Pritt, Eastern Tivian. Outside the Boyle family’s mansion, two gate guards wore bewildered expressions as their chief’s attitude took a sudden 180-degree turn. For a moment, they weren’t sure what to say. What’s going on? Chief Mayschoss? This young guy’s already a chief? Could there be some mistake? Listening to Homan’s words, both guards felt utterly perplexed. Glancing again at the young man who seemed to be in his early twenties, they saw him closing up his ID wallet and heading inside alongside Homan. They passed through the gate and entered the courtyard, and after they had gone a short distance, Homan spun around to sternly address the two guards. “You two, keep an eye on this gate. Don’t let anyone unaffiliated come in. Got that?” “Yes—yes, sir!” Responding to Homan, the guards resumed their watch at the entrance. Homan, having admonished them, then offered Gregor a deferential smile and gestured toward the mansion’s main door. “Let’s go inside, then, Mr. Mayschoss. My men only arrived here a short while ago, so the scene is still intact.” “Mm. Good work,” Gregor replied. He and Homan walked together toward the mansion. Along the way, Homan glanced around before leaning in to lower his voice. “So, Mr. Mayschoss… do you think this case might, um… belong under your jurisdiction?” Gregor, hearing Homan’s question, neither confirmed nor denied it outright. “Too soon to tell. I do see some suspicious signs, but deciding if it falls under our purview will require an investigation.” “Suspicious signs? What exactly…” Homan began. “That’s something you don’t need to worry about,” Gregor cut in curtly. “Sometimes knowing too much does you more harm than good.” Noting Gregor’s warning, Homan’s face turned uneasy, and he said no more. With that, they crossed the courtyard and entered the Boyle mansion. The moment they stepped through the threshold, Gregor was greeted by utter chaos. Broken vases, overturned tables and chairs, open cabinets, slashed sofas, rolled-up rugs… The once splendidly decorated chamber now lay in ruins. There wasn’t a single corner left in order. Flower vase water had poured across the floor; even the coal ash from the fireplace had been dug out. Wet ash, shards of glass, and scraps of sofa stuffing were strewn everywhere, making it nearly impossible to find a spot to stand. “Brutal,” Gregor remarked quietly, taking in the scene. Homan nodded. “The family here is named Boyle. Early this morning we got a report from their servants saying the house had been robbed. By the time we arrived, it was already like this. According to the servants, aside from the entire place being ransacked, their butler has gone missing.” “A butler and some servants… Where are the owners themselves?” Gregor asked. Homan explained, “The servants said the owners left for the countryside last year because of illness. Their only daughter, who lived here, went traveling for study earlier this year and hasn’t returned. So the butler and servants have been taking care of the place. Yesterday was Coronation Day, so the butler gave them all the night off. When they came back this morning, they found it like this, and the butler was gone.” “Questioned the neighbors?” Gregor continued. Homan nodded. “Sure did. Many of them heard quite a racket here last night; all the lights were on. Some folks assumed they were moving out.” With that, Gregor nodded thoughtfully, then proceeded further inside, stepping carefully through the debris as he surveyed the mansion’s interior. Gregor entered the chaotic interior, studying the scene more carefully. He noticed footprints of various sizes and shapes all across the floor, overlapping in a confused tangle. “These footprints… they’re not from your people, are they?” he asked Homan, who stood nearby. Homan hastened to shake his head. “No, no, these definitely aren’t ours. They must belong to the intruders. We’ve made sure to preserve such important clues.” Satisfied with that answer, Gregor resumed his survey of the house, leaving the main hall and checking other rooms. Each one was in a similarly catastrophic state. Cabinets had been overturned, ornaments smashed to pieces, glass shattered, bookshelves toppled over… In many places, the floorboards had been pried up, revealing the stone foundation beneath. The walls had suffered significant damage, with plaster and paint peeled away, riddled with dents and cracks, and the exposed stone floor beneath the boards had also been chipped and marked. With Homan accompanying him, Gregor