Chapter 68

Afterward, I scoured the restaurant with my mana field, but there was no sign of Caraphine.

Even after finishing our meal, Andrew and I wandered around Gray Chapel until sunset, but once again, we couldn’t find the Caraphine.

The two Longsoniere bases I remembered from the original game were either empty buildings or inhabited by unrelated vagrants.

Just like with the Miller Orphanage, it seemed that at this point in time, those places hadn’t yet fallen into the hands of the spies.

And so, this slum investigation ended without achieving its goal.

It was unfortunate.

But what could I do?

I’d have to look for another way.

Now that I knew the Caraphine wasn’t here, there was no reason to linger in the slums any longer.

At that point, I decided to tell Andrew something I’d been keeping from him.

“Andrew.”

“Yes?”

“We’re being tailed.”

“Ah! Where?!”

Andrew whipped his head around and started scanning our surroundings.

Just as I expected.

“Don’t make it obvious. Look straight ahead. What are you trying to do…announce to the whole neighborhood that we’ve noticed?”

“S-Sorry! But why would someone be following us?”

“It’s probably not for a good reason.”

“When did it start…?”

The tail had begun the moment we stepped out of the restaurant.

In fact, I noticed it right away but chose not to shake them off.

Instead, I pretended not to notice and led the tail around all afternoon.

I was waiting for them to make a mistake so I could catch them instead.

But the opponent was no amateur. They kept just enough distance, staying close yet never drawing near.

I said to Andrew,

“As soon as we get out of this alley, head back to the newspaper office.”

“By myself? What about you, Mr. Goodman?”

“I’ll buy you time until you get away.”

“Mr. Goodman!”

Andrew’s eyes welled up with tears and his face was filled with emotion.

“Don’t worry about me. Just go.”

“I’ll go back and explain everything to the editor-in-chief. Maybe I can bring someone to help.”

“There’s no need. Getting myself out of a situation like this isn’t a problem. If we get the chance, we’ll meet again.”

“Then please stay safe!”

We exited the alley.

With a firm push on his back, Andrew took off running at full speed.

Meanwhile, I stayed hidden and watched for any reaction from our tail.

Hmm, even after intentionally using Andrew as bait, they didn’t make a move.

Looks like I was the target from the beginning.

“I see how it is.”

I couldn’t help but feel a little amused.

To think someone dared to tail me, a veteran of Candela of Judgment.

How should I deal with this bold little spy?

It was time for a fun game of cat and mouse.

***

Magic has no limits.

But a mage does.

This was a famous saying from Karaf, born from a heated debate sparked by the results of an interesting experiment among Karaf’s mages half a century ago.

The vast majority of mages were dominantly influenced by vision when using magic.

That was the outcome of the experiment at the time.

Among the thousand or so mages who took part in the experiment, nine out of ten were unable to cast spells with their eyes covered. Even with their vision unobstructed, if the target was out of sight, the success rate of their spells dropped sharply.

And even when they did manage to cast, hitting the mark was left almost entirely to chance.

For a community that had, until then, interpreted magic purely as a mental act, these results sent shockwaves through the world of magic.

It was proof that the sense of distinguishing objects through a mana field could not replace vision and that sight along with other bodily senses played an essential role in the use of magic.

And the reason I’m suddenly going on about something straight out of a lecture on the history of magic is because this is precisely why I couldn’t detect the tail following me.

The stalker kept to a sufficiently safe distance, cloaking their presence as they trailed me.

They were within the range of my mana field, yes, but scarcely visible to the eye. This made it difficult to take a clean shot.

Not impossible, but the odds were far from favorable.

The better plan was to draw them closer.

But how?

As I thought it over, a clever idea came to mind. One perfectly suited to this slum district.

I headed deeper in, past Gray Chapel, into Low Chapel.

***

No one would deny that Low Chapel was the darkest underworld in all of Lambart.

It housed the headquarters of the Thieves’ Guild, and around it coiled crime syndicates under the guild’s protection.

Some even called Low Chapel a small nation within the royal capital. The more reckless claimed that if the guild’s entire armed force were gathered, they could withstand even an invading army.

That latter claim, of course, would only draw laughter from the thieves of Low Chapel.

Yet veteran blades who had long served the guild would remember, with a different kind of grim smile, that the military weapons and siege engines they bought off a corrupt army officer decades ago still lie hidden beneath the ground of Low Chapel.

Anyway—

Low Chapel was an underworld beyond the reach of the city’s laws and lawmen. And where there’s an underworld, there’s always a black market.

Things that could never be traded openly outside were sold here without shame. Like bloodstained loot, grave-robbed relics, byproducts of poaching, or even shackled human beings.

The main customers, of course, were wealthy nobles and the lackeys who ran errands for them.

That was the reason I came to Low Chapel.

This place was overflowing with people hiding behind masks, just like “Nice Goodman”.

