“Havier is a Beyond Mortality-grade existence, and he’s been rooted in Wynchester for years. His standing in the Black Queen District is far above mine—he can reach circles I can’t.”

  Back at the Hunter Bar, Javon wore a faint smile.

  “With him as the one making inquiries, the odds of getting news are much higher. And since he still needs me to forge arcane artifacts, he’ll definitely do his utmost.”

  As for the price required, Javon had only asked Havier to help gather intelligence. Deals like these often demanded several rounds of negotiation; many were barter, some required time to prepare. And in Javon’s hands, there were still Beyond Mortality-grade items like Bone Statue and Witch’s Pendant—perfect as trade goods.

  If all else fails, I can throw out that Blood Chalice Archbishop’s fifth Sephiroth remnant. That would draw plenty of interest… and, of course, it would draw the Bureau’s attention too…

  He entered the bar and immediately spotted William, who had finally paused after a long stretch of work. Javon walked right up to him.

  “B-boss.” Caught idling, William jumped and hurriedly bowed.

  “If you’re not doing anything, go to the market more. Our bar is the bridge between Transcendents and ordinary people—if you don’t run around, how do you attract business?” Javon scolded him for a few lines, then added, “Of course, you’re doing private work in your own name. As for me—an ordinary man—I know nothing at all.”

  Then he gave the actual order.

  “Go find Balkin. Tell him to add a task to the bounty wall—investigate Baron Jacques’ social network, and the truth behind the arson at his estate. Payment: one hundred pounds.”

  “Yes!” William went to find Manager Balkin without the slightest suspicion. In his eyes, this was just a routine commission the boss had picked up in the Black Queen District. And a hundred pounds was more than enough to make bounty hunters salivate.

  He passed Karl the Mad—whose gaze still made his scalp tighten—and exchanged a few subtle looks with Isabet before finally locating Balkin.

  When Balkin posted the target and the reward, the bar erupted exactly as expected. Quite a few bounty hunters quietly memorized the commission, ready to try their luck.

  Investigating the arson’s truth was, of course, just a pretext. No one in Wynchester knew the real details better than Javon. What he truly wanted was a report on Baron Jacques’ connections. With those key threads, he could filter them one by one—or even… divine.

  “You still haven’t killed the kid?” Karl raised his mug as Javon passed his table. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Transcendents are all crazy—or potentially crazy. The kind that are crazier than me.”

  “Thanks for the reminder. Tonight’s drinks are on me.”

  Javon thought Karl wasn’t bad. The madness might even be a mask.

  “Fine…” Karl curled his lip and sat back down, bellowing, “Bring me the best bottle you’ve got! Your boss is paying—now!”

  “Coming.” William had no idea this guest had suggested the boss kill him. He diligently fetched an expensive-looking bottle from behind the counter. “Queen Mary’s Sigh. Best we have.”

  He frowned at the dust on the glass. Isabet immediately handed him a cloth. Their eyes met, and they smiled—subtle, but not subtle enough.

  Watching, Javon felt like he’d just gotten a faceful of romance.

  Looks like they’re getting together. Should I issue a new bar rule tomorrow—no office romance?

  He stroked his chin, tempted by the thought.

  ________________________________________

  Sunday.

  Isabet went to the church at the corner of Mary Street.

  A lot of neighbors had come. Mrs. Hugg was among them.

  Priest Im was in his twenties, handsome—an archetypal Inves look that naturally appealed to women. Wearing priestly robes, a sun-moon-star trinity emblem on his chest, he stood on the platform with a gentle smile and preached:

  “In the beginning, the Holy Spirit said: Let there be light. And so the world gained the sun, the moon, and the stars. Sun, moon, and star are the Holy Spirit’s incarnations. Radiance is Its domain.”

  “The Holy Spirit gives us warmth, gives us light and heat, gives us shelter.”

  “Praise the Holy Spirit!”

  Im’s expression turned fervent; his voice was powerfully infectious.

  “Praise the Holy Spirit!”

  The faithful echoed him.

  Isabet joined the chorus, yet a faint doubt rose in her.

  Because she liked learning and was ambitious, she had previously read some doctrine from the drunken Priest Smith. What Im said mostly aligned—but seemed to add quite a lot.

  In particular, he bound the Holy Spirit too tightly to radiance, repeatedly emphasizing light and heat. Yet within Holy Spirit Church doctrine, the Holy Spirit encompassed all—it symbolized everything, never merely radiance.

