"???"
"For certain reasons I had to dissolve my previous team, and everything has had to start from scratch. That said, while the team is gone, some of my old connections remain." At that, Vincent's gaze drifted to Fors. "Miss Fors, would you be interested in joining my team as well?"
"Ah?"
She had been watching from the sidelines, and now it was suddenly her turn. Fors smiled with polite composure and declined. "I think someone who just writes novels wouldn't be of much use to you."
"Then perhaps another time."
Vincent let it go without pressing further. "Miss Xio, what have you decided?"
"..."
After another bout of deliberation, Xio said with earnest seriousness, "I want to know — if I pay, how much would it cost?"
Vincent held up two fingers. "Two thousand pounds."
Both women started. Xio immediately frowned in displeasure. "You're deliberately pricing it high to force me onto your team, aren't you? In that case, I don't think we have anything left to discuss."
"No, no, no — I don't think the price is high at all. In fact, I happened to do a little investigating on the way here, and I can share something with you free of charge."
Vincent smiled mildly. "The people hunting you belong to a Beyonder organisation. Their leader is a Beyonder considerably more powerful than Mr. A — and this individual... has arrived in Backlund today."
"!!!"
More powerful than Mr. A. Rumour had it that Mr. A was a formidable Sequence 5 Beyonder; someone stronger than that could very well be operating at the demigod tier.
Xio went pale in an instant, murmuring, "But... I can't think of anything I ever did to offend an organisation like that, let alone someone of that calibre."
Fors had been frightened half to death as well, but she reached over and quietly took her best friend's hand, then asked, "Why?"
Vincent shook his head. "Ah, that piece of information is no longer complimentary."
In that moment, Fors's considerable intelligence seized the high ground. She asked seriously, "What I want to know is — even if you investigated everything and told us the full truth, it wouldn't change the fact that we're being hunted by someone of that power. What's waiting for us is either fleeing Backlund or getting captured. Given that, why do you still want Xio on your team? What purpose does it serve?"
Vincent laughed. "Miss Fors, have you forgotten? I am a Broker — not merely an intelligence dealer. The help I can offer isn't some inconsequential scrap of information. I can help you solve problems in real, practical terms."
"For instance: making that organisation and that Beyonder stop hunting you."
Fors's expression changed. "You can make someone more powerful than Mr. A change their mind?"
Vincent smiled faintly. "She also happens to be a former client of mine. That's the advantage of knowing the right people."
"Then..."
Before Fors could ask another question, Xio suddenly cut in: "Madam Natasha, once I join your team, if I have any further needs or commissions..."
"Come to me whenever you like. Half price."
"..."
So after all that, she was still going to charge.
Xio grumbled inwardly, then said with resolution, "I'm in!"
"Xio!"
Fors tugged at her wrist. Xio gave her a reassuring look, then said, "Well then, I'll leave this matter in your hands, Madam Natasha... or should I call you Boss? Chief? Leader?"
"Any of those works."
Vincent shrugged and extended a hand. "Welcome aboard."
Xio blinked. "That's it? Don't we need to... sign a contract or something?"
"If you'd like, by all means."
"It's not that — it's just... you trust me to keep my word just like that?"
"Ha! It's not you I trust — it's myself."
Xio: "..."
Right. If he really could handle someone who might be demigod-tier, why would he need to worry about her playing games?
Vincent released Xio's small hand and said, "First task: go to the Green Lemon Bar and find a man named Georgia. He's a grain merchant who went bankrupt when the Grain Act was repealed and has just recently secured new investment to start over. I need you to keep an eye on him."
"As a bodyguard?"
"Nothing so formal. Just step in if he runs into unnecessary trouble." He paused, then winked at her. "Your payment is: a lead on a Sequence 8 formula."
"Just a lead?"
"Of course — the formula itself would be priced separately." He added, "Oh, and I'll also give you a new Beyonder gathering venue. For future purchases of Beyonder goods, you can go there."
Xio and Fors both blinked.
Vincent grinned. "Haven't you heard? Mr. A was implicated in an evil god organisation and has been shut down by the authorities. There won't be any more gatherings for quite some time."
"Ah?"
Vincent handed Xio a slip of paper. "Next time you want to contact me, set up a ritual as written on this, and you'll be able to summon my messenger."
"A messenger?"
For two women who had spent years on the fringes of the Beyonder world and were still very much newcomers to the deeper workings of it, this was plainly a new term.
