The Tracker's Gaze

Mitre Square, deep in the night.

The ripples stirred by that shrill police whistle were slowly fading away.

Several constables who had rushed over after hearing the commotion conducted a cursory search of the scene, but found nothing.

Seeing Weston incoherent and dazed, they could only conclude that the old fellow had hallucinated under too much pressure.

Amid sighs laced with sympathy and helplessness, the crowd gradually dispersed. Only the smell of sulfur and the growing chill remained in the empty square.

On the rooftop of a three-story apartment building a hundred meters from the square, two dark figures sat like gargoyles merged with the night, coldly observing everything from beginning to end.

They were the two I.A.R.C. investigators: "Top Hat" Barton and "Strongman" Marcus.

"That old cop... he really seemed to have seen something." Marcus lowered his monocular, unable to hide the surprise in his voice.

He had seen Weston's face twist with extreme terror. That was definitely not an act.

Barton did not answer immediately.

He was intently adjusting the intricate brass instrument in his hands.

The device was a multilayered compass. Its needles did not point north or south, but trembled irregularly across fine markings as Barton adjusted it.

It was an "Aether Fluctuation Detector" crafted by Association artisans, specifically used to capture the faint disturbances Underworld creatures caused to the physical laws of the Surface World when moving about or acting.

"The fluctuation here... suddenly intensified, then rapidly decayed to zero in an extremely short time." Barton's voice was low and calm, his brow tightly furrowed. "Right when that old policeman blew his whistle. This proves that our target, the UMA codenamed Mist Walker, did appear here just now, and for unknown reasons chose to make an emergency retreat."

"Because of that cop?" Marcus scoffed. "I don't buy it. How could an ordinary man with no field training possibly alarm a cunning Town Rank UMA? That thing could slaughter people without drawing anyone's attention."

"That is precisely the problem." Barton tucked the detector back into his coat and looked toward Weston's staggering retreating figure, his gaze profound. "The old policeman's appearance itself is a variable. Why was he lying in wait here alone tonight? Was it a coincidence, or... did someone leak information to him?"

The question silenced Marcus as well.

Thinking back on their pursuit of that Easterner over the past few days, an inexplicable irritation rose within him.

"You mean... that kid again?" Marcus reluctantly guessed.

"Other than him, I can think of no second possibility," Barton said with certainty. "The first time we found his trail was near the crime scene on George Street. This afternoon, an informant reported seeing him in the courtyard on Berner Street. Marcus, do you still think all of this is coincidence?"

"But that makes no sense!" Marcus irritably scratched his hair. "A laborer who sneaked into the country, an outsider who can't even speak proper English—how does he know these things? Did he really understand Cartographer Karl's diary in a single night? It was encrypted in our ancient German script!"

This was also the central problem troubling Barton.

He shook his head. "I don't know how he did it. Perhaps he has secrets we know nothing about. Or perhaps he is not as simple as he appears."

"But one thing is clear: our target has changed from a mere 'thief' into a 'key figure' of immense intelligence value."

Marcus fell silent.

He was reckless by nature, but not stupid. He could not refute Barton's analysis.

That Easterner's actions had repeatedly stayed ahead of them.

While they were still painstakingly using instruments to trace the already dispersed "aether fluctuations" left by the UMA, the other party seemed able to predict the UMA's movements in advance.

The value of such an ability in a hunt was immeasurable.

"So... what do we do now?" Marcus asked, his tone unconsciously carrying a hint of deference.

"The plan needs to change." Barton made his decision calmly. "Headquarters ordered us to 'recover Association assets and eliminate those in the know.' But now, the person in the know has demonstrated value far beyond the asset itself."

"I will send a telegram to Geneva headquarters immediately and explain my view. I recommend changing the operation's level from 'elimination' to 'observation and contact.'"

"Contact?" Marcus's eyes widened. "With that kid who's as slippery as an eel?"

"That's right." The corner of Barton's mouth curled into a meaningful smile. "And we can no longer use such crude methods. A cornered rat will bite. We need another way—a way to make him... come find us on his own."

His gaze turned once more toward the filthy, crime-ridden streets and alleys of the Whitechapel District.

At the same time, in a cheap apartment several blocks from Mitre Square, Lin Jie leaned by the window, silently listening to the shrill whistle echo through the night until it finally fell silent.

His heart rose and fell violently along with that whistle.

It had worked.

His "prophecy" had been confirmed in a way even he had not fully anticipated.

That old constable had not only believed him, but had truly taken action—and had actually encountered that UMA at the scene.

Lin Jie felt no joy at the success of his plan. Instead, an even deeper chill wrapped around him.

In his plan, old constable Weston's role was supposed to be arriving first after the crime, confirming the accuracy of his prophecy by discovering the corpse.

He had never imagined that Weston would choose to lie in wait ahead of time and, single-handedly, scare off the UMA, preventing a massacre.

The old constable's courage and sense of responsibility had far exceeded his expectations, and that left Lin Jie burdened with heavy guilt.

He had exploited a righteous policeman's kindness and placed him in the most immediate, most lethal danger.

It felt terrible.

What unsettled him even more were the chain reactions this incident might trigger.

The two I.A.R.C. investigators, Barton and Marcus, were surely watching Jack the Ripper's movements as well.

Tonight's anomaly at Mitre Square could never escape their notice.

What would they think? Would they discover his shadow behind it all?

And what about Scotland Yard? Would anyone believe an old constable's claim that he had "scared off" Jack the Ripper?

Would Officer Weston be considered insane because of this—or worse, suspected of being Jack the Ripper's accomplice?

The ripples stirred by the stone he had thrown had already begun spreading in a direction completely beyond his control.

He had thought himself the player, only to realize he was still merely a helpless chess piece, pushed along by several powerful forces across the vast chessboard called London.

"I have to be more proactive," Lin Jie muttered.

He could no longer hide in the shadows and passively wait for events to develop. His previous plan to use the UMA against I.A.R.C. was already slipping somewhat out of control.

He needed more intelligence now, and a bargaining chip that would let him speak with I.A.R.C. on equal footing.

And the only bargaining chip he possessed was his knowledge of the Jack the Ripper UMA. He had to find that UMA's weakness before anyone else did.

He took out the thick German diary again.

This time, he turned to the page bearing a sketch of the UMA codenamed Mist Walker.

He stared at the twisted, gaunt figure and the German annotations beside it that resembled indecipherable heavenly script, wanting more desperately than ever before to understand them.