moved from room to room, sometimes stopping to examine the holes in walls or torn-up floorboards, sometimes inspecting every footprint he could find. After finishing with the second and third floors—both equally devastated—he returned to the ground floor, pausing in one of the estate’s display rooms. It was clear that this had once been a tasteful space filled with fine collectibles, yet now it was every bit as wrecked as the rest of the mansion. Glass display cases lay shattered, shards scattered across the floor, and portraits were torn down from the walls, cast aside in disarray. Some items from the cases had been thrown about while others were missing entirely. The floor had been pried up in patches, and the walls bore multiple marks. In a corner of the room, Gregor even discovered a small pile of ashes. Lingering in the display room, Gregor knelt in the corner and pinched a bit of the ash, lifting it to his nose to sniff. After a contemplative nod, he stood, turned to Homan, and asked. “Homan, what’s your assessment of these robbers?” Homan, brows furrowed, thought for a moment before giving his straightforward reply. “These thieves… I’d say they’re both brazen and highly unusual. Not at all typical.” “Oh? How so?” Gregor pressed. Homan paused, organizing his thoughts, and went on. “Well, first of all, they break straight into somebody’s home, utterly trash the place, and kidnap someone in the process. That alone shows their nerve. But what’s odd is just how excessively they ransacked the place. A normal burglar would maybe rummage through cabinets and the like, but these guys went way beyond that—ripping up the floorboards, smashing vases, tearing open walls, even digging out the coal ash from the fireplace. They knocked over a giant bookshelf… “Honestly, Mr. Mayschoss, I’ve been a cop for many years, and I’ve dealt with plenty of burglary and robbery cases. This is the first time I’ve seen a place torn apart so thoroughly. You’d think they came to demolish or remodel the house, not rob it.” Gregor nodded in agreement. “Indeed. These aren’t ordinary bandits. They’re from North Ufiga—a crew that targets ancient artifacts.” “North Ufi—? Foreigners?!” Homan exclaimed, startled. He couldn’t fathom how a robbery here in Tivian could be connected to thieves from so far away. Rather than responding directly, Gregor swept his gaze once more around the room. After a moment’s pause, he spoke. “There were about five of them. Three men are around 165 centimeters tall, one about 172, and one maybe 175. They’re North Ufigans—most likely with darker complexions than us and accustomed to wearing thicker beards. If they speak Prittish at all, it’ll be with a heavy accent, so anyone who hears them will know they’re foreigners. “They’re probably not very easygoing folks. If they have to communicate with anyone, there’s a good chance they’ll cause trouble. They’ll have come equipped with lots of strange tools—odd shovels, hammers, even some bone implements whose purpose isn’t obvious. It’s almost like they were heading to a construction site. “Given that they haven’t been in Tivian long, they’re not likely to have fully adapted to being here. You might try searching around the port district for any leads. Also, they might still need to buy clothes, so if you head for the port or the shops nearby, you could ask whether anyone like that has come by…” Casually, Gregor presented a vivid profile of people he had never actually seen. Homan stood there, stunned into silence, until Gregor turned and asked sharply. “Did you catch all of that? Need me to repeat it?” Gregor listened quietly as Homan posed his question with a trace of intrigue in his gaze. “Ah… yes, Mr. Mayschoss. I heard you deduce their characteristics so quickly, but how exactly did you figure out so much detail about those criminals?” Gregor responded with a faint smile and a voice that carried a hint of mystery: “Some standard reasoning, plus a few methods from my particular area of expertise. Anyway, I won’t go into the specifics now. We need to focus on finding leads on those robbers and on rescuing their hostage. “Chief Homan, use the info I’ve provided and instruct your men to concentrate their search on the harbor district and the surrounding area. Have them question the hotels, clothing shops, restaurants, and so forth. If they uncover any clues, let me know right away. “Oh, and if you do track down their hideout, do not attempt to apprehend them on your own, under any circumstances. Report back