ã€ŠCrown of Disaster [LitRPG, Isekai, Progression]ã€‹


 Chapter 1: Good Night

    Night fell, and one candle after another flickered to life, dispelling the fog-like darkness.

    Goethe knelt on the ground, dipping his fingers into his younger brother''s fresh blood to draw the ritual markings.

    "Hader, you will forgive me, won''t you?"

    "This is for revenge!"

    "For Grandfather, for Father and Mother, for Aunt and Uncle, and for Bruce and the others!"

    "You will forgive me, my dear brother. Hahaha."

    The firelight flickered in the young man''s dark pupils. Tears streamed down his face, but the corners of his lips curled into a crazed smile.

    More candles were lit in succession.

    The young man began chanting the incantation.

    Suddenly, pain surged from his chest.

    Thump!

    Thump-thump!

    Thump-thump-thump!

    His heart pounded violently, as if it were about to explode.

    But he gritted his teeth and endured it!

    He had to endure it!

    This was the ''secret ritual'' he had spent everything to obtain from his so-called friend¡ªa ritual that could summon a powerful ''Spirit of Vengeance'' that would obey his command.

    With this Spirit of Vengeance, he could finally track down the hidden murderer who had been slaughtering his family, take revenge for his loved ones, and restore the once-prosperous Wayne family.

    As long as he had the Spirit of Vengeance, everything would be within his grasp!

    Determined, the young man steeled his resolve.

    Even as his body felt like it was being torn apart, even as his flesh began to fester and rot, he remained unwavering.

    He ignored the maggots crawling from his wounds, focusing solely on chanting the incantation, syllable by syllable.

    Then, through his blurred vision, he saw the ritual markings on the ground begin to glow a sinister red.

    His resolve only strengthened.

    And when he saw a vague figure taking form within the ritual, he immediately raised his bloodied hand to press against it. The Spirit of Vengeance was powerful but also dangerous. He had to complete the blood pact the moment it was summoned, while it was still at its weakest, to ensure his control over it.

    He tried to move as fast as he could, but his speed was too slow

    After all, for someone whose body had rotted to the point where bone was visible and whose organs were being devoured by maggots, being able to move at all was already beyond reason.

    Meanwhile, standing within the glowing ritual circle, Zhao Wumian was still dazed by the strange light and illusion before him. Then, suddenly, he saw a bloody, flesh-rotting monster lunge at him like a zombie.

    His instincts took over. Without thinking, he swung the large bottle of Wusu beer in his hand and smashed it down.

    Smash!

    The bottle, still half full, shattered on impact.

    Beer and glass shards flew everywhere.

    The young man, already at his limit, collapsed instantly, silent and motionless.

    Zhao Wumian stared at the grotesque figure sprawled at his feet, completely dumbfounded.

    "I was just eating skewers and drinking beer... What the hell is happening right now?"

    But what stunned Zhao Wumian even more was what happened next.

    The moment the ''monster'' hit the ground, its body turned to ash just like a cigarette burning too far, crumbling away with a careless flick of the hand.

    Whoosh!

    Before Zhao Wumian could react, the glow from the ritual circle flickered once more, and the swirling ashes suddenly surged toward him, wrapping around his body like a gust of wind.

    Then, scenes flashed before his eyes, playing like a movie.

    Goethe, his carefree childhood, his loving parents and grandfather.

    And...

    His "study sessions" with the family''s beautiful private tutor.

    His "practical lessons" at the garden club.

    A life rich and colorful, full of envy-inducing moments.

    But then, everything changed.

    In less than a month, his grandfather suddenly fell ill and died. His parents disappeared soon after. Just as Goethe was drowning in grief, all three of his uncles, along with their wives and children, vanished in a single night.

    His only aunt disappeared on her way to the police station.

    Then, the once-wealthy family was suddenly drowning in massive debt.

    With his loved ones dead or missing and his finances in ruins, the once carefree Goethe was left completely lost and helpless.

    Then, his "friend" extended a helping hand, offering salvation at the cost of performing a ritual.

    Zhao Wumian watched as Goethe bashed his younger brother¡¯s skull with a silver candlestick and couldn''t help but sneer.

    "Willing to sacrifice others without hesitation to regain his former life... A ruthless man, but an utter fool for choosing to sacrifice the only person he could truly trust."

    "Then again, only fools like him fail to see that their ''friend'' had ulterior motives."

    "No, that''s not right."

    "He probably suspected it. But he chose to believe what he wanted to believe."

    "Tch."

    "Everyone clings to wishful thinking."

    "Everyone believes they are the lucky exception."

    "Even when death is staring them in the face, they refuse to accept reality."If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    Zhao Wumian''s eyes flashed with disdain as he formed his judgment of Goethe.

    Then, he shook his head. The flood of memories was reaching its conclusion, but his rational mind told him he needed to focus on something far more pressing¡ªhis current predicament.

    His past experiences had taught him well surviving in an unfamiliar world was never easy.

    But the sheer volume of memories pouring into his mind was making his head pound, making it nearly impossible to think clearly. He could only raise a hand to massage his temples in an attempt to ease the pressure.

    At that moment, as the glow of the ritual faded and candlelight once again illuminated the room, Zhao Wumian caught sight of something in the corner of his vision.

    A mirror.

    His hands froze mid-motion.

    He stared, wide-eyed, at the reflection in the mirror.

    A shirtless young man with long black hair, a pale yet undeniably handsome face, and sharp, piercing eyes stared back at him.

    It wasn¡¯t him.

    It was Goethe.

    And when he opened his mouth, the boy in the mirror did the same.

    "This..."

    Zhao Wumian was stunned.

    The words that left his lips were no longer his native language, but the language of this world.

    Thanks to Goethe¡¯s memories, he was certain of it.

    And before he could even process what had happened, strange lines of text appeared before his eyes characters he had never seen before, nor found in Goethe¡¯s memories.

    Then, the text transformed into something he recognized all too well, his native language.

    [......]

    [Language conversion complete.]

    [Conversion successful!]

    [We are grateful that you have ended the Mad King''s bloodline. We will grant you our blessing!]

    [The blessing shall manifest in the way you understand best!]

    ...

    The text paused briefly.

    Then, more lines emerged¡ª

    [Character: Goethe (Zhao Wumian)]

    [Age: 19 (31)]

    [Race: Human (Pseudo-Spirit of Vengeance)]

    [Gender: Male]

    [Status: Healthy]

    [Title: Mad King''s Bloodline (Pseudo), Kinslayer (Pseudo)]

    [Attributes: Mind: 0, Skill: 1.2, Body: 1.4]

    [Abilities: Unarmed Combat (Beginner), Dagger Combat (Beginner), Firearms (Basic), First Aid (Basic)]

    [Item: Bloody Honor x1]

    (Note: Clearly, you are not just cannon fodder, but you are far from truly strong!)

    [Unarmed Combat (Beginner): Having mastered the true fundamentals and experienced multiple real battles, your physique and technique have further improved. Against amateur fighters, you can now handle yourself with ease. Effect: Body +0.2 (Base 0.1, Beginner 0.1), Skill +0.1 (Beginner 0.1)]

    [Melee Weapons - Dagger (Beginner): You have used a dagger in numerous battles, gaining rich experience. You can even perform dazzling tricks with it. Effect: Skill +0.1 (Beginner 0.1)]

    [Firearms - Handgun (Basic): You are now familiar with handguns and have a high accuracy rate when shooting stationary targets within 10 meters.]

    [First Aid (Basic): You understand some emergency medical knowledge and have applied it in real situations.]

    ...

    [Bloody Honor (Shattered Beer Bottle): This is a remnant of a once-chilled beer bottle. The production date is reliable, so the beer it once contained was refreshing. But that was before. Now, it is merely a weapon stained with the blood of the Mad King¡¯s bloodline. To the hundreds of witches, it is the ultimate solace. Over the past hundred years, they have blessed every weapon that has partaken in this vengeance. As someone who has earned the witches'' gratitude, you can utilize these blessings more effectively.

    Effect: When using this blessing, you can quickly learn a skill you are already familiar with but not proficient enough to solidify in your skill list, or you can enhance an existing skill level.]

    (Note 1: When you touch a weapon that has granted Bloody Honor, you will automatically receive Bloody Honor.)

    (Note 2: The weapon that granted Bloody Honor will not change after losing the honor.)

    ...

    Zhao Wumian''s attention was drawn to the text before him.

    "A way I understand?"

    "A game-like attribute panel."

    "''Mad King¡¯s Bloodline''? ''Kinslayer''?"

    "And... Bloody Honor!"

    Frowning deeply, Zhao Wumian felt an unsettling sensation from the sudden appearance of the [Attribute Panel].

    Because these were his skills¡ªhis, not Goethe¡¯s!

    The feeling of being ''laid bare'' like this was extremely uncomfortable.

    He hated it.

    However, he quickly adjusted, forcing himself to adapt¡ª

    In an unfamiliar and dangerous environment, any additional assistance was valuable. Even if it carried potential risks, it was still an advantage.

    After all, he had no other choice.

    The [Attribute Panel] was already there, how was he supposed to remove it?

    He had no idea.

    All he could do was proceed with caution.

    "A terrible situation."

    Zhao Wumian sighed inwardly.

    Just then¡ª

    Knock, knock, knock!

    "Goethe, how''s it going?"

    "Is the ritual over?"

    Along with the knocks, a probing voice came from outside.

    It was Goethe¡¯s so-called ''friend.''

    This was also the apartment that ¡®friend¡¯ had rented for Goethe.

    Goethe, hunted by debt collectors, had long since become homeless.

    Of course, that wasn¡¯t the point.

    The point was that this so-called friend harbored ill intentions!

    And more importantly¡ª

    He was now wearing Goethe¡¯s face. No, he had already become identical to Goethe.

    Standing here, if that ''friend'' walked in, he would undoubtedly take him for Goethe.

    As for explaining?

    That thought never even crossed Zhao Wumian¡¯s mind.

    If the roles were reversed, he wouldn''t believe such a story either.

    And judging by the other party¡¯s behavior, they were here to kill ''him.''

    "Damn it!"

    "This is the worst possible scenario in an unfamiliar environment!"

    Surviving in an unknown setting was difficult, but persistence could yield success. However, if that setting contained malicious intent, the odds of survival would plummet.

    But that didn¡¯t mean Zhao Wumian would give up.

    He scanned the room for anything that could help him.

    Then, he dashed toward the window.

    Pulling the curtains aside, he pushed the window open.

    The street below was silent under the night sky, dotted with flickering lights. Zhao Wumian took a quick glance before rushing back to the door.

    Judging by the hinges, the door opened inward.

    Zhao Wumian positioned himself to the side, when the person outside entered, the door would block their line of sight to him.

    Just as he settled into place, the sound of a key turning in the lock echoed through the room.

    A moment later, a cautious figure stepped inside. However, upon seeing the open window and the billowing curtains swaying in the night breeze, they immediately rushed over.

    Hands braced on the frame, the figure leaned out, scanning the empty streets below, clearly trying to locate Goethe.

    The empty street only made them more furious.

    "Damn it! That bastard actually ran¡ª"

    Thunk!

    A shattered beer bottle stabbed into his lower back, cutting his curse short.

    "Ah! Goethe, you¡ª!"

    The person screamed in pain, twisting around to see Zhao Wumian. Their shriek became even louder, filled with disbelief.

    But Zhao Wumian gave no reply.

    As he plunged the broken bottle into the attacker¡¯s lower back with his right hand, his left grabbed the waistband of their pants¡ª

    Then, with a sharp lift¡ª

    The figure tumbled forward.

    "Aaaaahhh!"

    Thud!

    A scream cut off abruptly as ''Goethe¡¯s friend'' hit the ground head first with a dull thud, falling silent.

    Standing by the window, Zhao Wumian gazed down at the corpse on the street below, expressionless.

    Then, he waved lightly.

    "Goodnight."

 Chapter 2: Iéˆ¥æª“ Here To Surrender

    The stillness of the night was shattered by a bloodcurdling scream.

    More lights flickered on in the rooms lining both sides of the street.

    Tweet!

    A sharp whistle pierced the air as two patrol officers in black uniforms sprinted from the distant street corner.

    Zhao Wumian saw everything clearly, yet his face remained calm just like the other onlookers. When the officers'' gazes swept past, he instinctively shrank back, closing the window and pulling the curtains shut.

    Once his figure was fully concealed behind the curtains, he turned swiftly and strode toward the desk in the room.

    According to ''Goethe¡¯s'' memories, inside the desk lay a wallet and a dagger.

    The wallet contained little cash.

    The dagger, on the other hand, was one of the few things that had given ''Goethe'' a sense of security in recent days.

    And now, it was equally important to Zhao Wumian.

    His fingers brushed against the hilt. He picked it up with practiced ease and gave a flick of his wrist, causing the hilt to spin once around his index finger.

    The familiar motion brought a slight smirk to his lips.

    In an unfamiliar environment, what was most important?

    Money and weapons.

    Of course¡ª

    Food too!

    Zhao Wumian grabbed a doughnut from the side of the desk, gave it a sniff, then stuffed it into his mouth.

    It must have been sitting there for a while, the outer layer had lost its crispness, but it was still sweet.

    After shoving two doughnuts into his mouth, chewing and swallowing them down, he licked his fingers and walked toward the wardrobe, where ¡®Goethe¡¯s¡¯ spare clothes and an extra pair of leather shoes were stored.

