In a room within a factory in the Saint George district of Beckett, a mirror with obvious cracks flashed with light, its surface darkening and deepening, as if connecting to another world. Suddenly, a pale hand emerged from beneath the mirror, as though piercing through layers of rippling water. A figure stepped forth from the mirror—Lady Trist, the elegant and sweet-mannered sorceress in a black gown. Her face, unusually pale, seemed drained of color, her forehead beaded with a dense layer of sweat. With a soft *thud*, the suitcase she was holding slipped from her hands, and the fear in her eyes could no longer be contained. She then murmured, bewildered, "His messenger is an angel..." At that moment, Trist felt a cool breeze brush against her back, as though a cold wind had swept through. She had never imagined that even the act of summoning a messenger could prove so dangerous—thankfully, the woman with four heads silently observed for a while, said nothing, and then simply took the letter, leaving without a word. ... Borough of the North, 160 Berkland Street, the residence of Dauin Tangtse. "Who sent this?" asked Caine, receiving the letter from the messenger girl with a touch of anticipation. Renee Tynicol, the four golden-haired, bright-eyed heads, spoke in sequence: "Dirty..." "Dark..." "container..." This nickname... Caine was momentarily stunned, unable to immediately place the messenger girl's reference. In his mind, he swiftly went through the people he knew who had a tradition of summoning messengers, filtering them one by one. Within just a few seconds, he formed a clear guess: Trist! As far as Klein knew, the witch renamed Trissick was likely one of the mediums through which the Primordial awakened or descended. Such a situation could indeed be described as a "container." Those familiar with the mystical world all knew that the Primordial Witch was a deity of evil, known as the "Final One," whose purpose was to bring about the end of all things, to destroy everything, and who held sway over aspects of emotion and emotional desires. Though described as dirty and dark—somewhat imprecise, yet understandable—this characterization held. Likewise, Triss, to some extent tainted by the evil deity, could also be described as dirty and dark. Indeed, it was no surprise that an angel would dare to speak of the Primordial Witch in such terms. Klein silently admired this and was about to unfold the letter to read it quickly. At that moment, however, he suddenly remembered something and turned to the messenger lady, asking, "What was the sender's demeanor when facing you?" “She….” “Very….” “Afraid….” The three of Rynette Tynicol’s heads spoke in succession, while the one that hadn’t gotten a turn could only simply open and close her mouth. Klein’s expression grew slightly serious as he carefully asked, “Did you mark her?” The head that had remained silent just now stepped forward and replied, “No….” The remaining three golden-haired, bright-eyed heads then added, “Because….” “She….” “Has….” “The….” “Primordial….” “Vibe….” Klein paused for a few seconds, then nodded. “I understand.” After watching the messenger lady step into the void and depart, he unfolded the paper and quickly scanned through Trist’s letter. She’s come to me to deal with the “White Saint” Catharina… Isn’t that precisely what I’ve been aiming for? Klein’s eyes flickered briefly, and he immediately reached for a clump of messy, dark matter. Next, he transformed into Gérard Spaldr, evenly spreading the substance onto a small mirror facing the room. Patiently waiting for nearly ten minutes, until the thick, black mass had completely vanished into thin air with no trace left behind, Klein was still unable to reach the mage Trist. Indeed, Trist, partially contaminated by the "Primordial Mage," had recognized the messenger's essence and had been startled by the angel delivering the message—she would likely not be able to contact Gérard Spaldr for some time. Ah, if only he had known that the messenger was a particularly special kind of angel, he would have surely kept the angel away from Trist, or instructed her to bring both the person and the message together when summoned. Klein silently murmured a few remarks—this truly seemed rather unfortunate. At that moment, a layered, ethereal plea suddenly echoed in his ears. ………… In a gloomy alleyway within the Beckland Bridge district. He carried an unspoken, cold edge, and upon entering, cast cautious glances left and right. "Indeed, you're gaining experience," said a low, resonant voice as a figure stepped out from the darkness at the corner. Tall and upright, he wore a golden mask revealing only his eyes, nostrils, mouth, and cheeks—exactly the officer from the Intelligence Nine Division who had previously communicated with He. "What's the matter that brings you to me so urgently?" He asked directly. The man in the golden mask made no small talk, pressing immediately: "You're still monitoring the activities around Viscount Stafford, aren't you? Have you noticed any anomalies recently?" He paused thoughtfully. "Yes. He has been in close contact with a woman of unknown origin, several times inviting her to his manor at night. I've attempted to follow her, but twice so far have failed. Also, two days ago, Viscount Stafford suddenly left the house at night—without any clear destination—and I was unable to track him down." "The Man with