Northern Shore of the Conquest Sea, Adria. Inside a certain hotel near the cathedral plaza in Adria, Dorothy sat on the sofa in a luxurious suite, frowning slightly as she read the text Nephthys Boyle had just written on the Literary Sea Logbook resting on her lap. “Davis’s old servant, the Boyle family’s butler, vanished last night, and the entire Boyle residence was ransacked… What in the world happened? Robbery? Or something else? “Nust was Davis Boyle’s most trusted attendant, loyal to the family for many years. Davis, not wishing his descendants to become too entangled in the mysticism world, had entrusted Nust with custody of his secret legacy. Nust himself is an Apprentice-rank Beyonder, so his sudden disappearance may well be connected to mystical affairs. “He also holds the rest of Davis’s notes and knows the whereabouts of that golden scepter protecting the Boyle family—both of which are crucial to Neph. This definitely calls for serious attention.” As Dorothy mused over the words in the Literary Sea Logbook, she picked up her pen to reply to Nephthys. “All right, I understand the situation. This is indeed serious. I’ll find a way to contact someone in Tivian to look into it. Don’t worry too much.” Her message soon appeared on Nephthys’s own page in the Logbook. Seated on her bed, anxiety evident in her expression, Nephthys exhaled in relief as she read Dorothy’s handwriting. “So Miss Dorothy plans to contact someone in Tivian to investigate… in other words, she’s calling on the Rose Cross members there to help find Granpa Nust? If the Rose Cross Order gets involved, they’ll definitely find something.” Reassured by Dorothy’s reply, Nephthys thought quietly to herself. Knowing that such a powerful, mysterious society was willing to help eased her mind considerably. Nust had helped raise her from childhood; he was family. When she first discovered his disappearance, she’d been overcome with alarm. Now, with the formidable Rose Cross Order on the case, some of her panic subsided. “Thank you, Miss Dorothy. Since I’m over here in Ivengard, I can’t do much about what’s going on in Pritt, so I’ll rely on you.” Nephthys wrote on the page. A moment later, Dorothy’s next response appeared. “Don’t worry; leave Tivian to us. I’m going to contact people there right away. If there’s any news or progress, I’ll let you know. Make sure to keep the book on you.” As those words materialized, Nephthys gently closed her copy of the history text, trying—per Dorothy’s suggestion—to steady her nerves. But no matter what she did, she couldn’t fully calm down. She glanced over at the bed, where her roommate still slept soundly even at ten in the morning, mouth slightly open. With a soft sigh, she reflected. “For ordinary people who know nothing of the mysticism world, ignorance can be a sort of bliss. I think I’m beginning to understand Grandpa’s feelings back then. “But for me… for the Boyle family, we could never have had that bliss, right from the start. “Not as long as that bloodline curse remains…” … Back in Dorothy’s guest suite, after ending her conversation with Nephthys, she flipped through the Literary Sea Logbook again. Passing Nephthys’s page, she quickly turned to Gregor’s section. Chewing on the end of her pen for a moment, she then wrote. “This is Detective, Mr. Mayschoss. We have something to ask for your help with. Do you have time?” When she’d finished writing, Dorothy closed her eyes, offering a prayer under the guise of Detective’s request, directing it toward Gregor. Once done, Dorothy mentally recalled the calendar, confirming that it was the weekend. The turmoil from the duke’s assassination attempt had passed. Theoretically, Gregor should be free and since he’s free, he can lend a hand. … Pritt Island, Tivian. Late morning in Tivian’s North District, on a busy commercial street, a bustling crowd came and went as usual. For this largest city on Pritt, the tense atmosphere from earlier in the year had all but disappeared. The constant police presence once seen on every corner was mostly gone, and life was returning to normal. Inside a small fishing tackle shop by the roadside, Gregor—dressed in ordinary clothes—perused a fishing magazine in one hand while admiring the array of fishing gear displayed around him. The shop owner hovered close by, enthusiastically introducing various products, which Gregor took his time considering. Because the citywide manhunt sparked by the duke’s assassination attempt had wound down, the Eight-Spired Nest had pulled out of Tivian for the time being and hadn’t yet returned. In the aftermath of that large-scale crackdown, many hidden organizations within Tivian were either demolished or had gone underground, and those that survived unscathed were keeping a low profile. With the frequency of mystical incidents significantly down, the Serenity Bureau’s workload had greatly lightened. For Gregor, this meant a rare stretch of calm days in which he hadn’t had to work overtime for weeks. Feeling relaxed, he decided he needed a hobby. Growing up in a rural village, Gregor had enjoyed only two main pastimes as a child: getting into scraps with other kids and catching fish down by the river. Whenever he succeeded in netting a fish, he would roast and eat it on the spot; if he caught extras, he might share them with his little sister or even the other children around. Back then, meat was hard to come by, so these experiences had been a highlight of his youth. Now an adult, wading into the river to grab fish by hand no longer seemed practical, so Gregor figured it was time to invest in some proper fishing gear. Even though most rivers in Tivian were heavily polluted, he had heard of a small, cleaner waterway out by the Royal Crown area in the northern suburbs—perfect for fishing. Eager to give it a try, Gregor came to the tackle shop for a starter set of gear. With no real knowledge of fishing, he relied on the magazine in his hand and the shop owner’s recommendations. Not knowing what was worth buying, he nodded along to everything the owner said. In the end, he spent a hefty sum on a new-angler package. Standing at the counter about to pay, Gregor suddenly froze, his expression growing serious. Seeing Gregor’s abrupt shift in demeanor, the shopkeeper’s beaming smile faltered. The owner worried that this “generous customer” might be having second