    He dressed quickly, tucked the wallet into his inner pocket, and skillfully hid the dagger up his sleeve. Then, grabbing a black trench coat and a matching fedora from the coat rack by the door, he stepped out.

    Dressed in ¡®Goethe¡¯s¡¯ clothes, Zhao Wumian looked indistinguishable from the original.

    Descending the stairs, he spotted a patrol officer standing guard beside the corpse, while another dashed down the street, blowing his whistle.

    Clearly, they were calling for reinforcements.

    "Stop right there!"

    The officer guarding the body immediately shout at Zhao Wumian upon seeing him emerge, tightening his grip on his baton.

    Whether it was suicide or murder, most people would instinctively avoid a death scene.

    For someone to walk out on their own like this? Naturally, it was suspicious.

    Faced with the officer¡¯s wary gaze, Zhao Wumian smiled and raised his hands.

    "Relax."

    "I mean no harm."

    "I¡¯m here to turn myself in."

    He spoke calmly.

    "Huh?!"

    The officer froze, as if he hadn¡¯t heard correctly.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    "What did you say?"

    "I said, I¡¯m turning myself in, Officer."

    Zhao Wumian paused, then enunciated clearly: "I am Goethe. I killed that man who deceived me, and I¡¯m turning myself in."

    That¡¯s right¡ª

    Goethe.

    To survive in this unfamiliar world, an appropriate identity was crucial.

    As for the name Zhao Wumian?

    He buried it deep within himself.

    And reminded himself that from now on, he was Goethe.

    "What?!"

    The officer paled in shock but reacted swiftly, drawing his revolver and aiming it at Goethe.

    "Stay still!"

    Keeping his gun on Goethe, the officer pulled out a pair of handcuffs and tossed them over.

    "Cuff yourself!"

    Not once did the barrel of his gun waver.

    Goethe did not resist. He obediently secured the cuffs around his wrists.

    Throughout the process, he maintained a polite, composed smile.

    Then, he was escorted into a carriage.

    Inside sat three patrol officers. The two from before flanked him on either side, while a middle-aged officer, who had arrived later, sat across from him, glaring at Goethe with a fierce expression. In his hands were Goethe¡¯s wallet and dagger.

    And Goethe?

    His smile never faltered.

    Because this was exactly the situation he had wanted.

    If he had no choice but to become Goethe, then he would also have to deal with the troubles that came with this identity.

    The mysterious deaths of his grandfather, parents, uncles, aunts, and cousins all within a month. The revelation of his once-prosperous family¡¯s overwhelming debt. And the so-called ''ritual'' that followed...

    All of it was enough to keep Goethe on high alert.

    If it were just the former, Goethe was confident he could handle it.

    At most, it would take some time.

    But the latter?

    Just thinking about that glowing "ritual" heightened Goethe¡¯s vigilance to the extreme.

    What could be worse than encountering malicious individuals in an unfamiliar environment?

    The answer: those malicious individuals also wielding powers beyond his understanding!

    Fortunately, this world appeared to have "order." Based on Goethe¡¯s memories, aside from his so-called "friends" offering help at the last moment, Zhao Wumian had not discovered anything in Goethe¡¯s memories regarding "powers beyond the mundane."

    In other words, while this world harbored a "hidden realm," it remained unknown to ordinary people!

    Or to put it another way: this world had a secret side that most people were oblivious to, yet life still carried on normally for the majority. This suggested that some authority was keeping it in check, along with a structured system for handling such matters.

    With this assumption in mind, where would be the safest place?

    Without a doubt: the police station!

    "In a world where ''mystical powers'' exist, the police should have countermeasures in place. Otherwise, the city wouldn¡¯t be this ''peaceful.''"

    "Even if the police themselves don¡¯t possess such power, there must be an organization maintaining order."

    "And such an organization would undoubtedly have close ties with the police."

    Goethe pondered these thoughts silently.

    Then, more questions arose in his mind.

    Why had the ordinary Goethe and his family caught the attention of these people from the "hidden world"?

    Did they inadvertently obtain something important?

    Or had they seen something they weren¡¯t supposed to?

    And as a result, were dragged into this "hidden world"?

    Or was it because of the so-called "Mad King¡¯s bloodline"?

    Despite the many uncertainties, Goethe remained composed, maintaining his usual calm smile. Even as he was escorted from the carriage and into the interrogation room, his demeanor did not waver.

    The interrogation room was small, containing only a single black iron chair. It was an old-fashioned torture chair besides its sturdy backrest, its armrests had built-in restraints for securing a person¡¯s hands.

    As Goethe examined the chair, two burly officers pressed him down onto it, locking his hands firmly into place.

    "Stay put!" the middle-aged officer ordered sternly.

    Then, turning to his subordinates, he instructed, "Keep a close watch on him!"

    With that, he strode out of the room, presumably to report to his superiors.

    Bang!

    The heavy door slammed shut. Goethe glanced at the two officers staring intently at him, then calmly closed his eyes.

    He began considering the potential interrogation methods they might use.

    However, to Goethe¡¯s surprise, less than a minute later, the tightly shut door swung open again.

    It wasn¡¯t the middle-aged officer from before but a young officer Goethe had never seen before.

    The newcomer quickly swept his gaze over Goethe before blurting out in urgency¡ª

    "There¡¯s been a mass shooting on Pinewood District! The chief wants all available officers to respond immediately!"

 Chapter 3: Hidden Man and Report Letter

    The young patrol officer finished speaking and ran out before his two colleagues could respond, looking as if he were in a great hurry.

    The two officers in the interrogation room exchanged glances. Without delay, they checked Goethe¡¯s handcuffs to ensure they were secure before quickly heading outside.

    Step, step, step!

    The sound of footsteps gradually faded away.

    Then, a figure slipped into the interrogation room.

    It was none other than the young patrol officer from just moments ago.

    At this moment, his gaze, filled with malice, locked onto Goethe. The malice grew even stronger, tinged with a hint of triumph, as he noticed Goethe¡¯s surprise.

    The man approached step by step. When he finally stood before Goethe, he looked down at him and sneered¡ª

    ¡°Did you really think you could escape?¡±

    ¡°But don¡¯t worry, you¡¯re still useful. I won¡¯t kill you here.¡±

    ¡°So¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll just make sure you can¡¯t move!¡±

    As he spoke, he raised his fist and strode forward with a twisted grin on his face.

    But in the next instant¡ª

    Bang!

    His grin froze.

    He lowered his head to see Goethe¡¯s raised foot.

    More precisely, the foot that had landed squarely between his legs.

    A brutal kick.

    ¡°Aaaahhh!¡±

    A piercing, high-pitched scream erupted, strangely shrill.

    As Goethe retracted his foot, the man doubled over, clutching his groin, staggering backward in agony. But before he could fully retreat, Goethe¡¯s leg, having just been pulled back, shot up again¡ªhis knee striking the man¡¯s chin with force.

    Bang!

    The man¡¯s head snapped backward.

    Then, his body collapsed limply onto the floor in front of Goethe.

    Without hesitation, Goethe stepped forward and stomped down repeatedly.

    The solid heel of his leather shoes pounded against the man¡¯s face, skull, and neck like a relentless downpour.

    Thud, thud, thud!

    Crack!

    A sharp, brittle sound echoed.

    The man¡¯s neck snapped.

    Only after confirming that the man had stopped breathing and could no longer resist did Goethe finally stop.

    Seated in his chair, he gazed at the corpse on the floor, a gleam flashing in his eyes.

    Just now, to eliminate his opponent both efficiently and safely, he had directly used [Bloody Honor] to enhance his [Unarmed Combat] skill!This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    And the result?

    Even better than expected!

    [Unarmed Combat (Beginner) ¡ú Unarmed Combat (Proficient)]

    [Unarmed Combat (Proficient): Your solid foundation, coupled with numerous real combat experiences, has further refined your physique and technique. Among amateur fighters, you now rank among the best. Effect: Physique +0.3 (Basic, Beginner, Proficient: +0.1 each), Technique +0.2 (Beginner, Proficient: +0.1 each)]

    ¡­¡­

    Reading the game-like upgrade text before him, Goethe carefully assessed the changes in his body.

    ¡°It¡¯s not just an enhancement in one aspect, it¡¯s a comprehensive boost in strength, speed, reaction time¡­ even my vision, sense of smell, and hearing have improved instantly. And the techniques¡­ it¡¯s as if I¡¯ve practiced them hundreds or even thousands of times.¡±

    ¡°So this is ¡®Physique¡¯ and ¡®Technique¡¯?¡±

    ¡°Then¡­¡±

    ¡°What is ¡®Mind¡¯?¡±

    Goethe pondered, his gaze shifting to the stat that remained at zero.

    But his thoughts were soon interrupted.

    He looked down at the corpse on the floor.

    The scene just now had been somewhat unexpected.

    By his estimation, the official agency capable of dealing with the ¡®Hidden World¡¯ should have been extremely secure.

    Yet, there had been a planted assassin inside.

    ¡°The force hunting me is stronger than I imagined. They¡¯ve even infiltrated official institutions.¡±

    ¡°But fortunately, they only had one agent inside. If they had more, they wouldn¡¯t have acted alone or used such a crude trick to lure the guards away.¡±

    Goethe was certain that the supposed ¡®mass shooting on Pinewood District¡¯ had been nothing more than a few gunshots fired into the air to draw the police¡¯s attention, giving the assassin an opportunity to strike.

    ¡°It must have been a massive effort to plant this agent.¡±

    ¡°This person was different from the ¡®Goethe¡¯s friend¡¯ role¡ªthey weren¡¯t mere cannon fodder. They were an ¡®insurance policy¡¯ meant to clean up the aftermath.¡±

    ¡°With both cannon fodder and an ¡®insurance policy¡¯ arranged¡­ just what kind of people did the ¡®Wayne¡¯ family provoke?¡±

    Goethe narrowed his eyes as he studied the corpse on the floor.

    Back in his hometown, Goethe had witnessed similar tactics before¡ªthrowing out prepared ¡®scapegoats¡¯ to tie up loose ends while having an ¡®insurance policy¡¯ in place just in case.

    But the ones who used such methods were always formidable, highly dangerous figures.

    Or outright major players in the game.

    Yet, the ¡®Wayne¡¯ family was just a provincial landowning family. No matter how he looked at it, they shouldn¡¯t have attracted that level of trouble.

    The mysteries in Goethe¡¯s mind only deepened.

    As he pondered, he waited.

    He knew the officers who had left wouldn¡¯t be gone for long.

    And indeed, they weren¡¯t.

    Roughly ten minutes later, a series of hurried footsteps echoed in the hallway.

    Step, step, step.

    The sound of leather shoes against concrete approached swiftly. Goethe¡¯s gaze turned toward the door.

    Soon¡ª

    The middle-aged officer from earlier entered, followed by the two guards.

    Upon seeing Goethe still firmly cuffed to the chair, all three let out a breath of relief.

    But the moment they noticed the corpse on the ground, their relief turned to shock.

    ¡°Soko!¡±

    One of the officers gasped, while another rushed over to check on their fallen colleague.

    After checking his breath and pulse, the officer turned back to the middle-aged officer with a grim expression.

    ¡°He¡¯s dead!¡±

    The middle-aged officer immediately raised his gun and aimed it at Goethe, eyes brimming with hostility.

    The other two officers drew their batons and flanked him.

    But Goethe¡¯s attention wasn¡¯t on them.

    Instead, he looked toward the door.

    Behind the three officers stood another figure.

    The man hadn¡¯t entered yet, merely watching the scene unfold from the doorway.

    He was a tall, bearded middle-aged man with curly, disheveled brown hair and murky eyes. His body reeked of alcohol, and despite standing at the threshold, the stench reached Goethe¡¯s nose clearly.

    Noticing Goethe¡¯s scrutiny, the man first confirmed that Goethe was still securely restrained before stepping inside with a deliberate, measured gait.

    Ignoring the corpse, he gestured for the middle-aged officer to lower his gun and introduced himself.

    ¡°I am Swart, sheriff of Lustre.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m in charge of your case.¡±

    ¡°And not the one you turned yourself in for.¡±

    The sheriff drawled out his words, seeming satisfied only when he had everyone¡¯s attention before continuing¡ª

    ¡°I just received an anonymous tip.¡±

    ¡°It says¡­¡±

    ¡°You murdered your younger brother.¡±

 Chapter 4: Interrogation

    Anonymous Report Letter?

    Could it be an attempt at damage control?

    Goethe glanced at the corpse of the mole and sneered inwardly.

    The "pursuers" had undoubtedly realized that their informant, Soko, had failed to show up with him as planned. In response, they immediately activated a backup plan, testing the police station¡¯s reaction with an anonymous report.

    And no matter what unexpected event had occurred, as long as the evidence pointed toward him, the outcome would serve their ultimate goal: forcing him out of the police station.

    Clearly, someone or something inside the station had the ability to quickly determine whether a person was lying.

    Moreover, their plan was based on a strong assumption: that the "serial killer"¡ªhim¡ªwould inevitably attract the attention of whoever possessed this ability or item.

    The plan was perfect.

    Unfortunately...

    They had miscalculated one thing: he truly had not killed Hader.

    And, more importantly, they never expected that he would eliminate their mole, Soko.

    "If that¡¯s the case¡­ I can be even bolder."

