"Detective, you are very fortunate. If I didn't happen to have this relic in my possession, this transaction wouldn't have gone so smoothly. After all, for weak sorcerers, knowledge that's too mysterious and weapons that are too powerful are equally dangerous... As for the matter of the Black Box, I won't dwell on it anymore. It's been a pleasure working with you."
The woman inside the room sounded as if she was ready to send Shade on his way.
Shade closed the ring box and took it from the maid's hands. As she walked back toward the door, Shade, instead of leaving right away, collected his thoughts and spoke loudly:
"Madam, I wonder if I have the honor of learning your identity."
"You are not yet worthy of that honor."
The woman's voice was direct, and Shade thought he heard the maid behind the door stifle a laugh.
"I know what you're worried about. Now that I know your identity and what you look like, it won't be hard to figure out where you live or the identities of the other correspondence sorcerers in your group... but so what? The main thing correspondence sorcerers need to worry about is not letting the church know who they are. Do you think I'm with the church?"
Just as the woman had correctly guessed that Shade was not a devout follower of the gods, Shade also didn't think she was a pious believer herself.
"You're welcome to tell your fellow correspondence sorcerers about what happened tonight. They already know the rules of this city. And you can certainly talk about our transaction. Is there anything else you want to ask?"
It seemed that since she had gained useful information from Shade, her earlier displeasure had faded, and now she was in a good mood.
"Why were you here tonight...?"
"Of course, it wasn't because of you. Running into you was just a coincidence. I came to this somewhat unseemly place because I'd heard that the club had a rare Tarot card."
"May I ask which set it belonged to?"
"It's irrelevant now—it was a counterfeit Tarot card."
"That's quite unfortunate... Well then, farewell, Madam. I hope you can lay hands on that Old God's statue soon."
This was Shade's subtle reminder for the woman to retrieve the statue before the Blood of Mercury had time to relocate it, thus preventing her from holding him accountable if the statue couldn't be found.
"Goodbye, detective... Speaking of which, I do admire young people like you. Your reaction to the relic going out of control was quite impressive. Most first-ring sorcerers wouldn't have handled it as well as you did."
"If you ever need anything, you can contact me through this club. But you know, every gift comes with a price."
"Yes, Madam. I wish you a pleasant evening."
Shade clutched the ring box and turned to leave, but just before reaching the door, he glanced back at the slightly ajar door:
"Madam, about the Black Box..."
"A rare Third Age relic. All relics are formed from the grudges and resentments accumulated at the end of an era, so you shouldn't be surprised by what you heard.
The Fifth Age was the era of witches, and the wars of the last thirteen witch emperors nearly summoned terrible entities from beyond the material world.
The Fourth Age was an era of darkness and chaos. Darkness covered the land, and strange creatures roamed the material world.
In the Third Age, other races coexisted with humans, but at the same time, strange and terrifying humanoid creatures dominated much of the material world. These were the spirits born from whispers. Humans and other normal life forms lived in small pockets of safety, protecting one another."
She fell silent after that, and Shade, with a slight bow to show his gratitude for the free knowledge, stepped out.
The maid was waiting for Shade outside and led him from the third floor down to the first-floor staircase, where he met a dejected young Franklin. The two of them left the club together.
Returning to the fog-covered summer streets from the noisy interior, Shade felt a great sense of relief.
Shade was still lost in thought, replaying the events in his mind and considering the details of the transaction. As a result, neither of them spoke much as they walked along the gas-lit streets in the peaceful night, making their way to the apartment where Franklin's family rented a place.
Just as they were nearing their destination, young Franklin suddenly darted into the shadow cast by an antique shop's sign, beyond the reach of the gaslight, and bolted away. But Shade, having anticipated this, immediately gave chase. They hadn't even made it halfway down the street before Shade's boot struck the back of Franklin's legs, sending him tumbling to the ground.
"Who did your father hire this time? Have you been training for a marathon? Are you planning to compete in the Tobesque Youth Games? What happened to the last detective?"
Franklin gasped for breath as Shade pinned his arms behind his back, his voice hoarse as he rattled off questions, making no further attempt to escape—he was not much of a runner.
"Trying to run again? Didn't the last detective catch you too? Uncle Sparrow is dead, and I've taken over his job, but no, I haven't been training for marathons."
Shade could feel the strength of this body. It wasn't just because he was a ring sorcerer—his physical form was also quite strong. He still wondered how Sparrow managed to turn a vagrant into this within just a few months.
As for pretending to be someone's nephew, it didn't really matter—after all, Shade had truly inherited the detective's entire estate.
