Time flowed by as daylight faded and night crept in. As darkness enveloped Igwynt, the city fell under the shadow of the night. Within this gloom, an urgent meeting was underway. In a dimly lit, spacious room, the core members of the Crimson Eucharist sat silently on either side of a candlelit, elongated dining table. Unlike previous gatherings, no blood-soaked delicacies adorned the table, and their number was one fewer than before. The atmosphere was heavy, each face stern—a stark contrast to their usual mealtime camaraderie. "Burton is dead. According to information from the Serenity Bureau, he was found lifeless in his home, along with every subordinate at his base. None survived," said Buck, a gaunt, middle-aged man with a sallow face and a thin mustache, sitting nearest the head of the table. His grim news left the hunchbacked, wide-eyed elder opposite him in shock. "Dead? That guy’s really gone?! Buck, didn’t you warn him to retreat? How could he still end up dead at the hands of hunters?" Clifford blurted out loudly, to which Buck replied with a measured tone. "It wasn’t the Bureau. From what they’ve uncovered, the hunters sent after Burton were already killed before they could get to him—horribly, at that. Even the Bureau is puzzled as to who got to him first," Buck explained gravely. Clifford was momentarily stunned by this revelation. "What... someone beat the Bureau to it? Who would dare, or even have the ability to pull this off in Igwynt? Was it Grayhill?" Clifford asked incredulously, to which Buck shook his head slowly and continued. "No... Though Grayhill despises us, he is a man of strict principles and would not violate the neutrality of the White Craftsmen’s Guild. This... this suggests the emergence of a new, hidden force in Igwynt." "A new force... Could it be related to the incident with Albert? Is this another secret society?!" "Indeed... I suspect the ‘Edrick’ Burton mentioned earlier has been recruited by them. While their exact spiritual affiliation remains unclear, it’s obvious they’re working against us." As he spoke, Buck slammed the table in anger, causing it to tremble. "To clear out Burton’s base and kill everyone there in such a short time, their strength is extraordinary. I’d estimate they dispatched at least two or three Beyonders for the job—anything less wouldn’t have been this efficient." Buck’s voice remained somber, and Clifford seemed visibly unnerved. "A rival society? And at least two or three Beyonders? Hey, Buck, this is serious! Both Albert and Burton are gone now—we need to inform the Mentor and have him take charge!" Clifford urged, his tone tinged with anxiety. The Crimson Eucharist had reigned unchallenged in Igwynt for so long, yet they were now reeling from heavy losses within weeks. Buck fell silent for a moment, his gaze slowly shifting to the young man with dark brown hair who had been sitting silently across from him. "Bill, the situation is getting critical. Can we inform the Mentor?" "No. The Mentor explicitly instructed us not to disturb him during this crucial phase of his advancement preparation," Bill replied indifferently. His calm demeanor agitated Clifford further. "A secret society, allied with the Bureau, is targeting us, and we’ve already lost two members! This concerns the survival of the entire Eucharist, Bill! How can we not involve the Mentor?!" Clifford exclaimed. Bill shook his head and spoke dismissively. "No. The Mentor has made it clear that we must handle all matters ourselves. Are you really this incapable? Didn’t he leave you his precious divination opportunities?" As he spoke, Bill glanced at Buck, prompting Clifford to do the same. "That’s right... Divination! The Mentor left us his divination opportunities! Buck, now is the time to use them! Let’s find those sneaky bastards and strike back hard!" Buck sat in contemplation for a few seconds, listening to their words, before slowly nodding in agreement. … Rewind to earlier that evening. Having taken the day off, Dorothy made sure to make the most of her rare free time. After finishing her "extracurricular activities" in the morning and handling the aftermath, she spent the afternoon leisurely exploring the city. By the time her usual school hours ended, she finally returned home by carriage. Stepping off at the side of Sunflower Street, Dorothy paid her fare and ascended the steps to her front door. Upon unlocking it, she entered a spacious living room devoid of any signs of Gregor. "Ah... Big brother isn’t home. Makes sense, after such a major case earlier today, working late is inevitable..." Seeing the empty house, Dorothy thought to herself, her relaxed demeanor betraying not a shred of guilt over the additional workload she had indirectly caused him. Realizing Gregor wouldn’t be home, Dorothy grew emboldened. She placed the cakes and sweets she had purchased earlier on the coffee table, kicked off her shoes, and sprawled out on the sofa. Skipping the trouble of asking Mrs. Harker downstairs to prepare dinner, she treated the desserts as her meal, occasionally stretching on the soft couch. "Ahhh... Being home alone is the best. Maybe I should stir up more trouble to keep Gregor working overtime..." Stretching lazily, Dorothy mused aloud before pulling a dark blue-covered book from her bag. Assuming a less-than-dignified posture, she reclined on the sofa, nibbling on her sweets while flipping through the book. This book was none other than a mystic manuscript seized from Burton’s home. With Gregor absent, Dorothy had the freedom to study mystical knowledges openly in the living room. Nonetheless, she remained cautious, positioning a crow marionette from her bag on the windowsill as a lookout. With her proficiency in speed reading as a Cognizer, Dorothy quickly finished the relatively thin manuscript, absorbing its contents entirely. Titled “The Secret Appraisal Notebook,” the manuscript was authored by a Beyonder attuned to the spirituality of “Stone.” A gemsmith and appraiser, the author had written this book as a guide for identifying mystical items. It taught readers how to recognize spiritually imbued items, discern artifacts with secretive significance, and locate treasures among seemingly ordinary antiques. "Surprising... It’s not one of those ’Chalice’-related knowledge. I thought everything seized from a Crimson Eucharist member would be something bizarre. How did he even get his hands on this?" Dorothy wondered as she leafed through the book again. Eventually, she found a dedication on the title page: "December 6th, 1240. Gifted by André to Aldrich. May our friendship endure." After reading the inscription, Dorothy couldn’t help but smirk, her mind conjuring an image of Aldrich with his signature scheming smile. "Ha... I wonder how much that guy sold André’s ’friendship’ for," she mused, her thoughts dripping with sarcasm.