The mastermind

"Do you think I'd tell you?

"Don't forget your place! You're nothing but a lowly pickpocket, a rat living in the sewers, never fit to see the light of day!

"You ungrateful little wolf! I should have broken your arms and legs back then and thrown you into a filthy ditch, watched you slowly die howling... ah!"

Cyril's words were cut short by a cry of pain.

Lorry calmly flicked the table knife, lifting the piece of flesh he had just sliced from Cyril's arm and tossing it into the nearby trash can.

He took a vial of healing medicine purchased from the Fat Apothecary out of his pocket, unscrewed the stopper, and squeezed a few drops onto Cyril's wound.

The blue medicine quickly spread through the surrounding tissue.

New flesh writhed, and the blood that had been steadily seeping out eerily slowed to a stop.

Cyril was drenched in sweat from the pain. His vision kept darkening, and he nearly fainted.

He stared in terror at the pickpocket who once hadn't even dared raise his voice in his presence. Looking into those eyes, as calm as still water, he suddenly felt an uncontrollable shudder rise from deep within him.

"You... what exactly are you trying to do?"

Just what I'd expect from an Apothecary's work... Lorry silently marveled.

He looked down at the gang leader whom the body's original owner had once feared to his very bones. Not a trace of his former swagger remained as he writhed frantically on the floor like a maggot, struggling in agony.

Lorry said quietly:

"I once read about a punishment called 'Lingchi.'

"Apparently, some highly skilled executioners could use sharp little knives to slice the flesh off a criminal piece by piece without letting them die in the process.

"Until nothing remained but their skeleton and internal organs.

"I know my limits. I'm sure I can't reach that level of skill, so I prepared this beforehand. It should help you hold on a little longer, Boss Cyril."

As he spoke, he shook the healing medicine in his hand, slipped it back into his pocket, and picked up the bloodstained table knife with a smile.

"Oh, and a friendly reminder: this room has been specially treated. Don't expect anyone outside to hear you."

Gulp!

Cyril visibly swallowed hard.

As Lorry's gaze roamed over his body, seemingly weighing where to cut next, he couldn't help feeling his hair stand on end.

"You're a devil!

"Wait, I'll talk, I'll... ah!"

"Sorry. My hand moved too fast." Lorry gave an apologetic smile and stopped Cyril's bleeding again, then pulled over a stool and sat down in front of him.

"I ask, you answer. Understood?"

Seeing that there were no more than twenty centimeters between them, Cyril instinctively trembled all over. He dared not waste any time, terrified that another cut would come if he was too slow.

"Someone warned me a little while ago that you might have come to Backlund.

"But don't ask who he is. I really don't know his name. All I know is that he serves Baron Percival and possesses supernatural powers far beyond those of ordinary people."

Baron Percival... far beyond ordinary people... Lorry slowly mulled over the key words, then suddenly asked, "You serve Baron Percival?"

Cyril nodded.

"Yes!

"I've been working for Baron Percival all these years. He promised that if things worked out in the future, he could grant me the title of Lord."

So this baron is Cyril's backer. The noble Detective Stuart tracked down must be him... Lorry memorized the man's surname, planning to investigate through other channels.

He asked again:

"If someone warned you I was in Backlund, why didn't you believe him?

"And...

"Tell me what was going on with that potion."

"Because I couldn't imagine someone who'd only just escaped danger choosing anything other than to keep running." Cyril's face was bitter.

It was clear that he deeply regretted that.

If he had been prepared, he would never have ended up like this.

Cyril paused, then continued:

"As for a potion, I've never heard that term before.

"But if you mean the bottle of blue-black liquid I made you drink back then-it came from the man who warned me, acting on Baron Percival's wishes."

"His wishes? What is this baron trying to do?" Lorry pressed.

Cyril shook his head with a bitter smile.

"I don't know.

"I just obey the baron's orders."

Lorry was somewhat disappointed, but not particularly surprised. After all, even though Cyril had handled it himself, he didn't even know the term "potion." So Lorry rephrased his question. "Then tell me in detail what orders he's given you over the years you've served him."

With the table knife still waving before his eyes, Cyril now answered every question he was asked.

"Other than requiring us to hand over the gang's earnings every month, the baron has rarely interfered in the East Borough over the years. I can only remember three occasions.

"First, he told me to expand the Pickpocket Organization, compile its performance records every six months, and submit information on the pickpockets to him in written reports.

"Second, a while ago, the baron sent his bodyguard over with that bottle of blue-black liquid and told me to reward the best pickpocket with it."

At this point, he couldn't help glancing up at Lorry before continuing, "He specifically said it didn't matter if the person died...

"Just dispose of the body.

"But if they survived, I had to send them to him as soon as possible.

"The third matter was actually related to you, too. Old Jack, who was responsible for inspecting the sewers, had some ties to the gang. He said your body had disappeared, and that there had been unusual activity in the sewers the night before. I reported this to the baron, and he told me I had to bring you back."

So the one who leaked it really was that sewer worker... A flash of anger stirred in Lorry's chest. If not for him, everything that followed might have been different.

The old man wouldn't have died, and I wouldn't have had to come to Backlund carrying this hatred!

"What happened after that?"

"After that..." Cyril thought for a moment, then said, "The baron said ordinary people might not be able to deal with you, and told me to have Glowa take action."

"Oh, and I think the baron also gave him a treasure with supernatural powers."

"I don't know exactly what it was, but I heard Glowa mention it once. He said that with that treasure, even if you hid yourself in a graveyard, he'd still be able to dig you out."

Hearing this, a name immediately flashed through Lorry's mind:

The Bird's Beak!

So it came from the baron backing Cyril... the true culprit who forced the body's original owner to drink an incomplete potion, indirectly causing him to lose control...

And he's also the one who ordered them to hunt me down... looking at it that way, he's the one ultimately responsible for that kind old man's death...

If Cyril isn't lying... this baron probably had two reasons for supporting the Wanderers Mutual Aid Association... making money and cultivating Marauders...

Wait!

Having pickpockets drink the Marauder potion... was that a coincidence? Or does he know about the Acting Method? Doesn't the Loen Royal Family forbid nobles from becoming Beyonders?

One question after another surfaced in Lorry's mind.

He said nothing, so Cyril didn't dare stop on his own:

"Later, I learned from my informant at the police station that Glowa and his men were dead, and that your whereabouts were unknown, despite you being both a witness and a suspect.

"The baron sent his bodyguard to warn me that you might come to Backlund, and told me to find you as soon as possible. But with Glowa dead, the Bloodhand Gang had set its sights on our business in the dock area. I had no choice but to send more muscle over there, leaving only a few people to post a bounty and look for you..."

So that's how it was... now everything that happened before fits together... Lorry drew a light breath and looked at Cyril with a mocking expression.

"During that time, you noticed someone secretly following you, assumed they were from the Bloodhand Gang, and set a trap in the apartment building at 3 Neeson Street?"

At that, Cyril's sole remaining eye slowly widened.

"How do you know about that?

"It was you?!"

Lorry smiled faintly without answering.

He tapped the table cheerfully. "All right, now that my curiosity has been satisfied, there's one final question."

"Where do you hide your money?"