Bekland, East District. A two-bedroom apartment. Several police officers in black-and-white checked shirts followed the landlord inside, each covering their mouths as they entered. A strong scent of blood filled the room. "Officer, I have no idea what's happened," said the landlord, wearing a silk hat, nervously glancing around, unwilling to stay in the room for even a moment longer. "One of the tenants mentioned that there seems to have been a lot of blood here—so much that they could smell it through the walls and the door." The officer with a black epaule and blue eyes waved him toward the door. "You wait right here," he said, as he donned a white glove and turned his attention to the bedroom door. But he didn't rush in immediately. Instead, he slowly surveyed the room, taking in every detail: a pile of coal, cabinets holding tableware and food supplies, a small stove, clean iron pots, a slightly oily table, two round stools knocked over on the floor, two wobbly armchairs leaning against the walls, several glass bottles filled with unidentified powders, and a scattered stack of Tarot cards. "A typical modest mystic enthusiast," the inspector with black hair and blue eyes nodded gently, forming a judgment, then gestured to one of his subordinates to open the bedroom door. A soft creak, and a stronger wave of bloodstink poured out. The officer who had opened the door glanced inside and suddenly gasped, taking several quick steps back. The lead inspector furrowed his brow, steadying the retreating officer's shoulder, stepping past him to approach the bedroom. As he glanced around, his expression immediately changed. In the bedroom, on a wooden bed, a man lay supine, his hands bound to the overhead rail. Naked, he bore a series of fine, deep fissures across his body; his blood had long since dried, staining the bedsheet and the adjacent blanket a deep, dark red. At first glance, the deceased appeared as though tightly wrapped by strands of iron wire, his skin and flesh torn, his bones compressed beneath the pressure. To police officers who had witnessed numerous murder scenes, this image still carried a powerful impact, imbued with a certain eerie, ritualistic quality. Just as the lead inspector prepared to speak, two people burst into the room—one attempting to take photographs, the other hurling a series of questions: "Another murder?" "Have there been several murders recently in the eastern district?" "Officer, do you think this is part of a series?" The inspector with black hair and blue eyes furrowed his brow even further, waving a hand and saying, "Don't disturb the scene—otherwise, I'll consider you accomplices to the perpetrators." He then turned to the officer who had been there before and said, "Calix, please ask the two reporters to step outside and inform them that any questions should be directed to the news office of the Westville field office." Once the reporters had been escorted out of the crime scene, the inspector sighed deeply, "Another item for the newspapers. Damn it!" Audrey didn’t pay much attention to the matter. After chatting with her parents, father, and brother, she took her golden retriever, Suzy, and returned to her room. The two were in perfect synchrony—no words were needed. Suzy stayed at the door, acting as a sentinel, while Audrey locked the room and sat by the bed, silently reciting the name of the "Knight of the Fool." After a few seconds, a surge of deep red light erupted, engulfing everything. Audrey found herself on a misty plain, within the grand and timeless palace. She then noticed a small room had appeared on the side, its weathered door slightly ajar, not fully closed. "Much better than the ancient confessional chamber I saw during my last treatment... but this doesn’t quite fit the character of the 'World' gentleman. His mental state seems to have undergone some kind of transformation," Audrey mused, entering the room and closing the weathered door behind her. She had previously followed up with "World" Germán Sparo and concluded that he was fully recovered—yet today, she unexpectedly received a request for him to undergo treatment again. This surprised her slightly, and stirred a quiet curiosity. In the relatively spacious dark room, Audrey leaned against the wall clearly occupied by someone behind her, slowly lowering her body until her legs were angled and seated diagonally. In the calm and serene atmosphere, she settled into her own state, speaking with a light, cheerful tone: "Good evening, 'World'先生~" As soon as she finished speaking, her intuitive spiritual sense immediately picked up on the surface state of his mind—what in ordinary terms would be described as emotions or mood. Gloomy, low-energy, confused, depressed, disinterested in everything... This was completely different from his condition last time. What had happened to him now? Audrey bit her lower lip, made a calm assessment, and at the right moment, applied a soothing touch. One of the most valuable skills of a "psychologist," historically known as "psychodynamic analysis," began to unfold as the accumulated "clouds" behind the wall started to dissipate. Finally, Germaine Spalro, his voice strained, said: "Good evening, Miss Justice." Audrey, leaning against the wall, paused and canceled her