Having firsthand experience, Kline positioned himself in the perspective of the dim-wolf mage: ordinarily, he would automatically suppress responses to prayers, to prevent enemies from leveraging feedback to establish contact and lock onto his position. Given this, upon encountering a sudden, unfamiliar prayer, he would undoubtedly rely on the corresponding light spot, observe who the other party was, gather more intelligence, and prepare for potential future developments. If the one reciting the name were a familiar, powerful entity—such as Amun—then extinguishing that prayer light immediately would be the optimal course of action. However, if the other party were a stranger, and in such a situation where his own position was absolutely secure, maintaining long-term surveillance, gaining detailed situational awareness, and assessing whether a countermove was necessary, would be something every rational being would likely do—something Kline himself would certainly do. At its core, this situation involves non-mythological beings being marked by higher entities, who may suddenly and tragically perish at any moment—something that feels to the worshippers like suicide, even more dreadful. To the Umbral Dark Wolf, however, it brings only benefits, no drawbacks. Initially, the cautious Umbral Dark Wolf will suspect a conspiracy, hesitate to establish direct contact, and refrain from exerting influence over Kline. But as time passes and observations deepen, once it confirms that Kline is merely a relatively weak entity, barely reaching the rank of an angel with a touch of "Source Citadel" essence, and has not adequately prepared himself, the Wolf will inevitably seek opportunities to strike remotely—through the marked prayer points—when Kline is most unprepared. This aligns perfectly with Kline's earlier assessment of his own strength: "I am weak." The only issue with this plan is that the initiative lies entirely in the hands of the Dark Wolf—every move of Caine is under constant surveillance, leaving him unable to prepare in advance. Once the Dark Wolf truly attempts to exert influence, he will be completely powerless, with no way to escape. Indeed, this is a successful strategy for luring the prey, yet the hunter himself perishes in the process—meaningless, really. But without placing himself in such a passive position, he would never have been able to lure the Angel of the Divination Path, nor so many cautious Dark Wolves. This cannot be replicated by any substitute, whether a secret envoy or another person. If only he could hold on to the period when the Dark Wolf, due to his suspicion, hesitated to launch direct attacks and instead chose merely to monitor and observe—then opportunities might still emerge from the seemingly impossible. Caine's thoughts raced swiftly, searching for any possible openings within the chain of improbabilities. In the end, he could only silently sigh, lamenting his own lack of being an Angel of the Spectator Path. He speculates that angels on the "audience" path possess, to some extent, the remarkable trait of "the more others know you, the more you come to know them." When the Dark Wolf of Umbran, through the close monitoring of prayer points, carefully observes an angel on the "audience" path, that angel's position inevitably and naturally comes into the observer's awareness. Unfortunately, I am not one of them—and the Sequence 2 on the "audience" path may not either. I can only be certain that Sequence 1 possesses this trait. How then to summon "0–08" from the historical mist? No. Without even addressing the question of whether the pen can be summoned once the *Travelogue of Grolle* is projected, the pen remains the pen, and I remain me. Ul’dar, the Shadow Wolf, won’t allow the "0–08" to reverse and gain insight into my situation. Moreover, we only have a brief two-minute window—there’s simply no time to sense or respond. This, however, can serve as a useful contingency: by pre-writing the desired developments, Ul’dar’s "choices" can be made more coherent and the uncertainties reduced. Kline has thought deeply about this, yet still hasn’t found a suitable way to trap or engage the pen. Aside from regretting that he himself is not a Sequence-1 Angel of the "Audience" path, the only other concept he can recall is the "Starry Sky"—that very sky which becomes contaminated simply by being understood! If I possess the essence of "the Starry Sky," then after the Dark Magus Wolf has monitored me through the prayer lights, it will become aware of its contamination and be pinpointed by me. Yet the essence of "the Starry Sky" surpasses even that of the angels—how could I possibly have it? I keep feeling as though I've forgotten something. Klein gently shook the essence of "the World," Germain Spalro, imperceptibly, and surveyed the room. "We need not arrive at answers right now. We can discuss them later, upon our return, in a suitable manner with the right people." He particularly glanced at "the Star," Leonard, and "the Hidden One," Gauthier, hoping they would draw advice from more experienced beings such as Palis Soloyasde and the "Mystic Queen," Bernadette. As for himself, he would return to Bekland, consult the Messenger, Willy Onsight, and the Acolyte, Arianna, using the historical image gaps as a guide. That's exactly what one does—before making a major decision—when consulting widely with angels or aspiring angels...