"Dead? That guy who pointed a gun at my head and told me to stay away from the gambling table is dead?"
Young Franklin seemed surprised, but his voice was filled with glee.
"A scoundrel like that—it's good he's dead."
According to the records Shade found in the detective's files, Sparrow Hamilton had twice removed young Franklin from underground gambling dens and clubs in the slums, both times relying on the power of persuasion. The records painted Sparrow as a charismatic man, skilled in convincing others with words.
"Seems like I can't trust everything in his records... But he definitely had a gun... Did he throw it away? Or did he hide it somewhere I haven't found yet?"
"By the way, how about you let me go? I'll give you more pounds from my gambling winnings."
Young Franklin still tried to wriggle free.
"I truly pity your father."
"Come on, you're just after the money."
The young gambler sneered, expecting a retort from the detective. To his surprise, Shade nodded.
"Yes, money is indeed important. Why else would I be out here on a foggy night chasing after you instead of staying home with a gas lamp, looking after my lovely cat?"
Despite the unexpected events at the club, the handoff of the task and the payment process went smoothly. Franklin's parents didn't give them any trouble, and Shade received half a pound in payment at the door, along with two pounds for the gambling debts owed to the casino. Then he left.
As he departed, he saw young Franklin inside the house, making a rude gesture toward him. Shade wasn't angry—he just felt a little sorry for Mr. Franklin.
"Every era and every family has its own story. I should focus on my own matters."
Shade walked into the long night with his hands in his pockets, bidding farewell to his first official client.
The night was deep, and Shade, too short on funds to take a carriage, walked home. He needed to save up ten pounds within a month, and although some of the relics at home could be pawned, he knew he had to cultivate frugality.
By the time he returned home, it was the middle of the night. Climbing the dimly lit stairs, he felt a deep sense of loneliness. When he opened the door, he was relieved to find that his ginger cat, Little Mia, hadn't made a mess while he was away. She had obediently used the pile of sand Shade had prepared for her in the corner of the balcony.
As for the cat herself, the moment the tired detective opened the door, she rushed over, clawing at his pants for him to pick her up, thrilled at his return. This simple gesture warmed Shade's heart, especially after walking alone through the city for hours.
"Even if your owner doesn't come for you, I'll take care of you."
"Meow~"
He picked up the well-behaved orange cat and said, "Mia," who rubbed her soft little head against Shade's chest, expressing her affection for him. The detective then used a blanket to make a temporary nest for little Mia on his desk in his bedroom.
The night had grown late, so he decided not to continue studying the Bloodsucking Ring. Even though he went to bed very late that night, he still woke up promptly at six the next morning, feeling completely refreshed and not the slightest bit tired.
The goat's milk and cow's milk he had ordered the day before, along with the newspaper, arrived. For the first time in this house, Shade had breakfast with the well-behaved orange cat Mia and made plans for the day.
Today was Tuesday; he didn't need to meet Dr. Schneider until tomorrow, but due to the note he left yesterday, he certainly needed to visit the doctor today.
Completing two commissions in one day yesterday gave Shade a great boost in confidence regarding running the detective agency.
However, today he did not plan to handle the cases left behind by the former detective. Instead, after returning from the doctor's, he planned to carefully inspect the house, search for the missing handgun, and continue reading the doctor's handwriting and past commission records while studying his own runes.
With Mia left behind to watch over the house, Shade carried the relic, the Bloodsucking Ring, with him as he walked through the city amidst the thin mist.
The walk from the center of Tobesque to the doctor's office in the eastern district took him several hours, but the unique scenery of the unfamiliar steam era and European architectural style fascinated Shade.
Walking along the beautiful wealthy district of Röntgen Avenue, Shade saw a four-wheeled carriage parked outside the psychiatric clinic and a gentleman in a black top hat stepping down from it. He still worried whether the doctor was back.
Fortunately, the few hours of travel were not in vain—the blue-eyed doctor had returned, though he appeared quite troubled when he received Shade.
Shade recalled Miss Louisa mentioning that the doctor usually had bad luck, and this time he was also dealing with a troubling matter:
"That's why I have always disliked dealing with nobles. If I can treat them, they tend to trivialize their psychological issues; if I cannot, they think it's a reflection of my incompetence.
This case of bulimia is particularly problematic. That lady is likely hiding some secrets she doesn't wish to disclose; people never trust their doctors... Shade, if you ever encounter a commission from a noble, you'll surely understand what I mean... Please, have a seat. I saw your note, but what exactly is the matter?"