The dust settled

Lorry had intended to press further, but when he saw the figures rapidly approaching, he had no choice but to swallow his questions for now.

I'm no match for him anyway... Since he hasn't attacked me outright, things probably aren't as bad as they could be... he thought to himself.

"Stay where you are!"

"Who are you two, and what are you doing here at this hour?"

"Were you responsible for that commotion just now?"

Four police officers in black-and-white uniforms stood seven or eight meters away, their revolvers drawn and aimed at Lorry and the man in the black trench coat. They eyed the two warily.

Three were constables, and one was a sergeant.

The sergeant in the middle glanced at Saul, who lay facedown with his hands over his head, then looked back at the two men. "What's your relationship with this man?"

"Tell us the truth!"

"MI9 business! We need your cooperation." The man in the black trench coat took a black-covered identification booklet from his pocket and tossed it over.

The sergeant's reflexes were fairly good. After a moment's hesitation, he caught the booklet. He opened it, took a look, and saluted the man in the black trench coat.

"Yes, sir."

He respectfully returned the identification booklet and asked:

"How would you like us to assist?"

"Get a carriage and help me escort the criminal back." The man in the black trench coat glanced at Saul, indicating that he was the criminal in question.

"Understood."

The sergeant turned to his subordinates. "Get a carriage."

Lorry could have sworn that, in all the years his original self had lived in East Borough, he had never seen its famously lax police act so efficiently.

In less than half an hour, a carriage had stopped before them.

Even the driver was ready to go.

"West Borough, Belloto Street." The man in the black trench coat hauled Saul into the carriage and gave the driver the address, unconcerned that the officers could hear him.

Isn't MI9 an intelligence agency... Is it really all right to just announce the address...? Lorry looked up at the man in surprise.

The man in the black trench coat seemed to guess what Lorry was thinking and said casually:

"If anyone leaves now without my permission, I can shoot them on the spot for 'attempting to disclose state secrets.'

"And once we arrive, there'll be plenty of ways to ensure you keep those secrets."

As he spoke, the four officers climbed into the carriage too. Lorry clearly saw them all shudder at the words "shoot them on the spot."

The driver's voice trembled slightly. "O-officer, may we leave?"

"Of course."

The man in the black trench coat closed his eyes and answered indifferently.

The carriage slowly set off.

The carriage entered Belloto Street and stopped outside an unremarkable three-story building. It was already late at night, and only a handful of rooms were lit.

The best hiding place is in plain sight... It's hard to imagine this is the Loen Kingdom's intelligence agency, the mere mention of which terrifies so many unaffiliated Beyonders and foreign spies...

Lorry gazed at the building, keeping his thoughts to himself.

"You, come inside with me.

"As for the rest of you..."

The man in the black trench coat opened his eyes, glanced at the four officers in the carriage and the trembling driver up front, and said with a slight curl of his lips:

"You'll have to wait a few more minutes."

As he spoke, he took a badge from his pocket.

Lorry caught a fleeting wisp of black.

"Sharp senses. Just what I'd expect from..." The man turned toward him with an ambiguous smile, finishing with a couple of indistinct murmurs.

Just what you'd expect from a Marauder? Lorry completed the sentence in his head.

The night breeze blew gently beneath the red moon.

Soon, three men in tailcoats emerged from the three-story building.

"Deal with their memories."

The man in the black trench coat addressed the man in the middle, then looked at the one on the left. "Take this Hunter to the interrogation room."

Finally, he told the man on the right:

"Send someone to notify Duke Negan. We've brought back the man he wanted."

"Come with me."

The man in the black trench coat strode forward without looking back.

Although he had named no one, Lorry knew the order was meant for him. He promptly hopped out of the carriage and followed.

The two entered the three-story building, one after the other.

A second before stepping through the entrance, Lorry's exceptional eyesight picked out a crude plaque hanging on the door, bearing the number "9."

Soon, they reached an office on the ground floor.

Smiling, the man in the black trench coat gestured for Lorry to sit wherever he liked, then walked toward the kettle and looked back. "Coffee or black tea?"

"...Plain water will do," Lorry replied, sitting on the sofa.

The man clicked his tongue and remarked with somewhat exaggerated feeling, "Sometimes, I really envy you freewheeling, unaffiliated Beyonders."

"Even after something like this, you can still..."

He did not finish, instead focusing on the kettle before him.

A few minutes later, the man pulled over a chair and sat opposite Lorry. He chuckled. "You look like you have something to say."

Lorry accepted the glass of water, thanked him, and nodded.

"I do.

"I'd like to know what you meant by what you said earlier."

"What I said earlier? I seem to have said quite a lot today." The man shrugged teasingly. "...All right, but it really isn't time yet."

"Right now, we only need to do one thing. No, two.

"Wait for Duke Negan.

"And quietly enjoy this rare chance to rest."

Fine, fine. You're stronger, so whatever you say goes... Lorry grumbled inwardly, then sank into thought with the glass cupped in his hands.

In Baron Percival's residence in Empress Borough.

A few clouds drifted across the crimson moon, leaving the night inky black. Inside the luxurious study, rows of crystal wall lamps still shone brightly.

Baron Percival sat silently before his broad desk.

A book lay open before him.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

Inside the old wall clock, the hands turned tirelessly. Finally, upon reaching a certain position, it chimed four clear notes.

Baron Percival

stared blankly for a moment, then shook himself free of his thoughts.

"It's four.

"Saul still hasn't returned."

He murmured to himself, instinctively looking toward the door, hoping that familiar figure would walk through it the next second.

Unfortunately, there was only the shadow cast by a bookcase.

