On a clear, moonlit night in the garden of 160 Berkland Street, a gray mouse crept out of its burrow and dashed to the base of the main bedroom balcony. A small, sticky black mass drifted down, caught and balanced on the tip of its head as if in a performance of acrobatics. It swiftly turned and ran from 160 Berkland Street to the nearby entrance of the sewer system. At that moment, the gray mouse raised its upper body and extended both paws. Suddenly, its paws elongated in an unusual way, revealing distinct, clearly visible muscles on its forelegs. Then, using these transformed forepaws, it pushed the manhole cover aside with barely a sound. Without pausing, the gray mouse plunged into the sewer, making its way all the way to where the witch Trist had once hidden. There, it dug and dug in the corner, finally uncovering a fragment of mirror from the soil. Having completed all this, the gray mouse flung the sticky, black substance from its head to a cleaner spot beside it, then retreated to a corner of the wall, slowly stretching and broadening as if being pulled by an invisible force—transforming into a middle-aged man dressed in a dark red coat and wearing an old triangular hat, quite evidently the once-vigorous "Lord of Blood" who had long sailed the seas. Yet this Senior, both in body and clothing, was only a thin layer, as if a figure cut from paper. "This mouse is still fairly plump," the paper-like "Lord of Blood" murmured, brushing his chin—only for the cold wind from the sewer to nearly lift him off his feet. It was Caine who spoke. He was in the master bedroom, guiding the "spirit thread" to transform a mouse into a secret figure, sending it down to the sewer to attempt contact with the mage Tristram. Senyor, arms swaying with the wind and motion constantly twisting, bent low to pick up the sticky, black mass—what remained after Trish burned a strand of her hair with black flame, an item usable for the summoning ritual. He then wiped the mirror fragment clean and spread the material onto it. After completing this step, Caine instructed the secret figure to step back two paces, placing the "mirror" firmly against the mossy wall, like a realistic oil painting. At the center, wrapped in a sphere, was a girl curled into a tight ball. She possessed an unusually sweet face, her brows tightly furrowed, her expression slightly distorted with pain—especially endearing. The slick, repulsive "tentacles" had now fully retracted, shrinking rapidly until they resumed their original form: strands of sleek, lustrous black hair. As the girl smoothed out her flowing hair, her expression softened. She moved slowly to the bedside, now divided into several smaller pieces, picked up her fallen nightgown, and donned it. Then, she gathered her dark hair and approached the full-length mirror, extending her right hand to wipe the glass surface. A layer of black flame ignited, burning quietly in the air before swiftly fading and vanishing, leaving the mirror now dark and deep in hue. Within the mirror, light and shadow danced, swiftly revealing the muddy, clogged state of the sewer environment. A middle-aged man, wearing an old triangular cap and a dark red coat, pressed lightly against the wall, gazing down at a young woman as though he had stepped out of a living painting. The girl had a round face and long, slender eyes. She quietly stared back for two seconds before suddenly breaking into a smile. As her smile spread, the otherwise dimly lit room seemed to brighten instantly. She then gently opened her lips, speaking with a tone of playful skepticism: "Mr. Germain Spalro, is this the madness and coldness of the greatest adventurer? Or perhaps, all along, I've known you as just a clown?" At first, Trish had been injured and hidden within the sewer, and having focused exclusively on her investigations concerning vengeance, she had been unaware of the maritime news, nor did she realize that the "Blood Above" had recovered quite normally and was now ready to leave. If, after leaving, she still failed to find out about her collaborator's recent developments, then she could truly be said to have failed completely in both her roles as assassin and instigator. Clearly, Trish's past performance demonstrated that though she may be flawed, her mind remained sound. Caine did not argue; Senior, who had been maintaining the paper man state, smiled gently and simply replied, "Why shouldn't the clown be both mad and cold?" Without waiting for Trish to respond, he turned and asked, "How far have your investigations progressed regarding that court guard?" Trish sighed slightly, "At least another month, if not two months, before I can reach any conclusions." "If you need any assistance, feel free to ask me," Caine reiterated. Tris exhaled, "In Bekkanth, in this game, strength doesn't solve all problems. Of course, I never waste an opportunity to leverage others." "Mr. Garmen Sparrow, since there's no longer any need to conceal your identity, might you provide me with a more convenient means of contact?" There was something about it—like being asked for a phone number... Klein paused, spoke calmly about the steps to summon the messenger girl, and didn't forget to emphasize the importance of the gold coins as a ritual material. Tris said nothing further, once again extended her right hand and lightly touched the mirror surface. The black flame rose and then faded, restoring the mirror to its normal state. In the underground passage, the paper-man form of "The General of Blood," Senior, once again buried the mirror fragment into the soil, then rapidly shrunk his body, transforming into the gray mouse form, and surged deeper into the heart of this subterranean world, feeding himself to the flesh-eating creatures. At 160 Berkland Street, Cline drew the curtains and returned to his armchair. Honestly, he had come to regret