Chapter 10

35

"Don't try to kill yourself in front of a devil," I said in the gentlest of tones. "Unless you want to offer him your soul."

36

Ince Zangwill clutched his right hand, on which I had crushed three fingers underfoot, and trembled as he gripped the gauze that would not stop bleeding through. This was the bare minimum punishment for offending an angel-for his ridiculous attempt to drive me away with 0-08 instead of coming out to greet me.

So he still dared neither approach nor sit down. He stood in attendance off to one side of my chair, watching me and the notebook in my hands, which had originally belonged to him, with the utmost fear and wariness. I handed him the new hat I had bought for two pounds and gestured for him to hang it on the coat rack by the door. He hesitated for a few seconds, then reached out with his left hand, which still had all five fingers, took it rather clumsily, and hung it up himself. Good. That proved he had learned his lesson and understood that even a devil did not want bloodstains on him all the time.

The sky was overcast that day. In a fairly good mood, I leafed through the diary and discovered that plenty of interesting things had already happened in the little city of Tingen before my arrival. For instance, that "Duke Antigonus's" marionette had pointed the Nighthawks toward yet another descendant of its master. The poor little toy had once been the family's most beloved doll; now it had become a sword suspended over the last descendants of the Antigonus Family, ready to fall at any moment.

There was also a Nighthawk named Leonard, who "harbored a special secret," and a Klein who had inexplicably failed to die-also a Nighthawk. And then there was the Nightmare, Dunn Smith, who had intruded into my dream the previous night and eaten the afternoon tea I had prepared for Miss Wall and her friend.

The Nighthawks under the Evernight Goddess really were brimming with talent.

I skimmed through the notebook. It had seen years of use and was creased and battered, most of its earlier contents describing how he had hidden himself and used coincidences to divert the Nighthawks pursuing him. In the years since his defection, he had wandered from place to place before finally coming to this small city, plotting to obtain a sacred relic corresponding to Sequence 4 of an adjacent pathway and advance across pathways. That was why he had made so many arrangements in secret. Yet according to the records, few had succeeded. That Klein kept triggering unforeseen circumstances, preventing him from fully achieving his aims.

"The kindhearted Ince Zangwill provided assistance?"

I read the sentence aloud. He looked even more frightened, as though he might flee through the window at any moment. But even the Underworld Gate had failed to let him escape. What use was a window opening onto the garden? Still, far from intending to reprimand him, I meant to praise him. "I was wondering why Mr. Z's report actually said, 'The seed was successfully planted, and the host's condition is stable.' By our calculations, even the first step of this divine descent should have been impossible. So you were the one who intervened and kept the host from dying then. Well done."

How interesting, I thought. If I remember correctly, the Church of Evernight's Sealed Artifact 0-08 is called the Quill of Alzuhod. It corresponds to the Spectator pathway's Sequence One, Writer, and has caused an angel's death. Grade 0, the highest level of secrecy, with no information permitted to circulate outside. Even when relevant personnel are informed about it, they receive only the simplest description of its appearance.

It was already hard to imagine a bishop who was only Sequence 5 managing to possess such a Sealed Artifact. Harder still to imagine that, after three years, he had yet to be written to death, had successfully evaded a whole series of pursuits, and had even slipped back under the Evernight Goddess's very nose.

By rights, 0-08 should have had little interest in a wielder of his level. That made the reason he had survived until now rather intriguing.

I did not dwell on it. After all, if there had to be a higher-level narrator-someone even further behind the scenes than the mastermind Ince Zangwill-to drive all this forward, then the Sun currently at the summit of the Spectator pathway, who was playing the role of his own son, was the prime suspect.

"You've done very well, Ince Zangwill. You're very interesting."

I closed the notebook and met his astonished, doubtful gaze. I was telling the truth, because devils liked despicable masterminds like him. He looked willing to do anything to achieve his ends, yet would not even bloody his own hands, preferring to toy with other people's lives through covert influence. He held a Sealed Artifact of the highest grade, yet still cowered in dark corners like a rat afraid of the light. He was destined to become a sacrifice, and I was quite willing to pass the time watching him continue his dying struggles.

"So I won't help you, favor you, or protect you. You'll have to stay strong and keep scraping out a wretched existence on your own, so I can enjoy an even more despicable side of you. To that end, I can grant you a few blessings."

The poorly concealed anger froze on his face. A hint of suspicion and wariness appeared in Ince Zangwill's one remaining eye, so dark blue it was almost black. Only then did he realize he had no right to refuse.

37

After finishing my visit to Ince Zangwill, I went to the lower streets to check whether this city's "affliction" was up to standard.

The Ernst Charity Foundation, established by my subordinate, the "Temperance Angel" Richard Ernst, had existed for two hundred years. He was an excellent human, a capable human, and a human with far too much conscience. This was the first time I had ever met someone who treated charity as his life's pursuit, let alone an angel. Thus, his anchors were all the elderly, frail, sick, and disabled people receiving aid from the foundation. Kindness was his nature, his humanity. The moment he tried to abandon it all, he would lose control.

Charity was a bottomless pit. The foundation's expenses always exceeded its income, yet it never stopped building new poorhouses and welfare homes. As its leader and, in theory, the recipient of its worship, Richard Ernst even had to use his secular identity to solicit sponsorship everywhere. But the nobility had no interest in the cause of charity.

When he returned from Feysac, he offered the relevant report to me in a sacrificial ritual. Even the nobles with some longstanding connections, who knew his identity, had provided less than a hundred thousand pounds between them for this undertaking that offered no return.