"If everything went according to plan, Saul should have been back before two. But it's already two hours past that..." A possibility suddenly occurred to Baron Percival, filling his heart with unease. He rose irritably and began pacing the study, trying to shake off the feeling.

One circuit, then two.

All the while, the clock kept ticking.

After an unknown length of time, Baron Percival heard footsteps outside.

Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap.

The sound made his heart leap, and he hurriedly looked toward the door.

Creak.

The door was gently pushed open.

The gray-haired old butler appeared in the shadows. He was over sixty and had served the Percival Family for more than fifty years.

He stood ramrod straight in the darkness, silent for over ten seconds, before lowering his head slightly and speaking in a subdued voice. "Baron, you have visitors."

The old butler paused, then continued:

"Duke Negan's butler and some people from MI9. They're investigating last night's ball and would like to ask you a few questions."

Baron Percival's body jolted, but he quickly regained his composure and gave a quiet laugh. "So that's what this is about. I understand."

"Please show them to the small drawing room and ask them to wait a moment."

"Yes, Baron."

The old butler nodded gently, then turned to leave.

Just then, Baron Percival abruptly called him back:

"Wait!

"I remember you've wanted to retire to Desi Bay for quite some time."

The old butler nodded. "Yes, Baron."

Baron Percival opened a desk drawer, took out a letter of authorization, and strode to the door to hand it to the old butler.

"That works out nicely. I bought a vineyard there a while ago, and I've been worrying about finding someone trustworthy to manage it.

"It just occurred to me that you might be the best person for the job."

The old butler looked down at the letter and opened his mouth as though to speak, but Baron Percival gave him no opportunity, pressing it directly into his hands.

"Go attend to our guests.

"I'll straighten my clothes in the washroom and join them shortly."

The old butler pressed his lips tightly together and gave Baron Percival a long look, then nodded gently. "I understand, Baron."

He turned, pushed open the door, and headed toward the drawing room.

Baron Percival stood silently with his eyes half closed. Only after the old butler's footsteps faded did he stride back to his desk.

The Earl's Revenge still lay open at its title page.

Its opening words read:

To this day, Earl Carlson still believed that the greatest credit for the Carlson Family's resurgence belonged not to him, but to his grandfather.

He had been an utter political fool and a disgrace to the family: a gambler, shortsighted, greedy, and lustful. Almost every failing in the world could be found in him.

Yet he had made the only right decision of his entire life.

After the emperor's guards surrounded his residence, he had secured their forgiveness through his own death, preserving the seed of the Carlson Family...

Baron Percival stared blankly at the title page.

After a long while, he turned to the display cabinet behind him.

It held the armor and weapons once used by the Percival Family ancestor who had distinguished himself in the Oathbreaking War.

Though outdated, they could still kill.

Five in the morning, Backlund time.

An office in MI9.

Lorry, who had been dozing in an odd position with his chin cradled in both hands, woke at the sound of the door opening.

Bleary-eyed, he looked at Duke Negan, standing less than two meters away in a dark blue admiral's uniform, and almost thought he was dreaming.

Until a cool draft blew in from the corridor.

Lorry snapped awake and hurriedly bowed slightly.

"Your Grace."

"Baron Percival betrayed his ancestors' honor and sought to curry favor with those merchants. That was why he instigated your theft of the documents from my study. It had nothing to do with Vice Admiral Hurricane Qilingus's assassination attempt.

"He left a suicide note accepting full responsibility for his crimes."

Duke Negan spoke in a low voice. Without giving Lorry time to respond, he continued, "You rendered considerable service in this matter."

"To quote Emperor Roselle, 'Those who know when to advance and retreat are men of talent.' Though he was once an enemy of the kingdom, some of his words were indeed sensible."

"Would you like to work at my residence?"

Those who know when to advance and retreat are men of talent? Emperor, did you mean 'A wise man knows which way the wind blows'? It took Lorry several bewildered seconds to collect himself.

He deliberately put on a troubled expression, pretending to be deeply torn. After nearly a minute of silence, he gave a small, rueful shake of his head. "I'd like to live an ordinary person's life."

"An ordinary person's life?"

Duke Negan scoffed, but did not repeat his offer. Given his position, even what he had already said was exceedingly rare.

This was only a Sequence 9 Beyonder, after all.

He continued in his low voice:

"As you wish.

"But in the military, rewards and punishments have always been clearly distinguished.

"You've rendered service in this matter and deserve a reward from me.

"Someone will come to cure your poisoning shortly. I'll also speak to MI9 and have them give you the Mystical Item they recovered from that Hunter."

With that, Duke Negan turned decisively and strode away.

Did the duke come here specifically just to tell me all that...? Sigh, clear rewards and punishments. He really does sound like a good boss...

It's just a shame he doesn't have long to live...

Had Lorry not known that Duke Negan would soon die in a second assassination attempt, he really would have liked to quietly grow stronger under this Conservative Party heavyweight's protection.

But there was nothing he could do. Some things were dictated by the times.

He sighed silently to himself.

The duke's footsteps faded into the distance, and the room fell silent. Before long, footsteps sounded again, and the man in the black trench coat pushed open the door and walked in.

He looked at Lorry with a smile. "Tsk, tsk. Not bad. You actually

turned down Duke Negan's offer to recruit you. That took guts."

"In that case..." As he spoke, he pulled over a chair and sat down opposite Lorry again, continuing with a broad smile, "It's time we had a proper talk about your situation."

"An unaffiliated 'Marauder'-who knows how much trouble you'll stir up in Backlund in the future? How do you think we intend to deal with you?"