Southern Main Continent, Bainlair. Nighttime—within a seemingly ordinary tavern tucked along a quiet street in the old district of Bainlair’s capital, Whitelinburg, voices of ongoing debate echoed continuously from a sealed meeting room on the second floor. Inside, a man in his thirties, clad in fitted, luxurious attire and sporting a neatly cropped haircut, was animatedly waving his hand as he spoke. “So, I say this—Otto is a complete disgrace! A stain on the Bainlair royal family! My father’s current unconscious state is undoubtedly linked to him! He’s an evil usurper! No different than the traitor Wolff! “I can guarantee you, Otto has made some secret pact with an evil cult. He must have used sinister mystical powers to harm my father and seize control. And now he isn’t satisfied—he wants more, and he’ll stop at nothing to get it! “This country stands on the brink of disaster. My father has already been relocated to Holy Mount, and Otto is dragging Bainlair straight into the abyss. I must stop him! I’ve already gathered considerable political strength, but that alone isn’t enough. If I’m to contend with the sinister mystical forces behind him, I need a powerful Beyonder to back me. That’s why I need your help, esteemed members of the White Craftsmen’s Guild…” With that, the man’s gaze focused intently forward. Before him was a large round table, on the opposite side of which sat three figures: an elderly man in a trench coat, a well-dressed gentleman in a suit, and a pale-skinned youth. “We’ve more or less grasped the situation… thank you for your thorough explanation, Prince Sigmund. However, I do have a question. If you suspect Otto has ties to a cult and mystical forces, why haven’t you reported this to the Church authorities?” the pale and slender youth asked. Sigmund responded plainly. “Mr. Ed, while I’m certain Otto is up to something, he’s extremely cautious—never leaving any clear evidence. To this day, I’ve uncovered nothing concrete enough to draw the Church’s attention. Reporting him now would only backfire on me. That’s why I’ve kept quiet until now, gathering what intel I could in the shadows. But things have escalated too far—Otto is accelerating Bainlair’s ruin. I must act!” Sigmund spoke resolutely. At that, the elderly man—Aldrich—followed up. “If Otto really is as problematic as you claim, we could assist you against him. But what benefit is there for us?” “No need to worry about that,” Sigmund said with assurance. “As long as Bainlair is saved from Otto and I take the reins afterward, I’ll see that all of you are rewarded handsomely. I know how the White Craftsmen’s Guild operates—you don’t make deals without profit…” He continued earnestly, well aware of their interests. Meanwhile, the man named Rudolf, puffing on a pipe, chuckled and added. “Heh… His Highness sure reads the room well. Just like that infamous ‘Masked Prince Redman’ from your kingdom’s rumors. Value for value, right? Let’s make sure we clarify all compensation upfront—makes things smoother for everyone. In fact… why don’t we draft a contract too?” “That’s exactly why I’m here.” Sigmund nodded solemnly at Rudolf’s words. Meanwhile, Ed discreetly raised his “Mind Vision” badge toward Sigmund as the negotiations proceeded. After scanning him in secret and confirming there were no signs of mental tampering, he quietly put it away. … As Rudolf and Sigmund continued negotiating the terms of their cooperation and rewards, Ed—finding the discussion no longer relevant to him—excused himself. He stepped out onto the tavern’s balcony to enjoy the night air, and Aldrich soon joined him. “I didn’t expect you’d already contacted the leader of the largest opposition faction here—an actual Bainlair prince. Quite efficient of you,” Ed remarked while watching the streets below. Aldrich replied calmly. “To be precise, it was Rudolf who moved first. He arrived at Whitelinburg before I did, launched the investigation, identified the suspects, and even secured an ally… he’s as sharp as ever.” “So you’re saying you’ve already fully confirmed Otto as a collaborator of the Dark Gold Society?” Ed asked. “At the very least, he’s our top suspect,” Aldrich replied. “The Dark Gold Society is known for latching onto nations to drain their wealth. The timing of Otto’s sudden shift in economic policy coincides exactly with the Dark Coin Noble’s retreat from Tivian. It’s highly likely he’s amassing funds to offset their massive losses. There’s no doubt in my mind—Otto is their puppet, deployed to manipulate Bainlair.” Ed nodded slowly, then continued. “Even if Otto is connected to the Dark