    Realizing the situation could work to his advantage, Goethe swiftly formulated a plan in his mind.

    Why had he come to the police station?

    For protection.

    But if he could resolve the issue once and for all?

    That would be even better.

    However, for this plan to work, he needed someone to "cooperate."

    With that thought, he turned to Sheriff Swart and curled his lips into a smile.

    "I didn¡¯t kill Hader."

    Goethe smiled as he spoke, his tone firm and unwavering.

    "Everyone denies being a murderer," Swart scoffed, reeking of alcohol. Then, in a seemingly casual tone, he added, "I suggest you just come clean. It¡¯s for your own good."

    His voice was calm, almost devoid of emotion, even though the words carried an implicit threat.

    If it weren¡¯t for the interrogation room setting, it would have been easy to mistake this conversation for a casual encounter in a bar, a simple nod of acknowledgment between acquaintances.

    But to Goethe, this revealed something unsettling.

    Swart was likely the type who preferred to turn a blind eye and let things slide.

    And¡­

    He was probably the kind of person who didn¡¯t mind using his position for personal gain.

    Goethe¡¯s gaze swept over Swart¡¯s coat and leather shoes. The quality of the fabric and craftsmanship were comparable to his own attire, an outfit custom-made for his eighteenth birthday when the Wayne family had yet to decline. Though lacking a matching cane, it had cost a hefty seven gold kricks.

    According to Goethe¡¯s memory, an elite lawyer with access to City Hall typically earned around two to three gold crowns per week, a solid upper-middle-class income.

    A sheriff¡¯s salary, however, was nowhere near that level.

    As for how Swart had acquired such wealth?

    The answer was self-evident.

    Getting someone like him to "cooperate" wouldn¡¯t be easy.

    In fact, Goethe was certain that if he left things in Swart¡¯s hands, this entire matter would likely be brushed aside just like the mysterious disappearances of his so-called "family."

    His home wasn¡¯t in the heart of Lustre City, but it was still within the city district. A string of missing persons cases in such an area wouldn¡¯t go unnoticed by the sheriff. Yet Swart had chosen to pretend otherwise.

    That alone spoke volumes.

    Fortunately, Swart wasn¡¯t the one in charge.

    With that in mind, Goethe¡¯s smile widened. He repeated himself with unwavering certainty.

    "I didn¡¯t kill Hader."Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    Swart raised an eyebrow.

    His patience was running thin.

    A moment ago, he had been putting on a fa?ade of civility, but now, his voice suddenly rose in volume.

    "You didn¡¯t?"

    "Listen, even when we catch a murderer, we don¡¯t hang them immediately. First comes the interrogation, then the crime scene reenactment, followed by further confirmation, then imprisonment¡­ And only after all that do we hang them!"

    "It¡¯s a long process."

    The sheriff stepped closer, trying to intimidate Goethe. But just as he straightened up, a loud belch escaped his lips.

    A strong stench of alcohol filled the air.

    Goethe remained unfazed, meeting Swart¡¯s gaze with an unwavering smile. His voice was as firm as ever.

    "I didn¡¯t kill Hader."

    He really didn¡¯t.

    It was "Goethe" who had done it, not him.

    With that, he closed his eyes and refused to acknowledge the others in the room.

    Seeing this, Swart signaled to the middle-aged officer standing nearby. The man immediately raised his baton, ready to teach Goethe a lesson.

    But before he could strike, Swart seemed to reconsider something and abruptly gestured for him to stop.

    "Let¡¯s hope you¡¯re telling the truth."

    Changing his mind, Swart turned and left the room.

    The heavy door slammed shut once more.

    Hearing the dull thud of the door closing, Goethe felt a sense of certainty settle in his heart.

    "As expected¡­!"

    "There really is someone or something in the police station that can detect lies!"

    "And that definitely falls under the realm of the supernatural."

    "This further proves my previous theory¡ªthat there is official oversight over the supernatural in this world. With that being the case, my plan will work!"

    Quickly, he refined his strategy in his mind.

    Everything had to appear logical and reasonable.

    Or more precisely¡­

    It had to target exactly what the authorities cared about.

    The official supernatural forces existed, but they clearly wouldn¡¯t concern themselves with "trivial matters."

    Since that was the case¡­

    He would make sure this became something they couldn¡¯t ignore.

    Goethe made up his mind.

    ¡­

    Meanwhile, in the adjacent interrogation room, a man dressed in a tailcoat over a crisp white shirt stood alone.

    The room was about the same size as the interrogation chamber, sparsely furnished, with nothing but the man standing in the center.

    His gaze remained fixed on the pocket watch in his hand.

    As Swart entered, the man spoke without looking up.

    "He wasn¡¯t lying."

    Even as he spoke, he didn¡¯t spare Swart a glance, his eyes glued to the timepiece.

    Swart, on the other hand, immediately adopted a servile smile, his tone deferential.

    "What should we do with him?"

    "Just follow the standard procedure."

    With the man¡¯s confirmation, Swart bowed slightly before returning to the interrogation room.

    "Detain Goethe first."

    "Then conduct a thorough investigation into the entire case."

    "As for Soko?"

    "Throw him in the morgue for now. We¡¯ll deal with him once the final results come in."

    As soon as Swart reentered the room, he issued his orders to the middle-aged officer.

    The officer immediately let out a sigh of relief, a smile of utter relief spreading across his face¡ªhe wasn¡¯t stupid. Having witnessed everything, he could tell Goethe was entangled in something far bigger than himself. Getting involved in this mess was the last thing he wanted. It could very well cost him his life, and no amount of weekly wages was worth that risk.

    "Kid, consider yourself lucky!"

    "For now, just sit tight in the cell!"

    "The conditions aren¡¯t great, but at least it¡¯s safer than being outside!"

    Saying that, the middle-aged officer moved toward Goethe, while the two younger officers followed suit, as if this was just another routine task.

    Everything was unfolding just as Goethe had anticipated.

    Faced with the potential trouble he could bring, these men had chosen to brush the matter aside.

    As the three officers closed in, ready to escort him away, Goethe refused to cooperate. Instead, he began struggling violently.

    The middle-aged officer¡¯s face twisted in anger.

    This time, he didn¡¯t even wait for Swart¡¯s signal, he raised his baton on his own.

    Goethe watched as the baton came down, and in a booming voice, he roared¡ª

    "Go ahead! Hit me!"

    "In less than a month, my grandfather suddenly fell ill and died, my parents vanished, then three uncles and their wives disappeared along with them! My three cousins also vanished overnight! After that, my only aunt went missing on her way to report this to the authorities!"

    "And me?"

    "Before I could even react, I was thrown out of my own house by sudden ''debtors¡¯''!"

    "And now!"

    "After barely escaping that ''ritual'' alive, after finally grasping a few clues and coming here to work with you, this is what I get? A prison cell and a beating?"

    "If that¡¯s how it is¡­ then come on!"

    By the time he finished shouting, Goethe¡¯s voice was nearly hoarse.

    "You little bastard, you think I won¡¯t do it?!"

    The middle-aged officer bellowed back, his grip on the baton tightening.

    As for Goethe¡¯s words?

    He didn¡¯t care in the slightest.

    Deaths? Disappearances?

    If no one filed a report, they didn¡¯t exist.

    If someone went missing on their way to report it? That meant no report was ever made, so it still didn¡¯t exist.

    And even if a report had been filed, as long as it wasn¡¯t recorded, it still wouldn¡¯t exist.

    Having worked in the system for years, the middle-aged officer had long since grown numb to such things. He had no interest in explaining any of this to Goethe, he just wanted to teach him a lesson.

    But just as he was about to strike¡ª

    Thud!

    A muffled knock echoed from the wall beside them.

    Swart, who had been standing off to the side watching the spectacle with his arms crossed, immediately stiffened. His expression changed, and he barked out¡ª

    "Wait!"

 Chapter 5: Cooperation

    Ignoring the questioning gazes from his subordinates, Swart once again stepped out of the interrogation room and returned to the previous room.

    "My lord, do you have any instructions?"

    Swart asked with utmost respect.

    "Ask about the ¡®ritual¡¯.

    The man holding the pocket watch ordered.

    "Understood, my lord."

    Swart nodded and turned back toward the interrogation room.

    This time, his gaze toward Goethe softened, and his tone was so gentle that it seemed as if he was afraid of startling him.

    "Goethe, you just mentioned a ''ritual''?"

    "Yes."

    Goethe, already anticipating this development, nodded without hesitation.

    "What kind of ritual?"

    Remembering the orders from the person next door, Swart pressed for details.

    "I don¡¯t remember too clearly. I just recall that the markings on the ground were red and emitted a glow. Then, some disgusting maggots appeared¡­ Also, they must have a vast network. Aside from ''Ander'' and this ''Soko,'' there are definitely more of them."

    Goethe recounted truthfully.

    The ritual had been far too complex to remember in detail.

    All of this was meant for the person next door to hear, including his speculations.

    "Ander?"

    Swart picked up on the name.

    "Ander was the lead I found!"

    "After my family suffered misfortune one after another, after I was suddenly saddled with massive debts, after everyone avoided me like the plague, a friend I knew from the ''Garden Club'' approached me, claiming to have a way to help. That¡¯s when I started paying close attention."

    The moment Goethe mentioned the ''Garden Club,'' both Swart and the middle-aged officer revealed an expression of understanding.

    Meanwhile, the two younger officers looked on with envy and longing.

    The ''Garden Club'' on Durian Street was a well-known establishment in Lustre, a place with quite the reputation. After all, what man wouldn¡¯t enjoy a place filled with young, beautiful women especially when those women, upon seeing the gleam of coins in your pocket, would become as passionate as fire, even donning bunny ears, cat ears, tails, and stockings in black, white, or sheer.

    "Then why did you kill him?"

    "He was the lead you worked so hard to find, wasn¡¯t he?"

    Swart coughed lightly, quickly suppressing any stray thoughts, and continued his questioning based on Goethe¡¯s account.

    He wasn¡¯t sure exactly how much the big shot next door wanted to know, so he could only probe as thoroughly as possible.

    "Yes."

    "But he tried to kill me first, so I had no choice but to fight back."

    "Besides, isn¡¯t there a new lead now?"

    Goethe countered.

    Swart froze for a moment before recalling the anonymous letter he had just received.

    Immediately, his gaze toward Goethe turned to one of irritation.

    "You¡¯re trying to use us to deal with the people hunting you down?"

    He accused angrily.

    That¡¯s right, those after Goethe¡¯s life.Stolen story; please report.

    Swart never even considered that he needed to do anything about them.

    His salary wasn¡¯t nearly high enough to risk his life over this.

    Goethe shook his head.

    "No!"

    "It¡¯s not using you."

    "It¡¯s cooperation!"

    Of course, in reality, it was exactly that, using them. But Goethe would never admit it.

    He only acknowledged ''cooperation.''

    After a brief pause, Goethe looked at the furious Swart and said with complete seriousness,

    "Look, they haven¡¯t figured out the full situation yet. That¡¯s why they¡¯re using these petty tricks to probe what¡¯s going on here. If we respond in time, we can catch them off guard just like the ambush they¡¯ve likely set up on Guta Street!"

    Guta Street, where Goethe¡¯s home was located.

    Upon hearing Goethe¡¯s words, Swart immediately refused without even thinking.

    "I¡¯m not going to¡ª"

    Thud!

    Before he could finish his sentence, a knocking sound echoed from the wall again.

    Ignoring Goethe, Swart turned and stormed out of the room, hurrying next door.

    As soon as he entered, the man inside spoke without looking up.

    "Agree to his request."

    After delivering the command, he lowered his head again, continuing to stare at his pocket watch.

    "Yes, sir."

    Even though he was utterly unwilling, Swart had no choice but to obey.

    However, he didn¡¯t leave right away.

    Instead, he stood at the doorway, staring at the man, hoping he would change his mind.

    Because Swart knew all too well if this man got involved, things would become dangerous.

    That was...

    Deadly!

    Unfortunately, the man had no intention of changing his mind.

    "I''ll provide support."

    The man said calmly.

    Hearing this promise, the sheriff did not feel relieved. He wanted to say more, but when he noticed the impatience on the man''s face, he wisely turned around and left, returning to the interrogation room.

    He didn''t want to offend this man.

    More importantly, he couldn''t afford to.

    Compared to the mortal danger ahead, offending this man would be a fate worse than death!

    Fuming with frustration, Swart stormed back into the interrogation room. Ignoring the questioning gazes of his subordinates, he glared at Goethe with an expression of pure resentment.

    Swart was no fool, he knew that the young man before him had played him from the start.

    Goethe had always intended to go to Guta Street.

    But what could he do about it?

    He had no choice.

    "Fine. I accept your cooperation."

    "But everything will be under my command."

    Though he had agreed, the sheriff still wanted to maintain as much control as possible.

    "Alright."

    Goethe, having achieved his goal, had no objections.

    Twenty minutes later, Doerr, a part-time doctor and occasional forensic examiner, rushed back to the police station.

    "I''m a part-time doctor, not a personal physician!"

    "If someone''s injured, they should go to a hospital!"

    "And how did Soko get careless enough to be injured by a detained criminal?"

    "Did he not have the slightest sense of caution?"

    Hode started complaining as soon as he reached the police station entrance.

    Everyone knew that while this forensic examiner was a decent man, he had a rather loud mouth.

    "It was an accident."

