Late at night, Igwynt was shrouded in gloomy clouds, and the moonlight dimmed. In a hidden corner of Igwynt, inside a luxuriously decorated but dimly lit room, a banquet was underway. The thick scent of blood permeated the air. On the dark red, patterned carpet lay a long table draped in a pristine white tablecloth. The table held ornate tableware and candelabras, their red candles flickering faintly, illuminating the piles of mangled flesh on the plates. Seated on both sides of the table were four male figures, all dressed impeccably like gentlemen. With the same refinement, they used knives and forks to consume the meat on their plates. At the head of the table stood an empty high-backed chair, unoccupied. “Gentlemen, regarding the matter of Edrick, what progress has each of you made?” asked a gaunt middle-aged man with a somber gaze, neatly combed brown-black hair, and a small mustache. After wiping the blood from his lips, he surveyed the table. “Nothing to report…” replied a young man nonchalantly, slowly slicing a piece of meat. “I’ve mobilized all my resources, but there’s no trace of him. He hasn’t been seen since that day,” said a balding middle-aged man of average build—Burton, the owner of 22 Western Elmwood Street. “This city holds no sign of Edrick. My people searched downstream of the Ironclay River and found no evidence of him coming ashore. He’s either drowned or left the city… or…” An older man with disheveled clothing, mismatched eyes, a slight hunch, and a bloodstained napkin before him glanced mockingly at Burton from across the table. “Or Burton’s intelligence was wrong, and his lackeys misidentified the person, causing us to waste these past few days!” “What did you say, Clifford? Are you questioning my intelligence?” Burton retorted sharply, glaring at the old man. “Heh… So what if I am? If Edrick really betrayed Albert in Vulcan, he would’ve fled far away. Why would he dare come to Igwynt and blatantly sell our goods right under our noses? Who gave him the guts to provoke us so openly? Where did he get that kind of confidence? I think your intelligence is flawed!” Clifford sneered. “You…” Burton, infuriated by Clifford’s words, turned his gaze to the man closest to the head seat—Buck. “Buck… Let’s just use divination to locate Edrick. Ordinary methods are useless now!” Burton suggested. Buck, the mustachioed man, sipped his “red wine” calmly before responding. “The mentor left us one chance for divination—an invaluable resource. Unless it concerns the society’s overall safety, I won’t use it.” “But… Albert is dead…” Burton pressed. “Even so, I said it’s not the time, and that’s final. The mentor is currently preparing for advancement and cannot oversee the society. Per his instructions, everything here is under my command.” Buck’s stern gaze silenced Burton. After scanning the room, Buck spoke again. “Keep an eye on the Edrick situation, but given the potential misinformation, don’t invest too much energy. We have other matters to address.” Buck paused briefly, ensuring all eyes were on him, then continued. “According to new information, the captain of Serenity Bureau’s Squad Three, Gregorius, has a sister who recently arrived in Igwynt. Although Edrick may have betrayed us and failed his task, our original plan doesn’t need to end.” “Buck… Are you saying we should still target Gregorius’s sister?” Clifford asked, narrowing his eyes. Buck nodded. “Gregorius’s talent is well-known to all of you. He became an apprentice, the ‘Shadower’ just two years into joining the Bureau, and his exceptional combat skills have caused us much trouble. If we can eliminate him—or better yet, lure him to our side—Igwynt’s Serenity Bureau will lose significant power over us.” Burton nodded in agreement. “Compared to the other team captains, Gregorius is the youngest, the least cautious, and the least experienced, making him the easiest target. If we can control his only sister and use her to get close to Gregorius, the Bureau’s sharpest blade will be ours to wield.” “So, Buck, what’s the current status of his sister?” Burton asked. After sipping his “red wine” again, Buck answered slowly. “Based on our information, Gregorius enrolled his sister at St. Amanda School the morning before yesterday.” “St. Amanda? That place isn’t easy to infiltrate…” Clifford frowned, and Buck nodded in agreement. “Exactly. That’s why we’ll have to act outside the school. I’ve already begun arrangements. Though risky, this time I’ve decided to deploy our own men directly.” As Buck spoke, he speared a piece of raw meat with his fork and placed it into his mouth. The dark red juices dripped from his lips as he chewed. … The next morning, in Igwynt’s western outskirts, along the Ironclay River, stood St. Amanda School. Inside a spacious room, sunlight streamed through open windows, casting light and shadow onto a low table covered with various plaster geometric shapes. Surrounding the table were students, each intent on sketching the objects, striving to capture the interplay of light and shadow on their canvases. Among them was Dorothy. “Damn… Who knew art was a mandatory course here? Never seen a school like this…” Dorothy muttered inwardly, scrutinizing her sketch. The more she looked, the more dissatisfied she became. “Ugh… Why does something as talent-dependent as art have to be mandatory? This is impossible…” Frustrated, she erased her rough outline again, preparing to start over. “If this keeps up, I won’t even have anything to submit by the end of class…” At that moment, a male classmate accidentally knocked over the low table while picking up his eraser, sending the plaster shapes clattering to the floor with a loud crash that startled everyone. Nice one, kid! I hated the way those shapes were arranged anyway. Perfect excuse for a reset… Dorothy thought, smiling to herself as she bent down to help pick up the scattered pieces. She picked up a cube and frowned. “Heavy… Cold… This texture, this weight… doesn’t feel like plaster at all…” Curious, Dorothy ran her fingers over the cube again. “This texture… feels more like stone? Are all these shapes made of stone? Shouldn’t they be plaster for still-life setups? What’s going on?”