Seeing this scene, Katrinas body involuntarily stepped back, her mind falling into silence. After two seconds, her mouth opened on its own, emitting a male voice: "Oh, little raven." Without waiting for the young man across from her to respond, "Katrinas" smiled to herself: "Only a few duplicates have arrived—don't you think that's a bit dismissive of me? Are you a courier, sent specifically to deliver something extraordinary? Speak up—what would you like to collaborate on? I'm not particularly hostile toward you, after all, the initial incident was orchestrated by that inflexible one, Alistair Tudo; you were merely a secondary participant." The man across from her caught the crown, stained with rust and blood, raised himself to his full height, and shook his head with a smile: "As soon as I heard your voice, I found myself reluctant to cooperate. How about this—let Thorin and Einhorn join me for a conversation." "Hmph. All these years, still acting like a child—how many times have you forgotten who used to carry you when you were just an infant? Who burned your hair?" The "Red Angel" spirit didn't back down, mocking with sharp disdain. The young man across from her adjusted his single spectacles with the hand not occupied by the gesture, remained calm, and turned smoothly toward the door, without hesitation. As he walked, he murmured softly, "Naive." Seeing that Amun truly had no intention of staying, the "Red Angel" fell silent for a few seconds, then, as Amun stepped out of the room, gently manipulated the body of the "White Witch" Catriona, saying, "Don't think I don't know what you're thinking. But it's all right—since your vision for completing the main task differs from that of the obsessive one, there's room for cooperation." Amun paused, half-turned, and looked toward Catriona, now under the influence of the "Red Angel" spirit. A gentle glow seemed to pass through the single-lens glasses on his right eye. In a bar within Ahovah County—a city still recovering from war, marked by scorched patches— "Is your beer too watered down, Toby?" asked a man wearing a worn baseball cap, taking the cup and sipping with a complaint. The owner, serving as bartender, wiped the cup and hummed, "Remember the Prohibition era? In those days, getting a drink of wine was a treat!" The burly man known as Orlitch muttered a few words, then settled into his beer without further comment. Beside him, a man with copper-toned skin and sleeves rolled up, looked around and said, "I've heard the Prohibition will soon be lifted—because the grain from Feneport will soon arrive, and Fasak and Intis will be compensating with large shipments of grain!" "All I can say is, fingers crossed. May the Lord bless us. As Tobias, the bar owner, had just made his response, he heard the sound of the door opening. He looked up and saw a young man, resembling a traveling magician, walk in. The man wore a black robe and a more classical hat, and he walked straight to the bar, settling into a high stool. "A pint of Southwold beer," he said, displaying several copper pennies. The burly man named Orlitch glanced at the stranger, showing mild curiosity. "Are you a local? A magician?" The young man, whose appearance was unremarkable and hard to remember, smiled and replied, "Yes, my specialty is fulfilling people's wishes." Orlitch immediately blew a whistle. "I heard that? 'Fulfilling people's wishes!' Well, here's a man claiming to be a god!" The remark instantly drew laughter from the crowd. The young man who claimed to be a magician didn't seem at all perturbed. With a smile, he said, "That was just a special trick." Orlitch belched softly, took a long drink of his beer, and laughed heartily. "Then satisfy me with one request—have this stingy boss treat me to a beer." "Very well," the young man in the black robe raised his right hand and lightly tapped the table. With a solid *thud*, the bar owner, Toby, poured a glass of beer and placed it in front of Orlitch, then withdrew his hand and resumed the motion of wiping the glass. The scene was familiar, and Orlitch was momentarily stunned, gazing at Toby with a look of bewilderment. "Toby, do you know him?" "Not personally," Toby replied, eyeing Orlitch as though he were a fool. "..." Orlitch hesitated, lifted the glass carefully, and took a cautious sip to see if Toby would ask him to pay. Seeing the bar owner no longer paying any attention to him, the burly man turned in surprise, looking at the young man dressed in a black robe and wearing a tall hat. "How did you do it?" "I've already told you," the young man said calmly, sipping a South Wiltshire beer. "It was a special magic." Oliver remained puzzled, while the man beside him, who had rolled up his sleeves, chuckled. "I'll bet you and Toby must have already discussed