'Script-Decipherers?' What kind of group is that?"
"They're one of the most mysterious and dangerous underground organizations in existence," Edward replied, tone grave. "Their main goal is to hunt down ancient tomes or inscriptions—anything that predates our current era."
Charles frowned slightly. "That doesn't sound too bad on its own. Why are they considered so dangerous?"
Edward let out a quiet, humorless laugh. "If they only collected ancient artifacts through legitimate means, we wouldn't consider them such a threat. But these people will use any method—robbery, theft, even kidnapping—to achieve their ends. Every time they strike, they leave disaster in their wake."
A thought flashed across Charles's mind. "So… you're saying Michael's disappearance might be connected to them?"
"Precisely," Edward confirmed. "We're not certain what they want from him. But we do know that when he vanished, he was carrying a certain brown leather bag. Whatever object or document he kept inside that bag is likely what the Script-Decipherers are after."
Charles gave a slow, measured nod, mulling it over. "From what you've told me, it sounds like the authorities could handle a group like that, no problem. How come the Script-Decipherers are still around, causing havoc?"
Edward's brow furrowed. "Remember the moment before you were knocked out in Old Town? The incantation you heard?"
Charles's mind jumped back to the frenzied fight in that cramped alley. He recalled the strange word someone had shouted just before an invisible force slammed him into unconsciousness. "Yes. Your men shouted something odd, and then I got hit by… something I couldn't see. It knocked me out cold."
Edward acknowledged him with a curt nod. "That was magic—an archaic form of sorcery from an ancient age. It's deadly, potent, and extremely unpredictable. The Script-Decipherers, obsessed with gleaning knowledge from old inscriptions, have accumulated quite a bit of expertise in these lost arts." He paused for emphasis. "But something even more dangerous than raw magic is at play here."
The older man signaled Joseph with a tilt of his head. Joseph, clearly uneasy, returned a silent nod before stepping closer to Charles.
"All right," Joseph said quietly. "Don't move."
Charles, puzzled, made to speak—but Joseph's words were firm. "Stand up," Joseph commanded, his voice carrying an uncharacteristic edge of authority.
With slight hesitation, Charles tried to lift himself off the infirmary cot—only to find his limbs utterly unresponsive. It felt as if a crushing weight pinned him in place, making any motion impossible. A bolt of alarm shot through his mind.
"Wh-what in the world is this?" he gasped.
"Relax," Joseph said. "I just ordered that no one in this room can stand. It'll wear off in a second."
The moment Joseph finished speaking, that invisible pressure vanished. Charles nearly toppled forward from the sudden release, regaining control of his muscles as though nothing had happened.
He stared at Joseph, his eyes wide. "How… how did you do that? Magic again?"
Edward shook his head slowly. "That's different from the magic I mentioned before," Edward explained. "It's another type of power, one that can make things happen that defy natural law. Whether it's the force you experienced earlier or the ability to read minds - the Script-Decipherers have quite a number of individuals with such powers."
Charles's breath caught in his throat. The rational part of him warred against these revelations, struggling to reconcile his old worldview—rooted in reason and evidence—with the supernatural feats he'd just witnessed. He felt a faint chill deep in his chest.
*If powers like this truly exist,* he thought, *then how many past cases have included phenomena I never even considered? Could I have jailed the wrong suspects because I refused to believe in something beyond the ordinary?*
Edward, sensing Charles's rising unease, fixed him with a calm gaze. "Don't worry. If any of those old cases had involved real supernatural incidents, our unit would have stepped in before they reached an ordinary detective like you. We don't let such stories leak into the mainstream. So you can trust that you haven't been chasing illusions all this time."
Although Edward's words offered mild reassurance, Charles still felt rattled. Magic. Psychic power. *Everything I believed in is being turned upside down.*
"That's the reason," Edward continued, "why I'd like you to join our special unit. Your investigative skills are invaluable. And, more to the point, you've inadvertently contributed to the Script-Decipherers' survival—by disrupting one of our operations."
Charles blinked. "What do you mean… I helped them survive?"
