Bravehearts Bar

Backlund Bridge borough, Iron Gate Street, Bravehearts Bar.

Lorry handed the fare to the coachman, then turned toward the heavy black wooden door.

A burly man with knotted muscles covering his arms lounged beside it. Noticing Lorry approach, he frowned slightly.

He looked Lorry up and down with a scrutinizing gaze, but neither spoke nor stopped him.

"Whew-"

Lorry took a deep breath, pushed open the bar's door, and walked inside.

It was only noon, well before peak business hours. There were fewer than ten customers in the entire bar, making it seem particularly empty and quiet.

The bartender leaned against the counter, idly polishing a glass.

Seeing Lorry approach, he raised his eyes and asked:

"What'll you have?"

Lorry saw no menu and answered casually, "A beer."

The bartender nodded, turned around, and filled a glass from the large wooden barrel behind him. He set it on the counter and pushed it toward his customer. "The finest Southville beer. Five pence."

Golden beer swirled inside the dark red wooden mug, topped with dense white foam. A rich malty aroma wafted out.

Lorry picked it up and took a sip. A refreshing sensation burst across his mouth.

He took a one-soli note from his wallet and placed it on the counter. After glancing back at the other customers, he leaned forward slightly and asked in a low voice:

"I'd like to buy something to defend myself with. Who should I talk to?"

Then he added:

"Keep the change."

The bartender glanced down at the note's denomination, temptation showing on his face.

He lowered his voice as well:

"Kaspars Kanlyning, but he isn't here at this hour."

"He won't be here until evening, at least."

"Luckily, I'm not short on patience, especially when it comes to necessary matters." Lorry smiled slightly, picked up his beer, and turned toward a corner.

There was no rush to continue writing "Young Roselle," and he had entrusted the investigation into One-Eyed Cyril to Detective Stuart.

He had plenty of free time that afternoon, with nothing scheduled.

That evening, at the Bravehearts Bar.

As the sun disappeared and the red moon gradually rose, the bar reached its busiest hours of the day and became exceptionally lively.

"That's it, Gru! Keep hitting him like that! Beat the bastard to death!"

"Get up! Hurry up and get up!"

Customers crowded around the ring with drinks in hand, excitedly watching the two boxers. The clamor seemed endless, rising in wave after wave.

The bartender, who had already tasted the rewards of helping him, passed by carrying food and said quietly:

"Kaspars Kanlyning is here. He's in billiard room six."

He flicked his gaze behind him to indicate the direction.

He's here? Lorry paused, then pulled a penny from his pocket and tossed it onto the bartender's tray. He stood and headed toward billiard room six.

The door to billiard room six was open, and there was only one person inside.

He ventured:

"Kaspars Kanlyning?"

At the sound of his voice, the man inside turned around. He narrowed his eyes and examined Lorry for nearly half a minute before speaking hoarsely:

"I don't believe we know each other."

He had a distinctive bulbous red nose and a conspicuous scar on his right cheek.

With that, he turned back around and continued arranging the balls.

Lorry reached out and closed the billiard room's door, then took two cues from the wooden rack in the corner and laid them on either side of the table. With an air of casualness, he said:

"I'm an ordinary person interested in mysticism, and I'd like to learn more about it. Someone told me you were the person to see."

What he said now differed from what he had told the bartender.

The bartender was an ordinary person, and Lorry did not want to reveal too much in front of him.

Kaspars immediately stopped what he was doing and limped over to Lorry. His gaze turned cold as he stared straight into Lorry's eyes.

"Who told you?"

"..."

Lorry silently shook his head, grumbling inwardly, A fellow called Cuttlefish Who Loves Diving told me. You definitely don't know him.

He pressed his lips together, then said:

"I mean no harm whatsoever. I'm sure you can tell."

Just then, a gust of wind from somewhere blew in through the gap beneath the door, and the room's temperature plummeted. Kaspars's expression shifted slightly before he gave a noncommittal grunt.

"Come back here at this time tomorrow."

"And you'll need to pay three pounds."

Lorry drew his formal coat tighter around himself. Without another unnecessary word, he held his top hat against his chest and bowed slightly, then put it on and turned to leave the billiard room.

Click.

The door slowly closed.

Kaspars turned toward the windowpane. A figure faintly appeared on its surface-a woman in a black court dress.

"There's no need to be nervous. This person harbors no ill intent."

A very powerful Beyonder, but I don't know who... I remember that in the original novel, Kaspars had connections with the Temperance Faction that defected from the Rose School... Sharron and Mar-something...

Sitting in the carriage, Lorry lightly pinched the space between his brows with his thumb and middle finger.

His head was throbbing badly. The instant the temperature had plunged in billiard room six, the spirituality within him had begun frantically warning him of danger.

That was also why he had wasted no words and decisively chosen to leave.

"Thank goodness they're members of the Temperance Faction."

Lorry let out a relieved breath, feeling the pain in his forehead ease slightly.

He checked his rapidly emptying wallet, and an urgent desire to make money rose within him again. I wonder whether Mr. Miles has sent that letter yet?

I'm already on the verge of bankruptcy... Lorry felt another headache coming on.

After deducting the six-pound fee for hiring Detective Stuart, the three pounds he would need to pay tomorrow, and today's carriage fares-

He had less than three pounds left to work with!

"I hope I can sell the Beyonder characteristic that emerged from Glowa tomorrow. Otherwise, even if I come across the Marauder potion formula, I won't be able to afford it..."

"If there's a suitable buyer, I could sell the Bird's Beak too."

Lorry considered this in silence. Looking at his reflection in the carriage window, he felt as though the word "POOR" had been carved across his face in capital letters.

The following evening, at the Bravehearts Bar, in billiard room six.

"Very punctual." Kaspars rubbed his bulbous

red nose. "But it's not time yet. We'll have to wait a little longer."

"Hmm, what I mean is... want to play a game of billiards?"

"Or a round of Gwent?"

Lorry: "..."

7:45 p.m.

Kaspars put away his cue and gave Lorry a meaningful look.

The two of them went out through the bar's back door and circled into an alley. Like a conjurer, Kaspars pulled an iron mask from inside his coat and told Lorry quietly:

"Put it on and stay close."

Lorry did as instructed, murmuring his assent.

Walking one behind the other, they soon reached a dark house. After exchanging the password with someone inside, Kaspars turned to Lorry.

"You can go in now."