"May I keep this brief?"
Facing the barrel pointed at him—perhaps because Berau had done it too many times—Lloyd seemed almost used to it.
"That train can stay for only fifteen minutes. Once the cargo's unloaded, it has to leave. And I have to leave with it, or the guards will catch me sooner or later."
Before coming here, Lloyd had already prepared everything down to the last detail.
By all logic, showing up in person was far too risky for him. But for what he needed to accomplish, he had to confirm Eve's identity with his own eyes. And now it all seemed worth it.
"Isn't that even better? As long as I bring you to Suya Hall, the chief will believe everything I've said."
Lloyd was the true source of that day's chaos. When this detective got serious, he was terrifyingly efficient—almost like a war veteran.
"Wouldn't that be terribly boring?"
Lloyd didn't mind her threat in the slightest. He was cautious—meticulous to the bone. The moment he arrived, he'd already prepared for every outcome.
"I'm a detective, Miss Eve. Compared to an uncertain suspect, wouldn't solving a case of enormous consequence be far more… satisfying for someone like you?"
Eve held his gaze. Ever since she first met Lloyd, he carried that unsettling air—calm, composed, as if he already had every card in his hand. Fearful, yet strangely trustworthy.
"You have five minutes, detective."
She holstered her gun, turned away, and began pacing, keeping her distance. Seeing her cooperate so readily, Lloyd let out a soft chuckle. He climbed down the ladder and pretended to trim the branches.
From afar, the Phoenix family's princess looked to be simply enjoying the scenery of the Golden Road. The only odd part was the gardener working dutifully at her side.
"Eve Phoenix. Born into nobility. If your father nods, you'll be the next illustrious Phoenix Duchess. Suya Hall can't match you—nor even the Royal Guard. And yet you've chosen to work in secret… as a detective."
Snipping at branches, Lloyd spoke from the image he'd pieced together of her.
"Is it for your father? Or the honor of House Phoenix? Your family's legacy runs through the entire Glorious War. The Hall of Eminence in the Platinum Palace is lined with portraits of your ancestors—you grew up under their legends. You yearn to become one of them, don't you?"
"What exactly are you trying to say?"
Eve's expression tightened. She had noticed the most irritating part of Lloyd's nature—his eyes were too sharp, far too sharp. Under that gaze, everything felt exposed, transparent.
Everyone is made of fragments with labels. Piece them together, and from the slant of one's glance, a whole life could be read.
Lloyd continued.
"I think we can work together, Miss Eve."
"The Glorious War is over. After driving the Gaulunar across the White Tide Strait, there is no battlefield left for you to earn the same glory your ancestors did. Your only path now is Suya Hall. But even Suya Hall has you on extended leave."
In his gray-blue pupils, the falling golden leaves shimmered.
"Your career is ending before it even begins. But I can give you a turning point—if we cooperate."
Eve stared coldly at him. Her pale finger rested lightly, but firmly, on the trigger.
"And why should I trust you?"
"How about this?"
A red glow washed across her face.
The missing necklace rested in Lloyd's hand, gleaming under the sunlight—its gem cut into dozens of facets and mirrored edges, like a blooming kaleidoscope. Only beneath daylight could its radiance be seen, a radiance that the eternal smog of Old Dunling would never allow.
"The train is leaving. If you think this gift is worth trusting me for… then I believe we can begin our partnership."
Leisurely, he climbed down from the ladder and placed the ruby—and a letter—into Eve's hands. Leaving no boast, no farewell, he simply walked away without looking back.
Staring blankly at the ruby in her palm, Eve hadn't yet fully processed what had happened. After the initial joy of recovering something she'd lost, she tried to chase after Lloyd—but when she turned around, she saw only a train slowly vanishing into the thick steam.
And of course, he hadn't left her empty-handed.
He'd left the letter.
She looked around, and once certain no one was watching, she carefully put on the precious necklace. Then she slid the letter into the ribbon tied around her thigh. A faint gleam shimmered—there was also a sharp dagger tucked in the ribbon.
Who knew what went on in this woman's mind.
…
Old Dunling, Lower District.
Beneath the ruins of the stone-built castle lay a space far larger than anyone imagined. Before Berau took over, it had been a war fortress governed by a certain earl, its vast underground vaults filled with supplies and weapons.
It was during the harshest days of the Glorious War. The Gaulunar fleet had conquered the Port of Raindona, leaving only a single step between them and Old Dunling, the capital of Inlveig. But between the two stood this nameless castle—forgotten by history—acting as the final barrier, wedged stubbornly in the enemy's path.
For three days straight, artillery fire rained upon it. The ground was torn open by gunpowder and shrapnel. The air was thick with sulfur. Charred corpses lay everywhere.
