Upon hearing the "Red Angel" spirit's reply, Caterina's expression instantly froze, her emotions hard to contain. Solon Einhorne Medici chuckled and continued: "You must be a half-god who achieved your status at the close of the Fourth Age—now over a thousand years later, and yet you still haven't become an angel. Wouldn't you feel a sense of inferiority? As for that fellow just now—he used to have to rely on Azk Elges to even face you, frail and weak, like a newly hatched bird. Yet now, within less than a year, he has advanced to Rank 4, attained divinity, and gained the strength to challenge you directly. Do you not have any thoughts on this? Have you not felt that your thousand years of existence have been in vain? Even a dog living for a thousand years might have already pushed open that door and become an angel." "I know what you're thinking—you're jealous, yet you've developed a twisted desire to prove yourself by sleeping with him. How ridiculous the witches are! On one hand, you must internally hold onto your masculine identity, avoiding self-loss and the resulting chaos; on the other, you strive to embody feminine grace, pursuing intense pleasure and deep love. The hunters, by contrast, don't face this dilemma at all. Regardless of their original gender, their only task is war—war, war, war! The Primordial is truly a twisted one. A pure, unadulterated woman following the witch path would have been far better. Generation after generation, you pass on this suffering—your primary purpose, in truth, is simply to exact revenge upon fate." Each word from the Red Angel spirit pierced like an arrow, striking deeply at Katrinna, the White Witch, causing subtle tremors in her delicate, refined features and making her lustrous, smooth hair seem slightly thicker. Thorin Einhorn Medici glanced at Caterina and immediately chuckled, "You won't be driven completely out of your wits, will you? That's truly a refreshing sensation." The "Red Angel" demon paused and replied, "You may now leave. Should anything arise, remember my name—though I shall also come directly to you when necessary." Caterina, the "White Witch," regained her composure, furrowed her brows, and asked with genuine surprise, "Is that really all?" The "Red Angel" demon chuckled warmly, "Do you want to sleep with me? The timing might be just right—indeed, it's not impossible. But right now, there are pressing matters to attend to." "Rest assured," he continued, "since you have already invoked my name and offered me a drop of your blood, you will remain under my watchful gaze, always open to influence. Have you forgotten the distinction between the rank of an angel and that of a saint? Do you not realize just how formidable true leaders truly are?" "Hm, unless you pray directly to the Primordial and receive an answer, you'll never be able to escape my gaze. Indeed, normally angels are capable of such things—though only if they've been called by name. If you don't believe me, I'll allow you to seek the angels' assistance." The "White Witch" Catriona listened intently, her expression slightly somber before finally breaking into a smile. "I shall follow your guidance, Lord Medici." Soren Einhorn Medici's eyebrows lifted slightly. "You're not quite as composed as you might seem—I can already imagine your demeanor when you faced Germain Sparo. But that doesn't matter to me." "Oh, I nearly forgot—make sure to check on the condition of your bloodline descendants right away. Germain Sparo found you so easily, don't you think that's rather unusual?" Catriona's face first grew slightly pale, then grew serious and resolute, as she nodded slowly. "I understand." After speaking, she immediately stepped back and reentered the glass window, vanishing through the layered, ethereal world of mirrors into the unknown. Watching the "White Witch" disappear, a fresh, blood-soaked wound suddenly appeared on the left cheek of the "Red Angel" demon, and it spoke: "Such a good dramatic actress—she makes herself seem rather unskilled in controlling her expressions, restless yet lacking in sufficient intelligence, easily revealing her intentions." "Indeed," said the "Red Angel" demon, a deep crimson gash now spreading across its right cheek. "That way, we're likely to underestimate her and relax our vigilance." "Hmph," the "Red Angel" demon remarked, speaking through its normal mouth. "Witches are indeed clever, but I never underestimate any of my prey. She intended to dull my senses and make me overlook her—there's no chance of that." The gash on the left side of his cheek, bleeding profusely, responded: "Then why were you caught by Alistair Tord? 'Because of you two,' said the personality belonging to Medici, lifting his lip slightly. 'It had nothing to do with being underestimated or paralyzed.' The crimson fissure on his right side hummed in reply: 'What must it feel like to be someone else's prey, O Great God of War, the 'Red Angel' by the side of the Creator?' 