Gold Society, do we really need this Sigmund guy? He doesn’t seem to wield any significant mystical power—he’d be useless in direct confrontation against the likes of Dark Coin Noble.” “That’s true,” Aldrich said with a smile, waving a hand. “He can’t help us fight Dark Coin Noble—but so what? He can still pay us. Since we’re going after Otto anyway, why not squeeze some profit from someone who already has a bone to pick with him? Rudolf’s no fool—he won’t pass up a deal like this.” Hearing that, Dorothy—controlling Ed’s body—couldn’t help but twitch the corner of her mouth slightly. “So that’s what this is. These guys aren’t allying with the prince out of shared goals—they just saw a chance to get paid for something they were already planning to do. That poor prince thinks he’s hired a group of mercenaries to kill someone, not realizing they were already planning to do it and just contacted him to milk him for coin.” “So… this Sigmund Prince was actually someone Rudolf personally contacted beforehand?” Ed asked. “Can he be trusted?” Aldrich nodded firmly. “Rudolf has been under the guild’s watch and cultivation for years. He’s capable, accomplished, and trusted by the Golden Triad. I’ve watched him grow up myself. So long as he’s not under any mental influence—which, with the Mind Vision present, we would’ve detected—then his loyalty isn’t in question.” “I see…” Ed nodded, then chuckled and remarked openly. “From the sound of things, you still hold considerable sway within the White Craftsmen’s Guild. Isn’t it a bit beneath your station to be out here on the front lines, Headmaster?” “Hah… I’m still the acting candidate for that vacant Golden Seat. So yes, I still hold some weight. And this mission is critical—even someone of your status as a divine vessel has taken to the field. Why should I hold back? “Besides… this mission isn’t just for the guild. I have personal reasons for being here.” Hands clasped behind his back, Aldrich spoke plainly. Dorothy, listening through Ed’s senses, perked up. “Personal reasons… could it be…” “Yes, you guessed correctly. According to multiple sources, the rogue Deer Skull—formerly of the Nether Coffin—has joined the Dark Gold Society. If I’m lucky, I might find traces of that old ghost during this operation.” A grim determination darkened Aldrich’s tone as he looked Ed straight in the eye. … As Prince Sigmund and Rudolf continued to discuss the internal affairs of Bainlair and negotiate the promised rewards for their cooperation, just across the street from their tavern, inside a smaller and more refined establishment, Dorothy herself sat in a private room with a balcony. Sipping her coffee, she simultaneously controlled the nearby corpse marionette Ed, who was engaged in conversation with Aldrich. “Deer Skull... can't be found on the Nether Coffin's registry anymore. Now he's joined the Dark Gold Society... I don't know the full reason yet, but that switch was certainly well-timed…” Dorothy pondered silently. Just then, the door to her room swung open, and Nephthys came jogging in, holding a book in her arms. “Miss Dorothy, I found a lead!” Dorothy didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she picked up a “Mind Vision” badge from the table and scanned Nephthys with it. Seeing this, Nephthys waved her hand and spoke. “Ah, Miss Dorothy, I was only out for a little while—it’s fine, no need to be that cautious.” “Even just a moment is enough for a complete mental profile to be written. As long as information exchange is possible, that ancient storyteller only needs a blink to map out a Crimson-rank. We’re on their turf now—we can’t afford to be careless.” Dorothy spoke seriously. After confirming via “Mind Vision” that Nephthys had not been mentally tampered with, she put the badge away and gestured for her to sit. Once seated, Nephthys earnestly continued. “Miss Dorothy, I followed your instructions to investigate the ‘Masked Prince’—turns out it’s a widely known folk legend in Bainlair.” “A legend?” “Mhm… Practically a household story in the region. It goes something like this: In ancient Bainlair, there was a wise king with a treacherous younger brother. One day, the king was poisoned by this brother and fell into a coma. The brother took over as regent. The king’s son, Prince Redman, was away campaigning and learned of the regent’s plot. He rushed back to the capital to investigate but was ambushed by assassins sent by the regent. “However, the prince survived by leaping off a cliff, barely escaping with his life. After recovering from his injuries, he set out to return again—only to discover he