克莱恩 mentally muttered a complaint about his own behavior. "Stars" Leonard and "The Hermit" Gauthieria nodded in unison and said: "Alright." Then, the Tarot members exchanged updates on the various battlefronts, continuing until the discussion concluded. ... Back in the real world, Leonard, who was resting beneath the Saint Samuel Church, spoke softly, recounting克莱恩's question with emphasis, and finally asked, "Old man, what do you suggest?" "This is about the 'Miracle Worker' extraordinary trait left behind in the abandoned divine lands," Palis Soloyasda said, first expressing surprise, then chuckling. "Tell your former colleague—this one simply can't handle it on his own. My only recommendation? Seek assistance from 'The Fool'!" Leonard knew the old man's nature well and quickly asked, "Is that really the only suggestion?" Palis Soloyasda huffed, "It's a mythical creature even Amun couldn't catch—only the 'Fool' can help." Leonard nodded, then sighed, "Well, it seems we have no choice..." ... Two days later, just two minutes before the agreed meeting time between "The Moon" Emlyn and Marijch. "The Magician" Fols sat comfortably in the armchair by the fireplace, listening intently to the sounds from the second floor, and turned her gaze to her friend, Hoo. "If the war continues like this, Beckland will surely face more attacks. Aren't you finally evacuating your mother and brother to the countryside?" Hoo's short, sun-kissed hair was unevenly parted, neatly styled. Compared to last year, she appeared more serious, more resolute—like a high-ranking knight leading a knightly order. She spoke with a touch of hesitation: "The rural areas surrounding us have reached their population limit, and right now I can still secure enough food from MI9." Pausing slightly, she added, "If the war truly reaches Bekland, then you'll take them and 'travel' them to Intis, Feneport..." "It seems we have no other choice," Folshe said, about to mention her recent trip to Intis to procure supplies, when suddenly the alarm began to chime. She jolted upright, straightened in her chair, and extended her right hand, which bore a delicate red cord, reaching out toward the air. Instantly, her arm sank, and from the space she pulled forth Germain Spalro—dressed in a silk hat, a black coat, and without spectacles. The composed adventurer blinked, regaining awareness and minimizing the spiritual toll on the "magician" lady. He nodded gently, and as he did so, his left hand's glove swiftly became transparent. No more than a second had passed when Germán Sparo "teleported" away, vanishing into the house where Forse and Hoo were residing. "...," Forse stood stunned, only after a moment did she slightly move her lips and turn to Hoo, "I think I'm just a tool..." ........ It was now dark, yet the street gas lamps remained unlit, the only light coming from the deep crimson moon illuminating the entire city. Klein arrived at the agreed-upon location, glanced around, and paused his gaze for several seconds on the unusually quiet street, the scorched marks on the walls, and the collapsed building nearby. Based solely on what he saw, Bekland appeared desolate, worn down, with a lingering scent of smoke. At that moment, Emlin White stepped out of a nearby alley and nodded to this frantic adventurer. According to the instructions, he said nothing and made no formal greetings, so as not to waste precious time, and simply led Germán Spalro to the entrance of a nearby building, knocking on the door with a steady rhythm. The door opened smoothly with a soft creak, revealing a dark interior bathed in a faint moonlight. As Emlyn and Caine stepped inside, the sofa area materialized with Marič in a white shirt and black jacket, while the main door behind them closed with a solid thud as if it had a life of its own. Emlyn glanced at Marič and smiled, pointing to Caine. "This is my partner, Mr. Germán Spalro," he said. As soon as he finished speaking, he noticed that Marič's gaze had grown strangely intense, as though examining a fool. "Long time no see," Marič said, rising to his feet, placing his hand on his chest, and bowing formally to Sherlock Moriarty. Since the other person wasn't appearing as Sherlock Moriarty, he certainly wouldn't have initiated a conversation about related matters. "Long time no see," said Crane, removing his hat and surveying the room. "Please, let Miss Sharon join us to discuss—my time here is limited." As he spoke, he produced a silver-white adventurer's concertina and gave it a gentle blow. Out of the air stepped a figure dressed in a dark, elaborate gown, holding four golden-headed, red-eyed figures. ——The messenger summoned through the concertina's historical projection is an objective presence, not adding any additional spiritual burden to the magician, Furse. Meanwhile, Mariachi nodded. "Agreed," he said, turning his gaze toward the high stool on the opposite side of the room. Emlyn stared blankly at this "ghost," then at Germán Sparrow and the spirit beings he had summoned, feeling suddenly as though he were being excluded, as if he didn't belong here at all. On the high stool, a figure swiftly took shape—her skin pale as a doll’s, dressed in an elegant deep-black court-style gown, wearing a matching delicate soft hat; her hair a lighter gold, and her eyes a slightly paler blue.