Escape

Koyar Village was the village where the old man had lived.

Lorry had stayed there for several days, so naturally, he knew that.

As the woman's shrill voice rang out, the police station's lobby briefly fell silent, and every head turned toward him.

Several policemen even instinctively reached for their waists.

"..."

Lorry froze for half a second, then turned and bolted without hesitation.

"Stop!"

"Quick, stop that man!"

"If you don't stop, we'll shoot!"

Several policemen chased after him, shouting at the top of their lungs.

Lorry turned a deaf ear and kept running.

There was no way they would shoot.

He knew they were trying to scare him. Hillston District was a bustling area, and the streets were full of people at this hour. The police would not open fire lightly.

If anything went wrong, it would probably make the papers the next day.

With his agility enhanced by the potion, Lorry deftly slipped into the crowd and easily widened the gap between himself and his pursuers.

Following his memory of the route, he took turn after turn and successfully darted into an alley.

When he looked back, his pursuers were nowhere to be seen.

"Hah, hah!"

Lorry braced a hand against the wall and panted for breath.

Luckily, none of the people chasing me were Beyonders.

He felt a little relieved at that thought, but his expression soon grew grim.

Not only had he failed to get his identification papers,

he had somehow become a wanted criminal!

Was it because he had stayed in the old man's house and disappeared afterward that the police had jumped to the conclusion that he was the murderer?

Or was something else involved?

What the fuck...

What the hell was going on??

Frustration welled up inside him, but Lorry did not dwell on it for long. Hearing footsteps nearby, he quickly steadied his breathing and pretended to be an ordinary passerby.

He strolled along slowly, rapidly analyzing his situation.

Getting identification papers was a crucial part of his plan.

Without them, many of the steps that depended on them would be blocked.

Renting a place, for instance.

Or finding work.

But those were not his most pressing concerns.

The bigger headache was that he was now a wanted criminal!

Once his wanted notice was posted, printed in newspapers, and distributed to taverns, bounty hunters would come sniffing after him like hounds.

He would be too busy saving his own skin to investigate the Wanderers Mutual Aid Association.

Looks like I can't use this face for a while.

Also, the Beyonder Characteristic and the Bird's Beak are still at the inn. The police probably haven't traced me there yet. I need to get back as soon as possible.

There were no longer any footsteps behind him. The passerby from earlier had evidently left. Lorry quickened his pace and hurried toward the inn.

Fifty minutes later.

A handsome young man with short flaxen hair, dressed in a black formal suit and wearing clear glasses, passed the front desk with an air of refined courtesy.

He gave the attendant behind the desk a slight nod, then turned and walked out the door.

"How elegant. He must be from a noble family."

Recalling his smile before he left, the female attendant responsible for taking payments could not help blushing slightly, her fingers unconsciously fiddling with the ledger.

Suddenly, she realized something was wrong.

Wait!

I'm the one who takes payments. Why don't I remember checking that guest in?

Did Emma check him in? She never mentioned him.

"Knock, knock!"

The sound of someone rapping on the wooden counter startled the attendant out of her thoughts. She looked up and saw the policeman responsible for patrolling this street.

They dealt with each other frequently and were fairly well acquainted.

Giving him an apologetic smile, she asked,

"What is it, Chief Vaughn?"

Chief Vaughn, dressed in a black uniform with white checks and two V-shaped markings on his shoulders, placed several sheets of paper on the counter. "Wanted notices issued over the past couple of days."

"If you see any of them, notify us right away."

"Of course."

The attendant answered casually as she leafed through them.

Chief Vaughn shrugged, turned, and headed outside with the remaining wanted notices. Before he could step through the door, however, a shriek came from behind him.

"I-I've seen this man!"

Meanwhile.

Lorry had left the street called Malan Flower Street far behind. His steps were steady, neither fast nor slow, and nothing about his appearance betrayed his inner panic.

That was close!

Just a little later, and the police would have cornered me at the inn!

Thank goodness the previous owner of this body was good at disguises.

The memory of brushing past that policeman on his way out still sent a chill through him. Forcing himself to calm down, he walked toward a carriage waiting for passengers by the roadside amid the cries of newspaper boys.

Lorry climbed into the carriage and settled into his seat. He pushed up his glasses with a bent forefinger, took out the newspaper tucked under his arm to check the address again, and told the driver,

"63 Iris Street."

As he spoke, he sighed inwardly.

I can practically hear my wallet wailing.

Iris Street lay on the edge of Hillston District. From a second-floor terrace facing the street, one could easily see Cherwood Borough, just a bridge away.

Lorry took out two one-soli notes and handed them to the driver. Tucking the newspaper under his arm, he stepped out of the carriage, approached the door of Number 63, and gently pulled the bell.

Footsteps soon sounded inside.

The door opened, revealing a young man in house clothes with pronounced dark circles under his eyes. Standing in the entrance hall, he carefully looked Lorry up and down.

"I'm looking for Mr. Miles."

Lorry nodded slightly and spoke politely.

"That's me."

The young man's gaze fell on the Backlund Post tucked under Lorry's arm, and he asked bluntly, "Are you here to rent the house next door?"

He's observant... Lorry nodded. "Yes."

"Please wait a minute."

Miles said this to Lorry, then turned and walked into a room farther inside.

As he walked, he covered his mouth and yawned. Soon, he came back with a ring of keys, closed the door, and led Lorry toward Number 64.

"This house belongs to a friend and colleague of mine, ah, and I'm only renting it out on his behalf, so the

rent isn't negotiable."

"Believe me, this is definitely the cheapest terraced house in Hillston District."

"If it weren't for that damned thief plagiarizing the manuscript my friend spent six months painstakingly preparing, he would never have decided to leave the profession and leave Backlund, the city that broke his heart."

"And terminating his lease would cost him a substantial sum in gold pounds."

"So his only choice was to rent it out cheaply."

A thief, a manuscript, plagiarism...

Those words in quick succession caught Lorry's attention. Thinking of Miles's frequent yawns, he asked tentatively, "Mr. Miles, are you writers?"

"Writers? No."

Miles shook his head and said self-mockingly, "Perhaps we once were. But now I'm just a failure who can barely hang on in this profession."

"If I can't produce a good work soon, I'm afraid I'll have to leave too."

As he said this, anger he could scarcely suppress filled Miles's eyes. Clearly unwilling to dwell on his troubles, however, he unlocked the door to Number 64 and stepped aside to let Lorry inspect the layout, changing the subject.

"Let's get back to the house."

"The first floor has two bedrooms, a dining room, a kitchen, and a washroom. The second floor has a study, a drawing room, and a terrace facing the street."

"The rent is twenty soli a week, with no deposit. My friend bought the furniture himself, so there's no charge for using it either."

"He has only one condition: you must rent it for at least three months at a time."