The star songstress

Gordon had to get his hands on that cane.

The professor's Introduction to Spiritual Craft: Mastering Source Substance had specifically mentioned blackthorn wood. Its dense structure could withstand the flow of energy, making it ideal for conduits.

The cane before him was even more remarkable.

It looked plain to the naked eye, but all the ingenuity lay hidden in its core: those neatly arranged channels, those precise energy-storage nodes... Whoever had made it was highly skilled, with craftsmanship on par with Sinclair's.

"How much?"

"Three gold pounds." The stallholder held up three fingers. "It's an inheritance from my father."

After saying that, the stallholder averted his eyes.

It was indeed an inheritance.

In fact, it was one of the miscellaneous items his father had failed to sell back when he ran a general store.

"An inheritance only means its previous owner died. It doesn't mean it's worth three gold pounds." Gordon bargained with practiced ease. "From what I can see, this stick has at least seven or eight scratches. You claim the handle is solid silver, but it looks more like silver plate. You say it came from a noble household, but the only source for that is your mouth."

"It's... a noble's..." The stallholder was instantly overwhelmed by Gordon.

"Why not tell us which family?" Charlotte smiled at him.

"Ahem..." The stallholder hesitated.

"You can't say. It's obviously a fake." Charlotte turned to Gordon.

"But this is a charity sale, after all. Doing a little good now and then feels nice."

"Then three silver pounds," the stallholder said, seizing the opening.

"I can discuss this with you all day. The Rescue Festival holiday lasts fourteen days, and I happen to have no other plans..." Gordon crouched down, genuinely intending to stay.

Vera stood beside Gordon as well, holding her sword.

She threatened no one, but other people had already started taking detours.

Sweat beaded on the stallholder's forehead. He wanted to finish the transaction as quickly as possible.

By the end of their discussion...

Gordon bought it for one silver pound and twenty copper cents, one-fiftieth of the original price.

What a steal!

Gordon shouted inwardly.

The stallholder wore a complicated expression.

Finally sold that dusty firewood stick.

Whatever happens, as long as he doesn't come back for a refund, today's a good day.

"Oh dear, you still got swindled." Charlotte looked heartbroken.

Gordon offered no explanation, content with his purchase.

Cecilia covered her mouth with her fan and continued enjoying the show.

As she saw it, Charlotte worried that making the first move would make her seem too easy, while Gordon was single-mindedly determined to establish himself before starting a family.

Without someone giving them a push, this would never go anywhere.

"Let him buy it." Cecilia caught Charlotte's arm and offered her advice in all seriousness.

"Why should I watch him walk into a trap? What use is that stick besides hitting people?"

"Men are like that. They love taking risks. One day, he'll come home and tell you, 'Sorry, I messed up. I didn't earn any gold pounds, and I lost my job too. I ruined everything. I'm so sorry.' What you mustn't say then is, 'It's all because you didn't listen to me.' Instead, say, 'The hot water's ready, dinner's cooked, and I'm in the bedroom.'"

"What would I be doing in the bedroom?" Charlotte scratched her head.

"Take a guess." Cecilia smiled.

"Oh, um..." Charlotte thought about it and decided she might be laying out Gordon's clothes for the next day.

Holding the Blackthorn Cane, Gordon turned and lightly tapped the ground.

Thump...

Ripples spread. Vibrations traveled outward through the ground, then soon returned to his palm and entered his nerves.

He did not open his eyes, yet he could sense everyone's every move.

It was as though the entire square had become his underling, constantly reporting back to him.

For instance, judging by the strength of her heartbeat and how flushed she was, Charlotte's next word would be "Hmph."

"Hmph." Charlotte folded her arms. "Stop playing with that stick. Let's go."

Nice. Very nice.

Gordon suddenly felt much more at ease.

As for its precise range and effects, he would study those at leisure once he got home.

[Your cane. Give it a tap and hear the world's echoes.]

They continued toward the center of the square. Gordon tapped the ground whenever he had a spare moment. It was fun.

The noon bells rang, and St. Duncan Square gradually grew more crowded.

Clerics filed out, while patrol officers formed a human wall to clear a path for the ceremonial procession. Girls from the church school began selling flowers and candles, working hard to raise donations. Homeless men looking for a free meal launched their assault on the charity tearoom.

The reporters were busiest of all. They picked out a few attractive orphans and had them stand beside charitable nobles for daguerreotypes.

Charity needed compassion, but it needed good composition even more.

"...Ah, a stage." Gordon looked up.

A temporary stage stood in the center of the square. Its backdrop was built from wood and draped in deep black velvet, with silver-white ribbons hanging on both sides, lending it a solemn air.

Musicians lined either side. Violinists tuned their instruments, harpists plucked their strings, and pianists lowered their heads over their scores.

And... they were all young women.

An all-girl band. Nice.

"Where's this band from?" Charlotte asked curiously.

"Greenery Mansion," Cecilia said.

"Oh?" Charlotte's eyes widened. "How do you know?"

"Every time I invite you to a performance, you say you're busy, busy, busy." Cecilia rolled her eyes at Charlotte. "First it was school, then homework, then your father. Lately, it's Gordon too."

Charlotte stuck out her tongue.

Greenery Mansion. Gordon considered the name.