to me first. I’ll make the necessary arrangements.” His tone was firm. Initially, Homan had been too curious, but upon hearing Gregor mention “my area of expertise,” he nodded solemnly and refrained from asking further questions. “All right, I appreciate your assistance, Mr. Mayschoss. I’ll arrange for my officers to get on it. But before we do that, you won’t mind if I return to the station and send a telegram to confirm your credentials, right?” “Not at all. You’re basically relinquishing command to me, and it’s only reasonable to be cautious. I’ll explain the situation to my superiors as well,” Gregor said. Homan went on. “Excellent. Let me go talk to my people now.” With that, Homan left the display room. Gregor, watching him go, exhaled a slow breath, then scratched his head in a low mumble. “Whew… Detective really works fast, unearthing all these details so quickly.” A hint of envy appeared in Gregor’s eyes. “If only I had skills like his…” … Ivengard, Adria. At a high-end hotel near the cathedral plaza, Dorothy sat on a plush sofa, wearing a look of concentration. Moments earlier, she had borrowed Gregor’s senses from afar to investigate the Boyle mansion in Tivian, arriving at some preliminary conclusions. The Boyle family home had been invaded by treasure thieves from North Ufiga, who had abducted Nust the butler. Their aim, most likely, was the golden scepter that protected the Boyles from their family curse. While Gregor surveyed the ravaged Boyle estate, Dorothy had already prompted Nephthys Boyle to sacrifice her precise memories of the house to Aka. By comparing Gregor’s current observations with Nephthys’s recollections of what the mansion looked like intact, Dorothy deduced the following. A large portion of the mansion’s art and antiques—mostly of North Ufiga origin—were missing, suggesting knowledgeable thieves had pilfered them. That was Dorothy’s first clue that the culprits were North Ufigans. Second, the numerous cracks and dents in the walls and floor caught Dorothy’s eye. While others might dismiss them, Dorothy—who had studied the works of Berlar the Scholarly Tomb Raider—recognized the marks as having been made by a small hammer-like tool specialized for tomb-robbing. Its purpose was to tap walls and floorboards to check for hidden compartments, rooms, or even lurking creatures. Additionally, in a corner of the display room, she found the remains of a “listening sigil”—its ashes pointed to the use of a specialized method for detecting secret chambers. Her third clue came from the footprints, which—just as Homan noted—could provide numerous hints. From the overlapping prints across all three floors, Dorothy concluded there were five intruders in total, each with footprints indicating a specific approximate height. More importantly, the sole patterns on these prints were clearly not from shoes typical to Tivian; they were boots better suited to sandy terrain. North Ufiga is known for its desert climate. Evidently, these robbers were too rushed or too unfamiliar with Tivian to acquire footwear suited to local conditions, implying they might soon need warmer clothing as well. Although Tivian’s climate wasn’t extremely cold, it was still chillier than North Ufiga, especially in March at a much higher latitude. Even though some “Chalice” body adaptability might help, they would likely want more comfortable attire—hence Dorothy’s suggestion that Gregor have Homan keep tabs on clothing stores. The group had pried up floorboards and hammered walls not for random destruction but to search for hidden compartments or secret rooms, specifically the vault containing the golden scepter. Fortunately, according to Neph’s recollections, the mechanism to open that secret chamber remained untouched—despite all the damage. Possibly frustrated at not finding their prize, they’d smashed unnecessary items in anger. Dorothy suspected their tempers were running high. Because the vault had been constructed by Davis, a seasoned treasure hunter himself, it was carefully designed with every known tomb-robbing trick in mind, leaving the would-be thieves stumped. Their final recourse was to kidnap Nust in hopes he’d lead them to the scepter. “Looks like these people might be connected to that so-called ‘prince’ in some way. We’ll only know more when we catch them,” Dorothy mused. “But doing so in Tivian shouldn’t be too difficult.” With that, she murmured to herself and flipped open the pages to Adele’s contact. In Tivian, Dorothy had some connections.