Just one wall separated the factory owners' comfortable villas from tiny rooms crammed with dozens of people, filthy spaces on the floor that cost workers several soli a week, and cheap, spoiled food. So Richard had stubbornly installed new machinery that caused less harm to the human body in the factories I owned, raised workers' wages by ten percent, and allocated a truly astonishing sum for treating workplace injuries. As a result, my factories soon went bankrupt one after another, unable to compete with their peers. Their meager profits left even the factory accountants no room to skim anything off the top.

This also inflicted disastrous losses on my "family" far away in Intis, costing it nearly half its influence at one point. After the person actually in charge had been ostracized by his competitors, collectively reported by his employees for being unable to fund their benefits, and forced to sell the factories to his rivals at low prices, the factory owners' circle even saddled him with a derogatory reputation as a rich fool ripe for fleecing.

After that farce, the actual managers of the businesses revoked the commercial authority they had given Richard. They also took back all the factories, stock investments, and plantations. Only by exploiting cheap labor and even slaves, just like everyone else, could they provide Richard with the initial capital for his charitable endeavors.

How ironic. How pitiful. Richard Ernst, a philanthropist with nothing but a reputation nobody cares about-what exactly are you trying to do?

38

Baron Gramir gave a quiet cough, leaving a few crimson traces on his palm, which the human-skin glove promptly absorbed.

Two days earlier, his chest had been struck hard enough to shatter its bones. Only the sturdy body of a Sequence 6 Beyonder of the Sailor pathway had kept him from dying on the spot, leaving him enough strength to escape and find an opportunity to use his connections to obtain treatment. But he would not mistake that for good luck. It was merely because the powerful Beyonder who happened to pass by had not wanted to kill him.

Qilingus was deeply frustrated. After facing mortal danger that day, he had panicked at his first direct encounter with a High Sequence Beyonder and nearly lost control. By the time he came to his senses, he had already killed Baron Gramir, whom he had spent so long observing and imitating. With no vagrants available, he had been forced to feed a servant to Creeping Hunger first, lest the Mystical Item become his undoing in his weakened state. Then he had assumed the baron's appearance, spent two days recuperating in bed, and successfully recovered.

A good job that had promised some danger but no risk of death had suddenly become a crushing burden on his shoulders. He hoped he would soon recover enough to complete the mission. If he failed... Qilingus dared not dwell on it.

Assassinating Duke Negan in his current condition was clearly impossible, but accepting an invitation to the dinner and then failing to attend would arouse even greater suspicion. So he decided to attend the ball, observe the security around Duke Negan, and leave early. Afterward, he would buy a ticket and leave Backlund temporarily, returning without a sound once he was capable of carrying out the mission again.

It was all because of that High Sequence powerhouse... Damn it, if those two women hadn't investigated me, how could I have ended up like this!

As an Admiral of the Pirates who admired power and strength, Qilingus naturally dared not curse the powerful. He could only vent his anger by repeatedly cursing Fors and Xio, whom he had nearly killed, in his heart. Thinking of the punishment he might face for failing his mission, and of how he would probably never have a chance to take revenge on those two women, his features involuntarily twisted into a somewhat savage expression.

But the next second, he immediately restored his normal expression.

"Hello, Baron Gramir." Audrey greeted him with an impeccable smile and flawless etiquette.

Across from her, Qilingus, disguised as the sparsely browed, pale-blue-eyed Baron Gramir, likewise smiled and bowed. "Hello, Miss Hall. You are the brightest, most dazzling jewel at this ball."

After exchanging a few aristocratic pleasantries, the two went their separate ways.

A few steps later, Audrey suddenly frowned, her emerald eyes filled with puzzlement. Baron Gramir is rather different from usual...

In the past, whenever he saw a relatively beautiful young lady or married woman of higher status than himself, he would look away, afraid to meet her eyes, then keep stealing glances... But today, he seemed very confident...

No, the strangest thing was actually his perfume! At gatherings before, he always smelled of the base notes of Amber-pure, subtle musk, understated yet noble. But just now, the scent on him was Amber's heart notes, rich, dense, and elegant...

When he passed me just now, wasn't there another smell as well? The perfume was so strong, as though he were trying to conceal something. It seemed-yes, there really was a faint trace of blood drifting past... Baron Gramir has been confined to bed at home for two days due to illness. How could he have picked up the smell of blood?

Audrey's steps grew slower and slower. As a Spectator who had completely digested her potion, her sensitivity to detail was beyond anything other Beyonders could match. She recalled more and more suspicious points. Suddenly, a possibility occurred to her, and her bright emerald eyes froze.

TBC

IF Edward joined the Tarot Club

"Is this a kindergarten?" He took one look, memorized everyone's general appearance and aura, added them to his assassination list, and left.

IF the Temperance Angel Richard joined the Tarot Club

Richard: Lord, I entered a Council of the Gods. The great being presiding over it calls himself Mr. Fool.

Edward: The Fool? Where would you find a Fool these days? Look, that Half-Fool is still completely paralyzed up on the mountaintop. Give me the address and I'll go have a look. You've fallen into a pyramid scheme. Watch out for new forms of online fraud.

*Also, what does it mean to travel all the way to the Feysac Empire, lobby most of its nobles, and receive only a hundred thousand pounds? Audrey exposed Qilingus and received more than forty thousand pounds in combined bounties from various countries and organizations.