Within the furious tornado, Viscount Stafford felt like a helpless leaf being violently uprooted, ready to be torn into fragments at any moment. In this state, he could barely react, let alone speak, and could only rely on the sturdy frame of the "Knight of Reckoning" to hold him together, hoping to avoid losing an arm or his head in the terrifying gale. He had originally believed this hunt to be a success, certain that he would capture Trist, and that she had no allies—his focus had therefore been entirely on Sherman—only to find himself suddenly caught off guard, falling into a trap with no prior warning. As the tornado began to ease and he realized he had sustained only minor injuries from the impact, no life-threatening wounds, Stafford quickly tried to regain control of his body, preparing for potential combat ahead. At that very moment, a sharp, stabbing pain surged through his head, as though a sharp dagger had been driven into it and then stirred several times. This feeling was both familiar and foreign to the Viscount of Stafford, for although he had never directly experienced it, he had repeatedly attempted it on numerous targets, observing their reactions. It was one of his most refined and frequently employed extraordinary abilities—“spirit piercing”! Thud! The Viscount of Stafford, struck and unable to stabilize his body, crashed heavily to the ground, the bronze-green cross clattering to the ground several meters away. Steady steps, with "The Blade of Coldness" held high, Thew surged forward in a charging stride, moving swiftly toward the dazed and struggling Viscount, who was still trying to rise. Meanwhile, Folsom had already skillfully flipped open "Lehmann's Travel Notes," spreading it to a page with a texture resembling vellum, before Thew had even launched his charge. As her fingers moved, the shadows that reappeared around the Viscount came to life, coalescing into black chains that wound around him in concentric circles, tightly binding and immobilizing him. Just regaining some clarity, the Viscount of Stafford hadn't yet settled on a target for reprimand or imposed restrictions when he lost his freedom once more—his mouth now secured by a chain of shadow. "The Abyssal Chains!" The Abyssal Chains, originating from the bloodline or the "Moon" path of sequence holders! After using it once, Folshe had grown particularly fond of this remarkable ability, finding it highly practical, and thus, later spent gold pounds to have the "Moon" gentleman, now a Viscount, formally document it. Crack! Suddenly, the Viscount of Stafford erupted with a force surpassing his previous strength, shattering the shadow chains one by one. He had now chosen the "restrictions" surrounding him as his target for reprimand! Yet at that very moment, Hoo arrived like the leading engine of a swiftly moving steam train, rushing straight before him, and with a swift motion, extended the transparent triangular spear. With a soft *puff*, the "cold blade" pierced the target's abdomen. The Viscount's body went rigid once more, his eyes growing vacant, as though turned to ice. Hugh loosened his grip, allowing the "Cold Blade" to remain embedded in the abdomen of the court steward, as if he wished to let any lingering spirit within the weapon continue to possess and control the target. Then, she swung her arms, clenched her fists, and with a sharp thud, struck the area just below the Viscount's ears. Under the combined blows, the Viscount did not even utter a sound before collapsing, his body stiffening and falling once again. After delivering this final blow, Hugh turned to leave, placing himself behind Firth and directly passing through the wobbling Viscount, now bearing the "Cold Blade" across his belly, toward Sherman, who remained seated upon the wooden crate. Firth, meanwhile, turned again to the "Travel Notes of LeMann," using her other extraordinary ability to add an additional layer of restraint to the Viscount, before stepping out from behind the row of wooden crates and moving forward to approach the weathered, emerald-green ancient cross. The scene she just witnessed made her suspect that this was a semi-divine item—according to the official terminology of the extraordinary beings, a "Level 1" seal object. The way the Viscount of Stewardford carried and used it gave her the impression that the cross's negative effects were not so immediate, and that they could be attempted to be picked up. Of course, as a former astrologer, Fols took out the pure crystal sphere while walking and quickly performed a reading. "All clear..." Fols glanced at the result and quickened her pace. At that moment, Hugh had already reached Sherman, gazing at this now remarkably beautiful friend, and found himself momentarily speechless. In Sherman's eyes, something was profoundly off. The mage's hair had completely risen up, each strand thickened and becoming like a fine serpent. At the tips of these serpents, some had grown eyes, others had split open to reveal mouths—strange and terrifying. Mysterious patterns of black paint, like oil seeping through the texture of her skin, emerged and rapidly spread outward across Sherman's body. Her eyes, initially hollow, soon reflected the image of Hugh, gradually regaining