Pritt, Tivian. In Tivian’s South District, at a major crossroads in Blackwater Street, a rare charitable giveaway was still going strong. Poor folks from across the neighborhood had flocked here, happily lining up to receive bundles of aid. The mood was one of joyful commotion—except for a single undercurrent of emotion that stood in stark contrast to all the excitement. “What the heck is going on…? How is that Boyle family butler suddenly out and about?! Weren’t we keeping him locked up somewhere? Could that really be him? If not, the resemblance is uncanny—down to the tiniest detail. Are they twins?” From the back of the crowd, a cloaked and masked man stared at the old butler presiding over the giveaway from atop a supply wagon, his mind abuzz with confusion. In theory, that elderly servant should still be imprisoned in their temporary hideout. So what on earth was happening here? “It doesn’t matter. The crucial thing is to warn the others about this. Something this suspicious, Lord Atif absolutely has to know.” Thus resolved, the man quietly slipped away from the crowd, leaving unnoticed. Moments later, he was moving briskly down one of Blackwater Street’s many byways, hurrying in a particular direction. At the same time, across the crowd and disguised in her own way, Adèle stepped out of the throng and ducked into a nearby alley. Making sure no one was watching, she took a small, motionless crow from her bag, placed it in her palm, and watched it twitch back to life. Once upright, it spread its wings and flew into the air. This was one of Dorothy’s controlled crow marionettes. Unlike ordinary animal corpses reanimated, this living marionette was created by knocking a living crow unconscious and inscribing a marionette mark upon it. By means of a remote information channel, Dorothy could extend a thread of marionette control to whichever node she chose—Adèle or Gregor—effectively eliminating any distance restrictions on operating the crow. Obeying Dorothy’s will from afar, the crow rose over Blackwater’s low-rise rooftops and circled the area below. Soon it picked out the hooded man who had just slipped away from the giveaway. Once clear of the crowd, the man hurried along, regularly checking behind him to ensure he wasn’t being followed. After snaking through several streets and alleys, turning multiple corners, he reached a secluded nook of Blackwater Street. At the final turn, he traversed a deserted alley with grass poking through the cracks in the pavement. Reaching its far end, he pulled open an iron door, slipped inside, and descended the stairway beyond, vanishing into the darkness below. Nearby, perched on a laundry line, the crow watched it all intently. Inside the iron door, the man took the stairs downward, and soon found himself at the entrance of a small subterranean chamber. Illuminated only by the light of gas lamps, a metal door barred further progress. Raising his hand, he knocked with a specific pattern, and after a moment the door swung open, revealing a dark-skinned, bald man. “Hadi? Aren’t you on lookout? Something up?” “There’s a situation outside. Let me in—I need to see Lord Atif.” … In a dim, windowless room lit by just a few flickering gas lamps, a complicated magic circle drawn in white bone powder spread across the grimy floor. At the heart of the circle was a single large eye symbol, currently covered by the bound figure of an old man. His clothes in tatters, body drenched in blood, and deeply unconscious, Nust—who had served the Boyle family for decades—lay hogtied above the circle, utterly motionless. Nearby, a robed middle-aged man with a turban and thick beard sat cross-legged at the circle’s edge. The man panted lightly, sweat beading on his brow, his expression tense and a bit weary, as though he had just finished some laborious effort. “Lord Atif… How’s this one faring?” Several figures stood by him, all wearing anxious looks. One, dressed in simple clothes and a short cap, spoke up. Atif paused for a moment, then responded slowly: “My attempts are producing results. The Soul-Guarding Sigil on him is starting to weaken. If I keep at it—pinpointing the right approach—I should be able to remove that mark in one go… “It’s quite a sophisticated protective enchantment, far more intricate than the usual. It’s clearly the work of an expert and tailored to thwart tomb raiders. Conventional methods won’t be enough to remove it. But now that I’ve teased out the pattern, I think I can break it…” He gestured toward Nust, bloodied and battered in the circle’s center, and the others let out relieved sighs. “At last… some progress, huh? Fantastic. As soon as we can summon this old man’s spirit, we’ll learn the location of that damned scepter!” “My lord, how much longer until this is fully undone? Once we’ve summoned his soul, we still have to break back in and steal the item again. If it all takes too long, I’m worried we might miss our deadline,” another figure asked Atif worriedly. Atif