  “By the Holy Spirit’s grace, It grants us Its blood and flesh to fill our hungry bellies. Thanks be to the Holy Spirit.”

  Priest Im smiled as he announced, “Next is the sacrament.”

  The faithful rose and formed a line, waiting to receive bread and other relief goods. Many poor people survived only on that little food.

  The ant-like queue crept forward. Isabet saw Mrs. Hugg beside Priest Im, assisting. And unlike prior distributions, everyone also received a cup of wine.

  “The Holy Spirit spoke upon the Mount of Olives: This is My blood, the substance of covenant. Drink it, and the agreement is sealed.”

  Priest Im kept murmuring scriptures Isabet had never heard.

  At last, it was her turn.

  Mrs. Hugg deliberately chose the heaviest loaf and pressed it into Isabet’s hands, then whispered a few words to Priest Im.

  “Isabet…”

  Priest Im wore a warm smile. “I shepherd lambs for the Holy Spirit. I hope you’ll come often. Everyone in the neighborhood received a gift last time—this one I saved especially for you.”

  Still smiling, he handed her a pendant.

  On a simple twine cord hung an odd little carving—a blood-colored human figure bound to a thorn tree.

  This…

  Isabet cried out inwardly, stunned.

  Because the Holy Spirit was supreme and beyond form, it had no concrete image—certainly not a human one. Unless it was a local angel absorbed into doctrine… but even then, the Church always tried to weaken such influence. Especially in church accessories: a personified deity image was absolutely forbidden.

  Blasphemy. Priest Im—could he be a heretic faction inside the Holy Spirit Church?

  Isabet took the pendant, hesitating whether to report him to the Church’s doctrinal bureau.

  At that moment, Mrs. Hugg smiled and offered a cup filled with wine. “Child… you must be thirsty, yes?”

  “Thank you.”

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  Isabet took it and drank a sip—then a strange sensation wrapped around her.

  It felt as though her body drifted in a warm river. In her ears echoed Im’s words: “This is My blood… Drink it, and the agreement is sealed…”

  All thoughts of informing vanished at once, because she had already signed a contract!

  ________________________________________

  Time drifted into February.

  Hunter Bar.

  Javon was in a good mood. Havier had brought back good news—he’d found a trader with intent. Of course, the more detailed terms would need to be discussed tonight in the Black Queen District.

  In deals like these, even with a trustworthy intermediary, multiple rounds were normal.

  Morning sunlight spilled through the windows. There were no customers in the bar.

  Clearly, Javon’s plan to turn the daytime bar into a café for profit had failed, shamelessly… while William, endlessly wiping tables, raised his head in distraction.

  Last night, Isabet had been absent. That was almost unthinkable.

  Isabet’s been off lately—often dazed. Is it because of me? But I swear she seemed to like me… Was that just my imagination?

  Still, it wouldn’t make sense to quit over something like that.

  William was worried. This wasn’t The Lower District’s style.

  Maybe… Isabet’s suddenly injured or seriously ill. I should check on her. Hm? She never told me which number on Mary Street she lives at.

  William flicked a glance at Javon—who was leisurely reading the paper—then went behind the bar.

  Before long, he returned with a tray piled with pastries and fruit, and set it beside Javon.

  “Boss, would you like another coffee?”

  “Oh?” Javon swept William with a look, smiling with open mockery. “Aren’t you the one who always treats divination like punishment? You’re eager today—who are you trying to divine? Isabet? Right. She didn’t come last night. Should I fire her?”

  “B-boss… Isabet told me she was sick and wanted leave. I… I forgot to tell you last night.”

  William panicked into lying, but under Javon’s teasing gaze, his voice dwindled lower and lower.

  “Heh…”

  Javon had no interest in romance, but he did care about Isabet’s sudden absence. It might mean that after the baron’s arson, investigation—and danger—had crept closer.

  “Why aren’t you making coffee?”

  He toyed with William a little longer, then finally spoke.

  “Y-yes.”

  William immediately retreated and made a cappuccino exactly as Javon had taught him. The latte art was flawless; clearly, his hands had been trained.

  Javon sipped slowly, turning the newspaper pages.

  “Another major shop was looted. In response to Wynchester’s recent chaos, The Blackwater will increase patrol strength. The magician’s having a great time.”

  “And according to Langley Tannis, Lucivar’s bounty rose again. He also brought good news—Professor is about to finish convalescence and return to Wynchester…”

  Javon drank on purpose, unhurried, letting time stretch until William felt every second scrape.

