Lady of the Long Night's Salon!

At Arthur's words.

Though Dokule had deceived him, Fontel did not hesitate now. He immediately took out his wallet and began pulling out money.

When two Gold Tickets with a face value of ten were placed on the desk in Medium's Hall, even Arthur was surprised. He had guessed that Fontel came from a wealthy family, but he had not expected him to be this rich.

He handed over twenty Gold Tickets without blinking. He really must be scared.

And he's richer than I imagined.

That makes sense. Only someone this wealthy, who doesn't have to struggle to make a living, could fill his head with romantic fantasies and let Dokule lure him here.

What about you, then?

As Arthur considered this, his gaze shifted to Wiggins.

In fact, compared with Fontel, whose wealth was obvious at a glance, Wiggins interested Arthur more.

Dokule was a bad man, but he was no fool.

He had chosen Fontel and Wiggins for a reason: to make the affair blow up quickly and leave Arthur no room to maneuver.

The fact that Fontel and Wiggins could make that happen proved that both had considerable influence within their respective social circles.

Fontel needed no explanation. He had money.

Wiggins, however, was different.

Judging only by his clothes, Wiggins was a commoner, and a rather poor one at that. Yet his fingers were quite clean, his nails especially neatly trimmed. Those did not look like the hands of someone who toiled for a living, but rather those of a middle-class man.

More importantly, he had connections with Dokule.

Someone like Dokule would never associate with an ordinary commoner, much less befriend one, unless that person was exceptionally useful.

Putting Dokule's profession as a reporter together with Wiggins's gesture of lowering his hat brim at the sight of the police, and the way he remained "humble" and "silent" even now, Arthur finally identified him.

Golden Fingers (a pickpocket)!

Only a Golden Fingers who worked the streets fit Wiggins's appearance, and only someone like that would prompt a reporter like Dokule to seek him out.

A gang member?

There was no way one would remain this "quiet." At the very least, he would have managed a few simple lines, such as "I'm so-and-so" or "My boss is so-and-so."

Besides, Dokule most likely would not dare get involved with gang members. He needed someone to deal with minor nuisances and gather information.

A Golden Fingers would do. But calling in gang members?

That meant solving a small problem only to invite a bigger one.

At that thought, Arthur's narrowed eyes grew brighter.

Perhaps Wiggins, a Golden Fingers by trade, couldn't handle major trouble, but dealing with little nuisances would be second nature to him. In South Los, at least, he would be more useful than the police.

And the Golden Fingers were undoubtedly among the best-informed people in South Los.

That made them ideal for a reporter like Dokule.

Of course, Arthur, as a "medium," needed them too.

Especially their information!

A good medium must have a reliable source of information.

Arthur thought Old Charlie's words made a great deal of sense.

And so a hint of expectation entered his gaze as he looked at Wiggins.

Meanwhile, Wiggins, standing off to the side, had been dumbstruck when Fontel produced those two Gold Tickets.

Even everything he owned would not add up to ten Gold Tickets.

Though he earned good money as a Golden Fingers and always came away with something whenever he visited the dock district's shopping street, most of it had to go to the police and local gang members as "protection money." Otherwise, he would vanish from the streets of South Los within three days.

Now that Fontel had paid twenty Gold Tickets, what was he supposed to do?

Just then, Arthur looked his way. The unfathomable meaning in his eyes made Wiggins's scalp prickle—the scene earlier had thoroughly frightened the young Golden Fingers.

It was not merely Arthur killing someone with a curse, but also the way he had drawn his gun and fired without hesitation when confronted by Sheriff Lark.

The former was too strange and unfamiliar for Wiggins to judge accurately, but he was qualified to judge the latter.

He had seen similar men before.

There were men like that in the gangs at the docks and on the streets.

Not many. Just one or two.

Yet those one or two men were the key to their gangs holding their ground. Whenever a gang faced destruction, they were the ones who acted.

Their bearing was exactly like Arthur's.

In the year Wiggins first became a Golden Fingers, he had witnessed outsiders invade the dock district's Blood Dog Gang. With most of its members scattered, one man from the Blood Dog Gang had stepped in and killed four intruders single-handedly. He had even cut off the outsiders' leader's entire head.

Back then, the man's gaze had been just like Arthur's now.

Is he going to cut my head off?

Wiggins's legs trembled, but his mind worked faster and faster.

