Night.
On the western outskirts of Tin City, far from the bustle of the city center, a vast complex known as Lepest stood amid a quiet stretch of rolling hills.
It had once been the lavish castle of a grand duke from the previous dynasty. Its towering clock towers and thick stone walls spoke of past glory.
Now it was shrouded in barbed wire, concealed checkpoints, and an invisible atmosphere of menace. It had become the headquarters of the Iron Glory Empire Security Committee—known far and wide as the dreaded Clovin.
When the vast castle was first planned hundreds of years ago, its designers had also built hundreds of underground cells at the request of the grand duke and his nobles.
They were cold, damp, and exceptionally soundproof. From the castle's construction to the present day, they had been the final destination of countless secrets and much despair.
After Clovin took over the castle, its members made a few simple modifications to the underground cells and put them to use.
The air in one of the interrogation rooms was so cold it felt as if the moisture in it could freeze.
The only light came from a dim tungsten bulb beneath a metal shade.
A young man was shackled to a heavy metal chair with specially made handcuffs. His face was bruised and swollen, his clothes stained with large patches of blood, and his consciousness hovered at the edge of pain and fear.
Just a few hours earlier, he had been feeling smug, trying to extort the owner of a small underground casino with a forged Clovin credential.
He had never imagined that the little casino had long been under the close watch of the real Clovin Third Bureau.
His actions had been no different from a prey animal stepping straight into a hunter's sights.
Among Clovin's eight executive bureaus, the Third Bureau was responsible for monitoring organized crime, illegal trade, and the financial networks of the underground economy.
The authority and responsibilities of each Clovin bureau were clearly defined. Normally, if they encountered a case or incident outside their jurisdiction, they were supposed to hand it over to the bureau in charge. But for minor incidents or insignificant people, whichever Clovin bureau came across them would simply deal with them on the spot.
Arrest first, question later. Beat them first, interrogate them afterward. The Empire had granted Clovin that privilege.
Only major incidents and serious cases were transferred between departments.
To Clovin's members, a man using a fake Clovin credential to extort the owner of a small underground casino was just a petty crook.
"Scum!" One of the Clovin agents spat at him and swore in the language of the Iron Glory Empire. The word meant about the same as "bastard."
He grabbed the man's drooping head. The Clovin agents' methods had left his face swollen like a balloon. Raising the forged credential in his hand, the agent barked, "What, did your family buy these things wholesale at the market? Kill one batch and you can just buy another? Is that why you thought you could get away with this?"
Under the Third Bureau agents' "professional" and efficient interrogation methods, the thief's already fragile mental defenses quickly crumbled.
The thing was, Clovin hadn't started out by asking him any specific questions. After he was taken to Lepest and locked in this interrogation room, the few big shots who came in immediately gave him a rapid-fire beating. Even when the thief tried to confess, they hadn't given him a chance to speak.
Only after the Clovin agents had had their fill did they let him talk.
In halting words, he explained where he'd gotten the forged credential: around noon that very day, at the corner where the end of Lubo Lane met another street.
He had deliberately bumped into a young man in a brown trench coat. The man had apparently just finished eating at a nearby restaurant. He'd been walking at an easy pace and hadn't been alert enough, so the thief had used his practiced technique to slip what looked like an ordinary credential out of his pocket.
At first, he'd thought it was a small wallet. Only after opening it and seeing the Iron Glory Empire Security Committee's insignia had he realized he'd just stolen from Clovin.
Since he didn't know how to tell a real Clovin credential from a fake one, he'd only wanted to leave Tin City as quickly as possible and avoid being found by Clovin. But he had no money for travel, so he'd turned to extorting a small underground casino.
Sobbing, he swore he had no idea the credential was fake. He was only a thief; he'd stolen the forged credential that very afternoon. He hadn't made it himself or gotten it from some other source.
He'd never imagined this would put him directly in the sights of the real Clovin.
Strictly speaking, there had been nothing wrong with the result of Malcolm's coin divination. The thief really hadn't gone to report it to an official agency.
If Malcolm had asked, "Will this lost fake Clovin credential attract Clovin's attention?"
Or, "Will this lost fake Clovin document get me into trouble?"
Then the coin might have landed tails either way.
Frightened by Clovin's reputation, the thief had simply tried to use the fake credential to get enough money to flee. Instead, in the worst possible way, he had exposed both himself and the forged credential to the real Clovin.
The statement, along with the crude forgery—convincing enough to fool ordinary people—was quickly compiled and reported.
Although the case involved forged official credentials, the forgery had surfaced directly at an illegal establishment already under the Third Bureau's surveillance and might be connected to a wider underground criminal network. So, in accordance with the usual procedure, the higher-ups decided the Third Bureau would continue the investigation, with the aim of uncovering any forgery network behind it and determining the true motives of those using the fakes.
Making fake credentials for any imperial government department might count as just another "case" to Clovin's agents. But if someone forged a Clovin credential, that was a different matter entirely.
Clovin had always been swift and decisive in its operations.
Based on the thief's description, a team of Clovin agents in plain clothes, with sharp eyes and quick movements, soon arrived at the target area—the place where the thief had stolen the forged credential.
By the logic of an investigation, the people likely to be in the area would be students from Imperial Industrial University or people with business on that street. Lubo Lane, for example, was mostly lined with bookstores, so most visitors there would be looking to buy books.
But according to the thief's statement, the man had eaten nearby, so he probably hadn't ventured far.
Therefore... based on these likely groups, Clovin should have started by checking the bookstores. But since it was now night, they followed standard procedure and went to question the inns near Lubo Lane first.
The Clovin team split up into pairs to investigate. Before long, one pair found useful information at the Youth Hostel, an inn halfway down Lubo Lane.
Two investigators entered the lobby, and one went straight to the counter.
The young owner of the Youth Hostel was bent over his accounts. He looked up only when he heard their footsteps.
"Can I help you?" he asked, his tone carrying the weariness common to businessmen. His expression was attentive; he assumed they had come to check in.
The lead investigator said nothing unnecessary. He simply took a black credential from an inner pocket and opened it with a practiced motion, revealing the insignia inside, a symbol of the Empire's iron fist: crossed sword and shield, with a prominent black iron cross-star at the hilt.
"Clovin." The investigator's voice was steady and not loud, yet carried an undeniable force.
"We need to see all the lodging records from the recent period."
The owner's face went white in an instant. In Tin City, everyone recognized that insignia, and no one dared question its bearer.
Any kind of delay or refusal could bring unimaginable consequences. Almost in a panic, he pulled a thick lodging register from beneath the counter and handed it over with trembling hands.
"It's... it's all here, sir. We operate completely legally..." The owner's voice was filled with obvious fear.
The investigator ignored his explanation and quickly, carefully leafed through the register.
Their eyes were like a hawk's, and they soon settled on a registration under the name "Nier" that had appeared on several consecutive days. It was clear that the person had been staying there for an extended period, unlike the other guests, who usually stayed just one night and left the next day.
The room he was staying in was on the fourth floor, facing the eastern end of Lubo Lane.
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