    "No one expected that guy to suddenly fight back."

    A patrol officer, who was waiting at the entrance and unaware of the full story, shrugged helplessly.

    Getting injured was nothing unusual for patrol officers, but being attacked by a detained criminal inside the station? That was extremely rare.

    Doerr and the patrol officer walked into the station.

    Meanwhile, in the alley across from the police station, a hidden observer had been watching and listening to everything.

    Without hesitation, they turned and quickly disappeared into the night.

    Ten minutes later, a carriage pulled away from the station.

    The middle-aged patrol officer was driving, while inside the carriage sat Sheriff Swart, Goethe, and the two patrol officers from earlier.

    Just like when Goethe was first brought in, he sat between the two patrol officers, shackled in handcuffs. Swart sat across from him, this was the standard protocol in Lustre for transporting high-profile detainees.

    But this time, there was a difference.

    Goethe had a key to his handcuffs in his jacket pocket.

    To be cautious, they had not yet returned his wallet or dagger.

    "You¡¯d better pray that nothing goes wrong," Swart grumbled, still seething. "Otherwise..."

    His words carried an unmistakable threat.

    Goethe merely smiled in response.

    Though his gaze rested on Swart, his focus was already elsewhere¡ªon their destination.

    Guta Street.

    His "home."

    What would be waiting for him there?

    Lustre at night was even quieter than expected.

    Once they left the main streets, the middle-aged patrol officer lit a lantern.

    By the glow of the lantern, the carriage sped along toward Guta Street, where the Wayne family resided.

    The journey was smooth until they reached the entrance of Guta Street.

    There, a thin fog suddenly began to rise.

 Chapter 6: Home

    The sudden fog thickened rapidly before their eyes.

    The middle-aged officer driving the carriage had no choice but to turn the lantern to its highest brightness and even light a spare one, yet it was useless. The dense fog obscured everything, making it impossible to see the road ahead.

    The carriage, which had been moving swiftly, slowed to a crawl.

    Fortunately, they were already at the entrance of Guta Street.

    Their destination, No. 13 Guta Street, was not far away.

    The officer carefully guided the carriage forward, but trouble still found them.

    Neigh!

    With a sharp cry, the horse stumbled. The carriage wobbled violently before coming to a complete stop.

    The driver immediately grabbed a lantern and jumped down to check on the horse.

    "Tucker, what''s wrong?"

    Swart¡¯s voice came from inside the carriage.

    "Captain, the fog¡¯s too thick I didn¡¯t notice a dip in the road. The horse¡¯s hoof is injured."

    "We¡¯ll have to walk from here."

    Straightening up after his inspection, the officer spoke helplessly toward the carriage.

    After saying that, he prepared to approach and illuminate Swart¡¯s way. Even though a lantern was still hanging on the carriage, he wouldn¡¯t miss a chance to earn favor with Swart.

    More importantly, he hoped that by being attentive, Swart would overlook the fact that the horse was injured¡ªa minor issue.

    Even if it meant the horse would likely be sold off to the butcher.

    As he pondered how best to feign innocence, the officer failed to notice the danger behind him.

    The moment he stepped forward, a large hand emerged from the fog, clamping over his mouth. A gleaming dagger slashed across his throat.

    His body shuddered. A desperate struggle flickered through his eyes before the light in them dimmed completely.

    By the time the attacker silently lowered his lifeless body to the ground, there was no breath left in him.

    The assassin, now covered in blood, didn¡¯t seem to care. Without hesitation, he strode openly toward the carriage.

    The fog would conceal him¡ªhis features, the bloodstains¡ªeverything.

    And the moment the carriage door opened, he would strike.

    Only the target needed to stay alive.

    The rest?

    All of them had to die.

    This job was easy for him.

    Including this one, he had already done it four times before.

    He was practically an expert.

    As for them being police?

    That was never his concern.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    "Damn it!"

    Swart cursed under his breath at his officer¡¯s report. His face was dark, not because he minded walking, even if he had just had his shoes freely polished that afternoon.

    Right now, all he felt was unease.

    Swart knew better than anyone¡ªwhen that man was involved, nothing was ever normal.

    Everything was deadly.

    Breathe. Steady yourself.

    Taking two deep breaths, he forced his emotions into check, then signaled one of his subordinates to exit first.

    The officer hesitated, clearly sensing something was wrong. But facing Swart¡¯s command, he dared not refuse.

    He raised a hand, reaching for the carriage door¡ª

    Only to be stopped.

    Goethe, who had somehow unshackled himself, raised a finger to his lips, signaling for silence. Then, in one swift motion, he snatched the revolver from Swart¡¯s waist and fired through the carriage door.

    Bang! Bang! Bang!

    Three consecutive gunshots.

    Outside, a body collapsed onto the ground.

    "Are you insane?!"

    Swart gasped, thinking Goethe had just shot their driver.

    But Goethe paid him no mind. He kicked open the carriage door and flung his coat outside.

    Bang! Bang! Bang!

    Gunfire erupted from within the mist.

    The coat, caught mid-air, jerked and twisted under the force of bullets, fluttering like a bat in the night wind before finally dropping to the ground in tatters.

    Swart and his two officers flinched instinctively, shrinking back.

    Almost reflexively, Swart turned to ask Goethe what to do next¡ª

    Only to realize that Goethe was gone.

    At the same time, the carriage door on the opposite side had been silently pushed open.

    Clearly, while the attackers were distracted by the coat, Goethe had already slipped out the other side.

    Seeing this, Swart¡¯s two subordinates immediately lunged for the same door, shoving at each other in their panic to escape.

    The officer whom Goethe had held at gunpoint earlier, realizing that Swart also intended to flee through that exit, didn¡¯t hesitate¡ªhe kicked Swart straight in the face.

    The sheriff recoiled, covering his face, while Swart¡¯s two subordinates, realizing they were at a stalemate, leaped off the carriage almost simultaneously.

    But before they could steady themselves¡ª

    Bang! Bang! Bang!

    Blood sprayed into the air as more than five bullets tore through their bodies.

    Their limbs convulsed violently, as if electrocuted, before they collapsed into a pool of blood, lifeless.

    Witnessing this, Swart, who had just been cursing in fury, immediately clamped a hand over his mouth, forcing himself into silence. Trembling, he curled up beneath the carriage seat.

    ¡°What do I do? What do I do?¡±

    ¡°Am I about to die young?¡±

    ¡°I knew getting involved in that lord¡¯s affairs would bring disaster!¡±

    The sheriff huddled there, shaking uncontrollably. His mind had turned to mush, leaving him unable to think. His body moved purely on instinct, hiding.

    In contrast, Goethe, who had rolled off the carriage, remained eerily clear-headed.

    The instant the scent of blood hit him through the carriage door, his mind snapped into razor-sharp focus.

    Now, crouched against the wall, he let his eyes adjust to the thick fog, carefully memorizing the locations where gunfire had flashed earlier.

    Yet, he did not fire.

    Instead, keeping his gaze locked on the source of the gunfire, he moved cautiously and silently, creeping toward a nearby building.

    Never fight in unfamiliar territory.

    He had learned that lesson the hard way back home nearly losing his life. That near-death experience taught him exactly what he needed to do in this situation¡ª

    Get back to No. 13 Guta Street!

    The dense fog obscured his vision, yet his enemies seemed unaffected.

    Clearly, they were accustomed to fighting in this kind of environment.

    They might even have some kind of aid that allowed them to see through the fog as if it weren¡¯t there.

    As for him?

    Even after straining to adjust, his vision was still heavily impaired.

    In this situation, his marksmanship wouldn¡¯t be enough to secure victory.

    But once he reached No. 13 Guta Street, things would change.

    That was Goethe¡¯s home.

    He had nearly nineteen years of memories of that place.

    There¡ª

    He would have the advantage!

 Chapter 7: Gunshot

    No. 13 Guta Street, like every other building on the street, was a standalone three-story flat-roofed house. The first floor contained two rooms, a dining room, a living room, a kitchen, a washroom, and a basement storage area. The second floor had six rooms and two washrooms, Goethe had previously lived there with his parents, younger brother, and aunt. The third floor housed a large study, a living space, and a washroom, where Goethe¡¯s grandfather had resided.

    Like the other houses on No. 13 Guta Street, had neither a back door nor a garden¡ªopening the front door led directly to the street.

    Goethe didn¡¯t bother climbing through a window. Instead, with a revolver clenched between his teeth, he used both hands and feet to climb up to the rooftop.

    In his memory, there was a door on the rooftop that led directly into the house. It had been installed for convenience when hanging laundry. A movable ladder sat beneath it, and the door itself wasn¡¯t locked, closing it simply involved removing the ladder.

    Silently, Goethe pushed the door open.

    After carefully scanning the interior, he leapt down.

    The moment his feet hit the floor, a surge of familiarity washed over him.

    It was almost enough to make him feel safe.

    But¡ª

    Exhaling deeply, Goethe quickly discarded that illusion.

    Standing in the darkness, he narrowed his eyes and surveyed his surroundings.

    The furniture remained in place, the room¡¯s decorations untouched. It was clear that the debt collectors hadn¡¯t broken in after he left.

    Of course, that wasn¡¯t because they were merciful.

    The repayment deadline simply hadn¡¯t arrived yet.

    Once it did¡ª

    Forget the furniture, the entire house would be stripped away by those debt collectors.

    Following the memories in his mind, Goethe immediately located the candlestick¡ªthe very one that had smashed into Hader¡¯s skull.

    ¡¾Obtained: Bloody Honor!¡¿

    ¡­

    As Goethe¡¯s fingers brushed against the candlestick, words flashed before his eyes.

    Seeing them appear, his tense nerves relaxed just a fraction¡ª

    The overwhelming surge of power he had felt earlier was seared into his mind.

    Even if it came with unknown risks, right now, [Bloody Honor¡¿ was indispensable.

    He didn¡¯t for a second believe that the mist outside was a natural phenomenon.

    At that thought, the momentary ease he had felt vanished.

    His muscles tensed again as he grabbed the candlestick and hurried toward the kitchen.

    Everything he needed was there.

    Just then, his gaze constantly flicking toward the street caught something unusual.

    The thick, suffocating fog had begun to thin.

    ¡°This is¡­¡±

    ¡°The authorities are taking action?!¡±

    Goethe¡¯s eyes lit up.

    After reporting that this incident involved supernatural forces, he had expected some kind of response.

    What he hadn¡¯t expected was such a swift reaction especially compared to Swart¡¯s incompetence, making it all the more remarkable.

    ¡°If that¡¯s the case, I can adjust my plan slightly.¡±

    A small smirk played on Goethe¡¯s lips.

    Meanwhile, outside Guta Street, hidden in the shadows, Delber¡¯s expression darkened as he watched the thick fog dissipate.

    This had never happened in any of their previous operations.

    ¡°Could something have happened to him?¡±

    The sudden change along with the bodies strewn beside the carriage planted the seed of retreat in Delber¡¯s mind.

    As the leader of this gang, he knew exactly where their strength lay.

    Six gunmen?

    That was nothing.

    In places like Hunter¡¯s Tavern, men like them were a dime a dozen.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    What had set them apart in Lustre and earned them notoriety¡ªwas that man, the one who wielded Supernatural abilities.

    But now¡ª

    Something had gone wrong.

    ¡°Find the target.¡±

    ¡°Kill him.¡±

    Just as hesitation gripped Delber, his voice echoed in his ears.

    He had no idea what had happened, but he knew better than to disobey that man¡¯s orders.

    Without hesitation, Delber gestured toward two of his subordinates.

    Immediately, they split up, approaching the carriage from both sides.

    The remaining two men positioned themselves in a crossfire stance, eyes locked on the area.

    They knew someone had escaped earlier.

    The attackers didn¡¯t rush in recklessly.

    They moved carefully, using shadows and walls for cover, ensuring they stayed hidden as they crept forward.

    Because of this, it took them several minutes to finally reach the carriage.

    One of them even caught sight of Swart, still curled up under the seat, shaking uncontrollably.

    Without hesitation, the gunman leaned out¡ªrevolver raised¡ª

    Just as he was about to pull the trigger¡ª

    Bang!

    A gunshot rang out.

    The man crumpled to the ground.

    From the shadows, Goethe didn¡¯t bother checking if he had hit his mark. The moment he fired, he ducked back into cover.

    ¡°Kill him!¡±

    Delber, furious at losing yet another man, roared the command.

    The two remaining gunmen didn¡¯t need his orders they were already pulling their triggers.

    Bang! Bang! Bang!

    On the second floor of No. 13 Guta Street, the window from which Goethe had just fired shattered under the hail of bullets.

    As they shot, the two men advanced toward the house, while the last attacker wasted no time yanking Swart out of the carriage.

    Pressing the barrel of his gun to Swart¡¯s temple, he prepared to use him as a human shield.

    But it was pointless.

    Bang!

    Another shot.

    Swart felt a rush of heat against his cheek.

    The man holding him hostage dropped lifelessly to the ground, the bullet piercing straight through his eye, blasting apart half his skull.

    "Sharpshooter!"

    "Take cover!"

    Delber had no time to respond to Swart. He shouted the warning and immediately ducked behind a wall.

    The remaining two gunmen quickly sought cover as well.

    Only Swart felt his legs go weak, and a sudden warmth spread in his pants.

    Meanwhile, after landing another shot, Goethe sprinted to reposition himself, though he was somewhat surprised.