answered plainly. “It won’t be long. By my estimates, another seven or eight tries should do it. That shouldn’t exceed a day. By tomorrow at the latest, we’ll be able to summon this old man’s soul. Even factoring in another trip to rob the mansion again, I expect we’ll need no more than three days total. The prince gave us five days, so timing shouldn’t be an issue…” Doing the mental calculations, Atif spoke to the others, who visibly relaxed upon hearing his words, as though a weight had been lifted. “Well, if that’s how it is, that’s a relief. As long as we can grab the scepter before time’s up, we won’t die under that curse…” a man beside Atif said, while another, sounding more pessimistic, added. “It’s not guaranteed. Even if we manage to summon his soul, all that does is tell us how to enter the chamber where the scepter’s hidden. What if there are more security measures inside? The one who built that chamber was a highly experienced tomb raider. If he had anything else up his sleeve, that’s real trouble…” At those words, the tension that had briefly eased suddenly returned, and every face grew grim once more. Seeing this, someone else spoke again. “No matter what’s in that hidden chamber, we have to go in to find out. Whether or not we obtain that scepter the undead prince wants concerns all our lives. We can only give it our best shot.” “Sigh… indeed. As long as that blasted locational curse remains, we’re forced to press on, come what may. Damn it… We thought it was just another routine tomb raid, never expecting to run into such a powerful undead…” The complaint rumbled from the crowd. As though a valve had been opened, more and more voices joined in, grumbling loudly. Hearing this, Atif frowned and barked. “All right, that’s enough! We’ve finally made some progress, so stop whining. Instead of standing here griping, how about you go do something useful?” “Useful? But Lord Atif… aren’t we just waiting for intel on the chamber? What’s left to—” “Obviously, you should prepare for our getaway,” Atif snapped. “Once we get that scepter, we’ll need to leave Tivian immediately, and in the most discreet way possible. Go and grab a few more local informants, kill them, summon their souls, and find us a method to slip past harbor inspections!” Startled by his tone, the men fell silent. After admonishing them further and shooing them off, Atif was about to stand up for a rest before attempting the next stage of the sigil-breaking. At that moment, someone suddenly burst into the cramped ritual chamber, calling out. “My lord, Hadi just returned with news—there’s a big charity convoy on the street now!” “A charity convoy? And what does that have to do with us?” Atif asked, his expression hard. The intruder gasped for breath, glanced at Nust lying unconscious in the center of the ritual circle, and said. “Sir, Hadi said the person heading that convoy looks exactly like this old butler we’ve got tied up here!” “What…” Atif’s eyes widened slightly at that. … Afternoon. At the main intersection of Blackwater Street, crowds of impoverished people had gathered, transforming the once-desolate crossroads into a scene of bustling activity. Poor residents from every corner of Blackwater Street converged here—some happily carting off the goods they’d received, others staring at the now-empty intersection and grumbling that they had learned of it, and arrived, far too late. “It’s… over? Did they finish handing everything out so quickly?” Standing on the edge of the intersection, cloaked Hadi murmured in surprise. The convoy that had been distributing supplies just half an hour ago was nowhere to be seen, nor was the old butler who had been directing operations from atop one of the wagons. Thanks to possessing the soul of a recently slain local, Hadi understood enough Prittish to gather from the people around him that the charity convoy didn’t focus on a single location. They had already moved on to the next spot. “I swear I saw someone in that convoy who looked exactly like the old butler we’ve got. They might’ve gone by now, but I’m definitely not making this up!” Turning around, Hadi turned excitedly to a cloaked companion by his side, trying to explain the situation. Hearing Hadi’s words, his companion did not immediately reply, simply standing there in silence as he stared at the empty intersection. After that, Hadi and his colleague returned to their hideout and relayed what they had seen to Atif. Upon hearing the account, Atif went quiet for a while, lost in thought. “So… two people looking exactly alike? If they’re not blood brothers, then it’s some sort of mystical ability to disguise one’s appearance. If it’s really a power like that, then maybe… we’ve been found out?” Atif mused. He then took out a bone fragment from his person, releasing a swarm of half-transparent phantoms from within. Atif directed these ghosts through the surrounding walls, scanning the environment for two or three hundred meters around