Nobles came here chasing thrills, indulgence, or the chance to indulge their darkest desires, and naturally, they had no wish to expose who they really were.

After all, if word got out that someone of noble birth was sneaking around a place like this, their reputation would shatter in no time.

It was the same logic behind why Mrs. Miller at the orphanage, seeing me wear a mask, assumed I must have come with ill intent.

“Hey! My carriage entered this road first. Step back; it’s only proper etiquette.”

“Our carriage is heavily loaded; turning around is difficult. You should be the one to yield.”

“Hmph! I cannot give a name, but the person riding inside ranks among the top ten experts in the royal court. Do you understand now?”

“Ha! And how am I supposed to know you’re not just making that up? If you’re so confident, why don’t they step out and show their face?”

“You insolent bastard! Do you truly wish to invite disaster?”

“I’ll have you know, I too serve someone whose name alone would make everyone tremble!”

Because everyone hid their identities, these kinds of petty quarrels broke out often.

In any case, thanks to people like them, I was soon surrounded by masked figures and I became a tree hidden within a forest.

The stalker shadowing me could no longer easily track or observe me from afar.

And so?

They would have to risk coming closer.

Of course, having more people around wasn’t entirely in my favor either.

If too many human presences registered in my mana field, the resolution of my senses would drop, making it harder to pick out my pursuer.

That was why I decided to dig one more trap.

It was a trap designed to make a narrow place even narrower, and a short distance even shorter.

I headed for one of Low Chapel’s landmarks.

Though Chapel Street is now a slum, there was a time when it was a respectable neighborhood.

On a hill overlooking the area stood a grand mansion from that bygone era.

It was a four-story mansion said to have been won in a single game of dice by the legendary gambling king, Baron Guelfo.

After Baron Guelfo went bankrupt from debts and the area fell into poverty, the mansion became a ruin. But now, after extensive renovation, it had been transformed into a casino owned by the Thieves’ Guild.

Every night, thousands of dice and gold coins rolled and flew across its tables. It was undeniably one of Low Chapel’s attraction points.

And beneath the casino lay one more hidden attraction.

As I moved to descend into the underground, a guild enforcer blocked my way.

“Stop. No one goes beyond this point without authorization.”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I pulled a medallion from my cloak and showed it.

It was a pass granting entry to the underground vault.

For certain individuals of proven wealth and reputation in the capital, the Thieves’ Guild delivered these passes unbidden.

One day, without any application, it simply appeared on their doorstep.

Among nobles, possession of this medallion became almost a mark of status and a quiet measure of whether one had truly “arrived”.

Naturally, Winter Winslet was one such recipient.

The medallion carried several built-in safeguards against forgery, yet bore no markings that tied it to a specific owner, which made it safe for me to use freely.

After a light weapons check, I flicked a small gold coin from my pouch.

It spun through the air, the sum more than enough to cover the entrance fee. The rest was a tip.

With that little grease, even the rough guild guard’s tone turned polite.

“Welcome to the auction, sir. Please enjoy your time.”

***

An underworld is never complete without its own auction house.

At the secret auction house in Low Chapel, an auction was held once a month.

In Candela of Judgment, it was treated as a fixed event that always occurred on a set date.

And that event was happening today.

Following a maze of dark, grimy hallways, I arrived at the underground vault where the auction took place.

After several rounds of expansion and renovation, the underground vault had taken on a structure reminiscent of a coliseum.

A stage was set up at the center to present the goods, and elevated seating surrounded it on multiple levels.

The distance from the floor to the ceiling was roughly three stories high.

Only the most valuable and rare items from the black market, those with the Thieves’ Guild’s seal of authenticity, were put up for auction here. So the security was naturally tight.

The question was whether the tail on me had managed to follow me this far.

They had started trailing me right after my visit to Longsoniere’s base, so the tail was likely one of Longsoniere’s agents.

If that were the case, they’d likely have access to a medallion that allowed entry.

However, the auction house had only one entrance.

There were dozens of secret passages used to evacuate or protect winning bidders in the event of a raid, but only a single corridor was designated for guest entry.

Which meant, if I stood watch at the entrance, the tail would inevitably come face-to-face with me.

That was my plan. To catch them then.

But things took an unexpected turn.

Click.

The door opened as the next guest stepped in.

A swordsman entered. The person was a head shorter than me with their face concealed beneath a mask.

Of course, all weapons were confiscated at the entrance, so the swordsman wasn’t carrying a blade. But the sword belt at their waist made it clear what they were.

Their appearance was nothing like the tail I’d spotted earlier, so I was ready to dismiss them without a second thought.

But something felt off.

The silhouette was strangely familiar… uncannily so.

The mask-covered face and nondescript outfit gave away nothing of their identity, no clues to go on.

But as a longtime veteran of Candela of Judgment, I could recognize someone just by the way they moved.

The masked swordsman was Josephine.

…Why on earth was my fiancée here?