had been branded a traitor nationwide. To evade the regent’s assassins, the prince donned a mask and returned to the capital in secret. “Along the way, he journeyed across lands under the regent’s cruel rule, frequently helping the oppressed. He joined forces with a fallen knight, a foreign slave strongman, a female thief, and others. Together they overcame countless trials and finally returned to the capital. There, he exposed the regent’s treachery before the public, revealed his identity, personally slew the usurper, revived his father, and was crowned king amidst the cheers of the masses. “That’s the Masked Prince story. It’s incredibly widespread across Bainlair. I also looked deeper—it probably has historical roots. The ‘Prince Redman’ is believed to be based on King Raymond of the White Thorn Dynasty. He reportedly rose to power by slaying his uncle the regent—not quite as dramatic as the tale, but structurally very similar.” Nephthys looked at Dorothy earnestly as she recounted this, and after listening, Dorothy nodded in quiet understanding. “As expected... another local legend. And yet its structure mirrors the current situation so closely…” Rudolf had drawn a comparison to the Masked Prince during talks with Sigmund. This had piqued Dorothy’s curiosity, prompting her to send Nephthys to investigate—and now the parallel was undeniable. “A wicked regent, a comatose old king, a rightful prince plotting rebellion… A classic prince’s revenge tale, yet so closely aligned with the present crisis in Bainlair. Coincidence… or something deeper?” Dorothy pondered in silence, until Nephthys, seeing her expression, asked curiously. “Miss Dorothy, did you discover something in that story?” “Not yet... but there are too many coincidences here to ignore. I’ll keep digging once I gather more data.” Just as she was about to say more, Dorothy felt a disturbance from her magic box. She opened it and took out the item that had reacted—her Literary Sea Logbook. Someone was contacting her through it. Flipping through the logbook, she quickly found the page with the new entry—her correspondence with Shadi, leader of the Addus Revolutionary Army. Dorothy blinked in mild surprise. After peering into Nephthys’s grandfather Davis’s memories through bloodline tracing—and learning of the secret confrontation between Hafdar and Shepsuna decades ago—Dorothy had considered reaching out to Shepsuna. Partly to gather more intel, and partly to see if she could be recruited as an ally against Hafdar and that “Revelation” fledgling god. As for how to reach Shepsuna, Dorothy had only one lead: Setut, fellow Sage King. Ever since Shadi disclosed information about the Land of Revelation, Dorothy had strongly suspected that Shadi’s backer was a death pharaoh on par with Hafdar. Based on Shadi’s powerful ice-elemental abilities, and prior testimony from Viagetta, Dorothy concluded that Shadi’s guardian spirit must be Setut—whose secondary aspect was Stone, and whose former path before shifting from Revelation to Silence had likely been the Roaring Fury Path. Through Shadi, Dorothy had relayed intel about Hafdar and the fledgling god to Setut, urging him to find Shepsuna. After receiving her message, Setut had promptly departed for his old colleague’s tomb. Now, quite some time had passed since Setut set out, and with Shadi contacting her again, the likely reason was—results. With a bit of anticipation, Dorothy began reading the new message written in the Literary Sea Logbook. It appeared to be from Setut himself—and after just two lines, Dorothy’s brow furrowed deeply. “What… Shepsuna’s tomb was attacked… Her corpse torn apart… her soul shattered…” Staring at the text, an expression of disbelief crept onto Dorothy’s face. After a moment of stunned silence, she picked up her pen and wrote. “What exactly happened? Can you identify the assailant?” “The situation is… still unclear. Shepsuna’s remains were severely damaged, but the tomb itself shows no signs of battle. That means she was destroyed without any direct combat. There are only two explanations: “One, the attacker had an overwhelming power gap and defeated her instantly. Two, the attacker was someone Shepsuna trusted, who caught her off guard and incapacitated her in one blow. “But Shepsuna, with a corporeal body and in her own tomb, was essentially at full Creator-rank strength. Even divine power wielders would struggle to defeat her in one move. So the first explanation seems unlikely.” More and more solemn lines appeared on the page. Dorothy frowned as she wrote back. “Then… are you suggesting Hafdar or Taharka ambushed