Summoned the messenger... as the "Judgment" of the Tarot Circle, a member of MI9, Hugh understood exactly what the messenger meant and knew that the spiritual order widely employed messengers at the mid-level. Before she could ask any further questions, she saw Furse stepping with a wobbly gait, her eyes vacant, moving toward the guest rooms on the first floor, her voice faint and wavering as she said, "Let me sleep a while first. I'll deal with anything else later." She slept through until morning, awakened from a deep dream by the rich aroma of roasted meat. "Daisy pastry?" Furse asked, blinking as she stepped out of the room and saw the food already laid out on the table. "Yes," Hugh replied, stepping out of the bathroom. "The one on the corner street—quite good." Furse murmured a few affirmatives and had already seated herself at the table, quickly picking up a pastry and taking a large bite. After finishing one, sipping a sweet iced tea, she sighed contentedly. "That's what life is all about." "Bad—forgot to brush my teeth..." After finally regaining her thoughtfulness from the flurry of cleaning tasks, she glanced at Hugh with a puzzled expression, asking, "Have you ever doubted that MI9 has quietly become your judge?" "They thought the compensation came from the faction I originally entrusted," Hugh said, sharing the information he had learned. Firth combed her hair and smiled, "That makes sense—let them go ask the Night Church." Then, she covered her mouth and yawned, "I need to summon the messenger now." Over this period of 'record-keeping,' her verbal reference to someone has evolved from "Germain Spargo" or "The World" gentleman to simply "The One." This reflects both respect and a desire to avoid being overheard. Upon hearing her friend's words, Hugh glanced around, slightly puzzled, asking, "Isn't there a ritual required to summon the messenger?" She remembered that summoning a messenger did require a formal ceremony. "This is just one method. He asked me to try another." Folvith glanced at her attire and noticed it was still wrinkled from not having had time to change it the night before. Thinking she would need to present well for the messenger arriving soon, she hurried back to her bedroom on the second floor and donned a pale yellow, stand-collar, lace-edged dress. Prepared, she raised her right hand in front of Thore, as if reaching into the air to pull something out. Instantly, a phantom book formed within her eyes, swiftly turning its pages and settling on one particular page. The very next moment, her arm settled with a weight, and a figure emerged from the void—Germán Spáro, wearing a half-high silk hat and a black wool coat, with a stern expression, a rigid demeanor, and a slightly stiff, detached air. Success? This was my second attempt... I only tried once yesterday, and it failed. Fores's eyes widened instantly, as if trying to absorb more light and see more clearly. She knew that what was being summoned was an image drawn from the historical fissures, so she wasn't overly tense—instead, she unconsciously held her breath, watching the projection of Germain Spalro with cautious vigilance, unsure whether it was real or not. She remembered Germain Spalro's exploits vividly. Could Fores have actually summoned Germain Spalro? Wasn't he supposed to be merely a messenger? Could Germain Spalro himself appear as a summoned entity? A cascade of questions formed in her mind. While Fores didn't know what to do next, Germain Spalro's eyes subtly shifted, his gaze becoming lively and fluid, no longer stiff or lifeless—giving the impression that he had truly come to life. Then, he produced a delicate silver-white recorder, brought it to his lips, and blew a soft note. No sound came forth, yet the surroundings instantly grew quite cold, with阵阵 piercing winds sweeping through. Then, a lady dressed in a gloomy, elaborate gown, holding four golden-haired, red-eyed heads, stepped out of the void, all eight eyes fixed upon Germaine Sparrow. Germaine Sparrow nodded slightly and indicated to Vorthis: "This lady needs to establish four special coordinates deep within the spiritual realm. Would you assist her?" "Yes..." one of Renette Tini科尔's heads bobbed up and down. Germaine Sparrow said no more, approaching the window and making his left glove transparent. His figure swiftly vanished, "transmitted" from the house. Gone... gone... My summoned historical rift image has simply disappeared on its own? Vorthis stared in wide-eyed wonder, as though witnessing a farcical scene. According to her understanding, the things summoned should be capable of being driven by herself—how could she explain and then simply have them depart? Could the images from the historical gap possess personality just like herself…? No, this was simply as if Germaine Spalro herself had materialized. Firth glanced at Hove and noticed that he too was equally bewildered. At that moment, Firth suddenly shivered, as though some extremely dreadful creature had taken notice. She instinctively turned her head and saw Germaine Spalro’s messenger gazing at her with eight red eyes, scrutinizing her closely. As unsettling as Germaine Spalro