"It's a spirit world creature bound to me by contract. It handles simple courier work — carrying messages and the like." He continued, "The first word of 'me' in the incantation must be spoken in Ancient Hermes; the rest can be said in ordinary Hermes."
"Right then — I'll go and get your problem sorted."
Xio hesitated. "Wait — can you at least tell me why that Beyonder was hunting me in the first place?"
"Oh. Because for a while you were going around buying up pages of Roselle's diary through every channel you could find."
"???"
Xio stared. "Just... just because of that? Why?!"
"You'll understand in time."
With that, Vincent left the private room, leaving the two friends to look at each other in bewilderment.
"Ah!"
A moment later Xio shot to her feet. "I forgot!"
Fors asked anxiously, "What?"
"I forgot to ask her," Xio said, crestfallen, "how to grow taller."
"..."
Fors shoved her aside, then turned to stare at the doorway in quiet contemplation. Is there any chance that woman knows how to solve my... problem on full moon nights?
· ·
Coming out of the private room, Vincent was just thinking about going to watch the rat-catching contest for a while when he spotted a figure sitting at the bar, looking about uncertainly, clearly searching for someone.
It was the man called Sherman who had wanted to become a woman.
He saw Vincent at the same time, eyes lighting up immediately, and hurried over with barely contained emotion. "I — I've found you again, Madam."
"Good afternoon, Mr. Sherman."
Vincent nodded. "Have you been waiting here this whole time?"
"Yes!"
He gave a vigorous nod, then glanced around the room, lowered his voice, and said, "About — about the matter I mentioned to you last time..."
"You want to become a woman?"
"..."
Sherman lurched into a panic, looking around frantically again before giving a heavy nod. "Y-yes." His eyes were full of desperate hope. "Madam, is there really a way?"
Vincent held his gaze steadily, until the man dropped his head in shame, before saying mildly, "There is. But — setting aside how dangerous and terrifying the method is — the cost alone would likely far exceed what you could bear."
"I can manage it! I can definitely manage it!"
"Approximately five to six thousand pounds in total."
"!!!"
Sherman went rigid. The colour drained from his face before their eyes.
It was an almost incomprehensible sum. Even in Backlund — where wealth and nobility were crammed on every street corner — five thousand pounds was a figure utterly beyond the reach of most people.
But he wasn't ready to give up. He bit his lip. "If I... commissioned you to..."
"You mean: you don't have the money, but you still want me to... do you this favour."
He looked away. "Yes."
Vincent considered for a moment. "I think you understand clearly enough — when you have no money, the only currency you have left is your life. Can you accept that price?"
"..."
"And even so, I can't simply grant your wish directly. I am a Broker, not a wishing machine. All I can do is create an opportunity; the rest... you would have to fight for yourself."
He said, "And that will be far more dangerous."
"I..."
"Don't answer in a hurry. Think it over properly."
What Vincent meant by "creating an opportunity" was arranging for Sherman to make contact with a Demoness — and beyond that, everything would be down to him. The price Sherman would have to pay was signing a contract to help Vincent make inroads with the Demoness Sect.
He still remembered well: in the future, Backlund would be rocked by a catastrophe engineered by the Demoness Sect. And a Demoness-Sect disaster was directly opposed to the "Clairvoyant" archetype — as Bernadette's Sequence 2 advancement ritual required averting a disaster involving a high-level existence.
If he could get advance intelligence on that disaster and move to stop it, perhaps it could count as completing the advancement ritual?
Hm?
He suddenly jolted: if stopping the descent of the Son of the Blasphemous God in Tingen could also count as completing such a ritual — was that a possibility too?
No, no, no!
Vincent immediately dismissed the thought with a rapid shake of his head. Tingen was an absolute quagmire. Jumping in at this point would be sheer lunacy.
Except for offering the odd whispered hint at a Tarot Club meeting, there was no power on earth that could drag him within a single step of Tingen!
· ·
By the time he returned to Caesar's Restaurant, the last of the sunset had faded from the sky, and a deep crimson moon had climbed halfway up the horizon, bathing all of Backlund in a wash of red once more.
But this being one of Backlund's most celebrated high-end establishments, the interior blazed with light; the coming and going were all nobility and money, eating and drinking with perfect ease, dropping in one meal what an ordinary person earned in a lifetime.
Vincent was not a cynical man. He understood that no matter how the world evolved, true equality was never coming. He had no illusions about changing the world — his only present concern was growing stronger as fast as he could, in time to weather the Black Emperor crisis that lay ahead.