her?” “Yes. I lean toward Hafdar. That man has been corrupted by the being on the Throne of Revelation—he’s capable of anything. Shepsuna foresaw countless futures and left herself many safeguards. She shouldn’t have been caught unaware. The only explanation I can think of is: the one occupying the divine throne somehow interfered with fate—disrupting Shepsuna’s ability to respond to Hafdar’s ambush. “That being may not yet fully influence the physical world, but its grip on destiny is growing stronger… After all, the divine throne of the Divine Mentor is also called… the Throne of Fate.” Reading Setut’s lines, Dorothy fell silent again. After a long moment, she resumed writing. “Shepsuna foresaw the future from seven thousand years ago… and yet she didn’t foresee her own death? Was it because of interference from that fledgling god? After all, to her, that god hadn’t even been born yet…” “Fate’s tapestry is bidirectional—past shapes future, and future influences past. If that fledgling now sits on the Throne of Fate, then obscuring Shepsuna’s foresight from 7,000 years ago isn’t impossible. Though it would be an immense strain on such a young god, eliminating Shepsuna—its greatest obstacle—would make the cost worthwhile. “Currently, the only destiny it cannot fully peer into or affect—aside from that of the gods—is yours, because you possess the Divine Mentor’s divinity. All causal threads extending from your fate remain uncertain and unreadable to it.” Setut’s reply was direct. Dorothy read in silence once more, then wrote. “Can you confirm Shepsuna is truly gone?” “There’s a 99.9% chance she’s completely annihilated. Not only was her corpse destroyed, but I also found dense soul fragments in the nearby Nether Realm—residue from her shattered soul. Clearly, Hafdar didn’t spare her soul. He eradicated it and scattered the pieces into the Nether Realm. Her tomb’s pull prevented them from drifting too far, so I managed to recover some—but they’re useless now. “Based on the amount of fragments, I estimate her soul is entirely destroyed. There’s nothing left capable of reconstructing a will. No trace of her consciousness remains—no chance for a soul-escape or partial survival. The total amount of soul residue equals a full soul, meaning nothing escaped. I… can hardly accept Shepsuna’s death, but the evidence leaves no room for hope.” Dorothy stared at Setut’s heavy words, falling once more into deep silence. She still couldn’t quite believe it. The Shepsuna who had foreseen Unina’s actions 7,000 years ago… that seemingly omniscient and mighty being… was now just gone? She had hoped to recruit her as an ally—and now, she was simply… no more? Although Dorothy didn’t want to believe it at first, with someone as authoritative as Setut confirming it, she had no choice but to accept the truth. “A prophet dying right at the start… this round just got a lot harder…” So thought Dorothy grimly. Letting out a soft sigh, she picked up her pen again and began writing in the Literary Sea Logbook. “I’m currently in Bainlair on the main continent. Things here seem... strange. Can you discern anything from it? For example… signs of Hafdar’s interference?” She then detailed the current situation in Bainlair to Setut, hoping to hear the ancient pharaoh’s insight. Not long after, Setut’s response appeared on the page. “From what you’ve told me, I can’t say for certain, but I can offer some speculation—perhaps about Hafdar’s and Dark Coin Noble’s goals?” “What goals? Go on.” “Usurpation and treason! The divine power of the God of Commerce and Gold requires vast wealth to function. So what the Dark Gold Society likely aims to do is turn the entire nation of Bainlair into their property. They want to purchase the whole country at a bargain price.” As these words quickly formed before her, Dorothy arched a brow and wrote back. “A bargain purchase? How would they pull that off?” “It’s simple: if the sovereign ruler—the secular king—willingly signs an unequal contract with them. You mentioned before that the Dark Coin Noble tried to tempt the Queen of Pritt into signing such a contract. That was their attempt to buy Pritt.” Dorothy, still intrigued, asked further. “You can buy a kingdom just by getting the ruler to sign a contract? Wouldn’t that mean they could just charm any monarch into signing one and buy kingdoms at will?” “No. The contract is just a façade. Buying a kingdom—even with divine power involved—is no simple matter. Behind that paper lies a grand ritual that Dark Coin Noble has likely prepared for a long time. The monarch’s signature is merely the final