    The first shot had been meticulously prepared an ambush. Hitting the target was inevitable.

    But the second shot?

    That was pure luck.

    To be honest, he hadn¡¯t been sure it would land.

    Yet, the bullet had struck the enemy right in the eye. Even for him, that was unexpected.

    Under normal circumstances, at this distance, even with careful aiming, he wouldn¡¯t have expected such precision.

    As for accidentally hitting Swart?

    Goethe didn¡¯t care in the slightest.

    "One bullet left."

    "Now¡­"

    "All that¡¯s left is to wait for the prey to fall into the trap."

    Leaning against the third-floor corner wall, Goethe glanced down at the chamber of his revolver. Then, after steadying his breath, he calmly picked up a book he had prepared in advance.

    Outside, hidden in the shadows, Delber hesitated again.

    Fighting against a concealed sharpshooter at night was a terrible idea.

    Especially when they had already lost three men.

    With just three of them left, there was no way to suppress the sharpshooter.

    Or rather, the moment they showed themselves, they would be dead.

    The two corpses from earlier were proof enough.

    "Should we retreat?"

    The thought of fleeing surfaced in Delber¡¯s mind once more.

    But then¡ª

    The thick fog, which had just begun to clear, rolled back in again.

    Within the mist, Delber and his two remaining gunmen exchanged delighted glances.

    "Charge in!" Delber shouted.

    Using the fog as cover, one of the gunmen immediately fired a barrage of bullets at the door of No. 13 Guta Street.

    Bang! Bang! Bang!

    The gunfire roared.

    One emptied his magazine, reloading while the other continued firing. They cycled through two full rounds.

    By the time they were done, the first floor of the building looked like a beehive.

    Under such conditions, no one could have survived behind the door.

    One of the gunmen stepped forward and kicked open the now-ravaged entrance, his gun raised cautiously. The other did a tactical roll into the room.

    The moment he got back on his feet, he felt something slick in his palm. Instinctively, he raised his hand for a closer look¡ª

    A sharp, acrid smell hit his nose.

    "Kerosene!"

    His face paled in horror, and he immediately tried to back away.

    But it was too late.

    From the third floor, Goethe tossed down the book he had soaked in kerosene and set ablaze.

    Boom!

    The burning book hit the ground, and flames erupted instantly.

    Within moments, the corridor was engulfed in a raging inferno.

    The gunman drenched in kerosene became a human torch.

    Before the last gunman could react, the burning man¡ªdriven mad by pain¡ªthrew himself onto him.

    The fire spread in an instant.

    "Ahhh!"

    "Help! Help me!"

    The two burning men struggled to their feet, trying to run toward their leader for aid.

    Delber knew exactly what would happen if they got too close.

    Bang! Bang!

    Gunshots rang out.

    Both men collapsed.

    Delber lowered his smoking gun, his expression grim as he stared at the bodies of his subordinates.

    What should have been an effortless mission had left him completely alone.

    His hatred for the man inside that house knew no bounds.

    But more importantly¡ª

    Now that he was the only one left, he had to prove his worth to that lord.

    He knew very well why he had been chosen.

    It wasn¡¯t because of any exceptional skill.

    It was because he had five obedient subordinates.

    But now, they are all dead.

    His value had plummeted.

    And he had no intention of being discarded.

    So¡ª

    As the fog rolled into the building and the flames died down, Delber stepped into No. 13 Guta Street without hesitation.

 Chapter 8: Bait

    With the thick fog as cover, Delber strode openly into No. 13 Guta Street.

    As a subordinate of that lord, he knew all too well how terrifying this fog was. Not only could it obscure vision, but if his master so wished, it could freeze those trapped within it to death.

    The fact that the flames had just been extinguished meant that his master was now serious.

    This was good news for him.

    At the very least, it would make killing that man much easier.

    A sharpshooter in top condition was a deadly threat.

    But a sharpshooter whose entire body was frozen stiff? Nothing more than a sitting duck!

    Creak!

    A sharp noise echoed through the air, the sound of someone stepping on an old, creaky wooden floorboard.

    "Second floor!"

    Delber immediately locked onto his target, a cold smirk forming on his lips. Using the cover of the fog, he stepped forward toward the second floor.

    His gaze went straight to a room in the corner. Unlike the others, whose doors were all wide open and fully exposed, this one was shut tight.

    "Panicked, are we?"

    Mocking his opponent inwardly, Delber confidently strode toward the room.

    It wasn¡¯t arrogance ever since he had become his master''s subordinate, he had encountered plenty of opponents just like this. People who thought they were skilled marksmen or competent fighters but panicked the moment they encountered Supernatural power.

    And then?

    They were easily taken care of.

    This Goethe was not the first.

    And he certainly wouldn''t be the last.

    "This is what true power looks like!"

    With an air of superiority, Delber moved quietly to the door.

    He didn¡¯t stand directly in front of it, nor did he attempt to open it. Instead, he positioned himself to the side and fired multiple shots through the wooden door.

    Bang! Bang! Bang!

    Bullets tore through the wood, sparks flickering inside the room from their impact.

    He didn¡¯t stop until his revolver was completely empty. Only then did he pull out another gun and step in front of the door, preparing for another round of shots.

    But just then¡ª

    Boom!

    A deafening explosion blasted the door off its hinges, slamming it into Delber.

    Crack! Crack!

    The sheer force crushed his ribs as he was thrown from the second floor.

    "Cough... cough..."

    Blood spurted from Delber¡¯s mouth as he struggled to breathe. Several of his ribs had been broken, but he ignored the pain. Instead, he lifted his head with great effort, eyes fixed on the second-floor room.

    He needed to know what had just happened.

    Was it a bomb?

    Or something else?

    But when he finally saw inside the room, he was stunned.

    Because... it was a bathroom.

    Even though it was now in complete disarray, Delber was certain¡ªit was a bathroom.

    And in an instant, a memory flashed through his mind: a news article from two days ago.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

    A resident had gone to the bathroom at night, lit a candle, and was blown to pieces when an explosion occurred.

    Back then, he had laughed, mocking the person¡¯s stupidity for not ventilating the room.

    But now that he was the one in that situation, Delber found himself unable to laugh.

    Especially when he saw the barrel of a gun aimed at him.

    "Wait, I¡ª"

    Bang!

    Before he could finish his sentence, Goethe pulled the trigger.

    The bullet pierced Delber''s forehead. His eyes widened in disbelief as he fell lifelessly to the ground.

    Goethe exhaled deeply, as if the encounter had drained his strength. Standing there catching his breath, he failed to notice the blade silently emerging from the fog behind him.

    The weapon glinted dully, hidden under layers of cloth, making no sound as it approached his back.

    Then¡ª

    Clang!

    A sharp metallic clash rang out as the attack was blocked. Goethe remained unscathed.

    In one fluid motion, he turned and flung his hand outward.

    A fine white mist suddenly filled the air.

    It was... flour.

    Within the cloud of dust, a shadow appeared, someone covered in the powder, their wide eyes filled with shock.

    They had never expected their perfect strike to fail.

    Then, his nose itched, and his eyes stung...

    Achoo!

    With a loud sneeze, the man lurched forward.

    Pepper!

    There was pepper mixed in with the flour!

    Of course, that wasn¡¯t the most important thing. The key point was that at this moment, Goethe had already picked up the revolver Delber had dropped.

    Bang! Bang! Bang!

    The shadow in the mist tried to dodge, but with less than seven steps between them, there was no time to escape.

    Blood bloomed across the man¡¯s body.

    Then, he collapsed.

    As he fell, the mist instantly dissipated.

    But Goethe didn¡¯t step forward immediately. Instead, he fired three more shots¡ªone to the chest, another to the other side, and the last to the forehead.

    Afterward, he calmly reached for the bullet belt on Delber¡¯s body, reloaded the revolver, and fired three more shots at the fallen figure.

    Only then, after confirming the man was truly dead, did Goethe dare to approach.

    When dealing with the unknown, one could never be too careful.

    So, instead of touching the corpse directly, he used a broken door plank nearby to prod the body.

    The plank wasn¡¯t the most convenient tool, but it was long enough to keep a safe distance.

    Throughout the process, Goethe kept his gun raised, ready to fire at the slightest sign of movement.

    The dead man had an ordinary face, wore unremarkable clothing, and wasn¡¯t particularly strong. His fingers were smooth, with no calluses someone who would blend into a crowd without drawing any attention.

    "Did someone like this really wield such Supernatural power?"

    Doubt crept into Goethe¡¯s mind.

    And at that moment¡ª

    "No need to doubt."

    "He was the one using the mist-concealing ability."

    "However..."

    "He was merely an apprentice."

    A voice sounded from the doorway.

    Goethe immediately raised his revolver.

    Standing at the entrance of No. 13 Guta Street was a man dressed in a black tailcoat over a crisp white shirt.

    Facing the barrel of Goethe¡¯s gun, the man calmly adjusted his neatly layered lapels, then removed his hat with a gentlemanly grace and gave a courteous bow.

    "Good evening, Mr. Goethe. My name is Morey."

    "I specialize in handling matters like these in Lustre."

    "Also..."

    "Nice armor."

    Introducing himself, Morey nodded approvingly at Goethe.

    Seeing that he had been seen through, Goethe no longer bothered pretending. He took off his coat.

    Beneath it, two frying pans were strapped to his chest and back, acting as makeshift armor.

    Holding his coat in one hand, Goethe lowered his gun.

    Not because he trusted Morey¡¯s words immediately, but because he had noticed Swart running up from behind him with a flattering smile plastered on his face.

    The sheriff was bent over, grinning like a chrysanthemum.

    Even though the wet stain on his trousers was clearly visible.

    Noticing Goethe¡¯s gaze, Swart didn¡¯t even flinch as he explained, ¡°I rolled into a puddle while dodging an attack just now. Accidentally got wet.¡±

    Goethe chuckled, not believing a word.

    He knew full well what had happened.

    But at that moment, his attention returned to the man calling himself Morey.

    Under Goethe¡¯s gaze, Morey reached into his coat and pulled out a pocket watch. He glanced at the time, frowned, and after a brief two-second pause, finally spoke¡ª

    "We have a little time left, just enough to discuss a few things..."

    "Do you understand your current situation?"

    Then, without waiting for Goethe¡¯s reply, Morey continued in a rapid-fire manner, as if racing against the clock.

    "Your situation is rather complicated. Normally, your memory of tonight would be erased¡ª"

    "Of course, memory erasure isn¡¯t without side effects. In the coming years, or perhaps even longer, you¡¯d suffer from insomnia, loss of appetite, memory lapses, emotional instability, and general mental decline. But at least... you¡¯d still be alive."

    "However, you just killed that guy¡¯s apprentice. He will definitely come after you for revenge!"

    "Fortunately, I happen to be hunting him down. But he¡¯s like a rat in the sewers, cunning, vicious, and an expert at hiding."

    "So..."

    "I need bait!"

    "And you, Mr. Goethe, is the perfect bait!"

 Chapter 9: The Brave Never Gets Their Trousers Wet

    Goethe wasn¡¯t the least bit offended by Morey¡¯s blunt words.

    Because he knew that what the other party said was true.

    And he had no reason to refuse.

    Unless he wanted to face an even stronger enemy, one who wielded unknown powers, all on his own.

    The only reason he had managed to take down the previous opponent was sheer luck.

    First, he had the advantage of terrain.

    Second, his opponent lacked experience.

    But now, his enemy was this man¡¯s mentor, someone far more experienced and powerful. Goethe knew he had no chance of winning alone.

    So¡ª

    ¡°Alright.¡±

    Goethe nodded.

    ¡°Good. I look forward to working together.¡±

    ¡°At eight o¡¯clock tomorrow morning, someone from Black Sail Security will provide you with further details.¡±

    With that, Morey glanced at his pocket watch one last time, then turned and left, not giving Goethe another chance to ask questions.

    Goethe watched his retreating figure, his brows furrowing slightly.

    There was something strange about this man.

    It was as if an invisible barrier separated him from everyone else.

    But it wasn¡¯t the usual arrogance of someone who had gained Supernatural power, looking down on ordinary people.

    It felt more like¡­

    A lack of familiarity.

    As if he wasn¡¯t used to speaking with strangers.

    That hurried departure, it was almost as if, having finished his business, he wanted to escape as quickly as possible.

    But¡­

    Was that even possible?

    Would someone with supernatural abilities, and an official position as the local head, be afraid of talking to strangers?

    Or was there something else going on?

    Goethe pondered the thought as he casually placed the glass bottle he had been holding onto the table.

    The bottle was open, stuffed with a rag, and filled with kerosene.

    It had been one of the backup plans he had prepared earlier, though he hadn¡¯t needed to use it.

    Just like he hadn¡¯t used ¡¾Bloody Honor¡¿.

    But just because he hadn¡¯t needed it this time didn¡¯t mean he wouldn¡¯t need more of it in the future.

    With that thought, Goethe shook off his distractions and began cleaning up the battlefield.

    A stronger and more mysterious threat was looming, and he needed as many trump cards as possible to stay alive.

    And nothing could instantly boost his power like¡¾Bloody Honor¡¿

    Working with Morey should offer some level of security, but Goethe had always preferred keeping his fate in his own hands.

    After all, no one could guarantee that accidents wouldn¡¯t happen. Goethe knew that better than anyone.