the Golden Mask" nodded thoughtfully, pressing for various details, while Hugh responded precisely to what he had personally observed at the time, omitting only the encounters with Sherman inside the carriage and the journey alongside the Viscount to the warehouse outside. "Indeed, your persistence has yielded tangible results," the Man with the Golden Mask said, giving Hugh a gentle nod—his words seemed entirely unchallenged. He exhaled, then added, "With this development, your merits will grow significantly. To be frank, should you continue in this manner, you won't need long to accumulate enough contributions to qualify for a Sequence 6 potion. However, before that, there will undoubtedly be a rigorous eligibility review—and your background? Well, I needn't hesitate. I know your background well; I'm certain it will fall short of passing." "Actually, you don't need to seek the truth. I know this has been the driving force behind your continued efforts regarding the Viscount of Stedford, but my personal recommendation is to let go of this matter. With your current rank and abilities, you're more than capable of ensuring a comfortable life for your mother and brother. Rest assured—no one will come after you. If you still wish to pursue it, however, I can't guarantee what might happen." Though Huxley had anticipated this speech, hearing it aloud still stirred a surge of emotion and a flutter in his heart, prompting him to say aloud: "Who exactly are you?" "I'm just an ordinary mid-tier extraordinary." "The golden-masked man smiled and said, 'You might not be aware that the position of Court Guard Commander holds corresponding authority within the Military Intelligence Division, equivalent to a deputy director responsible for royal affairs. While my father was alive, I was his subordinate and received considerable support from him. After his passing, despite having done nothing wrong and knowing no hidden circumstances, I was gradually excluded from the core of the division's power. Look here—ah, now I'm only responsible for the peripheral intelligence staff like yourselves.' With that, the golden-masked man sighed: 'My father provided me with so much assistance that, upon recognizing you, I deliberately placed you within the ranks of the subordinate intelligence officers, offering you support within the limits of my own authority. Yet, I have my own family and personal life, and thus cannot undertake too risky or dangerous missions on your behalf.'" "Then I'll help you prepare the recipe for the 'Judge's' potion next. After that, you needn't accumulate merits or seek promotions anymore—focus instead on things that improve your life. As for your private affairs, I don't know what you'll do, and I don't care to find out." Hui was momentarily stunned, his lips moving several times before he could finally say: "My father—what exactly was he like?" The man with the golden mask replied with a touch of wistfulness: "He was truly brave, noble, and just—a true noble. But he wasn't perfect. He was impulsive, eager, and easily angered." Hui listened quietly, intending to ask something more, but all that came out at the end was a single phrase: "Thank you." "Go now. Once I have the 'Judge's' recipe ready, I'll send you a message to meet me." The man with the golden mask waved his hand. When Lord Xu's silhouette had completely vanished at the end of the alley, the man wearing the golden mask was about to turn around when a slightly faint voice suddenly echoed in his ears: "She is lying. It is certain that she followed Viscount Stedford to the vicinity of the scene of the incident." The golden-masked man paused, then spoke to the shadow beside him: "She might have been concerned that this would raise suspicion. Considering her rank, how could she possibly have defeated Viscount Stedford? And didn't he carry a 'Level 1' sealed object? I believe she likely never dared to approach him—otherwise, she wouldn't have survived at all!" The faint voice responded: "Regardless, since there are doubts, further investigation is necessary. After that, you need not inquire any further." Outside the alley, Xu was walking steadily along the rows of gas lamps. She had deliberately omitted mentioning that she had followed Viscount Stedford. This is not about concealing the truth, about distancing oneself from suspicion, or about avoiding trouble. The real purpose is quite the opposite. Before this Tarot reading, she had envisioned a scenario in which she claimed to have followed the Viscount of Stewardford to a warehouse in the dock district, only to be startled and driven away by a sudden, terrifying tornado—something that would have been more credible, more convincing, and less likely to raise questions. However, upon learning that Mr. Germain Spauld, the "World," was deeply interested in this matter, she quietly changed her mind and decided to leave room for doubt in her account. She believed that, at her current level, it would take her three, five years—perhaps even longer—before she could uncover the king's secrets, if ever. But with the support of the "World," she might succeed this time. For that, she was willing to take the risk and place herself squarely in the midst of the current turmoil. And before he came to see the man from MI9 wearing the golden mask, Horst had prayed to the Sir of the Fool, asking him to convey his thoughts to "the World" Germain Sparo.