And once that was weathered... the Doomsday crisis would still be waiting.
So by all means, spend away. The money will end up in my — Bernadette's — pocket either way. Same difference.
Hmm?
A sudden whim struck him: if he went out distributing flyers, and these nobles came to the restaurant on the strength of one of those flyers, would that count as a transaction he had facilitated?
Well — he shouldn't dismiss it as too lowbrow. With the spending power of this lot, the returns wouldn't be much worse than a normal Beyonder gathering.
Though on reflection it was somewhat unrealistic. These people weren't exactly going to walk into a restaurant because of a flyer picked up off the street. Nobles had their reputation to think of, after all.
Back in his room, Vincent shed the binding around his chest with relief, drawing a long, easy breath. He looked down at the warm garment in his hands and thought idly: should he ask Vivian to find a seamstress to make him something like a fitted camisole instead? It would be far more comfortable than this thing.
Hmm — it might even become a commercial product, bringing Bernadette some income!
"Vivian."
He called her over, though not to mention the camisole just yet. Instead he asked, "When is the next Beyonder gathering?"
"Normally they're held once a week. If things are on edge, they switch to fortnightly or monthly."
She answered, "Last week the authorities and the Church's Beyonder organisations moved without warning to raid one of the Aurora Order's bases, and the crackdown is still ongoing. Gatherings will likely be difficult to hold for the next few weeks."
Oh, for crying out loud.
Vincent went blank. So in the end, he had shot himself in the foot.
The old saying was right — a clever person plotting all their schemes can still be undone by a fool's sudden brainstorm. And he was that fool!
"Right, understood."
Once Vivian left, Vincent could no longer keep his composure. Regret and exasperation and helpless frustration all came crashing in at once. He flung himself onto the sofa, grabbed a cushion, and pressed it over his face. "God, I am so monumentally stupid!"
I should have seen this coming miles away.
It happened all the time in the Harry Potter world too — every time something ugly went down in Knockturn Alley, the Ministry would tighten its eye on the area for a long stretch, sometimes deploying Aurors on continuous rotation, turning the normally black-market-riddled Knockturn Alley safer than Diagon Alley for a while.
The attitude toward evil god organisations in the LOTM world would only be more severe.
He had thought losing a competitor meant he could run more gatherings and tip the Scale into balance sooner. So much for that idea.
After a while, Vincent threw the cushion aside and muttered, "In that case, I'll just have to think of something else."
Something like... sending the Unseen Servant to pull a job at the three major Churches again?
Hmm — they'd be on guard by now. The moment the Unseen Servant showed itself, it would probably be put down on the spot and traced straight back to him. And then the next time Bernadette came back, she'd lock him up in Emerald City and never let him leave again.
Shaking his head, Vincent summoned the Unseen Servant and wrote Xio a letter, having it delivered and informing her that the matter was settled — the powerful Beyonder and the organisation behind her would not be coming after her anymore.
Then, replaying the plot of the original novel in his head and turning over which threads he might be able to pull, he drifted into a haze and fell asleep.
He had no idea how much time had passed when an endless grey mist suddenly flooded into his vision, and his consciousness sharpened with it. From the depths of the grey fog, Mr. Fool spoke in an unhurried tone: "Miss Justice is looking for you."
The next moment, a golden-haired girl in a long dress materialised: "Honoured Mr. Fool, I would trouble you to pass a message to Mr. Lover — could he be commissioned to... bring Mr. A in directly?"
Well, well. Audrey, who looked so sweet and straightforward, really did have a vicious streak when she needed it. Not wanting to expose her own identity, not wanting to arouse the Church's suspicion — so instead she went straight to the root of the problem.
Vincent joined his hands together and said, "Praise to Mr. Fool. Mr. A's whereabouts are currently unknown — even the Church cannot locate him. I am equally powerless. This commission I cannot fulfil."
"Thank you, Mr. Fool."
Klein watched "the Lover" quietly, then said in a mild tone, "Mr. Lover — the organisation you mentioned at the meeting this afternoon, the one that stands against the Hidden Sage: what is it called?"
"It's called the Element Dawn."
"Understood."
· ·
On the other side of the city, Klein stepped out of the washroom, his expression complicated. He hadn't managed, in the end, to ask the question he most wanted answered: how to sever the Hidden Sage's gaze.