Some people's minds went blank in danger, while others thought with extraordinary speed. Wiggins belonged to the latter group.

At first, his mind had gone blank when faced with danger too.

But he had been lucky. He had survived that time.

After that, whenever he encountered danger, Wiggins refused to let his mind go blank.

Because he wanted to live.

Just as he did now.

As cold sweat broke out on his forehead, Wiggins's first thought was to sell himself into service.

For a street-bred Golden Fingers like him, his most valuable possession was himself.

And plenty of fellows were quite willing to do exactly that.

But Wiggins was reluctant. It was not that he truly yearned for greater freedom; he simply felt that selling himself just like that would be selling himself cheap. He could not stomach it.

Suddenly, inspiration struck, and Wiggins thought of something.

At once, the street-bred Golden Fingers imitated respectable gentlemen, removing his hat and holding it against his chest. After a slight bow, he said, "I can tell you a secret."

Wiggins did not say what the secret was. He merely glanced toward Fontel and Scott.

Scott pulled the curious-looking Fontel outside, closing the door behind them as they left Medium's Hall.

Immediately, Arthur and Wiggins were the only two left inside.

Without hesitation, Wiggins spoke.

"Mr. Credos, have you heard of the Lady of the Long Night?"

The Lady of the Long Night?

Arthur frowned and began searching his predecessor's memories again.

He soon found the answer he wanted.

The Lady of the Long Night was quite well known among a small circle in South Los.

She was the woman who had held South Los's first salon. Salons had first become popular in the Inner Bay, initially as entertainment for nobles alone. With the addition of scholars, painters, and writers, they had become gatherings of people with shared interests. But as pioneers, merchants, and speculators joined in, salons had gradually turned into arenas for wealth and fame.

The Lady of the Long Night had seized that opportunity and held the first salon in South Los.

Though many had followed her example, none could challenge the Lady of the Long Night's Salon in the slightest, because the salon was only the first half of the event. The auction in the second half was the main attraction.

The lady had shrewdly kept control of the essential part that could not be replicated.

As a result, many people in South Los considered it an honor to attend the Lady of the Long Night's Salon.

Some even believed that anyone who truly belonged to high society would certainly be able to attend the Lady of the Long Night's Salon.

After hearing all this from Old Charlie, his predecessor had longed to attend. He had believed it would be the stage on which he made his name.

Malinda Julius Caesar?

With Wiggins having said this much, Arthur naturally knew whom he was hinting at.

Then came a thought of admiration.

Truly impressive!

He knew very well how difficult it was for a woman to achieve so much in traditional, conservative South Los.

And just how remarkable her abilities must be.

Of course, the danger she posed rose just as sharply.

I'll have to be even more careful with her!

Arthur warned himself.

Women were always trouble.

And capable women?

They were enormous trouble.

But that was for later. As for now?

Arthur deliberately darkened his expression.

"Wiggins, are you joking with me?"

Arthur asked bluntly. His voice remained steady and calm, but a chill appeared in his eyes.

The skill [Intimidation] began to flicker.

He was not turning on Wiggins after getting his information. Arthur was not that unprincipled. It was because Wiggins was trying to be slippery.

When the lady had left earlier, she had not only put down ten Gold Tickets, but specifically said that she would soon have her coachman deliver her real gift of thanks.

What would that gift be?

Most likely an invitation to the salon.

When that arrived, Malinda Julius Caesar's identity would naturally be impossible to conceal.

Arthur could not tolerate Wiggins trying to escape paying compensation with something that cost him nothing. If he really agreed, he would probably earn none of Wiggins's gratitude. Wiggins would simply take him for a fool instead.

Such calculation and petty opportunism were etched into the bones of the street-bred Wiggins.

Even fear would not change them.

Only at the moment of death would regret come, too late.

Why did Arthur understand this so well?

Because he had seen far too many similar people before.

Even if these people operated somewhat more darkly than the Golden Fingers, their street-bred nature remained the same.

Wiggins jolted when Arthur exposed his little trick. Faced with Arthur's threatening gaze, he immediately broke into a drenching sweat. The street-bred Golden Fingers truly felt death breathing down his neck.

Without the slightest hesitation, he cried out-

"I'm willing to become your subordinate, to be your eyes and ears, gather information for you, and become your dagger in the dark, dealing with unnecessary trouble on your behalf!"