his collaboration with Trist. He sensed that the woman carried certain intentions of the "Primordial Witch," willing to sacrifice anything for vengeance—like a mobile bomb, unpredictable and prone to sudden failure. Should Trist undergo a transformation, it would likely trigger a catastrophic event... I should have let her go earlier. Cline sighed, began setting up the ritual, lifting the thick, black substances toward the gray mist, hoping to use them to divinate Trist's current whereabouts and recent condition. After twenty or thirty seconds, however, he obtained a failure. This only deepened his concerns, for such a result indicated that Trist had, to some extent, become a favored vessel of the "Primordial Witch." … The next morning, after breakfast, Crane began guiding the house steward Walter and the new assistant steward Richardsons in distributing the gifts he had brought back from the southern continent. The collection filled an entire suitcase—featuring Felmere coffee beans, Dong Bailing tobacco, Valley wine, and bone statue sculptures—each to be delivered to different neighbors, symbolizing the heartfelt intentions of Doun Tan-Tzès and marking his return to social life. "By the way," Crane instructed Walter, "when delivering this Valley wine to either Member Mahert or his wife, remember to mention that it pairs exceptionally well with lemon juice—perfect for crafting tangy cocktails." — Each gift was carefully chosen for a specific recipient, tailored to their tastes; of course, the current hot product from the southern continent, Duningsman's hair growth tonic, was not suitable as a gift, as it might come across as a subtle jab. Walter nodded seriously. "Yes, sir." "Once the employer had no further instructions, Richardson glanced at the remaining stack of gifts and offered, 'Where should these be sent?' 'These are for the staff of the charitable scholarship fund—I'll deliver them myself,' said Kline with a smile. He then pointed to the golden amulet in his hands. 'I missed the birth of Dr. Allen's child, so I'd like to visit personally to express my apologies. I'll be going over in the afternoon to present this amulet, a distinctive piece from the southern continent, to the child.' Of course, the infant Willy. O'Ceint. Kres is likely to find it rather unappealing—after all, he himself would rather have ice cream. Kline murmured these thoughts to himself as he spoke. When the butler and Richardson had both departed, carrying the gifts and their footmen off to various neighboring homes, Kline took his own carriage and proceeded to the 'Rune Charitable Scholarship Fund' at 22 Pasefield Street." Stepping down from the carriage, he walked ahead, with his personal servant Enyui trailing behind, carrying a heavy load of gifts. Whenever he encountered staff members along the way, he would greet them warmly and offer a small gift. Thus,克莱恩 ascended to the second floor and reached one of the boardroom offices. With a gentle finger movement, he lightly tapped the slightly ajar door. "Please come in," a soft voice said. As a more seasoned member of the audience, she had noticed Mr. D'Artagnan's arrival at the "Rune Charitable Education Fund" and had been patiently waiting. Upon entering,克莱恩 reached into the inner pocket of his coat and produced a small gift box, smiling politely. "I have just returned from the southern continent. This time, my business has been very successful—I've brought a few small gifts for everyone, hoping to share some of my joy." He specifically mentioned this to indicate that he remembered Miss Justice's request. "Then I can hardly find a reason to refuse,"奥黛丽 said, with genuine anticipation. This is not to say she cared what gifts the "World" gentleman would bring, but rather that she was curious about what he would present. Taking the gift box, she opened it in front of Daven Tanthès and found inside a decorative piece composed primarily of a white feather, adorned with delicate yellow patterns. "This is a hat ornament," said Clain. "In eastern Bayland, people of certain social standing often insert white feathers at various points on their attire as decorative elements, with those placed on their hats being particularly valuable and significant—an tradition reportedly stemming from the cult of the feathered serpent, which, in that region, symbolizes the god of death, quite literally." The white feather he had sourced from artisans on the southern continent for the hat ornament was a byproduct of the Artificial Death God Initiative and could be used as an offering. Klein once possessed three feathers. One was used in Bayam, combined with a copper horn messenger, to summon a monster that had been corrupted and mutated by the artificial Death God. Another was sacrificed on the southern continent to the artificial Death God, granting him the vision of the evil spirit of Inz. Zangwei—this was the final remaining feather. Since the current artificial Death God has now effectively taken on the role of the Night Goddess, and since Klein’s future rituals as a favored follower no longer require the use of feathers, he has simply chosen to transform the last feather into a gift for the Lady of Justice. After all, she is also a devotee of the Night, and perhaps at a crucial moment, this feather will allow them to establish contact with the artificial Death God. Audrey held the gift, listened quietly as Donatien Tancrède spoke, and in her mind a thought unexpectedly surfaced: "Mr. World" wouldn't really pluck a feather from a serpent to make this hat decoration, would he...? P.S. Recommended a novel with a fantastical touch: *The Hunter's Cookbook*. Synopsis: When night falls and whispers drift through the air, and the creatures in the shadows stir, Jason's hungry stomach begins to rumble—his mouth naturally starts to water. Hunger, after all, is the best motivator.