That afternoon, when he had reported to the Captain that Old Neil might be under the observation of a Blasphemous God, the Captain had taken it with the utmost seriousness — but hadn't moved to expose it immediately.
Instead he had first arranged a quiet investigation, the results of which suggested Old Neil truly might have a problem. Captain Dunn had then gone to Old Neil at once and assigned him a temporary task: until Sealed Artifact 2-049 was transferred out of the city, they needed his experience and steady hand to stand guard at Chanis Gate. Old Neil had accepted without suspicion.
By Dunn's reckoning, as long as Neil remained within the boundaries of Chanis Gate, he should be safe for now — but only for now.
Ordinarily at this point, Dunn ought to report the situation to Backlund and wait for senior Church officials to handle it. But he hesitated — because if Old Neil really had been performing sacrificial rituals to a Blasphemous God, what awaited him was almost certainly the Church's merciless Purification. That was something Dunn could not accept.
So he still clung to a faint hope: perhaps Neil's situation wasn't as grave as it appeared. Perhaps things could still be salvaged. Perhaps if he stayed at Chanis Gate long enough...
Klein had taken one extra step in his thinking: if the root of Old Neil's problem was being watched by the Hidden Sage, then if that Blasphemous God's gaze could somehow be cut off — would the problem go away?
Element Dawn...
Klein turned the name of the organisation over on his tongue, making a quiet resolution: if all else failed, he'd ask Mr. Lover directly whether there was a way... perhaps using the pretext of "I have a Blessed"?
· ·
In Caesar's Restaurant, roused from the grey fog by Klein, Vincent lay awake with his sleep thoroughly broken. He slipped into the mysterious room for a look — no messages on the table.
He gave it up and instead pulled out his books to study: multiple languages, an accelerated guide to the Mystery Pryer pathway's fundamentals, and experiments in crafting new witchcraft by imitating magical spells.
What he most wanted to develop was the Disarming Charm. In LOTM, battles between Beyonders of similar Sequences often came down to who had more and better Beyonder items — if he could strip an opponent's Beyonder items right from the outset, the fight would be half-won before it started.
A beautiful idea in theory — but the practical difficulties piled up fast. His research into Bernadette's esoteric manuals had confirmed for him that witchcraft, at its core, was a form of arranging and combining mystical script. So the first step was a deep study of mystical script itself.
And to "transplant" magic into that framework meant finding the common ground between magic and witchcraft — as it happened, ancient magic before wands and incantations had similarly been rooted in a particular application of ancient runes. Which meant he also needed to research the ancient script of the Harry Potter world in depth, find the shared principles between the two systems, and use that as the foundation to construct new witchcraft.
Crack!
Vincent slapped his own forehead in despair. "Everything about this belongs in the realm of geniuses — true prodigies. Not small-town exam warriors like me."
He might be from the top of his class at a provincial school, but that was still a mountain range short of genius territory.
Oh well. Mystical languages had to be studied regardless — if he couldn't create new witchcraft, he still couldn't do without them when using existing spells. It felt uncannily like those all-nighters memorising vocabulary before the university English exam...
Bzz!
Just then, the air around him gave a sudden tremor — someone stepping out of the spirit world. The source was near the entrance.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
A knock sounded, followed by a man's voice: "Your Majesty, are you asleep?"
The voice of Second Officer Stephen.
Vincent rose and grabbed a coat to throw over himself. "Come in."
The door swung open, and a thick smell of earth rolled in. Stephen was covered in grey dust, his clothes torn to rags; he looked like he had just crawled out of a battle.
Vincent raised an eyebrow. "What happened to you? Weren't you supposed to be working as an assistant to that attorney?"
As he spoke, he scattered a pinch of powder, gathered the dust from Stephen's body into a swirl of wind, and blew it out the window — something like a turbulent cyclone for cleaning purposes.
Stephen thanked him, then immediately burst out: "Don't even mention it. He actually had me working as his proper assistant for three full days — three days writing documents for him!"
"Er."
"The good news is, tonight he finally told me the real reason. He wants to explore an ancient ruin, and the entrance can only be opened by someone on the Lawyer pathway."
Vincent's eyes lit up. "Oh, an ancient ruin — well then, the suffering of the last few days was worth it."
"And then we went just now, and it turned out — the so-called 'ancient ruin' was an underground burial vault! The so-called 'exploration' was grave-robbing!"
Stephen's expression became deeply strange. "And — to add insult to injury — it was my own family's ancestral tomb we were robbing!"
· ·
To be continued…