scheduled plan, maintaining her earlier brisk tone: "I'm curious about what's been happening to you lately—it seems like you've been through so many experiences. "Let's just talk, as friends would. "If you're interested in my life, I'd be happy to share some interesting things with you." Germaine Spalro, on the other side of the wall, remained silent and instead asked: "What do you hope for in the future?" Audrey's eyes shifted thoughtfully, and she responded seriously: "To grow and strive to become a half-god, so that I can better protect my parents and brothers." "Well, I've been accompanying foundation staff on visits to several applicants for the scholarship program, and their living conditions truly exceed my expectations. Although I've read some reports and had a certain level of psychological preparation, facing them firsthand has still deeply moved me. There's a girl only a few years younger than me—very thin and short—whose daily meals are often insufficient, wearing only two very worn dresses. When she spoke about her desire to go to school, the purity and earnestness in her eyes were truly touching; I still can't forget that moment..." As she spoke, Audrey keenly noticed a subtle shift in Germaine Spalro's psychological state—he was no longer the still, calm lake he had been, but now showed gentle ripples and subtle waves. After a brief pause, the "psychologist" seemed entirely unconcerned, continuing as if nothing had changed: "I once hoped for a beautiful marriage, imagining my 'prince' would arrive just as described in popular novels. But now, as a mere observer, I find it increasingly difficult to realize that dream. I'm always able to read men's true intentions, uncover their one after another lies, and confirm that many of them fall far short of my expectations—this leaves me somewhat disappointed. Well, perhaps in a few years I'll learn to appreciate their flaws. But right now, it's truly hard to do so..." Hearing her sit only a single wall away, facing each other yet back-to-back, Gemma Sparrow finally found herself with a touch of amusement. Audrey promptly offered another soothing remark, and then heard the other say: "You once received detailed information about the dragons from the 'Sun.' You must therefore have some understanding of the 'Dragon of Imagination.'" "If, I mean if, you discover that your father, mother, and brothers were all imagined by the Angel King through the 'Audience' pathway—figures that never actually existed—what would you do?" Ken would definitely collapse, even lose control... Wasn't it the case that the "World" gentleman had discovered his primary expectations or ultimate goals could never be realized, thus suffering from psychological distress? Audrey was first startled by Germaine Sparrow's question, then gradually grasped the essence of the issue. She didn't respond immediately, instead gently prompting, "It seems as though you've witnessed a collapse of hope." "Hm." A self-deprecating laugh emerged from the wall behind Audrey. "Indeed, I once believed I still had family. Later, I realized that this was merely a dream of mine." "Why do you say that?" Audrey asked casually. Germaine Sparrow paused for a few seconds before responding, "Have you ever heard of the foundational fairy tales that Emperor Roscel used as tutoring stories for his children?" "This is my childhood memory," Audrey said, offering a soft "Hmm." At the same time, she noticed that the "World" gentleman on the other side of the wall was experiencing a noticeable shift in emotion—buried pain began to surface. This time, Audrey didn't offer reassurance. Her spiritual intuition and professional insight told her that the other person needed to express and release his emotions. "You should know the story of the Sleeping Beauty and the Prince," she added. "Germán Sparo spoke in a low, resonant voice. 'There is someone who also entered into sleep, only to wake suddenly on a particular day. Believing his family still alive, he tirelessly worked to improve himself, hoping one day to find them—this became the very meaning of his existence. In the end, he discovered that he had been asleep for at least three centuries, perhaps even over a millennium, or even longer. Everything he once knew and cherished had vanished beyond recovery.' The profound sense of pain and confusion that Audrey sensed was so vivid that she instantly realized: The world—grave, restrained, seasoned, and resolute—also possessed its own goals and purpose of being!" This is consistent with his gentle inner nature... truly pitiable... though he had only cited a fairy tale example earlier, his emotional responses when mentioning certain words were genuine. When he spoke of "sleeping," "family," "three hundred years," "thousands of years," "even longer," and "never to be found again," his sorrow became more evident. It suggests he is an ancient being, having lived through time due to a particular experience—this aligns perfectly with the idea that the "Fool" is a revived ancient deity, which explains why he has become a Keeper. Audrey quickly grasped the essence of the matter. She pressed her lips together and pondered before asking, "Did his family leave any messages? Did they express any hopes for what he should do upon waking?"