step. “My guess is, once the ritual was ready, Hafdar approached Dark Coin Noble offering his help in manipulating the monarch. In return, he asked that the kingdom they purchase be Pritt. That’s what led to the attack—on you, and on Pritt’s new queen. When that failed, naturally, they had to seek out the next available kingdom…” Setut laid out his theory, and Dorothy, in agreement, wrote back. “After that failed attack, the Church immediately began taking profiling threats seriously. They relocated all national rulers and key leaders to Holy Mount and placed them under strict surveillance—constantly monitored with ‘Mind Vision’ to ensure Dark Coin Noble and Hafdar had no chance to infiltrate again…” “Which is exactly why they chose Bainlair—a country with a regent.” Setut replied. Reading this, Dorothy asked curiously. “Why? What can they do with a regent?” “Much, indeed... He is one marked by the Divine Mentor. You should know the divine power of the Divine Mentor is deeply tied to fate, history, law, and cognition. There’s a ritual derived from that divine aspect known as the ‘Armoring Rite’…” “Armoring Rite…” “I act in your stead. I speak in your name. Until none can tell me apart from you… That is the essence of armoring. To put it simply: if someone who is not a king consistently does what a king would do, and is perceived by the world as no different from one, then through this ritual, they can truly become king. “This ritual bypasses bloodlines, law, and legitimacy. It can make a non-king into a real king—no coronation, no recognition required. And though it has broader uses, both higher and lower in application, this is the scenario most relevant to your current situation. “That regent named Otto, while not a king in name, has been ruling in every sense. By obsessively exercising royal power, he’s made himself indistinguishable from a king in the eyes of the people. If Hafdar can find a way to channel even a sliver of the fledgling god’s divinity, the child on the Throne of Fate can perform the Armoring Rite for him…” “So… Otto’s madness isn’t just about greed. It’s about making himself look more like a king—so that he can undergo the ritual and become king in truth. That way, he can sign the contract with Dark Coin Noble himself. “Even though the old king, in poor health, has been protected in Holy Mount, Otto could bypass the Church’s oversight entirely and crown himself King of Bainlair—no coronation, no appointment, no law needed…” Dorothy quickly wrote out her deduction, and Setut confirmed it. “Exactly. That’s my conclusion based on your reports. Take it seriously… Enlightened One.” His solemn words made Dorothy’s expression grow even graver. After that, she and Setut continued to discuss other issues related to Hafdar, until finally, as the conversation drew to a close, Setut gave her one last message. “Young Enlightened One, I trust in Shepsuna’s and Viagetta’s judgment. I accept that you are the one chosen by the Divine Mentor. I will aid you in resisting Hafdar’s madness and the will growing on the Throne of the Revelation. I believe the original Divine Mentor chose to fall of Their own accord. I do not believe the being now seated on the Throne of Fate is Their continuation. “But now that we’ve lost Shepsuna, and without the means of tomb-channeling, my power outside the tomb is limited. I won’t be joining your efforts just yet. I intend to check in on Taharka’s status and will do everything I can to bring him to our side. “I will depart immediately. Lastly, I must warn you—never underestimate Hafdar. Even with the Divine Mentor’s divinity, even if you can detect his profiling, do not let your guard down. He is the most cunning among us when it comes to manipulation. He constantly uses his abilities in ways no one expects, weaving allies and enemies alike into his conspiracies. Don’t grow complacent just because you’ve defeated him once. He’s a quick learner… “Be wary of Hafdar—especially when you step into his territory!” Before Dorothy, Setut’s words appeared as if laden with the weight of an elder’s final caution. Reading them, Dorothy paused for a moment, then solemnly wrote back. “Thank you for your warning. I will be careful. Lastly, I’d like you to remember an honorific name. In a moment of crisis, they might prove useful…” Dorothy wrote carefully in the Literary Sea Logbook, and after finishing, she exhaled deeply, put down her pen, and closed the book. Beside her, Nephthys—still nibbling on dessert—chewed as she curiously asked. “Mhmm? What’s wrong, Miss Dorothy? Bad news?” Dorothy was silent for a moment before