And yet the castle held. Riddled with holes, its walls shattered, even as the moat's water evaporated under bombardment.
The Gaulunar believed they had taken it. They marched forward—only for countless soldiers and steam-powered machines to burst out from the ruins in a desperate counterassault. Against all odds, the enemy was forced back.
Days later, the Mechanical Institute improved the steam engine. The Second Industrial Revolution was born from the flames of war. Towering war machines unimaginable to ordinary minds rose, and with them, Inlveig launched its counteroffensive in the Glorious War.
After a century of bloodshed, the Glorious War ended with Inlveig's victory. The people celebrated—yet all but forgot the castle that had once shone with unparalleled brilliance.
And now, after passing through many hands, it belonged to Berau.
It had been glorious once…And truth be told, even now, it wasn't doing too badly.
The Blissground.That was what the people of the Lower Quarter called this place. And in many ways, the name was no exaggeration. Even the nobles of the Inner City would slip in under the cover of night, drawn here by pleasures they dared不去承认in the daylight.
Here, dreams found their last chance to take form—like a final gate of hope standing before the weary traveler. Everyone arrived clutching the remnants of their fortune, hoping to prise that gate open and bathe in its sacred brilliance.
Tonight was no different. Dream-chasers flooded the halls, turning every last coin they had into chips and pushing them forward. A few early wins had their blood burning hot, and the stimulant-heavy air stripped away even the faintest hesitation.
Such scenes unfolded at every table. Wealth multiplied at impossible speed, until money became nothing more than a string of glowing numbers.
No gambler wanted to stop—not now. People like them believed in momentum; if fortune favored you, she would keep favoring you. Even a single flicker of doubt was enough to send her drifting away.Retreat meant defeat.So they roared and shoved even more chips into the pile.
"Wealth and power… nothing drives a person mad quite like those two."A voice murmured from above. "They've already earned back ten times what they brought. But greed always whispers:More. You can win more."
Above the casino, hidden behind dim, tinted glass, a secluded room overlooked it all—yet allowed no gaze to peer back in.
"How does it feel?" the man namedBerlauasked, pride threading his voice. "Exciting, isn't it? The wealth flowing through this room tonight could buildthreeZeppelin airships. And that's just one night. Imagine the fortune that stacks up across hundreds."
"Your business seems to be doing better than the Royal Bank,"the guest replied from a nearby sofa, watching the casino below with little interest.
"Naturally," Berlau said. "No taxes. No names. Whoever walks in is a guest—so long as they're having fun. That's why everyone likes me. And that's why I'm still alive."
Berlau wasn't merely a manager; he was the private steward of many "great men." Their money flowed through his fingers, and because onlyhecould handle this role, the Lower Quarter had no choice but to crown him its silent king.
"Want to understand it more deeply?" Berlau leaned forward. "Look closely. The quiet tables—the ones without shouting. See how those men move? No bravado. No heat. They're wooden dolls, shuffling and drawing cards with perfect mechanical calm. Those are the accountants of the great houses. They're not gambling. They're transferring wealth."
"Under the guise of stakes, crates of lion-stamped currency are being carried into the fortress right now. Armed carriages wait outside the city. Before dawn, all that gold will be gone—moved from one vault to another."
"If you marched in with soldiers and arrested them right now, you'd be tomorrow's hero. The kingdom's treasury would swell. And a prestigious family would turn into a pile of horse dung."A pause."Of course… if you prefer robbery over justice, I can clean up afterward. The fortune you'd gain could feed your bloodline for generations."
Berlau's tone sharpened—both a provocation and an invitation.Plenty had tried to take what was his. A few even escaped the casino.But by morning, their bodies always drifted down the Thames.
"No matter what choice I make," the guest cut him off, "Arthur will have me killed."
Not a flicker of temptation crossed his face.
"It isn't time to close the net, Berlau. Don't rush this. And I didn't come tonight for your propositions."
He was a knight—pure, unswayed, never moved by the gleam of gold.
Seeing there was no point pushing further, Berlau sighed and shifted topics.
"I know. The file is here."He reached into a drawer. "Those coroners don't know what happened—they only said Wall's body was malformed, a freak. But you and I both know better."
He handed over the autopsy report Lloyd had originally sent him. Wall's corpse had been devoured by the fire, but what remained in the report was enough.
"My best detective is already tracking it. He's brilliant," Berlau added, noticing the faint shadow in the knight's eyes.
"Berlau's Iron Thorn.The one from the Red River Massacre," the knight murmured. "If you hadn't pleaded for him, Arthur would've had him dumped into the river years ago."
"And that," Berlau smiled thinly, "is exactly why he's the best… isn't it,Galahad?"