it—your tapping of the table is clearly signaling that the beer is on you." "You can make another wish," the traveling magician replied, unconcerned. "My home and my brother's home were destroyed in a bombing a while back, and we're currently rebuilding. My wish is that they're restored to their original condition before I return." The man with rolled-up sleeves said this with a touch of pride. It wasn't an easy thing to achieve. The traveling magician raised his right hand and gave a sharp tap with his finger. Then he smiled and said, "All right, your wish has been fulfilled." People in the bar who had been paying attention to this scene began to laugh, no longer focused on the foreigner and his clumsy magic act. After finishing their drinks, the man who had rolled up his sleeves walked out with Orlitch, both of them slightly tipsy, heading toward the streets closer to the outskirts. An hour later, they arrived near the site of their newly rebuilt home, ready to enter the government-issued tents. At that moment, a cool breeze blew, making both of them shiver simultaneously. Then, a well-preserved two-story building came into view—a structure they recognized instantly, the one they had painstakingly built over many years. Orlitch and his brother instinctively turned to each other, seeing the same bewilderment in one another's eyes. "I didn't drink much wine," Orlitch murmured, sounding as though he were already experiencing a drunken illusion, "that damn Toby added so much water!" His brother said nothing, stood motionless for a few seconds, then suddenly launched himself forward, rushing toward the house, running his hands over the walls and the door. "Really, really..." he murmured continuously, as if mad. Oriech did the same, finally confirming that the house he and his family had been rebuilding had regained its original appearance—this brought him both surprise, joy, and fear. At that moment, his brother suddenly spoke: "My wish has come true—the magician, the magician..." Before finishing, he turned around and took off running, sprinting toward the bar where they had first seen him. Oriech realized what was happening and hurried after him. Thud! They pushed open the bar door and rushed inside, their eyes immediately fixed on the counter. But the wandering magician in the black robe, wearing a tall hat, had already vanished—having left at some point they hadn't noticed. Oriech and his brother looked around, relieved, yet as though something essential had been lost. On the square of the city, a young itinerant magician was crouched before a little girl of about ten. "My magic brings your wish to life," he glanced toward the distant night church. The girl had come out of the evening Mass—she seemed to prefer the open space of the square. After a moment's thought, she looked at the kind magician across from her and said, "I wish for my father, my uncle, and my brother to come back to life. I don't want their pensions..." The itinerant magician said nothing, his gaze deepening as it settled upon the little girl before him. The little girl tugged at her lips, managing a weak smile: "I was just joking. My mother used to say that such a wish, no matter how heartfelt, couldn't even be fulfilled by the gods..." As she spoke, she lowered her head and stared at her toes. "All I really want is for Daddy to hold me once more..." Before she could finish, she suddenly noticed a shadow stretching across her field of vision and instinctively lifted her head to look toward the side. There stood a soldier from Luon, dressed in red robes and white pants. He didn't carry a sword, but smiled warmly, as always, bending at the waist and opening his arms wide. "Daddy..." the little girl suddenly launched forward, embracing the warm arms. "I miss you so much..." At that moment, the wandering young magician adjusted the brim of his hat on his head, straightened up, and walked toward the exit of the square. In the evening breeze, his black cloak gently swayed across the open plaza. ……… By Monday, within the ancient palace veiled in gray mist, the members of the Tarot Circle appeared simultaneously, standing in perfect formation and greeting the "Magician" with polite formality. That is to say, the most challenging aspect of strengthening their power currently is "Judgment"—she is merely one of the mid-to-senior-level officers at MI9, and it's quite difficult for her to reach the rank of a half-god. The " Fool" Kline, draped in a gray-white mist, swiftly turned his gaze away, chuckling to himself with a touch of self-mockery: Finally, something that resembles a refined secret organization... though it still feels more like a meeting convened among the major powers. He then gently nodded to the members of the Tarot Circle and said, "Let's begin."