    Unfortunately, none of these gunmen carried any¡¾Bloody Honor¡¿

    ¡°Didn¡¯t they kill my parents, uncle, aunt, cousin, and aunt¡¯s family?¡±

    ¡°Were they only hired to target me?¡±

    Goethe frowned instinctively.

    If his guess was right, then this situation was even worse than he had imagined.

    Because his enemy wasn¡¯t just powerful, they also had an entire network under their command.

    It seemed that just when he thought things couldn¡¯t get any worse¡­ they did.

    Goethe sighed, then turned his gaze toward Swart, who was staring intently at the kerosene bottle.

    The police chief whose pants were still wet immediately flinched like a frightened bird, shuffling two steps sideways. He slipped, lost his balance, and fell.

    Right onto the corpse pinned beneath the door.

    Face to face.

    ¡°Ahhh!¡±

    ¡°¡­Hmm?¡±

    After the scream came a drawn-out, questioning hum.

    Goethe narrowed his eyes.

    ¡°Something wrong with him?¡±

    He walked over and asked.

    ¡°That¡¯s Delber, a wanted criminal with a bounty of 50 gold crowns. I¡¯ll give you 60 if you hand over his corpse.¡±

    Still supporting himself on the floor, Swart hurriedly put some distance between himself and the body before making his offer.

    And as he spoke, he put on an expression as if Goethe had just hit the jackpot.

    ¡°Oh?¡±This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°It took me a hell of a lot of effort to take him down, so¡­¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll have to pay more.¡±

    Goethe stared at the police chief, eyes gleaming with calculation.

    Almost instinctively, he began reassessing Swart¡¯s maximum value, his past profession had trained him to be particularly sensitive to situations like this.

    Especially when money was involved.

    Swart, meanwhile, felt like a wolf had locked onto him.

    Shifting uncomfortably, he still forced himself to continue.

    ¡°Seventy.¡±

    ¡°Seventy gold crowns is my absolute limit. That¡¯s all he¡¯s worth.¡±

    He emphasized his words.

    But that very insistence made Goethe sense his urgency.

    ¡°Is that so?¡±

    Goethe gave him a leisurely look, then stated flatly¡ª

    ¡°That¡¯s just the official bounty, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°There must be a private bounty as well.¡±

    ¡°And besides¡­¡±

    ¡°Turning him in will earn you quite a bit of merit, won¡¯t it?¡±

    Goethe¡¯s remark about the private bounty was purely a guess, based on his original memories.

    The old Goethe had tried looking for help in hunters¡¯ taverns before.

    But¡­

    A penniless man had no right to hire mercenaries.

    As for the merit he mentioned¡ª

    If Swart had the chance, of course he would want more power.

    Otherwise, he wouldn¡¯t have proposed the previous deal in the first place.

    ¡°How much do you want?¡±

    Realizing he couldn¡¯t fool Goethe, Swart hesitated for a moment before asking.

    ¡°One hundred gold crowns.¡±

    ¡°No way¡ª¡±

    "100 gold crowns is just the base price. If you''re willing to pay an extra 50, I can testify on your behalf, telling others of your bravery. Of course, you''ll need to pay another 50 to buy a dry pair of pants from me. After all, a hero shouldn''t be standing around with wet trousers."

    The moment Goethe named his price, Swart gasped, but he was immediately cut off.

    The sheriff fell silent.

    Telling the story himself and having someone else vouch for him were two entirely different things.

    More importantly, as Goethe had pointed out, he needed this achievement.

    His superior, the current commissioner, was set to retire in two years.

    And he wasn''t the only one vying for the position. If he wanted to stand out among the competition, this gunfight with the outlaws was an invaluable accomplishment.

    Gritting his teeth, the sheriff made his decision.

    "Fine!"

    Seeing Swart agree, Goethe smiled and casually added, "One more thing¡ªfix this place up exactly as it was before."

    "No problem."

    Having already agreed to the previous conditions, Swart didn''t care about this minor request. after all, he could easily get reimbursed for the repair costs once he submitted his report.

    But then, Goethe continued.

    "And one more thing..."

    "Another one?"

    Swart''s eyes widened. He had thought himself greedy, but the man before him was on another level entirely.

    This guy could squeeze water from a stone!

    And what was even more infuriating was how precise his demands were!

    "Just two more things," Goethe reassured him. "First, look into a ''Doctor Hode'' for me, he was my grandfather''s personal physician."

    Goethe''s smile faded, his gaze turning icy.

    Of all his deceased relatives, only his grandfather had died of a sudden illness. The rest had simply... disappeared. And it was only after his grandfather''s death that the disappearances began.

    In other words, his grandfather''s death was the starting point of it all.

    And the cause of death had been diagnosed by none other than Doctor Hode.

    The previous Goethe had never doubted it.

    But now?

    Goethe saw it as a breakthrough, a way to uncover the truth behind [Bloody Honor].

    As for why he was having Swart investigate?

    By sunrise, he would be heading to Black Sail Security, leaving him no time to do it himself.

    And Swart''s status as sheriff made things much easier.

    Swart hesitated again.

    He had no desire to get involved in anything that strayed too far from normal human understanding.

    But looking at Goethe, he knew money wouldn''t buy this man off.

    Just look at the hatred in his eyes!

    And everything that had happened tonight!

    Goethe had deliberately put himself at risk to draw out his enemies, and when they emerged, he had slaughtered them all without hesitation.

    As for threatening him with force?

    Setting aside their difference in skill¡ª

    In Swart''s eyes, Goethe wasn''t afraid of death at all!

    After all, he had already struck a deal with Lord Morey. He could have just waited and cooperated patiently, yet he still chose to take matters into his own hands and search for clues himself!

    Clearly, vengeance was what kept him going.

    For some reason, that thought firmly took root in Swart''s mind.

    Goethe didn''t mind the sheriff''s wary yet sympathetic gaze.

    In fact, this was exactly what he wanted.

    He needed a new image to replace the one the former Goethe had left behind.

    And what better disguise than that of a vengeful seeker?

    Any changes in his behavior or speech would become perfectly reasonable under this guise.

    "And the last thing?"

    Swart didn''t agree or refuse immediately. Instead, he asked what Goethe''s final request was.

    If it was too much, he''d refuse outright.

    A promotion was nice, but his life mattered more.

    "I need to pick a few weapons and some ammunition from the ones on the ground."

    Hearing this, Swart sighed in relief.

    This was even easier than fixing the house.

    Evidence?

    As the sheriff who had taken down Delber''s gang, he was the one who decided what counted as evidence.

    "Fine, I agree."

    "I''ll bring you the money tomorrow morning."

    "Now..."

    "Where are my pants?"

    The sheriff demanded.

    Goethe grinned, turned, and tossed a pair of trousers from his room. He made sure not to touch Swart directly at least, not until the man had washed his hands.

    Then, Goethe started picking through the revolvers and daggers he had collected earlier.

    "These pants don¡¯t fit properly!"

    "Damn it!"

    "Who would believe that a pair of trousers costing 50 gold crowns wouldn¡¯t fit?!"

    "50 gold crowns could buy me twenty pairs at the best tailor in Lustre!"

    Swart grumbled under his breath.

    "A sip of water in the desert is worth more than gold," Goethe replied without even looking up, still examining the weapons.

    Delber¡¯s two revolvers were undoubtedly the finest.

    Well-maintained, their polished metal gleamed under the candlelight. The ivory grips, slightly yellowed with age, made them stand out even more.

    Goethe picked them up, spun them expertly, and slid them into the holsters under his arms.

    The gun holsters had belonged to Delber as well, along with the hidden bullet belt that could be tucked into his waistband.

    Next, he strapped a sheathed dagger to his lower leg, the very same dagger he had taken from the first attacker he had killed.

    With everything in place, Goethe finally felt a long-lost sense of security wash over him.

    Just then, a distant commotion announced the arrival of the city patrols.

    And the journalists.

    Swart didn¡¯t even glance at his tardy subordinates. Instead, his gaze swept over the reporters. Taking a deep breath, he mentally rehearsed his speech before stepping forward with a confident smile.

    But he had forgotten one thing¡ªthe pants didn¡¯t fit.

    And in his excitement, he took a bold, powerful step forward.

    Rip!

    The sound of fabric tearing echoed through the street.

    Swart froze, his s

 Chapter 10: My Bold Guess

    "Extra! Extra!"

    "Sheriff Swart Solved the Serial Robbery and Murder Case!"

    "Extra! Extra!"

    "Sheriff Swart Single-Handedly Battles Six Criminals!"

    ¡­

    At dawn, the crisp voice of a newsboy echoed through the streets, but Goethe already had a freshly pressed newspaper in hand.

    Swart had ironed it himself.

    Not just one copy, he had ironed fifty, distributing them among the police station. If the newsboy had more, the sheriff would have ironed even more.

    Clearly, last night''s little mishap hadn''t dampened Swart''s enthusiasm in the slightest.

    When it came to paying, he was equally generous.

    He even brought Goethe breakfast¡ª

    Two ham and fried egg sandwiches, and a glass of apple juice.

    According to Swart, this was the standard meal for the sheriff¡¯s dining hall, a step above what the regular officers got.

    Next to the breakfast lay Goethe¡¯s wallet and dagger.

    At the moment, his wallet contained one 100-crown note, one 50-crown note, five 10-crown notes, along with 3 silver sols and 17.5 copper cents.

    As Goethe counted his money, the exchange system of Tessin¡¯s currency surfaced in his mind¡ª

    1 gold crown exchanged for 12 silver sols.

    1 silver sol exchanged for 20 copper cents.

    Copper cents were further divided into whole cents, half cents, and quarter cents.

    Previously, he had bought a pound of black bread for roughly one and a quarter copper cents.

    "Not a decimal system¡­ That''ll take some getting used to."

    Goethe rubbed his temples but didn¡¯t let it stop him from carefully examining the coins.

    The gold crown resembled banknotes from his homeland.

    The silver sols and copper cents, on the other hand, were traditional coins.

    On the obverse, a crowned man''s portrait. On the reverse, a sheaf of wheat and the number "1."

    The half-cent was a coin as well, half the size of a one-cent piece.

    The quarter-cent was even smaller, only half the size of a half-cent.

    "George I."

    Looking at the man on the coin, Goethe¡¯s memory filled in the details.

    He was the emperor who founded a great empire, surrounded by countless legends¡ª"Son of the Dragon," "Blessed by the Fairies," "The Invincible Knight."

    Yet, in the end, this emperor met a tragic fate¡ªbetrayed by his beloved woman and most trusted subordinate, he was stabbed through the heart with a sword.

    Rumors claimed he never truly died, some said he was taken to the Fairy Lake to heal and would one day return. Others believed he was carried away by a dragon to the Isle of Dragons.

    Despite a century passing, his legend remained well-known.

    But Goethe had no interest in such stories, what mattered to him was the money in his hand.

    "Ah, the scent of wealth!"

    Goethe sighed in satisfaction. Even his exhaustion seemed to fade a little.

    After all, the aftermath of last night¡¯s events had been handled entirely by Swart and his subordinates. Goethe had only given a brief statement before resting in Swart¡¯s office.

    He could have gone to an inn, but for safety reasons, he had chosen to stay at the sheriff¡¯s office instead.

    He had no desire to wake up with his throat slit.

    Of course, this came at a cost¡ª

    A hard wooden chair was hardly suitable for Goethe¡¯s body. He had to half-lean in it, resting his legs on Swart¡¯s desk.

    Naturally, such a posture didn¡¯t allow for proper rest.

    In truth, even if he had slept in a proper bed, he wouldn''t have slept well.

    He had just transmigrated into this world, immediately thrown into danger and uncertainty even someone with nerves of steel wouldn''t be completely at ease.

    It wasn¡¯t until just before dawn that Goethe managed a short nap¡ª

    Only to be rudely awakened by an overexcited Swart.

    If not for the fact that the sheriff had brought breakfast and that Goethe still needed his help, Swart would have learned the true meaning of morning grumpiness.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    After double-checking his belongings, Goethe put away his wallet and picked up his breakfast.

    The ham in the sandwich was firm and all-meat, with no added fillers. The fried egg was crisp on the outside and perfectly runny inside, pairing wonderfully with the fresh, crunchy lettuce.

    One bite turned into another¡ª

    Then, a sip of apple juice.

    Freshly squeezed sweet, tangy, and refreshing.

    Three bites per sandwich.

    Once he finished both, Goethe downed the rest of his apple juice in one go.

    Then, he grabbed a fresh change of clothes from his belongings and changed from the inside out. Picking up his cane and top hat, he headed out of the police station.

    It was still an hour before eight, but having never been to Black Sail Security Company, Goethe decided to set off early.

    He raised a hand and flagged down a public carriage.

    Public carriages had no designated stops¡ªthey charged by distance.

    For up to 3 kilometers, the fare was half a copper cent.

    Beyond 3 kilometers, it was one copper cent.

    Every additional 3 kilometers cost another half-cent.

    They only operated within the city¡ªno trips to the outskirts.

    Black Sail Security Company, located at 22 Sausage Street, was about 5 kilometers from the police station.

    That morning, Goethe was the only passenger in the carriage.

    The poor couldn''t afford public transport.

    The rich had private carriages.

    Public carriages were for the middle class¡ªthose who couldn¡¯t buy a private carriage but still wanted to distance themselves from the poor.

