In Klein's gaze, the crimson flames suddenly surged, engulfing him. When the scattered glow of fire finally faded, his figure had vanished from Saint Samuel's Church. In an ordinary hotel room, Klein stepped out of the sudden surge of flame and began setting up the ritual to seek a blessing. Soon, a mysterious gate formed by the candlelight opened, and an ancient piece of jewelry floated forth from the boundless darkness and settled upon the altar. The piece appeared to be forged of gold, shaped like a slender bird, with pale flames forming wings around it. Its bronze eyes shimmered with layered light, as though concealing one gate after another within them. Klein sincerely thanked the "Goddess of Night" and concluded the ritual, then took the golden bird-shaped ornament. "This seems to be the image of the primordial phoenix, Gracelya... This ancient death deity appears to also hold authority over certain aspects of the 'Apprentice Path,' beyond her own domain—an initial confirmation can be drawn from the city-state ruins in the land where the faith in the phoenix endures... It's no wonder that most of the ancient deities struggle to maintain emotional stability, constantly oscillating between madness and reason—indeed, hovering on the edge of frenzy. Before the first 'Board of Desecration' emerged, no transcendent beings possessed the concept of the 'Sequence Path'; they only had instincts for aggregation and procreation, coupled with blind experimentation..." Klein carefully examined the golden bird-shaped ornament while silently marveling at these reflections. As the sovereign of the 'Source Citadel,' he sensed a subtle connection between the ornament and the 'River of Eternal Darkness.' "So it can carry the waters of the 'River of Eternal Darkness'? Indeed, the waters of the 'River of Eternal Darkness' are not true water in the literal sense—they are more abstract, symbolic in nature." Klein nodded thoughtfully, then casually set the bird-shaped golden ornament inside the "Source Fort," sealing it among the clutter to avoid any unforeseen complications. "The Red Angel" spirit chuckled, "How do I know you're not playing me? Maybe you've even anticipated my anticipation?" Amon smiled, offering no direct reply, and instead produced a peculiar crown stained with rust and blood. "This is your payment," he said, tossing it to Sorin Einhorn Medici. Upon receiving the unusual crown, "The Red Angel" spirit was somewhat surprised, "Well, I didn't expect you to simply honor your word." "Making a move that diverges from your expectations is itself a form of deception," Amon said, gently pressing the single-lens glasses on his right eye, a smile playing on his lips. "I'm looking forward to you becoming 'The Red Priest' and swallowing that witch—by then, your image will surely be quite entertaining." The smile in Amon's voice carried an unmistakable sense of dry amusement. Sorin Einhorn Medici paused and replied, "I don't think there'll be any fundamental difference from now on." On either side of His face, blood-soaked mouths split open and then swiftly closed again. Amon adjusted the single-spectacle glasses on his right eye and turned his head toward the other side of the sea, saying, "The situation on the Western Continent seems quite interesting." With that, the once-angelic "mistake," now transformed into radiant light, dissolved completely into nothingness. The "Red Angel" spirit turned to where Amon had been looking, tossing gently the peculiar crown in His hands. Once more, blood-soaked mouths appeared on either side of His face, opening to speak: "After absorbing this remarkable trait, you had better stay away from Banxi. If you wish to develop breasts and swell all over, you may remain there." Medici frowned, saying, "Shouldn't that be your very desire?" ... Facing the altar laden with materials and vessels, Caine raised his right hand and snapped his fingers crisply. The table before him instantly became empty and clean, with all the clutter neatly returned to their original places. This was a "miracle," born from the accumulated wishes of Klein. "Compared to the past 'miracle workers' and 'mysterious attendants,' the miracles I can create are remarkably diverse and highly practical—ranging from building houses, interior design, waste classification, environmental protection, and so on." Klein glanced at the now-organized altar and offered a self-deprecating smile. Then he opened the door and stepped out onto the street. He wished to strengthen his humanity and stabilize his mental state by returning to reality and re-engaging with human society—his current predicament was quite complicated, involving the revived will of "Fu Sheng Xuan Huang Tian Zun." If he couldn't first suppress this influence, and instead went directly to "Justice" Miss for treatment, he would contaminate her, potentially causing her to develop mental illness, and likewise affecting his own psychiatrist. Of course, if "Justice" Miss possessed a level corresponding to Tier 2, the impact would be significantly reduced. The current Beckland had been fully reconstructed, and the number of pedestrians flowing in and out had returned to near-peak levels. As soon as Klein pushed open the hotel doors, he heard a variety of voices: "Wait a moment! Wait a moment!" "Fresh sea fish from Prizh Port—lean meat, fewer bones, perfect for searing!" "A specially crafted ginger beer paired with mini scones and fried potato strips!" "A fresh, hot oyster soup!" "The very latest vegetables!" "... These sounds mostly came from the street vendors, a few from passengers chasing public carriages or pedestrians bumped while hurrying along. The morning scene unfolded gradually, bustling, noisy, and disordered. Klein listened quietly to these calls—both unfamiliar and familiar—gazing steadily at the scene before him, motionless for several minutes. It wasn't until a thief approached that he finally inserted his hands into the pockets of his black wool coat and stepped steadily into the nearest café. 