Olivia's business.

And her girls were providing the main performance at St. Duncan Square.

Securing an occasion like this meant she was far more than a woman running Greenery Mansion and an underground casino. She had ample connections within the city's establishment too.

If Olivia really was a Cultist, she had to be at least a mid-ranking official. When she spoke, Harold probably sat below listening, while Octopus Face stood guard outside.

They continued forward.

Gentlemen and ladies greeted them.

Almost everyone knew Charlotte Montfort and Cecilia Fitzroy.

The Montfort Family was an old noble house with a rather traditional asset structure, so poor that all they had left were vast tracts of fertile farmland and countless estates.

The Fitzroy Family, meanwhile, had numerous naval connections. No one wanted to offend them lightly.

As for Gordon...

He was plainly some random passerby.

Vera looked like the two noblewomen's bodyguard. No one asked, because her Black Sword did not look as though it enjoyed answering questions.

Then a line of dancers stepped onto the stage.

They all wore long black-and-white dresses symbolizing chastity, along with corsets. They were young, beautiful, and well trained.

Upon reaching their assigned places, they curtsied to the crowd in perfect unison.

"Ooh!"

"Wonderful!"

"The girls...!" Everyone enjoyed looking at beautiful women.

Then another, distinctive young woman came onto the stage.

Her appearance sparked an even more enthusiastic burst of cheers.

She wore a long pale-green dress, her hair was black, and a string of pearls adorned her neck.

[Pearl necklace. Every pearl came from an offended oyster.]

[Long dress. Its color overlapped with a fragment of your memory.]

For some reason, Gordon thought of the mermaid who had appeared after the pumping station incident.

She too had long black hair, with kelp draped over her body and scales shimmering in every color.

And this singer in green had an air very much like the mermaid's. The only difference was that he could not see her boobs.

"What's her name?" Gordon asked Cecilia.

"Aileen Brendel," Cecilia said softly. "Greenery Mansion's lead vocalist. A singer."

"Olivia's daughter?"

"No. All the girls at Greenery Mansion take their mistress's surname," Cecilia explained.

Gordon looked toward the stage. A home, a job, even a surname. Olivia really did attend to every detail.

Aileen's gaze swept across the crowd. Her expression was flawless as she smiled.

Then the music began, and she started to sing.

Ah...

From the very first note, everyone was enthralled.

It sounded beautiful.

The mermaid had sung at the pumping station that day too. Her song had made him think of the ocean and the abyss.

Aileen's voice was more like the flowing music of a clear spring.

She clearly had a distinctive vocal technique. Every syllable was clear and smooth.

"Hmm..."

"What is it?" Vera asked.

"She reminds me of that thing at the pumping station. The one that crawled out." Gordon lowered his voice.

"The mermaid?" Vera observed her for five seconds, then reached a conclusion. "Impossible. They're unrelated."

"How can you tell?"

"She has legs."

"Forget I asked."

Onstage, Aileen continued singing.

Her voice was not loud, yet it rose above all the noise in the square. The audience gradually fell silent.

Gordon kept listening.

Somehow, he felt that Aileen was not "putting her heart into it."

When the song turned sorrowful and profound, she showed no trace of grief. When it reached its uplifting passages, she displayed no passion either.

She was performing purely for the sake of performing.

Judged solely by the result, it deserved full marks. But the person behind the song had her thoughts somewhere else entirely.

Moreover, this era had no amplifiers. At that volume, her voice should not have carried so far.

Gordon examined the vibrations in the air.

The musicians' playing was clearly distinguishable.

Only Aileen's voice was unusual, as though it penetrated directly into the listeners' consciousness.

Meanwhile, elsewhere.

From a balcony high on the cathedral, Olivia Brendel listened to her daughters performing onstage.

She wore an ivory-white satin dress covered in hand embroidery. Her corset cinched her waist tightly, while above it rose an enormous bust. Lace gloves covered both hands.

The organizer of the Rescue Festival charity sale reported to her.

This round of fundraising had already brought in 2,400 gold pounds.

Olivia spoke softly, allocating the money.

Every sum she designated would reach its destination. Widows would receive assistance, orphans would get bread, and the elderly, infirm, and disabled would receive care as well.

From then on, those aid organizations, shelters, and orphanages would remember the name Greenery Mansion.

Once the report was over, Olivia dismissed her attendants.

Suddenly, her gaze picked out someone in the sea of people.

A cheap coat, the appearance of a university student, and now a cane.

"Ah..." She recalled Harold's portrait. "His eyes are deeper than they were in the portrait."

In the shadow of a balcony pillar stood a tall man of mixed ancestry wearing a half mask. He was muscular and exuded a cold aura. The expression beneath his mask was particularly bloodthirsty, like a crocodile's.

"Kill him?" the man asked. "A university student. Scrawny. He looks easy to kill."

"Beside him are an earl's daughter, a duke's daughter, and a huntress. If your eyes can only see him, sending you would be pointless."

"Tch."

"Besides, today is the Rescue Festival." A hint of gentle reproach entered Olivia's voice. "A corpse would interfere with this afternoon's fundraising."

"Understood. But letting him go would be such a waste."

"Deal with the list first." Olivia stroked the ring on her hand. "Once those names disappear into the water one by one, his turn will come."