Spending the Night Together

Evans, the butler, hurried over with a lantern in hand, unable to hide the delight on his face.

To the butler, Deepclaw Demons meant servants disappearing and dying, reporters at the door, and repairs to the basement. The young lady would lose sleep all night, while the count would merely throw him a cold question: "Why wasn't this dealt with sooner?"

Now those troubles had been sliced up and packed away. One boat could carry them all off.

Was there anything more delightful?

"Thank you both for your hard work." Evans smiled, stopping somewhere he would not step in the bloody water. "So... has the problem been resolved?"

Gordon quickly assessed the situation. In truth, this incident had exposed the growing Aberrant problem in the Blackwater River.

A few minutes had passed between the first drops hitting the water and the arrival of the first batch of Aberrants.

At the river's current speed tonight, the water could only have carried that tiny amount of precipitate a little over a hundred meters downstream. So the first creatures to rush over and die had already been lurking nearby.

The subsequent killing had lasted dozens of minutes. That was long enough for the "pheromones" dropped into the water to spread several kilometers around, exposing every Aberrant, large and small, that pursued the scent of blood and the commotion.

"We killed plenty of Deepclaw Demons. None will come seeking revenge tonight, and the rest know this isn't a good place for a stroll," Gordon said succinctly. "But if you want to resolve the trouble with the Silver Fish Casket, tonight was only the beginning."

Evans breathed a sigh of relief. He was not worried, because the count would return soon.

"That is sufficient." He produced another small silk purse and handed it to Gordon. "A small token of appreciation. Since you are still a student, Mr. Gordon, I imagine it should cover a few textbooks and a new coat."

"I owe Charlotte eighteen silver pounds, so this money can go to her." Gordon settled that debt in one stroke. "But before we discuss my business... I'd like to ask how much Vera was paid."

"One gold pound." Without looking back, Vera used her sword tip to pry apart a piece of some mysterious creature's cartilage.

"One gold pound?" Gordon had assumed it would be at least ten.

"Mm," Vera said. "Half a gold pound in advance. That's why I said this family was stingy."

Gordon turned his gaze back to Evans. The butler's expression remained unchanged.

"Mr. Evans. She had to go underwater, kill monsters, and crawl into the deepest, filthiest parts of the ancestral home, risking contamination and the loss of her limbs. And you gave her one gold pound," Gordon said.

Vera stopped swaying about.

It was the first time she had heard someone speak up for her, so much so that she could not tell whether this was mockery or kindness.

"Mr. Wick, you misunderstand. The Hunter Administration provides reference rates for temporary commissions given to Second-Tier Apprentice Hunters. Miss Vera also accepted the offer. This price is not below the market rate," Evans said stiffly.

The so-called market rate was surely just an excuse. It had nothing to do with whether the price was fair. Vera did not understand that, but Gordon did. Understanding meant there was profit to be made-and, more importantly, that he could not pretend he had seen nothing.

"Because she was hungry, because she needed money," Gordon said, "she accepted that insulting offer. It isn't fair. Look at her. She's practically ready to fight people for the church's charity meals."

"I've never managed to get one," Vera said. "I always arrive too late. Only God knows who ate them all."

"Of course. I start lining up before dawn," Gordon said.

"Oh..." Only today did Vera learn that there was always someone better.

"..." Evans clearly had no intention of paying more.

Come to think of it...

One gold pound.

Gordon looked at Vera.

Hunters had six ranks: Novice, Apprentice, Professional, Elite, Expert, and Master.

Vera was a Second-Tier Apprentice Hunter. Her life was a mess, she binged on food, she was short of money, and her speech was disjointed, as if she simply fished a few random words out of her head and strung them together. Mm.

But tonight, she had killed the Deepclaw Demons one after another. Without hesitation. Without a single mistake.

Why had the gang boss at the Old Fish Market split the money as agreed? Half because the goods were genuine, and half because Vera had stood nearby holding the Black Sword.

A hunter who could clear out Water Monkeys like a wave of minions was currently valued at just one gold pound.

He suddenly felt that plenty of things tonight were absurd. More absurd still was that nobody had hired her on a long-term basis.

More interesting than making money was finding a lady hunter who did not yet know her own worth.

"What if I... hired you?" Gordon turned to Vera.

"To do what?" Vera raised her head and glanced at him.

"Similar work," Gordon said. "You even take jobs that involve showing up in the middle of the night to hack up Water Monkeys. I'm guessing you don't have an agency, a steady source of commissions, or a doctor who takes your physical condition seriously."

Vera lowered her head and wiped her sword.

Gordon's gaze lingered on her. Her wet clothes clung to her waist, abdomen, and thighs. The muscles hidden beneath her coat had graceful, deadly contours, capable of crushing him at any moment, like a shark.

She was a little taller than everyone present. If he were to compare her to a weapon, she would be one any man would want to possess.

"I don't need a doctor."

"You do," Gordon said. "Binge eating isn't just having a big appetite. You look at a piece of bread as if you're about to fight it to the death. That isn't normal. Bread can't beat you. There's no need to hate it so much."

