crashed down before him, shattering the ground and blackening the soil. While Leonard Mitchell activated the "Stole-User" talisman, Caine deliberately diverted his lightning strike away from Inez Zangweil. "Ah!" A piercing cry rang out. Despite the dense darkness surrounding him, the storm of silver lightning weaving through it could not be subdued, and his body was swept into its midst. He bore the fate of Leonard Mitchell, consumed by the "lightning storm!" Boom! A deep thunderclap erupted suddenly, and the forest of thunder swiftly dispersed. Yet the first storm had not fully subsided—more silver streaks of lightning fell from the sky, stirring fresh waves. Boom! Boom! Boom! The thunder god's roar came in rapid succession, restoring the frequency of lightning to its former intensity, now without interruption. Even with layers of darkness surging outward from his position, the silver light could not be entirely extinguished. After several such storms, the brilliant radiance gradually dimmed, and frail tendrils of electricity flickered weakly in all directions. Yet Sir Ines Zangweil remained standing, unyielding. Yet his head, adorned with black eyes, glowing crimson orbs, and enigmatic symbols, had cracked open along multiple fissures, through which blackened flesh and gray-white fluid seeped out steadily. The four "legs" at his ribcage and waist had completely turned to charcoal and curled up, as if merely touched, they would fall away. Not only were the white feathers scarce, but even the blood vessels encasing the surface had carbonized and shattered, scattered across the ground, perfectly aligned with his body. Nevertheless, Sirs. Zangguel had not perished—beings endowed with divinity possessed a vitality far beyond what ordinary humans could imagine! The crimson glow in his eyes grew denser, his furious and frenzied aura could no longer be subdued, and within him surged a deep sense of regret and an overwhelming urge to vent his emotions. He hated that in the beginning, he had only been fleeing, not engaging the enemies present. At that time, if he had freely used his abilities, fully revealing the terrifying power of a half-god, he would have surely slain Daili Simon and Leonard Mitchell under the thunderbolts—never having been so humbled by two mid-tier extraordinary beings. "Damn it! Damn it!" Ins. Zanggwei roared, tossing aside the dim feather pen marked "0–08." With his remaining four legs braced, he surged toward Leonard Mitchell. Just as Leonard prepared to move, his body suddenly felt a creeping chill, as though being wrapped in slender filaments extending from the darkness, from dreams—rendering him completely immobile. Thunder! A lightning bolt struck Ins. Zanggwei, yet he only staggered slightly, shedding patches of blackened flesh, and did not cease his assault—instead, he even revealed a cruel smile. After this blow, he was absolutely certain that the person hidden behind the scenes, steering the lightning, had reached his limit and could no longer summon abilities at the half-divine level! Leonard, wrapped in invisible strands of hair, found his thoughts swiftly settling, as though he no longer wished to resist, and thus drifted into sleep in the darkness. Unable to move, he gently bit his tongue, briefly regaining a measure of clarity, which caused the transparent scroll before him to once again emit a faint, murmuring chant: "I come. I see. I record!" A sudden gust of wind surged forth, and the terrifying whirlwind roared toward Ins. Zangguel, who had just stepped into its path. It tore through the slender, black-hair-like phantom strands, freeing Leonard to move. Whoosh! Ins. Zangguel was thrown into the air and crashed to the ground with great force, his body now marked by one deep crack after another, each bleeding a pale stream of blood. Yet still alive after losing another of his former "legs," he managed to rise again, his gaze fixed firmly on the night poet across the way who remained motionless and unseeing. With scarcely any warning, Leonard slipped on the ground, falling to his knees. Though he reached for his feet, he could never regain balance—his own efforts to summon gales and lift himself were ultimately in vain. "By heaven! I should have killed you when you were unconscious back in Tübingen!" Ins. Zanggwer cursed, gritting his teeth. "That woman was nearly dead—now you're about to follow!" As he spoke, he limped slowly toward Leonard's position, his movements now sluggish, his expression fierce and grim: "You were so unbearable as captain. Your teammate too. And all of you! Once I've killed you, I'll leave here and return to Tübingen to dig up their graves!" With each curse, a deathly darkness surged from Ins. Zanggwer's body, spreading steadily toward Leonard Mitchell. Leonard felt himself ensnared by fate, yet powerless, too afraid even to open his eyes. *Bang!* A bullet of pale gold pierced the profound darkness, thick with the aura of death, casting a fierce beam of sunlight that neutralized the anomaly. *Plip!* Several tarot cards fluttered down and landed at various points on the ground. One of them, positioned directly before Leonard, instantly ignited a surge of crimson flame. Within the flame emerged a figure wearing a half-high silk hat and a black formal suit, holding a long-barreled revolver—dark hair, brown eyes, a deeper silhouette, with a strong scholarly air. It was Caine Moretti. Having lost command of the "Dolphin Staff," he decisively returned to the real world, bringing the "Bell of Doom" to sound it! "You—indeed you! You are still alive! Let us both perish together!" Ins. Zangewell's speed instantly returned, and he circled Caine, attempting to drag him forcibly into the dream. He had been feigning the entire time! Yet Caine was unaffected, showing no sign of entering sleep. He raised his right hand, as though anticipating it, and pressed the trigger. *Crack!