    Most of them held respectable, stable jobs and had no need to wake up early.

    This allowed Goethe to enjoy both the spaciousness of the carriage and an unobstructed view of the city through the window.

    At first, the streets were clean, lined with shops and fountains casting rainbows in the sunlight. Pairs of patrolling officers kept everything in perfect order.

    But soon, the roads grew uneven.

    Stone slabs mixed with patches of gravel.

    People in coarse linen shirts, suspenders, and battered felt hats crowded the sidewalks, heading toward factories.

    Among them were grown men and half-grown children.

    The adults had dull eyes and weary faces.

    The children were thin, frail, and malnourished.

    Yet none of them stopped moving.

    They had to work.

    Only work brought money.

    Only money meant survival.

    It was the same for men¡ª

    It was the same for women.

    Among the crowd, many women balanced large wooden basins on their heads, making their way toward the rivers in the outskirts.

    The clothes in the basin didn¡¯t seem dirty at all, many were even adorned with lace, finely crafted and delicate.

    Each woman lifted her wooden basin high, afraid that the muddy ground beneath them might stain the garments. Their own shoes and skirts, however, were already covered in filth.

    Alongside the road, a jumble of stalls formed a bustling marketplace.

    There were stands selling vegetables and fruits, as well as those offering cooked food.

    Without permanent shops of their own, these vendors were all traveling merchants.

    They shouted with enthusiasm:

    "Fries! Fried fish!"

    "Pancakes! Grilled sausages!"

    The aroma of food mingled with the stench of the crowd, creating a scent unique to the mortal world.

    Leaning against the carriage, Goethe breathed in this familiar mix of odors, silently observing the scene before him.

    He was both an outsider and a part of it all.

    Just like everyone else, struggling desperately to survive.

    And him?

    He was no exception.

    Whether in his homeland or here¡­

    It was the same.

    Goethe withdrew his gaze, leaned back against the carriage wall, and smirked in self-mockery.

    The wheels rumbled on, the coachman called out, and before long, the carriage came to a stop at 22 Sausage Street.

    Through the window, Goethe could already see the sign of "Black Sail Security Company" hanging above a two-story building.

    He fished out a copper coin to pay the fare, hopped off the carriage, and took a closer look around.

    The security company occupied the second floor.

    On the first floor, a sign read "Old Henry¡¯s Deli."

    An elderly man tended the shop, carefully wiping down the sign and display window. When he noticed Goethe approaching, he greeted him with a friendly smile.

    "Good day."

    "Good day."

    A polite but reserved exchange.

    After a brief nod, Goethe made his way up the side staircase.

    Halfway up, he noticed that the door to the "Black Sail Security Company" was already open.

    Standing at the entrance, he didn¡¯t step in immediately. Instead, he knocked twice and took a quick look inside.

    The room before him was roughly ten square meters. A desk stood near the entrance, with a registration book placed atop it. Further inside, a square tea table sat beside a long sofa.

    Beyond that, there were two more doors¡ªone further in, the other opposite the sofa.

    Both were closed, leaving Goethe unable to see what lay beyond.

    His first impression of the security company?

    Utter simplicity.

    As he took in his surroundings, the door across from the sofa swung open, and a young man slightly older than Goethe stepped out.

    He wore a white shirt, a black vest, black trousers, and meticulously polished leather shoes. In one hand, he held a cup of coffee. Behind him, Goethe caught a glimpse of a room filled with kitchenware and ingredients.

    "A kitchenette, perhaps?"

    Goethe mused before offering the young man a polite smile.

    "Hello, I¡¯m¡ª"

    "Goethe."

    "I know who you are."

    "Mr. Morey has told me everything."

    The young man cut him off coldly, emphasizing that he already knew everything¡ªand he had no intention of introducing himself. Instead, he walked behind the registration desk, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to Goethe.

    "Everything you need to know is in here."

    "You can read, right?"

    Goethe nodded.

    "Good," the young man said. "Read it yourself."

    With that, he shut the door in Goethe¡¯s face.

    Goethe rubbed his nose, narrowly avoiding the impact, a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

    There was no hostility.

    But the distaste was unmistakable.

    Clearly, his presence was unwelcome.

    "Official supernatural organizations¡­ seem even more troublesome than I expected."

    That thought lingered in Goethe¡¯s mind as he stood at the door, tearing open the envelope.

    Then, he froze.

    Inside, there was no letter.

    Instead, there was a provocative flyer featuring a sultry woman, with the words "Garden Club" encircled by rose petals prominently displayed.

    Alongside it, a gold crown with a value of 5.

    Seeing the two items together, a bold guess immediately popped into Goethe¡¯s mind.

    And that was¡­

 Chapter 11: Save Where You Should Save, Spend Where You Should Spend

    Publicly funded XX.

    Goethe was very familiar with the Garden Club.

    He knew its depths and limits, understood when to advance and when to retreat.

    So, he was well aware of what five gold crowns could get him there.

    Entry fee: 1 silver sol.

    Tea seat: 1 silver sol.

    One dance: 1 silver sol.

    Of course, if it was just dancing, five gold crowns would be more than enough to last until dawn. However, certain "special services" inside required significantly higher fees.

    Five gold crowns?

    Enough for about two.

    But why had Morey sent him to the Garden Club?

    Was it simply a better place for a conversation?

    Or¡­

    Could the so-called "Fog Killer" be hiding there?!

    At that thought, Goethe''s expression tensed.

    It wasn¡¯t impossible. After all, the "friend" he had personally thrown off a building, Ander, was someone he had met at the Garden Club.

    A sudden idea struck him.

    "Could the Wayne family have been targeted because the previous ''Goethe'' unintentionally offended the ''Fog Killer'' at the Garden Club?"

    His face darkened.

    Damn it!

    What a disaster!

    Standing there, he sifted through ''Goethe¡¯s'' past memories, searching for any clue.

    But he found nothing.

    Nineteen years of memories weren¡¯t too complicated, but locating an enemy that even ''Goethe'' himself had no recollection of was no easy task.

    Even narrowing it down to the Garden Club didn¡¯t help.

    After a moment of thought and no answers, Goethe shook his head and turned to leave.

    The Garden Club didn¡¯t open during the day; it only started business at 7 p.m.

    And now, it was only 8 a.m.¡ªa full eleven hours to go.

    Goethe had no intention of wasting that time.

    Raising his hand, he hailed another public carriage.

    Half an hour later, he arrived at the entrance of "Ale Bar."

    Without announcing himself, he pushed open the door.

    "Sorry, we¡¯re closed."

    "Come back in the evening if you need something."

    The server, busy cleaning, didn¡¯t even lift his head as he spoke.

    Goethe glanced at him, then at the drunkard slumped in a corner of the bar. He flicked a silver sol onto the counter.

    "A ''Hunter,'' please."

    "Right away, sir."

    The same server who had just declared the bar closed immediately sprang into action.

    Less than three minutes later, a glass of whiskey mixed with honey and pomegranate juice was placed in front of him.

    A deep crimson color, a sharp spiciness, yet tinged with a hint of sweetness.

    As Goethe sipped the ''Hunter,'' he could almost envision a hunter, enduring countless hardships and braving mortal danger, finally capturing his prey and savoring his victory.

    "Good drink."

    "I hope the rest doesn¡¯t disappoint me."

    Goethe set down his glass.

    "Of course!"

    "As long as you have enough gold crowns, we have the best hunters in Lustre."

    The server smiled.

    Ale Bar was Lustre¡¯s famous ¡®hunter¡¯ tavern.

    In the past, ''Goethe'' had sought help here, only to be humiliated.

    That humiliation had pushed him to recklessness.

    To Goethe, aside from calling it "na?ve," there was little else to say.

    Expecting help without offering anything in return?Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    Such kindness didn¡¯t exist in this world.

    Even so-called philanthropists had their own motives.

    If not for profit, then for reputation.

    Of course, true altruists weren¡¯t nonexistent.

    They were just rare.

    And the previous ''Goethe'' had never met one.

    But the current Goethe?

    He had.

    That was why he had chosen to retire back home.

    Unfortunately, on the first day of retirement, he found himself in this hellhole just because he stopped for some grilled skewers by the roadside.

    Hah.

    Taking a deep breath, Goethe suppressed his frustrations and pulled out his wallet. Without concealment, he placed the highest denomination gold crown on the counter.

    "Find the family members of ''Goethe Wayne.'' Ten gold crowns for each person found, one gold crown for accurate information on their whereabouts."

    "And¡­"

    "If anyone knows what happened to the Wayne family, these hundred gold crowns are theirs."

    Goethe stated his terms clearly.

    He knew when to spend and when to save.

    Though he liked money, he was no miser.

    Especially when it came to spending where it mattered, he never hesitated.

    Just like now.

    Though Swart had promised to investigate ''Doctor Hode'' for him, and Morey had agreed to a ''partnership,'' Goethe knew that some matters still required his personal attention.

    For instance: finding his family¡¯s whereabouts.

    Even if he already knew they had been murdered.

    Because the ones responsible and those around them. did not know that he knew.

    And that worked in his favor.

    It helped shape his persona.

    Of course, it wasn¡¯t just an act.

    There was also a real possibility¡­

    That he might capture a big fish.

    Perhaps, he might even gain [Bloody Honor].

    That, however, would depend entirely on luck.

    Let''s see how much influence the ''Fog Killer'' has over his subordinates and how many gold crowns it will take.

    With that thought, Goethe placed a stack of 50-gold-crown notes on the bar counter.

    A total of 150 gold crowns!

    Seeing the gold crowns on the counter, the smiling bartender''s grin widened even further.

    150 gold crowns was no small sum, even in the Ale''s Bar.

    If the deal went through, he would receive a generous commission.

    If it didn''t?

    The boss would still give him a bonus.

    A win-win situation.

    Thus, the bartender enthusiastically introduced the process to Goethe.

    "The bounty will be posted tonight and will remain active for four weeks. If someone completes the task within this period, we will notify you. If the task is not completed, we will issue a full refund. Additionally, our boss will provide you with one complimentary service¡ªwithin reasonable limits."

    "If you agree, please sign here."

    "This will serve as your receipt. Of course, you can burn it if you like, I¡¯ll remember you."

    As he spoke, the bartender handed two slips of paper to Goethe.

    Each slip was about three fingers wide and less than ten centimeters long. The front was blank, while the back had a raised number, clearly an anti-counterfeiting mark from the Ale¡¯s Bar.

    Goethe signed both slips, returning one to the bartender while keeping the other.

    After slipping the paper into his wallet, he downed the last of his ''Hunter'' cocktail and turned to leave.

    "Stay safe."

    The bartender called out loudly.

    He had already noticed the two drunken men in the corner waking up and following Goethe.

    A warning was the most he could offer.

    Help?

    Not a chance.

    He was just a bartender.

    These things were for the bar''s security staff to handle.

    And security staff didn¡¯t work during the day.

    "Hope he¡¯ll be fine."

    The bartender muttered, half-joking, before returning to cleaning.

    Mind your own business. Don¡¯t meddle. Inform the boss if anything happens, and let him handle it.

    That was what the boss had told him on his first day.

    The last bartender who ignored that rule? He got a bullet to the head.

    Someone was tailing him.

    Goethe noticed immediately.

    He had expected it the moment he revealed his wallet so openly.

    But he had done it anyway.

    Was he asking for trouble?

    No.

    Goethe never sought trouble. He simply had a habit of ''borrowing'' money from ''generous'' individuals.

    Especially right after spending a large sum.

    Turning the corner, Goethe quickened his pace and dashed into a narrow alley.

    The two men following him hurried to keep up.

    But as soon as they entered, their vision was flooded with blinding white.

    Then¡ª

    A searing pain!

    Lime powder!

    "Aaargh!¡ªUgh!"

    Their screams were cut short as a sharp pain shot through their groins.

    A low blow!

    With practiced ease, Goethe delivered a swift kick to each man. As they doubled over clutching themselves, he swung the butt of his revolver down on the backs of their heads.

    Thud! Thud!

    Two muffled impacts, and they collapsed to the ground.

    Goethe searched their bodies.

    Total earnings: 1 gold crown, 10 silver sols, and 15 copper cents.

    Two semi-used revolvers with ammunition, two daggers.

    If he sold the revolvers with the bullets, they¡¯d fetch around 2-4 gold crowns. The daggers wouldn¡¯t go for more than 2 silver sols.

    "Broke bastards."

    Goethe sneered.

    Back home, ''generous big brothers'' each contributed at least five-digit sums to him.

    If he ran into someone in finance, the numbers started at six digits.

    Never one to waste an opportunity, Goethe called the patrol officers.

    "I¡¯m a friend of Swart. These two tried to rob me, and I suspect they might be wanted criminals."

    The young patrolman glanced at Goethe, completely unharmed, then at the unconscious men, his lips twitching.

    The older patrolman, however, reacted swiftly.

    "Understood. We''ll take them to the station immediately. If they¡¯re wanted criminals, their bounty will be transferred to you right away."

    "Thank you."

    Goethe nodded, taking advantage of the situation to hitch a ride back to the station in the patrol wagon.

    While patrol officers usually patrolled on foot, they were allowed to use wagons for arrests, prisoner transport, or emergencies.

    Public transport was an option too, but saving even one and a half copper cents was still saving money.

    Small savings added up, after all.