himself… Firth managed a smile and said, “…Thank you.” At that instant, the four golden-haired, bright-eyed heads of Renette Tiniel began to speak in turn: “We need…” “We’ll charge…” “Eight hundred…” “Gold coins…” Oh, they were still charging fees? Firth opened her mouth slightly, unsure of what to say in response. After a few seconds, her thoughts suddenly came alive as she calculated her savings: having lent 2,400 pounds to Hugh, she had originally been left with 780 pounds... the expenses during this period had been substantial, but the royalty payments from her novel had been coming in steadily, plus other income and Hugh’s repayment of 300 pounds, totaling 1,258 pounds... that was enough. Forsyth immediately intended to agree, but then realized a problem: "Only gold coins?" Renee Tynecole’s four heads nodded slightly: "Yes..." "You..." "Can..." "Have..." Indeed, it was all gold coins. I remember that Mr. World had been trying to collect gold coins for some time, exchanging them—wasn’t it for the purpose of paying this messenger? The relationship between him and his messenger was quite complex... Ah, Mr. World should still have quite a few gold coins left. I’ll just go find him and exchange for 800 of them later. Forsyth breathed a quiet sigh of relief and said: "Alright." After agreeing, she saw the headless messenger lift a head from his hands, biting into the fabric at the shoulder of his robe. The colors around them deepened and intensified—red became richer, black deeper, white brighter. Thus, Folth was carried by Renette Tynicol through similar scenes, without discerning east from west, north from south, or up from down, until she reached a place seemingly veiled in a faint mist. Deep within the mist, eyes seemed to gaze upon them, then quickly withdrew. Thus, Klein indirectly returned to Bekkanland—precisely the reason he had asked the "Magician" lady to summon the messenger through such a complex method. As for the messenger summoned by the adventurer's flute, he is an objective presence, adding no additional spiritual burden to Forliss, even if Klein's historical image through the rift vanishes. Should Renette Tynicole choose to, she could remain in the real world independently. After the first "transportation," Klein's form appeared in a quiet alley near the Saint Samuel Church, where he used the abilities of the "Faceless One" to alter his appearance and physique. Although several pedestrians remained in the alley, they were affected by the illusion and failed to notice the sudden appearance of a new companion. Then, Klein smoothed his garments, adjusted his hat, and briskly walked toward the Saint Samuel Church, taking a seat near the side of the main chapel. He removed his hat, recited the name with reverence, then with sincere devotion drew a crimson moon upon his chest. Next, he clasped his hands together, closed his eyes, and whispered to the "Goddess of Night": "...I am seeking traces of the former Ul'dan Dark Wolf, in order to gain a clear understanding of His current state..." At this point, recalling that Ul'dan might have once been a colleague of the Goddess, he added promptly: "...I wonder if you might be able to offer me some insights..." Without waiting for a response, he maintained his calm and continued: "...Once this task is complete, I intend to head steadily eastward, hoping to reach the Western Continent and learn what condition it is in—also, I hope to break free from Amun's pursuit and explore other possibilities..." After finishing his prayer, Klein gently tapped his chest four times in a clockwise motion, then murmured: "Praise to the Goddess." As soon as he finished speaking, a deep night sky suddenly appeared before him, studded with countless stars, while a new piece of information quietly formed in his mind—details about the dark wolf of the Udark clan, Kotar. ...Klein paused, only regaining his composure when the starry sky completely faded away, and then sincerely praised the goddess once again. After leaving the Saint Samuel Church, he used his "craving that moves" and another "teleportation" to reach the vicinity of the Saint Wind Cathedral in the Joewood district. He wished to offer a prayer to the "Lord of Storms." Looking up at the towering spire, Klein hesitated for a moment, unsure whether he should actually enter the headquarters of the Storm Church's Beckland district. "I'm merely an image from the historical rift," he thought. "I won't lose anything by praying—perhaps the Lord of Storms, upon hearing of Amun's situation, will decide to bestow the '0–32' upon me." Then I wouldn't have to risk so much hunting the Umbran Wolf anymore... That's something anyone should always hold onto—a little hope! After mulling it over, Kline finally made up his mind. With careful motion, he raised his hand and summoned Enyuni, the "winner" who had not yet been parasitized by Amun, from the historical rift, transforming the secret figure into his own form as he entered the Saint Wind Cathedral. Just a few minutes later, a dark cloud suddenly drifted across the sky above Beckland, and a flash of silver-white lightning seemed to streak through the cathedral, though no one noticed.