Edward sighed. "Two days ago, we prepared to raid one of their hideouts. We'd pinned down the location after months of surveillance. But something unexpected happened. The city guard carried out a major search of a nearby orphanage, forcing the Script-Decipherers to relocate. We lost the chance to strike. Our operation fell apart before it even began." He paused, letting the implications sink in. "And when we traced the cause of that guard search, it led back to you. Remember the Stone Mansion case you investigated a while back? The servant girl who poisoned her employer and the visiting noble?"
Charles stiffened. Indeed, he'd taken pride in cracking that case—uncovering a thread that led to a neglected orphanage in Old Town. It had seemed like a tremendous victory, but apparently, the fallout had impacted more than just local criminals.
"You're the one who ruined our plan, apparently," one of the wounded officers growled from across the infirmary. His face contorted in resentment. "Do you have any idea how long we spent setting up that mission?"
"Hey, I was doing my job," Charles retorted hotly. "I had no clue it would disrupt anything else. How was I supposed to know about your hush-hush operation?"
"You saw the outcome, right?" the guard spat. "All our planning down the drain—"
"All right, enough," Joseph interjected, stepping between them. "We're on the same side, or we should be. We can't afford to fight among ourselves over who caused what."
It took a moment, but eventually, Charles and the guard let the tension simmer down. The confrontation ended in a heavy silence. Joseph cast Edward a pleading look, prompting him to resume talking.
Edward stood up, nodding once as though to finalize a decision. He refocused on Charles. "Here's the deal: if you help us see this mission through, you can claim full credit as a mercenary detective. Submit the result to your guild and earn the reward. We won't contest that."
Charles regarded him warily, unsure what to make of such a generous offer. "Why would you let me claim the credit for your operation? Doesn't that overshadow your own achievements?"
Edward set his jaw. "We're a covert unit. The less the public hears about us, the better. If you take the recognition for eliminating the Script-Decipherers, that saves us from dealing with official questions or cover stories."
Charles went quiet, processing the implications. Something still felt off. He ventured a tentative response: "So… suppose I say no?"
Edward narrowed his eyes. "Then we would have no choice but to keep you under tight surveillance, for your own safety—because the Script-Decipherers have noticed you. And for the sake of our secrecy. You'd lose all freedom until this is over."
The finality in his voice caught Charles off guard. They were giving him little choice. He was either going to be roped into their operation or forcibly hidden away. Letting out a heavy sigh, Charles relented. "Fine… I accept your terms, I guess."
A faint curve touched Edward's lips, as if relieved that Charles had come around. "Good. I look forward to working together."
Joseph spoke again, more softly this time. "I'll be the one to watch over you, give you orientation, and handle your training in everything you need to know. We've been friends a long time, so it's best if you stick with me."
With that, Joseph carefully helped Charles out of the infirmary, carrying a lantern to guide them. In the gloom, the narrow corridors took on an eerie cast. Together, they climbed a winding stairway that rose steeply upward. Neither man spoke—the situation was too tense and uncertain.
At last, the steps ended in a slanting doorway opening into a derelict building. Charles glanced back, watching the staircase gradually vanish behind crumbling brick walls and dusty rubble, as though it had never existed. The interior appeared to be no more than a half-collapsed ruin. Broken wooden beams, crumbling brick walls—completely unremarkable. Yet behind its shabby facade lay an entire hidden complex, the secret base of Edward's special unit.
Moonlight shone in through the cracks in the ceiling, bright enough to hint at the late hour. Outside, a lone carriage stood waiting. Joseph led Charles over and helped him aboard, mindful of the detective's injuries. The driver, upon seeing Charles, arched an eyebrow. He looked ready to ask a barrage of questions, but Joseph merely shook his head, gesturing that he'd explain later. The driver nodded politely, turned forward, and urged the horses into motion.
The coach rattled along the deserted streets, hoofbeats echoing through the silent night. Inside, Charles and Joseph sat facing each other. Charles stared at his friend, brow furrowed with lingering suspicion, while Joseph's gaze remained unwavering, as though he couldn't afford to let Charles out of sight.
No words were spoken, but the tension weighed on them both. They had embarked on a path that would inevitably drag Charles deeper into the shadowy world of secret operations and forbidden magic—and neither knew quite what dangers lay ahead.