'Not bad,' Medici admitted, his expression slightly gloomy, yet his words carried a composed ease. The personality belonging to Thorin used the crack on his left cheek to speak: 'You're too fond of deception to achieve your goals. It was precisely because Alistair and the others saw through your deceptions that they seized the opportunity.' "And just now, you were faking it to Caterina—though you could only muster a bit of presence, relying on traps and surprise attacks to deal some damage, unable to quickly defeat her, yet you pretended to have recovered fully to Sequence 1, tricking her into chanting your name and offering your own blood." Medici sighed, brushing his lips. "Faking is a standard poker move—quite effective, isn't it?" With that, the 'Red Angel' smiled lightly. "Moreover, it's not purely faking. My favorite is to interweave one or two genuine moments among several fakes, waiting for those who believe they've uncovered my disguise to step right into the trap—just like the two of you made the same mistake back then." "But you were the first to fall!" The 'Red Angel,' with two fissures spreading across her ethereal face, replied. Medici responded without hesitation: "That proves I am at my peak—most valued!" "As soon as he finished speaking, the three personas of the 'Red Angel' spirit fell silent. After a few seconds, the blood-tinged fissure representing Einhorne opened and closed: 'Germán Spáro's connection with the Night is closer than I imagined. He must have sensed Katrinna's true state just now.' Medici chuckled lightly: 'That's perfectly fine—this has always been something He has allowed. When the great smog swept over Beckland, all the active figures vanished, leaving only the mage named Tris alive. Isn't that a clear indication?' The personas of Solon and Einhorne remained silent, letting the blood-soaked wounds on their cheeks slowly heal. The 'Red Angel' spirit, now reflected on the glass window, faded into the area surrounding the 'Clock of Order.' ………… Within the ancient palace, above the pale, misty air. Crain watched the golden crystal pendant spinning gently clockwise in his hands, nodding slightly, almost imperceptibly." He had verified Catherine's responses one by one through the "pendulum method," arriving at conclusions that were all sufficiently authentic. Subsequently, relying on the eight known secrets of the tombs, he began "dream divination," seeing corresponding regions and vague states. This made Caine realize that conventional methods truly could no longer gain access—even focused observations free from interference struggled to pinpoint the interior. This was quite troublesome... Moreover, the state of the "White Witch" during her spirit communication differed from that of the previous figures, Quonás Colg and Hévin Lambis—her expressions were more abundant, and her responses more proactive. Was this a unique trait of the witch herself, or was there another factor at play? Caine thought it over, then summoned a sheet of paper stained with the blood of the "Wounded General," wrote down the relevant phrases, and performed a "dream divination" aimed at locating the target. In the hazy world, Caine saw Tricia, now free from her own web of threads, gazing out the window. There, the storm was black and ethereal, indistinct in origin. Tracie had escaped—her expression bore no sorrow, only a certain anger and bewilderment. How could her relationship with the "White Witch" be so strained? Perhaps... Just as Celine began to wonder, a sudden surge of black flame erupted, swiftly dissolving and scattering his dreams. He opened his eyes, realizing that he could no longer use the blood omens to predict Tracie's illness—the connection between them had been severed by a secret ritual of a half-god. Could it be that the "White Witch," Caterina, had not actually died? Ah—when the "Red Angel" spirit had answered me, it had used a question, not an affirmation. It had never acknowledged that I was speaking to a living person! Celine suddenly understood. He immediately performed the omens again, and this time, he confirmed with certainty that the "White Witch" was indeed still alive. "Indeed, the true objective of the 'Red Angel' spirit isn't the 'White Witch'... Moreover, considering the feedback on the potion's digestive progress, might it not be the case that the 'Red Angel' spirit is weaker than I anticipated—still not restored to Sequence 2, unable to swiftly defeat the 'White Witch,' and thus relying on alternative means to subdue her?" Kaine pondered for a while, yet couldn't arrive at a particularly firm conclusion. He soon settled his thoughts, setting aside this line of inquiry, as he had already secured the information he sought from the 'White Witch' Catalina. Kaine laid the paper stained with the 'General of Illness'’s blood aside, and suddenly chuckled: "By severing the connection between the blood and the body, disrupting the medium through which divination and prophecy operate—would it still be effective if the spirit were applied to the surface of 'The Grolsch Travels'?" After glancing at the paper for a few seconds, he temporarily abandoned the idea of testing it, since there was no immediate need at present. His focus quickly shifted to whether there was a way to reach the remaining eight tombs of George III: "The conventional approach should fall short—what I can think of, George III and the others, these angels and saints, surely could too... If the deities hadn't already silently approved and printed this into brochures, distributed widely, it might have made a difference... 'Stable teleportation... Tudor ruins... this...'" As he pondered, Caine suddenly had a sudden insight, forming a hunch.