Amidst the sea not shrouded in the clouds of war, the *Future* moved slowly toward the turbulent waters, surrounded by a cluster of vessels. Recently, there had been little to report—only the quiet wait for a response from the Moth Monks' request. Captain Galadriya, the "Star General," strolled along the deck, savoring the sunlight that pierced through the thin mist. As she glanced around, she spotted Frank Lee. The chief officer of the *Future*, and second-in-command of the Star Pirates, wore thick blue canvas pants and a white shirt with the top two buttons loose, his dense brown chest hair standing out like a bear made human. He stood at the bow, gazing into the distance, lost in thought, his demeanor notably subdued. Galadriya's steps slowed naturally, and she turned to enter the cabin. "Captain!" Frank spotted her, meeting her gaze with eager anticipation, as if he were waiting for her to resolve some pressing matter. Cadryea's figure paused instantly, pushed her heavy glasses up her nose, and in a seemingly casual tone asked, "What are you struggling with?" Frank hesitated a moment, thinking carefully about how to express his thoughts, and replied seriously, "I'm reevaluating all my inventions and creations over the years." "...What are your thoughts on this?" Cadryea prompted appropriately. Frank nodded, speaking with a sense of concern, "There are so many aspects that need reflection. Above all, the most crucial point is that the things I've created are still missing one most essential element." Cadryea was puzzled, yet didn't want to press further—still, driven by her sense of responsibility toward the entire crew of the *Future*, she carefully asked, "What is it?" Frank's expression instantly became solemn: "They all lack soul!" "It's good that wheat, grapes, and mushrooms lack souls..." Cadryl said instinctively, then added, "That's not within your current reach. You're merely a Sequence 5 Druid." Frank listened intently, his eyes lighting up, and exclaimed, "I see!" Cadryl's face slightly furrowed: "What exactly do you see now?" Frank quickly regained his earlier spirits. "I now understand the issue—the creation I desire exceeds the very limits of a Druid's capabilities. "Therefore, Captain, I'm no longer going to be a Druid. I'm becoming a Classical Alchemist!" This is the Sequence 4 of the "Farmer" path, the starting point of a demi-god. Cadryl's expression of the "Starborne" remained frozen for several seconds before she settled into the posture of both captain and demi-god, gently nodding. "Having a clear goal is good, but you must recognize just how difficult it will be." It was clear that no expectations should be held, and the goal should not be taken too seriously. Frank Lee, immediately encouraged, nodded emphatically. "I'll do my best!" To prevent Frank Lee from getting overwhelmed, Gauthier decided to take full control of the situation herself. "I'll also support you." In that way, even if results were achieved, she could still gently inform Frank Lee, "I'm sorry, but it didn't work out." Frank was delighted and sincerely thanked the captain. Then he added, "I'll write a letter to Germaine Sparrow and ask him to lend a hand. 'He's one of my closest friends!'" Frank didn't realize that the several letters he had written over the past six months had gone through a rather complicated process: delivered to the courier, who then handed them to Firth, who either passed them on at the Tarot gathering or asked Mr. The Fool to assist. Gauthier pushed her thick glasses again, said nothing further, and turned to enter the cabin. Back in the captain's quarters, before she could even reflect on what had just happened, she noticed a letter placed on the desk where the brass sextant stood. Gladys was delighted—she didn't pause to draw upon her extraordinary abilities and hurried over, picked up the letter, and opened it. It came from Bernadette. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, she wrote: "Should you have the opportunity, please make a secret visit to La Châtaigneraie." La Châtaigneraie was a fairly secluded island in the misty sea, home to the 'Mysterious Queen's' palace—known as the 'Emerald City.' Gladys read the sentence over and over, a smile forming naturally at the corners of her mouth. ………Beckland, West District, the O'Drake family's villa. Emlyn White met once again with the middle-aged nobleman, Count Casimir O'Drake. "How did Lord Nibays respond?" Emlyn composed himself, making a conscious effort not to sound overly eager. Kasimir looked into Emlyn's fresh red eyes and said, "He simply wanted to let you know that the entire House of Blood has no surplus noble exceptional traits—only those currently holding noble titles can pass on their traits, either through aging or unexpected death, leaving behind their legacies." Compared to humans, the Blood family enjoys a long lifespan; even without titles, ordinary members typically live around three hundred years. Under such conditions, they gradually accumulate