The smiling old man, with his perfectly groomed hair and beard, and his impeccably tailored suit and tuxedo, exuded an air of aristocratic elegance. He held a bottle of red wine, carefully reading the label: "New wine from the Onibirko Estate, a truly rare find! It's a pity the storage method was so amateurish, placed in a damp, cold underground."

The old man then took out a large pile of things from his suitcase: scissors, razor, ruler, spices...

He walked to the slightly overweight man's head, first cutting off the man's long hair with scissors, and then shaving off the stubble on the man's head with a razor.

"Bastard! What are you doing?! Let me go!" The man twisted his body, trying to avoid the movement above him.

The old man, like a gardener meticulously pruning an artistic bonsai, said as he worked, “Viscount Zangner, also known as the ‘Hound Viscount,’ is said to be extremely skilled in tracking. No matter what the scent, you can always find its source.”

Zangna trembled slightly as he listened to the old man's words.

"You claim that this ability is simply something you learned as a child. But the truth is, you are an alien, an alien that can detect more scents than a normal person."

Viscount Zangner's pupils contracted slightly, then he retorted, "This is just pure gossip from the streets!"

The old man looked up at the girl "swinging" overhead, rubbed his forehead in exasperation, and said, "Sabrina! Stop shaking that lamp base! You're making dust everywhere!"

The girl clung to the chains, peered down, and said with a grin, "Elder Clarence, why don't you change the table?"

Clarence shook his head helplessly.

Viscount Zangner looked up and pleaded urgently, "Please, spare my daughter! There's a secret room on the third floor of the castle where all the treasure is. Please, spare my daughter's life!"

Clarence glanced at the small dagger hanging from the girl's chest, engraved with an eagle and the Roman numeral 'III', and shook his head at the Viscount: "It's not that I don't want to let her go, but it's all too late..."

Viscount Zangner was ashen-faced and slumped on the table.

Clarence continued, “As an alien, you gradually gained wealth and status by identifying spices and finding lost items, but this secret is unknown even to your closest wife and daughter.”

Zangner looked at the old man before him and said in a trembling voice, "Are you from the Inquisition? Are you going to begin reading my judgment?"

Clarence paused for a moment, then smiled, his gentle smile as reassuring as a spring breeze: "Viscount, have you misunderstood something? We have no connection with the church."

Zangner responded with a puzzled look: "Then you..."

The viscount stopped speaking, his eyes wide with fear, and his whole body trembled uncontrollably.

Clarence, wearing gloves, picked up a sharp hacksaw, walked up to Zangner's head, and gave a slight bow: "What I just said wasn't a judgment; to be precise, 'ingredient introduction' would be a more accurate description."

The hacksaw was pulled, and blood splattered everywhere.

Screams echoed throughout the castle.