Chapitre 305: Beginning
In a card room within the Braveheart Bar on Iron Gate Street...
Maric, wearing a white shirt and black vest, looked toward Miss Sharon, who suddenly stepped out of the mirror. He waved a hand to command the batch of zombies he controlled to guard the door, then scratched his slightly messy hair, asking in a slightly hoarse voice:
"Are you really planning to take on the task of protecting that kid? A thousand pounds isn't a small amount, but for the danger he might face, it's really not much at all… You're not someone who takes on jobs just because of money."
With her light blonde hair and black court dress, Sharon replied concisely, "He's a detective."
"Detective..." Maric clasped his hands together, repeating the word. After a few seconds, he said, "In the lady's 'prophecy,' wasn't the 'detective' supposed to refer to Detective Brian? At least Stanton, perhaps… this kid isn't even extraordinary, so how could he bring us opportunity?"
"Not an ordinary person." Miss Sharon said calmly, adding after a pause, "I 'see' a certain danger."
"You're in danger too?" Maric's eyes twitched, growing more certain his decision to decline the kid's commission a few days ago had been wise. Frowning, he asked again, "Are you sure he's the person in that lady's 'prophecy'?"
"Not sure... but I have to try," Sharon replied, her delicate face expressionless but candid.
"Alright..." Maric had confidence in Sharon's abilities and didn't think she'd actually be in any real danger. "Still, he might not be able to come up with that kind of money."
"He will." Miss Sharon said with absolute certainty, her calm blue gaze fixed on Maric.
...
Meanwhile, Klein once again met with his client, Mrs. Mary. After briefly explaining the female lead's situation from yesterday's "dream divination," Mrs. Mary, looking gloomy, summoned two friends who were members of the Cragg Club. She asked them to sponsor Klein's membership and generously covered his first year's dues.
Mary's two friends were the well-known surgeon, Allen Kriss, and a nobleman's riding instructor, Talim Dumont.
After exchanging greetings, the tall, slim, somewhat aloof Dr. Allen entered the club first. The brown-haired, curly-headed riding instructor Talim walked alongside Klein, chuckling as he said, "If Mary hadn't mentioned you, I wouldn't have known that Bakerland has a promising detective. If I ever need to commission someone, I'll call on you. Haha, one day, you'll surely be as famous as Detective Brian."
"I'm nowhere close to the 'Hero Detective'…" Klein replied modestly, while inwardly thinking, "Mr. Tower and Roselle's names always seem to be all over my life!"
"Don't be so humble. I met Detective Brian before; he was just as green as you, and just as newly famous. In only a few months, he's become a household name in Bakerland." Talim sighed, adding to himself how much the many tabloids in Bakerland had contributed to "Mr. Tower's" fame.
Just as Klein was internally complaining, he suddenly felt his heart clench, his whole body tensing up.
This is a "Clown's" premonition? But no image appeared in my mind… Klein only felt the surrounding air grow heavy as if a storm were brewing.
Soon, the feeling faded away, as if nothing had happened.
Suppressing his unease, he completed his membership paperwork with his new acquaintances. Without even waiting to hear about the member benefits, he excused himself to the restroom and ascended to the gray fog.
Through divination in the gray fog, Klein confirmed that he would face severe danger in the coming days. Returning to reality, he hurriedly took a carriage to the Bakerland Bridge District and entered the Braveheart Bar.
There, he found Maric sitting in the card room and once again requested his protection.
The pale-faced man looked past Klein to someone behind him and nodded slightly, saying:
"She agreed… just as you requested, a down payment of 100 pounds, with an additional 300 pounds per day for protection thereafter."
...
On Thursday evening, a fierce skirmish broke out in an abandoned warehouse by the docks, all over Ian's whereabouts.
Around twenty Intis intelligence agents were completely surrounded by agents from MI9.
With the overwhelming difference in numbers, coupled with the aid of new steam-powered armored vehicles from MI9, the Intis agents were at a severe disadvantage, on the brink of collapse.
Not far from the battlefield, "Marionettist" Rosago, watching through rats controlled by his "spiritual threads," didn't move recklessly. Instead, he quietly withdrew from the area.
He then conducted a ritual, summoning the messenger belonging to that "Witch" Bianca, to relay the current situation back to the embassy.
Most assumed that Ambassador Bakerland recruited the "Witch" solely out of his lust for her beauty.
But Rosago, who had long aided the ambassador in his clandestine affairs, knew that the Witch's allure was only part of it. Her deep knowledge in mysticism, along with her messenger capable of delivering messages at any time, were the real reasons Bakerland kept her close.