traits, filling each tier and preventing many exceptional traits from remaining unused. Thus, promotions from common members to baron, or from baron to viscount, are not easy—they either wait for existing holders to pass away, seek new ones from outside, or earn sufficient merit to receive rare grants. And compared to the earlier ranks, the transition from viscount to baron is even more difficult, since Blood barons are already half-gods, living well over a thousand years. The viscounts must wait generation after generation for a baron to finally pass away. Precisely because of this, as soon as one Earl trait becomes available, it is immediately assigned and never stored in the "warehouse." While baron and viscount traits, to some extent, still exist in the noble vaults in the form of exceptional materials or seals—though in limited numbers, and each grant requires strict criteria—the Earl traits have absolutely no room left. This response was exactly what Emlyn had anticipated. He looked at Baron Casimir and nodded gently. "So, as soon as any Earl passes away, it will be my turn, correct?" "No," Casimir shook his head. "Though you have accumulated considerable merit, your position hasn't yet reached first." "What position do I hold?" Emlyn first furrowed his brow, then relaxed, making sure not to show it too clearly. Casimir cleared his throat and said, "Twelfth." "...It might not even be my turn by the time the end comes. Since the Primordial Ancestor entrusted me with the responsibility of saving our clan, why haven't these matters been properly arranged? My 'Deep Crimson Scholar' elixir has been digesting for several months now... Could this be another test? Emlyn muttered under his breath, paused for a few seconds, and then thoughtfully asked, "If I acquire the Count's trait from elsewhere, will the clan prepare a ceremony for me?" Casimir exhaled, "Of course!" Emlyn didn't linger any longer. He left the villa of Odrala and took a carriage back to his own residence. Since Feneport declared war on Roon, he had not visited the Harvest Church—only hearing from 'Stella' that the church's doors had been smashed and much of its belongings stolen, turning it into a settlement for the homeless. As for Father Utravaski, he alternates between a cell behind the Charnis Gate and a room on the upper floor of Saint Samuel's Church, adjacent to the Bishop of Beckland, cycling through these two locations for half a month each—repeating this pattern continuously. ——This is to prevent Father Utravaski from suffering an irreversible, untreatable erosion should he remain too long behind the Charnis Gate, and given the current tense situation, the Night Church wishes to maintain a buffer point, offering a gesture of goodwill and laying the foundation for future negotiations. Though Emlyn is not a devoted follower of the Night Church and even somewhat dislikes it, he consistently visits Father Utravaski at Saint Samuel's Church twice a month. "Where can I obtain the Count's trait...?" Emlyn thought, feeling increasingly behind and uncertain whether he could fulfill the responsibility of saving his people, as he gazed at the desolate streets and carefully considered every possible path forward. He quickly formed some ideas: "The 'Recluse' mentioned that the 'Saint of the Deep' of the Aurora Order tends to shepherd a 'King of the Witches'—this aligns perfectly with the Count's nature. If we can pursue this half-divine shepherd in the same way we ambushed the 'Saint of Secrets,' the matter would be settled... "Yet, having learned the lesson from the earlier encounter, the 'Saint of the Deep' should no longer be so easily lured into traps. "There's also the possibility of directly summoning the King of Angels..." This had been a topic of discussion at the Tarot Circle, and the conclusion reached was to avoid the Aurora Order for the past year, and especially to refrain from provoking any further incidents. Beyond the 'Saint of the Deep' possessing the sequence 4 trait of 'King of the Witches,' Emlin White could think of only one other place: "The Rose Order!" Whether they were artificial vampires from the Life Order or the original 'Moon-worshippers' native to the Southern Continent, they now all belonged to the Rose Order. Of course, there are certainly some individuals who pursue freedom and have not yet joined any organization—either their ranks are still low or they haven't received sufficient information. As soon as the name of the Rosé School came to mind, Emlin immediately recalled one person: Marich! Marich represents the Moderates within the Rosé School, a faction that opposes the "Desire Mother Tree." "They seem to also want something from the Rosé School, perhaps we could collaborate with them..." Emlin nodded slightly. The resident of Tsukiyomi City, not a person with a physical deformity, felt her brother's gaze and, overcome with emotion, opened her mouth, tears welling up before she spoke. "God, God has come to save us..." She wept, weeping deeply and freely.