* Ins. Zangweil was thrown to the ground by the powerful impact, the cracks spreading wider across his head. "That shot was meant for Miss Dail," Caine said calmly, snapping his fingers. With the rising flame, he materialized on the other side of Ins. Zangweil. Ins. Zangweil's eyes bulged as he sped forward, trying to extend his misfortune to Caine, but it had no effect. "This one was for Leonard." All the Tarot cards ignited simultaneously, like a ceremonial display. Caine materialized behind Ins. Zangweil, drew back the hammer, and, by instinct, pressed the trigger. *Crack!* A pale stream of blood erupted from Ins. Zangweil's left leg, splintering completely. His running came to an abrupt halt, and he nearly lost his balance. Klein used the blazing Tarot cards to leap through the flames, maintaining his distance from the individual black "strands." "This shot is for Meghelois." "This one is for the internal guard." "This one is for the black thorn security company that has been compromised." "This one is for all the 'night watchmen.'" "This one is for myself." He was waiting for the other to close in, using his very mythic being to turn the tide! Yet, Klein's brown eyes simply stared at him, reflecting nothing at all. He pressed harder against the left side of the "Bells of Death" revolver, then pulled the trigger. *Crack!* The head of Inz. Zangwei exploded completely, like a crushed watermelon, its fragments and juice splashing everywhere. The "Bells of Death" rang for him. Klein raised his left hand, gently rubbing his eyes, pushing the true eyes hidden beneath back into place. A haze settled in his brown gaze, and a faint smile curled at the corner of his lips. To the now lifeless Inz. Zangwei, he spoke softly, in a low tone: "This shot was the captain's." He didn't give him a chance to deliver a final message. He didn't care about Inz. Zangwei's personal sorrows or stories. Then, from his pocket, he produced the last remaining tarot card and laid it atop Inz. Zangwei's body. It was the reversed "Star" card. At that moment, a figure appeared at some distance, bending down to pick up the now dimmed quill. Dressed in simple white robes, with a light golden beard covering the lower half of his face and a silver cross pendant hanging at his chest, the figure resembled an ordinary priest—none other than Adam, the King of Angels! Adam turned to Caine and smiled warmly: "Unfortunately, we couldn't hold onto that snake." He glanced at the quill in his hands, then at the Tarot card, and added with a smile: "All the gifts of fate have already been priced out in the shadows, haven't they?" As he spoke, he turned and stepped steadily away, vanishing into the broken square, leaving behind a lyrical phrase: "Before the 'audience,' Caine Moretti performed a magnificent drama, orchestrated a miraculous murder, and thus absorbed the potion fully, gaining surplus strength to attempt his ascension at the very moment the play concluded." Klein didn't experience the digestion of the "Master of Mysteries" potion or the corresponding feedback; instead, with a single leap of flame, he arrived before Dailie Simonne. By this time, the woman was nearly completely out of control, murmuring dazedly, "I don't want to... become a monster..." "Of course," Klein said, gazing at her with sorrow, quickly pondering ways to save a person in such a state. He had considered having her recite the name of "The Fool" to draw her spirit upward into the gray mist, but given the physical transformation she had undergone, this seemed unlikely to help—unless Dailie chose to remain there, and even then, the "Blood" ring offered no clear solution. Dailie managed a weak smile, struggling against the white downy fur and dark scales constantly emerging on her skin. "It's you," she said. "Didn't you ask me before why I hadn't been proactive in expressing my feelings to Dune, pushing him toward the bed?" She took a breath, offered a bitter smile: "I've had it before—too much indulgence. He's a conservative man, and I've always felt insecure." She was nearly losing control, about to become a monster. At that moment, she heard Caine Moretti respond: "The captain actually really likes you, but you're so outstanding and so young—he's also quite reserved himself." Daili laughed, then, through the hazy vision, saw the man in a black coat, with a higher hairline and deep gray eyes, extending his hand to her, bowing slightly and placing his palm out to invite her to dance. She reached out her hand, and her thoughts grew sluggish. The man in the black coat, with the gray eyes, gently guided Daili as her transformation gradually subsided, dancing lightly amidst Leonard's gaze and the broken plaza where the fountain's flow was chaotic. Materials flowed out one by one—golden grape vines, and more awkward rubber masks—guided by spiritual energy, gradually blending together and being poured into a small metal bottle. Daili gently leaned forward, resting against Dean's chest. Klein held the potion bottle, brought it to his mouth, and drank it. Note: A famous quote by Austrian writer Zweig. PS: The text ran a bit long, so it's a bit late. First posting, then revising. Please support the monthly subscription!