In Backlund's gray morning fog, the pedestrians bustling along the streets seemed draped in a thin veil.
There were porters in old uniforms washed pale; street vendors pushing carts and loudly hawking their wares; ragged children with wide, longing eyes; and pretty young women in high-heeled leather boots who instinctively raised a hand to cover their mouths and noses as they passed them.
Behind the café's floor-to-ceiling windows, well-dressed gentlemen leisurely enjoyed their breakfasts, occasionally casting a glance outside, their gazes indifferent and detached.
The many faces of life were silently on display before that window.
Lorry stood by the window, watching it all in silence. Faint, low chanting drifted to his ears from a distant church:
"You are the incarnation of storms,
"You are the ruler of the seas..."
Something stirred in his heart, and he suddenly realized-
This was Cherwood Borough!
"Why did I sleep here?"
Muttering to himself, Lorry raised his right hand and firmly massaged his aching temple, trying to fish something out of the fragments of his memory.
Images surfaced one after another:
Yesterday, he had gone to MI9 with the man in the black trench coat, turned down Duke Negan's offer, and become an unofficial member of MI9.
His immediate superior, who called himself "Vera," had handed him a Mystical Item named Sunfire on the duke's behalf, along with an informant's perk-a black badge shaped like a round button.
As he muttered to himself, Lorry retrieved the two objects from separate pockets. Their solid feel assured him that this was no hallucination.
Then waves of stabbing pain arose deep in his mind:
"He said he would deal with the poison in my body and took a pocket watch out of his pocket."
"And after that..."
His memories broke off there.
Lorry closed his eyes and reexamined the experience with almost cold-blooded rationality, as though reading someone else's story. Suddenly, he noticed two details.
First, Vera's final words:
"Next, there are just two things left. No, just one thing..."
He had corrected himself midway.
Lorry also had almost no recollection of the detoxification that followed. He only vaguely remembered seeing a huge, glowing cross in a dream.
Second, MI9's exact address... he actually couldn't remember it.
"So that's it."
Lorry opened his eyes and slowly uttered two terms.
"Hypnosis."
"The Spectator Pathway."
He sat back down on the edge of the bed and calmly analyzed his situation.
"I must have been implanted with a psychological suggestion, so I can't recall the parts of my memories related to MI9 and the detoxification.
"That should also explain why I ended up in this hotel.
"Was it the ability of that gold pocket watch?
"No, the watch might just have been a cover. There weren't only two people in the room at the time. A third person, a Beyonder of the Spectator Pathway, was hiding out of sight!
"Psychological Invisibility?"
Lorry vaguely remembered that Beyonders of the Spectator Pathway had such an ability, but he couldn't recall which Sequence it belonged to. He shook his head and stopped dwelling on it.
A long while passed.
The faintest hint of a smile tugged at Lorry's lips, and he murmured:
"But the luckiest thing is that they seem to have kept their curiosity firmly in check and didn't delve into my memories.
"Otherwise, once the secret of my transmigration came to light, even if I hadn't been turned into a Beyonder Characteristic, I wouldn't be here.
"To be safe, I'd better find a Psychiatrist as soon as possible.
"Of course, it has to be somewhere trustworthy. Preferably at the old gentleman Eye of Wisdom's gathering, or Mr. A's.
"But right now-
"I need a good night's sleep."
Rubbing his temples, he said with a wry smile, "I've only had a few hours of sleep since the early hours of the morning. No wonder my head hurts so much."
Lorry buried his face in the soft pillow and tried to fall asleep again.
Just then, a newsboy's voice suddenly rang out outside.
"Extra! Extra! Vice Admiral Hurricane Qilingus was killed yesterday!"
"Extra! Extra..."
...Who cares whether he's dead?
Lorry grumbled irritably and pulled the pillow up over his ears.
By the time he woke again, it was nearly dusk.
Lorry struggled to get up, his limbs so heavy that they hardly seemed to belong to him. Only after ringing for a waiter to bring dinner and wolfing it down did he gradually regain a sense of control over his body.