answering. “Not entirely…” She rose from her seat and walked slowly to the balcony, gazing over the city’s nightscape as Setut’s warnings lingered in her mind. “Able to release his powers in unexpected ways, ensnaring everyone in his web… what a high evaluation… “Still, I’ve already maxed out my defensive measures. I should be fine… right?” She thought to herself. Hafdar’s most troublesome trait was his powerful profiling, but now she had the Mind Vision tool to detect it—severely limiting its effectiveness. Mind Vision was a mystical tool, and while it wasn’t infallible, in the rare case it malfunctioned, Dorothy could still verify the mental states of her closest confidants through her consultation channels. Everyone connected to her via consultation, she checked on periodically—monitoring their mental states, awareness, and surroundings. To date, nothing abnormal had been detected. This result deeply satisfied her. She believed that as long as she and her closest, most trusted allies remained unaffected by profiling, then no matter what Hafdar or Dark Coin Noble attempted—they would not succeed. As she admired the night from the balcony, Dorothy once again checked the statuses of her trusted people, including Vania and Nephthys. Mental state… stable. No signs of profiling. Their sensory perceptions were normal. Nephthys, still in the room behind her, was eating. Dorothy could hear the faint clinking of cutlery and even see the room’s interior through Nephthys’s vision. Vania, who had secretly arrived in Whitelinburg, was currently strolling calmly through the cathedral district. All seemed peaceful and ordinary. Over the course of the day, Dorothy had detected no issues from anyone. Everything appeared perfectly normal… After confirming this, she began contemplating her next steps. Not long after, she heard a familiar voice of prayer within her mind. It was Vania’s evening prayer—Dorothy knew it well. Hearing the pious voice within her mind, Dorothy remained on the balcony, enjoying the evening breeze and the city’s nightscape. Soon, a deep chime echoed from the distance. “Dong… dong… dong…” It was the scheduled evening bell from the cathedral district of Whitelinburg. Dorothy was used to it—if Vania wasn’t busy, she would pray at this exact time every day. Radiance Church bells usually rang then, and through Vania’s prayer link, Dorothy often heard them. Tonight was no different. Letting out a soft sigh, Dorothy felt the cool air and turned to return inside—but as soon as she turned, she suddenly froze in place. After a moment, she turned her head again and stared silently in the direction the bell had come from—her gaze focused, her thoughts unknown. … Whitelinburg, Cathedral District – Inside the Repose Cathedral. Vania, dressed in a plain nun’s habit with her face partially concealed, sat quietly on a pew before the altar. Beneath the solemn chimes echoing from outside, she joined countless local priests and nuns in devout evening prayer. Meanwhile, hidden within a shadowy corner of the cathedral, a small hooded figure cloaked in black stood silently, observing the scene before her. It was none other than the Church's Secrets Cardinal—Artcheli. “That Prince Otto? Hmph… I’ve been suspicious of him from the beginning. I already started investigating and even planted one of my shadow avatars by his side. Every move he makes is under surveillance.” “I’ve already run secret checks on him. There are no signs of profiling—that alone proves that if Otto really is cooperating with Dark Coin Noble, it’s of his own free will, not due to mental manipulation.” “A surveillance slip-up? Do you know who you’re talking to? Like I’d make such a rookie mistake. Don’t worry. I won’t let anything go wrong. Otto hasn’t shown any sign of contact with the Dark Gold Society, but if he makes even the slightest move, I’ll know immediately…” Though externally silent, Artcheli was mentally communicating with Dorothy via the information channel. After the unnecessary risk taken during the incident in Stinam with the Nether Coffin Order, she’d abandoned her earlier pride and formally prayed to Dorothy to establish an information channel—making coordination much smoother for this operation. “Any updates on Layered Vision?” Hearing Dorothy’s question, Artcheli turned her head slightly. Behind her stood a tall, thin elder in full archbishop attire. “Lunst, any anomalies with the Layered Vision?” “No anomalies to report, Your Excellency,” replied Lunst, the Archbishop of Bainlair, respectfully. “Every Beyonder above Crimson rank in Whitelinburg is registered. There’s been no