Skilled at Reporting

"When Doug was little, he was bitten by a stray dog. He still had vicious scars on his legs and hands. That was why he kept no dogs and forbade gang members from keeping them. He was afraid."

Hearing the bartender, Sifa leaned back slightly. "Looks like I can bring a dog when I go see him later?"

Sanchi shrugged without comment and continued, "Doug joined a gang in his youth. Ten years ago, he was already the gang's leader."

"Perhaps because he yearned for high society, he started wearing formal suits and neckties. He also required his members to wear ties. That was how Black Tie got its name."

"He dealt in all kinds of illegal trades and was notoriously ruthless when it came to crushing rivals. For instance, Doug once chopped up an opponent and threw the pieces into the sea to feed the fish. In short, he was the sort of man even the police did not want to provoke."

Just then, another bartender entered behind the counter and whispered something to Sanchi. After listening, Sanchi nodded and looked at Sifa. "He's here."

On the second floor of the tavern, Sifa knocked on a door. It opened, and a bald, bearded man warily looked outside before opening it fully.

Sifa walked in calmly and surveyed the room. The lighting was dim. A short, fat man in a formal suit sat on one of the sofas.

He wore a black tie and clenched a cigar between his teeth. A young woman nestled beside him, and the seductively dressed woman was holding a glass of wine to his lips.

Behind the sofa stood two burly men in cheap suits and ties, their hands behind their backs and their expressions solemn, like statues.

The bald, bearded man held out a hand. "Please hand over your gun."

Sifa, wearing the Black-Iron Mask, casually glanced at him. "Impossible. A gun is a Hunter's life. I won't hand my life over to someone else."

The bearded man's lips curled. "That's not up to you."

He reached into Sifa's long coat, intending to seize the gun by force.

Sifa first grabbed his hand, then swept his foot out. The bearded man lost his balance and dropped to one knee. Sifa pressed his head into the wooden panel with his other hand, leaving him dazed.

The two suited men behind the sofa immediately reached into their jackets and each drew a revolver. Before they could aim at Sifa, two gunshots rang out in the room. Their revolvers jolted violently and flew from their hands, shot away by Sifa's precise fire.

The Golden Revolver moved. Amid the escort girl's scream, it pointed at the man seated on the sofa. Sifa said in a calm, cold voice, "Let's end the test here, Mr. Doug."

The pistol spun elegantly twice before Sifa slid it back into the holster beneath his arm. He removed his hat and sat on the sofa opposite.

The short, fat man burst into laughter and clapped vigorously. "Not bad. As expected of the best Hunter in town. Your skills fully live up to that reputation."

Sifa crossed his legs and leaned slightly toward the armrest. "Since you consider me qualified, I suppose we can discuss the job now."

"No problem." Doug spread his hands. "The job is simple. Around eleven at night the day after tomorrow, I need you to meet me at White Beach. I'll be receiving some goods then. As long as you ensure that both the goods and I leave safely, Duke, I'm willing to pay you three hundred pounds."

"If anything unexpected happens, I'll add to your payment depending on how difficult it is. And after seeing what you can do, I can promise that the additional payment will be no less than two hundred pounds."

Sifa said directly, "You're generous, Mr. Doug, but would you mind telling me what those goods are? I need to assess the difficulty of the job and determine whether it matches the compensation I'm being offered."

Doug gave a dry laugh. "How about this? I'll raise the payment to five hundred pounds. As for what it is, don't ask."

Amusement flickered in Sifa's eyes. "Perhaps you don't know me well. I don't lack money. I'm more interested in the job itself. If a job isn't interesting enough, I lack motivation."

"Of course, whether you disclose it is your freedom as the client. But if you won't, I can only suggest that you find another Hunter."

Doug fell silent. He puffed on his cigar and exhaled great clouds of white smoke, watching Sifa through the swirling haze.

After a moment, he removed the cigar. "You have character. Fine, Duke. I can reveal a little. The goods are people—some people from East Balam who have come to our Loen seeking opportunities. And I'm willing to provide them with those opportunities."

People?

Human trafficking? Just the sort of thing a gang would do!

"Duke, now that you know, you're not going to report me to the police, are you?" Doug burst out laughing.

"Of course not." Sifa smiled in reply.

But I'll report you to Saint Witte Church, because I can't be sure whether the police are in league with you, Sifa added inwardly.

Doug stood and offered his hand. "Then here's to a pleasant partnership?"

This time, Sifa did not respond or shake his hand. He pulled his hat down onto his head and said, "See you the night after tomorrow."

After leaving the tavern, Sifa found a child selling fruit on the street and bought all the fruit at an inflated price. Then he gave the child an envelope and told him to throw it into Saint Witte Church.

From a corner near Memorial Square, he watched the entire process with his own eyes. He confirmed that a priest came running out with the envelope, opened it, and immediately changed expression at what he saw inside before hurrying back in.

Inside the envelope was the piece of parchment Sifa had taken from old Paris's house—the parchment covered in evil incantations.

The Church would likely conduct an internal investigation next, and that was no longer Sifa's concern.

In a cheerful, relaxed mood, he returned to the manor on Golden Champagne Avenue. He climbed over the back garden wall, used the trees and buildings for cover, and silently entered through a window, returning to his room.

The moment he landed, Sifa caught a faintly discernible fishy, musky stench. It instantly reminded him of the day he had gone hunting in the mountains, of that strange thing with black bristles on its lips and chin.

A thought surfaced in his mind.

That Monster was here, in his room! Had it tracked him that night? Had it come for revenge?

Sifa rose without betraying anything unusual. He naturally walked toward the wardrobe, even softly humming a tune.

Throughout the process, Sifa carefully distinguished the smell and determined where the thing was hiding.

Even after he opened the wardrobe, the Monster did not attack. It seemed to be looking for the right moment, waiting for Sifa to relax.

Sifa placed his long coat, the Golden Revolver, and the Black-Iron Mask into the hidden compartment one by one. Then he took out the Serpent-Scale Revolver, using the wardrobe door to block its line of sight.

His heartbeat remained steady and his breathing natural. He moved his arm in small motions, pressing the muzzle of the Serpent-Scale Revolver against the wardrobe door and aiming toward where the Monster was hiding.

He abruptly pulled the trigger!