For this, he could even overlook her dubious background and history.
About five or six minutes later, a bizarre creature, covered in intangible tendrils, emerged from the spirit world, bearing orders from Bakerland:
"Immediately retrieve the manuscript and hand it over to 'Shadow.'
"Then create chaos to draw MI9's attention.
"If possible, get rid of that little detective who exposed my ties to the Zmanger gang."
Reading the instructions, Rosago pondered briefly, then used his crystal pendant to divine the outcome, receiving a result that said "dangerous, but within tolerable limits."
He nodded slightly and then had his Wind-blessed puppet lift him off the ground, flying toward the location where Ian had stashed the manuscript.
...
At the brightly lit Intis Embassy in Bakerland's Western District, the fragrant mix of perfumes and liquors wafted to every corner, blending with the elegant music.
A ball was underway—Ambassador Bakerland's farewell ball, though he hadn't announced it publicly.
Among his guests were no nobles, only prominent bankers, factory owners, philanthropists, and other well-known wealthy elites and lawyers from Ruen… and occasionally, a few less prestigious merchants.
In such an atmosphere, he entertained guests with tales of Trier's sophistication and openness, emphasizing that Intis was no longer ruled by nobles. Bankers, factory owners, and lawyers now held the seats of power, deciding the nation's policies and enjoying true freedom and exalted status.
Tonight, Bakerland did the same, glass in hand, mingling among guests, as though proving his whereabouts at the party and that he had not left.
At this moment, the "Witch" Bianca, dressed in a green low-cut gown, approached him and whispered something in his ear.
Bakerland frowned slightly, but his expression soon relaxed. After briefly excusing himself from his guests, he led Miss Bianca into a lounge on the first floor under many knowing glances.
As soon as he entered the room, Bakerland's warm expression turned cold. He took the letter Bianca handed over, but after reading only a few lines, he furiously tossed it to the floor.
Bianca was surprised by Bakerland's unusually irritable mood but understood, given that he'd been in a foul temper ever since receiving orders to report back to Intis. The only odd part was choosing the first-floor lounge… he usually handled business in his study.
However, this wasn't an issue.
"Deliver this letter to Rosago..." Bakerland commanded, penning the message. After a moment's hesitation, he added, "Also, go to the telegraph room and send a coded message to the address with postal code XX04F2D..."
Then he told Bianca the location of the corresponding cipher book.
Bianca took note. She'd done similar errands for Bakerland before, often serving as both his personal and professional secretary, so she didn't think much of it.
Once the "Witch" left, Bakerland gradually regained his composure, though some unease remained, a sense of something not quite right… but he couldn't pinpoint what. He could only review his previous thoughts:
"MI9 agents showed up!
"They weren't supposed to know about this; they showed up anyway!
"With Rosago present, it can't be a matter of divination, and MI9 doesn't excel in that area... This suggests there's a mole within our ranks… I hope Rosago gets there first, retrieves the manuscript, and hands it to 'Shadow'..."
At this realization, Bakerland abruptly stood, horror dawning on his face.
"Shadow" was his direct subordinate, a deeply concealed intelligence officer. Why would he entrust Bianca with the method to contact him?!
Even though he liked her, trusted her deeply, and held the key to her greatest desire, he'd never hand over such vital information!
Who? Who influenced me? Is he still here?
With this thought, Bakerland decisively prepared to halt the ball, intending to summon all his protective officers.
At that moment, however, he was shocked to discover that he couldn't leave the room!
Some unknown power had sealed the lounge completely.
And he recognized that power—it was the "Guardian ritual" of the embassy!
Could it be that old man, Cotten Surrey, trying to take me down? Of course, only he can control the ritual... That old fool must be eager to get rid of me so he can take the ambassador's position! Even though his son is a Member of Parliament, the state would never let him replace me! If only he'd shown his true face sooner, maybe they would have considered it!
When I get out, I'll make sure he watches me tear apart that granddaughter he cherishes so much!
As Bakerland's face contorted, he raised a hand, conjuring an orange flame, then cracked it like a whip, lashing at the ritual's barrier.
Meanwhile, in the corner, invisible under his "psychological invisibility," Ebner watched this scene with a slight smile.
The "Arrogance" of the "Corrupter."
The "Frenzy" of the "Psychiatrist."
Caught in these two deceptions, Bakerland had fallen into "combat hypnosis," unwittingly sliding step-by-step into the abyss as Ebner had planned.
(End of chapter)
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État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone