At dawn, Iver slowly woke up.
He had already gotten in touch with Isabel last night and told her about Hell Transformation · Puppet Show and the Puppet Mask Grimoire.
Isabel had probably already gone to the Candle Holder Cathedral, the courier pickup point, to collect it. After all, something like that was far too valuable—and dangerous—to have someone else pick up.
Meanwhile, Iver could first handle the relevant affairs in the Theocracy.
Over breakfast, Iver told Sherlock and Lily about the three trolls.
"...Red Wine Mister?"
Sherlock muttered, "And he happened to work in the Southern Continent..."
Iver was clearly surprised. "You've heard of him?"
With Sherlock's excellent memory, he might be able to offer them some additional insight.
"I'm not sure if it's the same person."
Sherlock pondered for a while, then slowly lowered the coffee cup he was holding. "But judging from the description, I'm at least eighty percent sure. Even if it isn't him, I can... give you some leads."
There's gossip? Iver grew interested. "Tell me more."
He used his fork to roll a strip of bacon into the shape of a cigarette and stuck it onto the plate in front of Sherlock.
Sherlock unceremoniously clamped it between his lips, humming as though he were biting a cigar. "This is something very few people know... Iver, do you know Bram Stoker?"
"Sounds somewhat familiar."
Iver thought for a moment. "Remind me?"
"He's a bestselling author."
"...Oh, the one who wrote Dracula?"
Iver thought for a while longer before finally remembering.
Back then, it had been Miss Chloe who distributed the book in Avalon. At the time, the Shadow Demon had quite liked using her voice.
Now that the Shadow Demon had become the Night Demon, he no longer used Chloe's sweet, friendly voice... Thinking of