  At last, William heard Javon’s voice.

  “You may interpret it now. But you’d better brace yourself…”

  William’s expression changed at once. He stepped forward unsteadily and stared at the pattern in the saucer—

  A crooked line, twisting like a snake.

  “A snake shape—in coffee divination symbolism, it means death. But… it can also mean healing, right, boss?”

  William looked at Javon with eyes full of hope.

  “To read it that far, I’m satisfied with your progress. But sorry—this is only the first-layer meaning. Using Isabet as the subject, I reached the conclusion that she is already dead.”

  Javon sounded faintly surprised. All he could do was sigh. “The world is fickle.”

  “Boss—what is going on?” William’s eyes flushed instantly, wet with tears.

  Just days ago, Isabet had been a living coworker—a vague, budding possibility. He couldn’t accept her sudden death.

  “I’ll divine again. This might be the same force that targeted you before, returning for revenge.”

  Javon’s expression grew more serious. He drew out a gold pound coin.

  Clang—the coin spun up and fell back down. Tails up: negation.

  “Seems… not aimed at us.”

  Javon’s expression turned peculiar. “Then it’s aimed at Isabet herself. In Wynchester, one missing person in The Lower District is nothing—too ordinary. Even if reported, The Blackwater might not search with any real effort.”

  “No!”

  William clamped a hand over his mouth. “No—Isabet! Is your divination wrong?”

  Javon gave a cold laugh, ignoring William’s collapse, and continued divining.

  A moment later, his face tightened slightly.

  “Isabet’s death is connected to a religious site.”

  “A religious site…?!” William repeated, and the look in his eyes slowly hardened.

  Javon could only sigh soundlessly.

  ________________________________________

  Night.

  Havier’s The Displaced Castle.

  Third-floor reception room.

  Wearing a half-face silver mask, Javon entered with Havier. Inside, a mysterious figure was already waiting.

  He wore a dark green robe and a heavy bronze mask, showing only brown eyes. From beneath his robe came, now and then, a fine sound—like insects crawling.

  Javon’s brow creased. It felt like seeing Roberts again, yet not quite.

  “Allow me to introduce him—this is Ashen Moth, from the Araki Cult.”

  Havier smiled. “He has brought a Chrysalis remnant.”

  “Good evening, Ashen Moth. I’m Elvander—an Artisan…”

  Javon lifted a hand in greeting, though his vigilance sharpened.

  Araki Cult was not simple. Even a thousand years ago, he had heard the name in the Ethereal Realm.

  This cult once worshipped the Velthrex ‘Cocoon.’ Now they likely follow Velthyr—either The Shed Chrysalis or The Lady of the Greenwood…

  Ashen Moth’s eyes—like compound eyes—raked Javon once, then he sat back and extended a dried hand from beneath the black robe, sliding a box forward.

  “In here is what you want,” he rasped. “What can you offer in return?”

  “I want to see the material first,” Javon replied evenly. “If it satisfies me, then gold pounds, Beyond Mortality-grade arcane artifacts, or ancient knowledge—any of those.”

  Havier looked at Javon in surprise. He hadn’t expected this Artisan to truly be willing to bleed.

  “Good.”

  From Ashen Moth’s sleeve, a black insect crawled out, climbed to the box’s edge, and opened it with its antennae.

  Inside lay a white cocoon-like object, resting on smooth silk, with a faint flow of light within.

  “It comes from one of our cult’s metamorphosed high priests,” Ashen Moth said. “A remnant of his…”

  Javon stared at the cocoon. His pupils turned pure white.

  “It is indeed the remnant of a Chrysalis-path Beyond Mortality-grade existence. But…”

  His gaze seemed to pierce the cocoon, seeing the half-transformed creature within: half insect, half human. A silkworm body, but a human face—eyes shut tight, facial muscles twisted in agony.

  “Ah!”

  Javon deliberately screamed and covered his eyes.

  “Elvander—are you all right?” Havier stepped forward, instantly wary of Ashen Moth.

  Ashen Moth didn’t move, only a hint of ridicule showing in his eyes.

  “I’m fine…” Javon waved Havier off, then looked at Ashen Moth. “This is a Beyond Mortality-grade remnant, yes—but it contains intense mental contamination!”

  “Of course.” Ashen Moth answered without surprise. “If the imprint and contamination inside weren’t powerful, we would have used it to raise another metamorphosed high priest already. Why would we trade it?”