unregistered activity today.” Hearing this, Artcheli nodded and mentally reported back. “Layered Vision is stable. No unregistered Crimson-rank Beyonders today.” “Is Lunst trustworthy? Don’t worry—he’s only been assigned to Whitelinburg for less than a month. Before this, he worked under Kramar. His loyalty is dependable, and there are no signs of profiling on him. He’s completely clean.” “We didn’t uncover any leads today, but patience—those rats always slip up eventually…” Artcheli’s exchange with Dorothy concluded shortly thereafter. She stretched briefly, glanced once more at the still-praying Vania, then slipped silently from the cathedral. … Time passed swiftly. The night deepened. The evening bells that had once echoed through the city had long since faded. One by one, lights extinguished. A hushed stillness blanketed the entire city. And in the deep of night, atop a northern hill in a luxurious palace, a man remained in his office, still hard at work. He looked to be in his early forties—tall, slightly portly, with meticulously styled chestnut hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and dressed in lavish noble garments. His expression was one of deep displeasure as he scowled at the financial reports on his desk. “What? Can’t pay? That old bastard’s still trying to bargain with me?” growled the man—Prince Otto—with a dangerous edge in his voice. Kneeling before him, a trembling official stammered. “D-Duke Gess said… he already emptied his coffers paying the window and chimney taxes… Now with the shoe and wheel taxes… he really doesn’t have the funds. He’s hoping, Your Highness, for a short delay until he can move some assets…” “Delay my ass! You think I don’t know how much gold he’s got stashed under his fat ass?! Still playing poor? Not a chance! Tell Gess this—he has until the end of the month to pay up. No cash? Then collateralize his assets! Otherwise, no one in his family gets to wear shoes or ride carriages again!” “Y-Yes, of course… I’ll deliver the message right away…” Otto slammed the table as he barked the order. The official scrambled away in a panic. Otto snorted coldly and returned his gaze to the rows of financial data sprawled before him. “One day, I’ll wring every last drop out of these fat leeches… “These shoe taxes are yielding decent returns… Maybe it’s time to start milking the peasants too…” Lighting a cigarette, Otto began signing off on reports. When the standing clock in his office chimed, he glanced at the wall-mounted timepiece, then tossed the reports aside. He left his office. Amid respectful bows and greetings, he exited the palace, climbed into his carriage, and—with a full escort—set off toward his estate. But partway along a quiet route, Otto suddenly gestured for the convoy to stop. Then he ordered his guards. “You lot go on ahead. I’ve got somewhere else I need to be.” Though confused, the royal guards dared not defy Otto and promptly turned back. Afterward, Otto instructed his coachman to drive the carriage elsewhere—toward a road that clearly led away from the city. Unbeknownst to him, an invisible gaze was locked tightly onto his carriage’s shadow. … Back in her hotel, Dorothy had originally planned to shower and rest for the night. But before she even reached her room—still standing in the hallway—she suddenly received an emergency message through the information channel from Artcheli. The bait had moved. “Otto’s behaving strangely—he dismissed his guards and headed out alone in a carriage beyond the city… Something’s definitely up. “Get ready to move. With some luck, we might pin down the target tonight…” Hearing this, Dorothy froze for a beat, then smiled faintly and murmured to herself. “Heh… first day on the job and already getting results. Fortune’s on my side…” She turned around and looked toward Nephthys, who was unlocking her hotel room door. “Something’s come up, Senior Nephthys. Come with me—now.” “Huh? Right now? But we just got back… Can’t we sit down for a bit first?” Nephthys replied with a trace of exaggerated weariness. Dorothy, however, snapped sternly. “This isn’t the time to be soft! You’re a Chalice Beyonder—don’t tell me you need rest after just a little trip. Move!” With that, Dorothy strode briskly down the hall. Nephthys, sighing with theatrical resignation, hurried after her. Yet… behind that reluctant expression, an almost imperceptible curve formed at the corner of Nephthys’s lips. In the hotel hallway, her steps were firm as she followed Dorothy. But in her eyes—gazing upon the petite figure ahead—a faint glint of danger emerged. “As you command… Miss Dorothy…”