thoughts. “Er… what’s wrong, sir? If you think the price is too steep, I can assure you that everything in our store is—” “Right, boss, I’m still going to buy these things, but I have to head out now. If I don’t come back, that means I won’t be taking them with me right away. Could you keep them here for me? I’ll return later to pick everything up.” Gregor delivered this in a straightforward manner, then handed over the money. The slightly flustered shopkeeper accepted it, and Gregor spun around and left. The owner stood there dumbfounded, staring after him. Once outside the shop, Gregor moved quickly down the street. After walking a while, he turned into a narrow alley. There, away from prying eyes, he pulled a small notebook from his inner pocket and flipped it open, revealing words he recognized. He drew the pen he carried, removed its cap, and wrote a reply beneath the writing on the page. “I’m free at the moment. What’s going on? Is it serious?” The respond came instantly. “It could be a matter of life or death, and might also involve a dangerous hidden society. “We don’t know all the details. Something sudden has happened in Tivian. None of our people are stationed there right now, so we’d like you to look into it. Depending on what you find, we’ll discuss a suitable reward.” I’d hoped my reward would be a nice relaxing weekend, Gregor thought wryly as he read this message. After a moment of hesitation and a complicated expression, he took a deep breath and wrote. “Understood. I’ll check it out. Where do I go?” “Head to the East District. It’s urgent, so hire a carriage and ride straight there. On the way, I’ll fill you in on the details of the location and what you should do next.” Gregor closed his notebook and left the alley. Flagging down a carriage at the roadside, he climbed aboard and instructed the driver to head for the east side of Tivian. The coach jolted into motion, carrying him swiftly in that direction. As the carriage rumbled along, Gregor communicated with “Detective,” gradually learning the situation. He discovered that a once-secret lineage—whose ancestors had been Beyonders but had now largely returned to ordinary life—had just experienced a potentially mystical assault in the East District. The Rose Cross Order apparently had some connection with that family’s forebears and needed Gregor to look into what had happened. “It appears that this old family, which had become mundane over time, might reactivate its hidden powers in an act of revenge if you don’t get involved. If that happens, things could escalate into a major mystical disaster, forcing the Serenity Bureau to intervene. In the end, you’d be the ones picking up the pieces, and the outcome would be even more troublesome—leading to a bigger case for you. More overtime. “So it’s best if you go straight there to prevent the situation from spiraling out of control. If you can keep it from becoming a full-blown incident, you’ll save yourself and everyone else a lot of trouble…” So Detective explained in the notebook. Hearing this, Gregor—who’d initially been reluctant to spend his weekend on work—suddenly found renewed motivation. If the problem really could escalate into a large-scale mystical event, it would still be his job to deal with later. Putting in extra hours now was preferable to piling up even more in the future. Better to handle the case immediately and keep his upcoming weekends free. With that in mind, Gregor continued exchanging messages while riding the carriage. After an hour or two, he reached a high-end residential area in Eastern Tivian—his destination. Gregor stepped off the carriage and headed straight for the address Detective had given him. After crossing an intersection, he saw a large, stately Pritt-style mansion looming by the roadside, where a row of police carriages were lined up. Beyond them, a sizable crowd of onlookers jostled one another, pointing at the mansion and talking animatedly. Seeing this, Gregor quickened his pace, pushing through the throng until he reached the mansion’s front gate. The gate was roped off by a police cordon, with two uniformed officers wearing metal helmets guarding the entrance. Through the gate, Gregor could see other police officers bustling about inside the yard. Breaking free of the curious crowd, Gregor strode directly toward the gate, hoping to enter the premises. The officers at the door immediately barked at him. “Official investigation in progress! Step back if you have no business here!” Unfazed, Gregor pulled out a small gray-covered identification wallet from inside his jacket and displayed the wind-sword-crown emblem on the cover to the officers. “Fellas, I’m a police officer too. Might you let me in for a look?” he said. Indeed, a hidden police officer was still a policeman. The two officers guarding the gate frowned, exchanging looks. One of them spoke up. “Which precinct are you from? We’ve never seen you before.” “Of course you haven’t, but your chief has. Get him for me,” Gregor said, showing them his badge. The guards hesitated for a moment, then one answered. “Fine, wait here. I’ll get Mr. Homan. You’d better not be lying.” With that, the guard turned around and walked into the courtyard and on into the mansion. Before long, he returned with a mustached officer, who came to stand at the gate. “Mr. Homan, he says he knows you?” Hearing his subordinate, the officer cast a contemptuous glance at Gregor and asked. “Who are you, kid? You claim to know me?” The officer’s words made the guards’ expressions turn hostile. They looked ready to beat up this brazen youngster for impersonating a cop. At that moment, Gregor loosened his grip on his wallet and flipped open the first page. Much to the surprise of everyone present, behind the gray cover was yet another cover—this one black. That black front carried the same wind-sword-crown emblem seen on ordinary Pritt police IDs, but at the center—where the stylized sword blade and crown met—there was also a crescent moon. “My name is Mayschoss,” Gregor said calmly. “Officer Homan, look carefully. Are you sure you don’t recognize me?” Seeing the black cover and the altered emblem, Homan’s demeanor changed at once. His sneer vanished, replaced by solemn respect. “Ah… I remember now. So you’re Officer Mayschoss. My apologies; it took me a moment to place you—I deeply apologize.”