"..." Vera thought for a moment. "I've consumed quite a bit of source substance. I don't know which piece caused the trouble anymore. Can you treat it?"

"Not right now," Gordon said. "But I'm willing to help you and examine you. You work for me, and we calculate the proceeds openly. If you think I'm cheating you, you can leave whenever you like. And I'll buy you meals."

"Deal." Vera nodded without hesitation.

"I live at..."

"It's fine. Scent matters more." Vera walked behind Gordon, lowered her head, and sniffed him, marking his scent.

Charlotte watched the deal conclude.

"Wonderful, Gordon. That problem is settled." Charlotte approached with a smile and adjusted her position with clear intent, planting herself between Gordon and Vera.

"Give me a ride?" Gordon looked in the direction of home.

"Go back? No, no..." Charlotte turned to Evans. "Prepare two guest rooms for them to rest in. At this hour, they shouldn't have to run all over the place."

"Miss, the ancestral home has only just been freed of its troubles. The guest rooms haven't been prepared..." Evans hesitated. "Well, let me speak plainly. They are outsiders, after all."

"These 'outsiders' solved the old house's problem. No Deepclaw Demons will come calling for a while, and that is enough." Charlotte's voice was gentle but brooked no refusal. "See to it. Immediately."

The guest rooms in the Montfort Ancestral Home were excellent-extremely luxurious, beyond even Gordon's fondest imaginings of this world.

[Bed. A real bed. Your weary flesh sinks into it; your noble soul ascends.]

[Curtains. Responsible for blocking the envious gazes of the poor.]

[Carpet. It has eaten better than you have over the past month.]

[Fireplace. Don't even think about it. This is a daily expense beyond your imagination.]

Gordon went to the bedside and pressed a hand against the mattress.

His first impression was softness. Incredible softness. His hand sank gently into it, then slowly sprang back. He had no idea what material it was made from.

That was why rich people always looked so calm and relaxed. At the very least, they really did sleep well. Poor people woke up aching everywhere and assumed everyone else did too.

Gordon drew the curtains and fell straight into bed.

Tucked against his chest was a thick stack of thirty-five gold-pound notes.

It seemed his student loan problem was not insurmountable.

The Royal Academy of Natural Sciences University charged exorbitant fees, so student loans had naturally emerged. When you signed, they were all warmth and kindness, treating you like a student. When they collected, they turned vicious, ready to beat you to death.

After years of repayments, many people only owed more and more. They postponed marriage, postponed buying a home, and postponed the day their lives could truly begin.

And Gordon was escaping that cage.

As long as he paid it all off before graduation, he would be like a bird taking to the sky, a fish entering the sea!... Though tonight's events had left him reluctant to associate himself with any fish-related metaphor.

As he lay down, exhaustion ebbed from his spine, and his nerves relaxed inch by inch.

The piece of "Unbroken Strings" source substance inside him remained in the deepest recesses of his brain, emitting a faint pulse that gave him a powerful sense of security.

[Unbroken Strings: integration deepening]

In a hazy dream between sleep and waking, Gordon dimly saw the Silver Fish Holy Casket.

Something writhed in the deepest part of the casket, slowly taking shape.

Near dawn, Guy Montfort, the tenth Count Montfort, returned to the ancestral home on White Elm Road, weighed down by the Deepclaw Demon problem.

The car stopped at the front gate. A servant helped the count out.

With him was a man in gray-and-white hunting attire, around thirty, tall and lean, with a short black cape draped over his shoulders and two pistols at his waist. His clothes were lavish, and a pure silver badge shaped like a white raven adorned his collar.

Arthur Gray.

A Third-Tier Professional Hunter. The owner of the Gray Private Demon-Hunting Agency on Wycliffe Street. The Lundenim Morning Post had ranked him fifth among the city's "most trustworthy hunters."

That ranking was rather peculiar.

The first worked with the authorities. The second had noble backing. The third was a noble himself. The fourth had died last month, but the newspaper had forgotten to update its list.

Number five was the only powerful hunter money could actually hire.

"You've dragged this out far too long," Gray said.

"Mr. Gray, I tried to contact you as soon as I received definite information," Montfort said.

"That means nothing." Gray sounded impatient. "Clients are always like this. I could have guessed it. If you heard noises in the walls, you'd insist it was rats. If a servant disappeared, you'd insist they had stolen money or eloped. By the time we arrive, things are usually beyond saving."

"The Montfort family will pay extra," the count said.

"Money can put me to work," Gray said, "but it can't buy back the time you've wasted. Once we open that door, we'll find a pile of corpses."

"Mr. Gray..." The count's expression chilled.

"Your Excellency, if all you want is a few polite compliments, go to your butler." Gray sneered. "If you want the problem solved, listen to me."

The two entered the ancestral home. Evans was already waiting respectfully in the entrance hall.

"How are things?" the count asked with a sigh.

"My lord, the matter... was largely resolved last night." Evans stole a glance at Gray.