some vitality, though with a growing sense of bewilderment and pain. She opened her mouth and spoke in a fragmented manner: "Hugh... I'm so painful..." Hugh's vision instantly blurred. Though Sherman still needed to accumulate more detailed knowledge about the mystical world—due to the high-level discussions at the Tarot Circle and the more secretive intelligence provided by MI9—she had a solid understanding of what it meant to lose control. In the wild community of extraordinary beings, this was an inescapable condition. Thus, Hugh knew that Sherman was now losing control, a process that could no longer be reversed and would only deepen over time. Sherman seemed to have sensed his condition, drew a deep breath, and offered a poignant smile, speaking with difficulty: "Kill me now... I've done so many things I regret... I've also achieved so many things I once desired." Tucker's tears fell one after another. Without hesitation, she drew out a backup weapon—a simple revolver. She pressed the revolver firmly against Sherman's forehead. Sherman smiled, and a captivating glow returned to his eyes: "Call me Sherman." "Sherman." Tucker's face furrowed uncontrollably, her eyes misty. Click! Click! Click! She pulled the trigger in succession, releasing the bullets inside. Flowers of crimson bloomed instantly, vibrant and beautiful. Forth watched this scene, her lips naturally parting slightly. After a pause of two seconds, she sighed deeply, bent down, and reached for the bronze-green cross. As soon as her fingers touched the object, it felt like she had grasped flames—hot, scorching, burning through her soul. Foresythe instinctively withdrew her hand, startled and puzzled. She remembered that Viscount Stafford had never shown such a reaction before! In the span of a thought, Foresythe glanced at Viscount Stafford, then stepped forward and kicked the bronze-green cross toward the spot near Hugh: "Try it. And we must leave immediately—the commotion will surely draw the official extraordinary ones. Plus, I have no idea what 'the Messenger' will do now!" Hugh stared with red eyes, said nothing, and bent down to pick up the bronze-green cross, showing no discomfort at all. Hmm... Foresythe didn't ask any questions, simply walked over to the stiff Viscount Stafford and scanned the surroundings with cautious vigilance. After gathering up the bronze-green cross, Hugh carried Sherman's body two steps and returned to stand beside Viscount Stafford. "That item is precious, and his position is also significant—we will certainly become prime targets for the royal pursuit. We must create some disruption..." Folshe lowered her gaze to the Viscount of Stafford, speaking to herself as if reflecting. She quickly made her decision, raised both hands, and bowed her head, devoutly chanting the Viscount's noble title. When the scene had finally faded, Furse was about to speak when her body suddenly shivered, sensing a terrible, evil presence flowing out from the void. Her gaze fixed, she immediately knelt down and extended her hands, grasping the calves of Hugh and Viscount Stedford. At the same time, the last dark green stone with scorched markings on the bracelet at her wrist emitted a faint, ethereal blue glow. In an instant, the forms of Furse, Hugh, Viscount Stedford, and Sherman became translucent and vanished. Within a few breaths, they had left the dock district and appeared outside the Saint George district. During this transition, Furse successfully "copied" her journey once, using her extraordinary ability as a Recorder. After surveying the surroundings and confirming that the area was quiet and nestled in the woods, she released her grip on Hugh and Viscount Stedford's calves and straightened up. "With the blessing of the Angel of the 'Fool,' there should be no danger anymore—the 'Message' person likely can't lock onto us now." Folsen exhaled, speaking with a touch of relief and lingering apprehension. "At least the last one who arrived was a Saint—thankfully, we managed to escape in time..." "Xiu Gan took the magic book seriously, but suddenly his wrist trembled, and he could no longer hold onto 'Leimanno's Travel Notes.' *Plip!* The copper-green notebook fell to the ground. Xiu furrowed her brow and said, 'It feels like fire...' Folth had experienced something similar before, so after a brief thought, she suggested, 'Try setting that cross aside.' Following her advice, Xiu successfully picked up the 'Leimanno's Travel Notes.' 'It repels other magical objects,' Folth observed, nodding slightly. Xiu didn't dwell on this issue and quickly prepared a lit candle. Then, she drew forth 'The Blade of Coldness,' bringing the Viscount of Stafford back from his stiff, ghostly stillness. Once the court steward slowly regained consciousness, she activated the corresponding page of the notebook. The Viscount instantly grew confused, his gaze now fixed solely on the yellow candle flame. 'Why did Xhem need to approach you?' "Here are the questions I'd just thought of," said Hugh. The Viscount Stafford replied茫然ly, "She wants to find out to whom I truly remain loyal." Hugh paused, instinctively asking, "To whom do you truly remain loyal?" The Viscount Stafford said slowly, "Of course, to His Majesty the King."