A Repeat Offender

Two days later, after he had grown accustomed to the changes brought by the Potions and drawn in the Spirituality spilling from his body, Cyril returned to Owen's home.

The two of them then went out together to the Backlund Bridge area and found a seedy hotel that didn't require guests to register their identities, two streets away from the Black Wolf Gang.

They stayed there until around four in the morning, when Cyril woke Owen, who had fallen fast asleep in bed.

Yawning, Owen brewed himself a cup of the strong coffee he had prepared beforehand. It was thick and syrupy, and he gulped it down as if it were water. Then he kept slapping his cheeks, trying to wake himself up.

Seeing this, Cyril pointed at him. A pale blue-white glow shot from his fingertip and shattered the moment it touched Owen, coating him in a layer of frost.

Hiss—

The sudden chill made Owen suck in a breath, and his body shuddered uncontrollably.

Cyril asked casually, "Are you feeling more awake?"

Owen nodded repeatedly, his eyes full of reproach. "I'm awake, I'm awake. I almost caught a cold."

"Then let's go."

Cyril said it offhandedly, then pressed his hand against the wall by the window and opened a phantom door out of thin air.

He had chosen this room specifically: it was close to the street and only on the second floor, so they could simply jump down when it was time to leave. It was safe and wouldn't alert anyone.

Where no one could see them, the two figures passed through the wall one after another and dropped from the second floor to the ground.

Cyril glanced back at the hotel's front desk on the first floor, went over to leave the key there, then slipped away without a sound.

Throughout it all, the old man on duty had been dozing in a half-awake stupor and hadn't noticed Cyril come or go.

Owen then took out the route map he had drawn beforehand and led Cyril toward the street where the Black Wolf Gang was based.

They made it all the way to their destination without encountering a single patrolling Sheriff. Owen's carefully drawn map had been useless.

Realizing he had gone to all that trouble for nothing, Owen said, "No wonder people say the Backlund Bridge area's law enforcement is on par with the East District's. The Sheriffs here have a lot to answer for."

"Being a Sheriff is just a job. It's not worth risking your life over." Cyril shook his head slightly, unsurprised by the situation.

Like the East District, the Backlund Bridge area was crowded with all sorts of gangs, vagrants, and laborers from the lower classes. Poor law and order was only to be expected. The Loen government could only turn a blind eye to it.

Sheriffs were merely low-level enforcers in the government. With those above them deliberately turning a blind eye, they had no reason to make trouble for themselves. So the Sheriffs patrolling at night usually stuck to a few fixed streets and didn't venture elsewhere.

It was a tacit understanding between the Sheriffs and the gangs, meant to maintain order on the surface.

Standing in a spot beyond the streetlamps' reach, Cyril watched in silence from the shadows. Not far away, a tightly shut door let out a dim yellow glow through its cracks.

Beside him, Owen held a Citrine Pendant and quietly recited an incantation for Divination.

After a few seconds, the Citrine Pendant in his hand began to swing clockwise.

He glanced at the result of his Divination, caught the swaying pendant in his hand, then changed the question and continued.

A few minutes later, after finishing his Divination, Owen turned to Cyril. "Our guess was right. The Black Wolf Gang keeps a large amount of cash in the casino."

"There's a Beyonder inside. His Sequence isn't high, and how dangerous he is could vary, but the greatest danger probably isn't him personally. Most likely, he can call for backup. We need to be careful and move fast, so we don't get discovered."

Cyril nodded. "No problem. You lead the way."

As he spoke, he tugged at the air in front of him, creating a lightless curtain out of thin air and draping it over them both.

Under the cover of night, a Trickmaster's Black Curtain had a decent concealing effect—though it only worked against ordinary people's sight.

Hidden beneath the Black Curtain, they approached the two drowsy guards outside the casino without drawing the slightest notice.

Of course, they didn't use the front door. Instead, they chose a wall some distance away from it.

After passing through the wall, Cyril heard the splashing of running water and caught a pungent smell. A figure stood with his back to them, head bowed as he gave a slight shiver.

The other side of the wall was a restroom, and someone was using it.

Cyril approached expressionlessly and punched the man in the back of the neck before he could react and turn around.

Crackle—

"Ugh..."

A brief burst of electricity mixed with a low groan, and the man toppled stiffly to the floor.

It was a Trickmaster's Electric Shock, followed by a full-force punch.

The electric current wasn't very strong, but with his punch added to it, it was enough to leave an adult temporarily paralyzed and unconscious.

Cyril glanced down at the man's gradually dampening pants. Even if he woke up, he probably wouldn't raise the alarm right away—not before he changed his pants, at least.

He then locked the restroom door from the inside and looked at Owen, who stood beside him, wide-eyed and still recovering from the shock.

"Which way?"

Owen came back to himself and eyed Cyril suspiciously. He suspected his classmate and friend was a repeat offender. Otherwise, how could he be so practiced?

Pressing his lips together, Owen reined in his thoughts, still wondering if he had gotten himself mixed up with a bad crowd. He picked up a stick he had found in the street earlier and tossed it.

When the stick clattered to the ground, he turned and pointed at the wall behind them. "This way."

With Owen guiding them, they easily avoided the people in the casino who were still awake, made it to the third floor, and found the room where the safe was kept.

As Cyril put his hand on the doorknob and prepared to use his ability to open the door, he suddenly froze. For no reason he could explain, an image of the area shrouded in a curtain of shadows surfaced in his mind.

The entire casino was covered by an invisible curtain of shadows. Beyond it, an eye seemed to be watching them.

A curtain of shadows. An eye. He almost instantly thought of the True Creator worshipped by the Aurora Order.

We can't be this unlucky, can we?

He knew that the gangs operating in Backlund had connections of one sort or another, but surely they weren't all tied to Outer Deities or evil gods? I'm just trying to make a little extra money...

With a sigh, he let go of the doorknob and turned to Owen. "Do some Divination."

Owen didn't understand why Cyril had suddenly become so cautious, but he obediently took out the Citrine Pendant.

Before he could recite the incantation, the shadows around them suddenly came to life, forming a phantom maw bristling with spikes that lunged at them.

"Close your eyes!"

Cyril shoved Owen with one hand and held his other arm across his chest. His pupils contracted sharply, filling with white light.

The next moment, a flash several times more blinding than that of an old-fashioned camera exploded from his body, lighting up the entire third-floor corridor. Not a single shadow or patch of darkness remained.

As the intense flash burst out, the phantom maw formed from solidified shadows instantly faded. Like paper tossed into a fire, it vanished without a trace in less than a breath.

Although the shadowy maw had disappeared less than a second after appearing, it had attacked at close range. Cyril still felt his right hand, held across his chest, get bitten. It had already gone numb.

As the shadowy maw vanished, he heard a muffled groan from behind the door in front of him. The person sounded like an old man and seemed to have just suffered backlash when his spell was broken.

Without a moment's hesitation, Cyril pulled the remaining iron-black talisman from his pocket and recited the incantation in Ancient Hermes:

"Slumber!"

The iron-black talisman crumbled to ash in his hand. At the same time, as the light dimmed again with the flash's disappearance, the darkness around them deepened further. The faint, illusory sound of a choir echoed in his ears.

Feeling the agitation around them settle down after the flash, Cyril relaxed slightly. At least they wouldn't have to worry about getting mobbed.

He then turned his head toward Owen, who was squeezing his eyes shut in pain and holding a pistol, but hadn't managed to release the safety.

He clearly hadn't listened and closed his eyes in time. The flash had left him dazzled.