  Javon forced a bitter smile. “That’s true…”

  “Fortunately, I’m an Artisan. I’m not going to ingest it. If it’s forged into an arcane artifact, the contamination can be deliberately avoided.”

  “Then your price?” Ashen Moth asked, a little more expectant.

  “What about this?”

  Javon produced a pendant—Witch’s Pendant, a Beyond Mortality-grade arcane artifact.

  Bone Statue was too famous; its provenance was troublesome for trade.

  The Bell of Mourning and the Scale of Truth were worse—showing either would inevitably draw the Bureau.

  Roberts’s Arcane Insect Box could pass as “clean” and was worth far more than a contaminated remnant. Its negative effects were so small they were nearly negligible, yet it was exceptionally practical—a treasure any secret organization would crave as a generational trump card.

  But Javon felt it would be a loss.

  After weighing it, trading away a Witch’s Pendant he didn’t need was the best option.

  The moment Witch’s Pendant appeared, both Havier and Ashen Moth’s attention locked onto it.

  “Using this Beyond Mortality-grade arcane artifact grants Veil, flame, and flesh-related extraordinary abilities,” Javon explained. “Its negative effect is a mild alteration of the user’s faith and body. Of course, the influence can be managed—have a woman hold it, transfer it to the next holder after a certain number of uses, and so on…”

  “This artifact’s negative effects are too severe,” Ashen Moth shook his head. “If I trade for it, I lose.”

  “Your remnant is heavily contaminated. Even if forging succeeds, it will be hard to resolve—the negative effects may be worse.”

  Javon smiled. “Their value is roughly equal. Trust an Artisan’s judgment. Still, because I’m the one buying, I’m willing to concede—an additional one thousand pounds, how about it?”

  Ashen Moth fell silent.

  He had to admit: if his remnant were forged into an arcane artifact, the negative effects would likely be severe. And that still didn’t include the Artisan’s fee and supplementary materials.

  He had come because he was already inclined to trade.

  At last, Ashen Moth spoke. “At least five thousand more.”

  “We’ll meet in the middle—one thousand five hundred. A fair number…”

  Javon bargained with a genial smile. In the end, they settled on Witch’s Pendant plus three thousand pounds, in exchange for the Chrysalis remnant.

  The transaction was witnessed by Havier.

  When it was done, Ashen Moth left immediately—mysterious to the last.

  “Havier, thank you for your help.”

  Javon turned and offered thanks. “The next batch of wardrobes is finished. I’ll deliver them soon.”

  “Good.” Havier smiled, his regard for Javon deepening. “I hope you succeed.”

  Javon felt Havier’s increased weight of attention and sighed inwardly. This Beyond Mortality-grade existence had excellent channels, but Javon couldn’t keep buying through him—otherwise the lies he’d spun would start to tear.

  And Havier already knew he possessed a Beyond Mortality-grade item capable of commanding insects. With Witch’s Pendant, that was two.

  If Javon produced a third, it wasn’t hard to imagine Havier’s interest turning predatory.

  Only Veil and Secret remain… and preparations for the ritual should begin.

  ________________________________________

  At the same time.

  The Lower District, Mary Street church.

  The wind howled. There were streetlamps, but they had long been broken—no one from city hall ever came to fix them.

  William, wrapped in a black coat and hat pulled low, stared at the small church.

  “Religious site… this is the only one nearby.”

  “Isabet…” Pain stabbed his chest as he continued to watch.

  Half an hour later, an elderly woman in shabby clothes slipped out of the church, moving furtively.

  William followed at once.

  She sensed the tail and quickened her pace.

  William drew a breath and broke into a jog.

  “Hel—”

  Mrs. Hugg tried to call out—

  But William flashed the holster at his waist. Her face changed instantly.

  “Don’t be afraid. I’m Isabet’s friend—uh… a detective!”

  William moved closer and lowered his voice. “Isabet is missing. I want to find her.”

  The revolver was something he’d pawned two weeks of wages for—borrowed through Manager Balkin. And “detective” carried far more intimidation than “bar waiter.”

  “Isabet?” Mrs. Hugg covered her mouth. “She… she went to the countryside to get married.”

  “Liar!”

  Pain flared through William. He drew the revolver. “Come with me. Don’t try to shout. You can test it—are you faster, or is my bullet?”

  In truth, William had only been crash-trained on firearms this afternoon. But her lie—and the flicker of panic—told him at once that she was tied to Isabet’s death.