Hearing Iver's voice, the young receptionist suddenly jolted awake.
"Are you... planning to spend the night here?"
He focused on Iver, then glanced at the sour-faced Sherlock and the storm outside. Realizing what was going on, he smoothly replied, "A clean room with dinner for two will be four Red Coins and three Copper Coins in total. What name should I register?"
"Your prices are pretty stable, huh?"
"Indeed." The receptionist nodded. "They've been the same all these years."
"Sixty years ago, I paid the same price when I came here. I didn't expect this place to remain unchanged after sixty years."
Iver answered calmly.
At his words, the receptionist's work abruptly came to a halt.
Then he raised his head, his face filled with terror as if he had seen a ghost.
Iver rudely smacked him on the head. "Are you a ghost, or am I? Call your boss out!"
"The boss isn't here..." the receptionist said quietly.
But Iver interrupted him. "No, your boss is here.
"—I want to see Alice. I have an appointment."
The moment Iver finished speaking, the receptionist's body gradually turned transparent.
His expression slowly grew impassive. Then he raised his head and glanced at Iver and Sherlock, as well as Liz standing behind them, before slowly floating backward into the counter.
The oil lamp flickered once, then went out. The hotel lobby immediately dimmed, with only the faint light from outside shining in.
"What's going on?"
Sherlock was somewhat tense.
In the darkness, he warily moved closer and said in a low voice, "Why did you reveal everything right away?"
"Because I really do have an appointment."
Iver was completely unperturbed.
He took the cards and various ritual materials he had prepared in advance from his pocket, arranged them neatly on the hotel