'A good cup of coffee, a stew of young peas with lamb, and a bowl of oat bread,' Klein said to the café's owner. 'Eleven pence,' the owner replied after a quick calculation. Then he added, 'Everything's going up in price now.' Klein said nothing. From the clutter of supplies in the 'Source Keep,' he took a one-sol note and handed it to the owner." He then chose a seat by the window, at a table less greasy, and laid a few paper towels beneath him. Next, he spread the letter on the table and produced a dark red, round-bodied, absorbent steel pen. After gazing at the morning street scene and the stream of pedestrians for a while, he finally began to write: I work at Black Thorns Security Company at 36 Zothlan Street, with a great team of colleagues: Dunn Smith is the team captain and supervisor— an exceptional person with extensive experience, a kind heart, and a strong sense of responsibility. He is gentle in nature, efficient in action, and treats all team members with equal care. His only drawback is that he has a poor memory; he may forget important details quite quickly, often saying, “Wait, there’s still one more thing,” which, of course, has its reasons. He has lost so many of his teammates that he hopes they remain in his dreams, and as a result, he sometimes struggles to distinguish between what is real and what is dream-like. Old Neil was my first teacher in the field of mysticism. The most useful skill he taught me was how to file expense reports. He always designed strange and elaborate ritual magic ceremonies, hoping to gain assistance from the goddess—some of which succeeded, others resulted in amusing mishaps. To this day, I still remember them clearly. He's a very kind person, unwilling to hurt anyone even for the sake of a long-held dream. "Leonard is a poet with his own secrets. I first thought he was mysterious, someone hidden and essential—someone to be respected. But later I realized he's actually rough, simple, impulsive, rebellious, and free-spirited, not particularly courteous. In fact, he doesn't have a literary gift at all—he relies solely on memorization to perform. Still, he does have some strengths. He's brave, and possesses sharp intuition and remarkable deductive abilities—though only in certain situations." "Fry appears cold and distant, making people hesitant to get close. Yet, in reality, he is highly responsible and genuinely warm-hearted, always stepping in when others need help." "Cohen is short and petite. He used to work in an administrative capacity before voluntarily applying to become a full-time team member. He's quite astute, but never declines when a case comes up. Every time he plays cards, he talks the most about his fiancée. "Rosalyn is the receptionist at Black Thorns Security Company. She's lively and a bit lazy, beloved by everyone, and to us, she feels like a sister. She genuinely loves each of us, yet she deeply dislikes all the formal team members, since her father was once an official extraordinary agent who later heroically sacrificed his life. Perhaps, in her mind, formal team members can be equated with people who receive critical illness notifications. "Mrs. Oliana is the accountant, a victim of one of the extraordinary cases. She's warm and refined, with a quiet demeanor, and while she doesn't speak much, she consistently shows care for everyone. She never puts us to financial difficulty—such as rarely rejecting old Neil's reimbursement requests, even when the reasons seem absurd, always simply forwarding the matter to the team captain. "Ms. Sica Teyon has rare white hair and is an unsuccessful writer. She has an outstanding presence and a calm demeanor—quite unlike a remarkable figure battling through the night. She is equally brave and resolute, never retreating even in the face of death. "Ms. Luo Yao and Frey are very similar: both are quiet, deeply attentive to their colleagues, though perhaps not at the card table. "Bright is the most skilled report writer among the administrative staff; a refined gentleman with a romantic heart. Even after fifteen years of marriage, he remains deeply devoted to his wife. I believe he will live a long and fulfilling life, guided by his principle: the less one knows, the longer one lives. "Cesare Francis is our driver. Though technically part of the administrative staff, he frequently finds himself in hazardous situations, which is why the captain has entrusted him with all matters related to purchasing and requisitioning supplies. His presence may not be particularly noticeable, yet this quiet nature might be precisely what enables him to survive so long. I sometimes wonder: if it weren't for all the things that happened later, I would surely still be living in Tingen, going to work on time every day, rotating shifts underground, handling a modest number of cases, playing cards with my colleagues, and occasionally accompanying Melissa and Bensen to theater or circus performances. If I could get home a bit earlier, I'd spend that time exploring food—something I truly love. On weekends, I might visit you and share with you my insights on history across various fields. Alas, life always pushes us forward, forcing us to face one transformation after another.