Then he began checking his belongings:
The Serrated Dagger, the Shadow Ring, Sunfire wrapped in white paper, the black badge, False Face, and banknotes totaling 2 pounds and 10 soli.
He unfolded the white paper. Several lines were written on the inside:
"Sunfire/Assassin Bane: Can release intense, searing light, dispelling darkness within twenty meters and inflicting tremendous damage on corpses and Wraiths. Its power is equivalent to Sequence 8."
"Storage method: Must remain in contact with gold at all times."
"Note: While bathed in the intense, searing light, ordinary people will become idiots who know only how to praise the Sun after more than fifteen minutes. Beyonders can endure it for up to three hours."
"The above effects do not distinguish between friend and foe."
"Warning! Warning! If separated from gold for more than ten minutes, the item will melt into a golden liquid and rapidly evaporate."
Only then did Lorry understand:
The actual Mystical Item was the pure white pendant, not the entire necklace.
"Another Mystical Item with very minor negative effects! I remember Duke Negan saying it was a trophy confiscated from Saul."
"Just what you'd expect from an ancient family that has survived since the Oathbreaking War!"
He clicked his tongue softly, packed everything away, and left the hotel.
Cherwood Borough bordered Hillston District, so returning to Iris Street took only half an hour. As he stepped out of the carriage, Lorry saw a familiar figure standing at his door.
Hearing footsteps, Miles whipped around and said reproachfully, "Raven, did you go to the countryside to gather material again?"
"Ahem, yes." Lorry shrugged. "You know, inspiration always needs fresh soil to nourish it. Getting out and about keeps your mind active and sparks new ideas."
"Sparks... new ideas..."
Miles repeated the words under his breath, looking thoughtful. "Could this be the secret weapon that let you write Young Roselle?"
"Perhaps I
"Should give it a try too..."
Wait, I was just making that up. You actually believed me... Speechless, Lorry hurriedly changed the subject with little finesse. "Ahem, Mr. Miles."
"Are you here about the manuscript again?"
He was afraid that if he kept talking, the man would really be led astray by his nonsense.
Miles paused, then nodded and shook his head. "The people at the underground publishing house are indeed pressing for the manuscript, but I came to see you about something else."
"Have you forgotten the industry gathering I mentioned last time? It's at eight tonight. If you hadn't shown up soon, I was going to go on my own."
As he spoke, he took out his pocket watch and glanced at it. His expression immediately changed slightly, and without another word, he pulled Lorry toward a carriage waiting for passengers by the roadside.
I haven't even made it through my front door yet... Lorry sighed inwardly in resignation.
The salon was held in a villa in Empress Borough.
According to Miles, the host was a highly successful writer who had earned enough from his writing to move into Empress Borough in just a few years, much to the envy of many of his peers.
This fellow writer's name was Altair.
His previous work, The Earl’s Revenge, had swept the nation, winning admirers from every social class and even selling abroad in countries such as Intis and Lenburg.
"He wrote The Earl’s Revenge?" Lorry was somewhat surprised.
"You didn't know?" Miles's eyes widened, but then he supplied an explanation himself. "That makes sense. You've only just come to Backlund, and you're always heading off to the countryside."
"The Earl’s Revenge is extremely popular, and its sales are very high. Lately, people have often mentioned it alongside the play The Return of the Earl, joking that they feature 'Backlund's two most talked-about earls this year.'"
As he spoke, Miles sighed regretfully. "I've wanted to see that play for ages, but unfortunately, I haven't been able to get tickets for a suitable time."
During their conversation, the carriage stopped at a T-junction. The two were about to cross the street when the sound of wheels came from behind them, so they stopped to wait.
Soon, another carriage drew near.
Its door opened, and a lady slowly stepped down.
She was around twenty-three or twenty-four, about a hundred and sixty-five centimeters tall, and wore a pale yellow dress. Her eyes were light blue, and her slightly wavy brown hair fell over her shoulders.
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