their location. When they returned without finding anything suspicious, he exhaled softly. But to be on the safe side, Atif’s expression quickly returned to caution. He spoke sharply. “We’ll relocate tonight.” Just as Atif uttered those words, far above their hideout—some seven or eight hundred meters up—a small hawk nearly invisible to the naked eye circled in the air. … For Atif’s group, switching hideouts wasn’t overly complicated. They had already prepared a fallback location, likewise within the Blackwater Street, not too far from the underground cellar they’d been using. This backup was an abandoned warehouse on the edge of Blackwater Street, near the industrial sector—an even more dismal, sparsely inhabited area, ideal for hiding. They didn’t have many belongings to move, so they soon hauled everything over. Once there, they set about reestablishing themselves. Before long, they had redrawn the ritual array for breaking the protective sigil, dumping Nust in its center. They also stationed a host of enslaved invisible phantoms around the warehouse. Should any stranger approach, these spirits would emit a warning audible only to Silence Beyonders. Among Atif’s people, Hadi was assigned to guard the perimeter, coordinating the watchful ghosts. Hadi had no objections—today happened to be his turn to stand lookout, and it was his job to observe anything that might affect the hideout from outside. Dusk turned into night, and inside the warehouse the ritual to break the sigil continued. Meanwhile, Hadi patrolled around the warehouse with the intangible ghosts under the moonlit sky. He made circle after circle through the cold gloom, bored out of his mind. Then, just as he gave a yawn, he suddenly heard a sharp noise come from somewhere in the dark bushes beyond. “What was that?” Alerted, Hadi peered into the darkness. A spark of curiosity flared within him, making him want to figure out what caused that sound. Abandoning caution, he strode in that direction. Under normal circumstances, for a Silence Beyonder, the prudent move would be to send one of the ghosts out to investigate, then have it report back. But at the precise moment Hadi’s curiosity was piqued—when he felt that powerful urge to see what lay hidden—he gave no further thought to caution and simply let his impulsive desire lead him away. Exiting the ghosts’ patrol radius, he entered the darkened tree line, single-mindedly determined to satisfy his curiosity in a way he never had before. Thus, spurred by that impulsive drive, Hadi ventured into the trees and approached a large trunk. There, he spotted a shattered glass bottle on the ground. “Oh, so it was just the sound of a bottle breaking.” Relieved at having satisfied his curiosity, he was about to react when, without warning, two hands reached out from behind. They grabbed him, covering his mouth. “Mmph—mmph!!” Hadi struggled with all his might, trying to use his strength to escape. But the instant he began resisting, a piercing jolt of sharp numbing pain raced through his entire body—an unfamiliar sensation that overwhelmed him. Under the force of that electric numbness, Hadi’s entire body convulsed violently, but the spasms soon ceased. Jolted by the coursing current, he lost consciousness completely. Noticing the captive had gone limp, the black-clad Gregor relaxed his hold and let Hadi slump to the ground. After confirming he was still breathing, Gregor remarked. “So this is Detective’s ability, huh? By channeling it through my body, he can neutralize a Black Earth-rank Beyonder in an instant without causing any real harm. That’s frightening…” Wearing a borrowed face, Gregor spoke in a murmur, and another voice promptly replied from the darkness. “Yes, a truly uncanny power… Coupled with keen insight and a certain mysterious nature, Detective exudes a unique allure from any angle.” Stepping out of the shadows, Adèle—clad in a simple but form-fitting dress, a wide-brimmed hat, and a mask—fanned herself lightly. Gregor glanced at her curiously. “A mysterious nature? My formidable lady, does that mean you know Detective’s true nature?” “Ah… only a little bit. I wouldn’t say I understand them fully.” Adèle covered the lower part of her mask with her fan as she spoke. She mused privately that, at the very least, Detective shouldn’t be referred to as “him.” “All right then, Sir Shadow Facade, time is short, so let’s dispense with idle talk and begin tonight’s performance. Please take your place.” Adèle turned to Gregor. Nodding at her words, he next looked down at the unconscious Hadi. In a moment, Gregor’s features began to shift and writhe; when they settled, he was the spitting image of Hadi. Then Gregor crouched and pried open Hadi’s hand. Retrieving a stamp from his pocket, he pressed it against Hadi’s skin. When he removed it, a mysterious inverted pentagram remained. After a few moments, Hadi slowly opened his eyes and stood up beside Gregor. Two identical men now stood there in the dark.