    Back at Swart¡¯s office, Goethe had barely taken a seat when the police chief burst through the door, quickly shutting it behind him.

    "Goethe!"

    His face was grim as he leaned in, lowering his voice¡ª

    "Dr. Hode is dead!"

 Chapter 12: When Goethe Suspected a Trap

    Doctor Hode is dead?!

    Goethe frowned.

    He had just asked Swart to investigate, and now the man was dead? That was too much of a coincidence.

    If he had only suspected something before, now he was certain Doctor Hode was definitely involved.

    "It was suicide," Swart added. "He left a note, confessing that he poisoned your grandfather. Overcome with guilt, he chose to end his own life."

    Goethe let out a cold chuckle.

    Guilt?

    Anyone who believed that was a fool.

    Most likely, the "Fog Killer" had discovered Swart¡¯s investigation and decided to eliminate loose ends.

    Or¡­

    Hode was innocent.

    The "Fog Killer" might have learned about Swart''s inquiry and deliberately killed Hode to set a trap.

    Another possibility flashed through Goethe¡¯s mind.

    Still, he leaned toward the first scenario, Hode was silenced, and his death was staged as a trap.

    "Where is the body?" Goethe asked.

    "Still at Hode¡¯s house. I told my men not to touch anything. I waited for you to investigate the scene together," Swart said, flashing a flattering smile.

    Though Goethe was younger, Swart had witnessed his abilities firsthand.

    If he wanted to climb higher, forging a good relationship with someone like Goethe was essential.

    Besides, his late merchant father had given him a piece of advice before passing: Leave the professional work to professionals. Your job is to support them.

    Swart had taken that to heart.

    It was also why, despite his own mediocre skills and numerous shortcomings, he had still managed to become sheriff.

    Goethe glanced at Swart and could more or less guess what he was thinking.

    But he didn¡¯t care.

    This was just cooperation, both taking what they needed. That was enough.

    "Let¡¯s go."

    Goethe headed for the door but suddenly paused.

    "Make sure to contact Morey."

    He added one more thing.

    "And prepare something powerful."

    <hr>

    Linden Upper District, near Pine District

    This was considered the heart of Lustre, a favored area for the upper middle class and above.

    It was more prosperous and safer than Linden Lower District, yet more affordable than Pine District, an ideal location.

    Doctor Hode lived here.

    Of course, being the private doctor of Goethe¡¯s family alone wouldn¡¯t be enough to afford such a lifestyle. Hode served as a private doctor for five families, one of whom was rumored to be nobility.

    Whenever he mentioned this, Doctor Hode always looked proud.

    The Kingdom of Tessin had stood for over 120 years. The once-new nobles had long since become established aristocrats, while some of the old noble families had either declined or thrived.

    Kings might change, but nobility was eternal.

    That was what King George I had said.

    Many believed it to be an unshakable truth.

    Others scoffed at it.

    Doctor Hode was undoubtedly among the former.

    But now, the once-proud doctor hung from the first-floor ceiling beam like a dried sausage.

    "Where¡¯s Morey?"

    Goethe asked as he jumped down from the carriage.

    Swart smirked. "You don¡¯t seriously think I can order that man around, do you? I already sent word to him. When he chooses to arrive, though, is beyond my control."

    Goethe nodded in understanding and headed toward the house.

    "Sheriff!"

    A patrolling officer at the door saluted upon seeing Swart.

    Swart gave a small nod, but his gaze quickly shifted to Goethe, who stood at the entrance, surveying the surroundings.

    The house was a two-story building with a garden.

    The morning sun shone brightly on the neatly trimmed lawn and white fence. On one side of the grass, there was a white lounge chair and a round table, with a folded parasol standing nearby.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    One could easily imagine sitting here on a hot afternoon, opening the parasol, sipping a chilled drink, and enjoying the peace.

    Compared to Guta Street, this was a world of difference.

    In Guta Street, you opened your door directly onto the noisy, unsafe street.

    Inside, the furnishings reflected the doctor¡¯s wealth.

    A silver tea set sat in the kitchen. Goethe vaguely remembered that his grandfather had owned a similar one. But unlike this, his grandfather only brought it out for special occasions, keeping it carefully stored away at all other times. No one but him even knew where it was hidden.

    That was the difference in wealth.

    Goethe sighed inwardly and walked toward the other side of the lawn, peering into the living room through the window.

    As for going inside?

    Not a chance.

    Knowing full well that there was a trap, Goethe would never step in.

    Not unless Morey arrived and went in first without incident.

    Or unless the danger was neutralized.

    Otherwise, he would maintain a safe distance.

    Through the window, he spotted a letter on the table.

    Doctor Hode¡¯s so-called suicide letter.

    "Bring me that letter," Goethe said to Swart.

    "Bring me that letter."

    Swart turned to a nearby patrol officer and spoke.

    The officer glanced to the side...

    No one was there.

    He turned back to Swart, raising a hand to point at himself.

    This patrol officer wasn¡¯t a fool. The fact that both Goethe and Swart were deliberately avoiding the scene made it clear that something dangerous was inside.

    ¡°Hurry up!¡±

    ¡°Stop dawdling!¡±

    Swart urged impatiently.

    Rank had its privileges, forced obedience was one of them. Wearing a long face, the patrol officer stepped inside, grabbed the suicide note, and dashed back out.

    ¡°Well done!¡±

    Swart praised him, taking the note and preparing to hand it to Goethe.

    But Goethe didn¡¯t take it. Instead, he simply let Swart hold onto it while he observed.

    Goethe was wary, there could be poison on the paper or something else equally insidious.

    His reaction made Swart¡¯s face go pale.

    His hands trembled as he held the note.

    ¡°Stop shaking.¡±

    Goethe snapped. Once Swart steadied his hands, Goethe was finally able to make out the scrawled handwriting¡ª

    I killed Old Wayne.

    I injected him with poison using a syringe.

    Then, I covered up the truth.

    But my conscience still haunts me.

    The torment is unbearable.

    At last, I choose freedom.

    ¡ªHode

    Qi.D1888.6.11

    ¡­

    The note was disjointed, as if the writer had truly been tormented before death.

    But Goethe didn¡¯t believe it.

    He turned and peered through the window, scanning the room for the syringe mentioned in the note.

    If his suspicions were correct, the syringe should contain traces of [Bloody Honor].

    Sure enough, when Goethe adjusted his angle, he spotted Hode¡¯s medical bag near the junction of the hallway and the living room.

    It was evident that Dr. Hode highly valued his medical bag, he had even placed it separately on a three-legged round tea table.

    However, at this moment, the bag was half-open.

    This directly contradicted his usual meticulousness.

    Someone who valued their medical bag so much would never leave it half-open. Even if they had opened it, they would have made sure to close it afterward.

    Unless¡­

    They were dead.

    A scene played out in Goethe¡¯s mind¡ª

    That morning, before leaving, Dr. Hode had checked his medical bag one last time.

    Just as he had it half-open, a rope suddenly looped around his neck from behind.

    The assailant was strong.

    Hode had no chance to resist.

    Within moments, he was strangled to death.

    ¡°Go get the syringe.¡±

    Goethe instructed Swart.

    The sheriff immediately turned to his subordinate.

    ¡°Again?!¡±

    The officer groaned but went in nonetheless.

    This time, he was even faster than before, grabbing the syringe and sprinting back out.

    The syringe was different from the ones Goethe had seen in his homeland. It was made of glass and metal, capable of injecting far less liquid than what he was familiar with, though its size was much larger.

    After a brief moment of thought, Goethe tore off a piece of seat cover from the carriage and used it as a barrier to touch the syringe.

    The next moment, words appeared before his eyes¡ª

    [Slightly Damaged Syringe (Bloody Honor): A syringe that has been used for over three years, capable of injecting approximately 10ml of liquid. Although its owner took great care in maintaining it, an accidental drop has left it in need of replacement despite no visible signs of damage. It was once meant to save lives, but in an act of deliberate murder, it was repurposed for death.]

    [Acquired: Bloody Honor!]

    ¡­

    Goethe smirked.

    Not only had he obtained another [Bloody Honor¡¯, bringing his total to two, but he had also discovered something crucial, even with a barrier, he could still acquire Bloody Honor.

    ¡°Did you find something?¡±

    Swart, who had been closely watching Goethe, couldn¡¯t help but ask when he saw his smile.

    ¡°A little.¡±

    Goethe nodded, then glanced through the window at Dr. Hode¡¯s hanging corpse. ¡°I don¡¯t know everything yet, but one thing is certain¡­

    Hode did not commit suicide.¡±

    ¡°He was silenced?¡±

    Swart lowered his voice and cast a wary glance at the fence gate behind them. His polished leather shoes subtly shifted in that direction.

    The sheriff was ready to leave.

    He had agreed to help Goethe, but only under the condition that it was ¡®safe.¡¯

    The moment danger arose, he would retreat.

    And Goethe?

    He ran even faster than Swart.

    Before Swart could fully react, Goethe had already sprinted out, leaving Dr. Hode¡¯s lawn behind.

    By the time Swart turned to flee, Goethe was already on his way back¡ªcarrying a box.

    The lid was open, revealing neatly arranged rows of explosives.

    One of them was already lit.

    Goethe charged straight to the front of Hode¡¯s house and flung the entire box inside.

    Boom!

    With a heavy thud, the explosives jostled inside the box.

    At the same moment, Dr. Hode''s hanging corpse began to twitch.

    The dead body... was moving!

    With a grotesque, horrifying motion.

    Snap!

    With a single tug, the reanimated Dr. Hode ripped the rope clean off.

    He crashed to the floor, right onto the pile of explosives.

    And just as he landed, the fuse reached its end¡ª

    BOOM!

 Chapter 13: Beneath the Mask of Caution and Madness Lies...

    Flames flickered, and a deafening explosion roared.

    Under the force of the shockwave, windows, doors, and even the weaker sections of the walls shattered instantly.

    Along with them, Dr. Hode''s corpse was obliterated as well.

    Swart crouched beside the carriage, holding onto his hat. He glanced at Goethe, then at the ruins of Dr. Hode¡¯s residence, and silently raised Goethe¡¯s danger level in his mind by another notch.

    As a police officer, even one as negligent as he was, Swart had encountered his fair share of ruthless individuals, shaped by the unforgiving environment.

    But someone like Goethe, this was a first.

    Cautious, meticulous.

    That wasn¡¯t frightening.

    Plenty of people possessed those traits.

    What was truly terrifying was when someone combined caution and meticulousness with a reckless, almost unhinged¡­ madness.

    Yes, madness.

    Swart had seen it clearly just moments ago: Dr. Hode¡¯s corpse had only "come to life" after the explosives were thrown in!

    Which meant that before that, the house had been perfectly normal.

    Yet, faced with that "normalcy," Goethe hadn¡¯t hesitated for even a second before blowing the place to bits.

    Just a mere suspicion nothing concrete was enough for him to destroy everything, completely indifferent to the consequences.

    Even if the aftermath proved Goethe right, the thought alone made Swart¡¯s scalp tingle.

    Because he couldn¡¯t help but wonder, what if Goethe ever suspected him?

    A shiver ran down his spine.

    The outcome was self-evident.

    Without hesitation, Swart turned to Goethe, who had already risen to his feet, and plastered a fawning smile on his face.

    ¡°What should we do next?¡±

    His tone was one of pure deference.

    ¡°Follow your usual procedures.¡±

    Goethe stepped onto the carriage as if leaving everything in Swart¡¯s hands.

    ¡°Call in the men. Lock down the scene.¡±

    Swart issued the orders with practiced ease.

    The patrol officers who had witnessed everything had no objections.

    They immediately sprang into action.

    Meanwhile, the massive explosion had drawn the attention of the residents of Linden District.

    Unlike those from the lower districts, the people living here were mostly middle-class or above.

    They didn¡¯t have to struggle for their daily meals. Each had a stable income perhaps not on par with the wealthy elite or nobility, but leagues above the lower classes.

    This meant they had the time and the audacity to be curious about what had happened.

    And they weren¡¯t afraid to question the police.

    That was when Swart stepped forward.

    While the patrol officers maintained order, Swart addressed the gathered residents.

    ¡°My apologies for the disturbance,¡± he said. ¡°After our initial investigation, it appears to have been a gas explosion.¡±Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

    He sighed. ¡°Unfortunately, Dr. Hode was at home when it happened¡­¡±

    With that, Swart removed his hat and placed it solemnly over his chest.

    The surrounding residents followed suit, their expressions tinged with sadness.

    ¡°Dr. Hode was a good man.¡±

    ¡°I was planning to hire him as my personal physician.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe something so terrible happened¡­¡±

    Voices murmured in low tones.

    Some of the grief was genuine.

    But some?

    Pure pretense.

    Swart had no intention of exposing them. Instead, he played along.

    Once their curiosity was satisfied, he turned to board the carriage.

    But as he opened the door, he froze.

    Goethe wasn¡¯t inside.

    An inexplicable sense of unease crept up his spine.

    Swart immediately bent down to check under the carriage seats.

    And when he saw the open crate of explosives now missing several sticks, his face darkened.

    But a second later, he composed himself.

    Muttering under his breath, just loud enough for himself to hear, he said:

    ¡°Two gas explosions in such a short time¡­ Looks like the gas company will need to thoroughly inspect all of Linden District. And as a responsible police chief, I should personally oversee the entire process¡­ with absolute fairness.¡±

    Something flickered in his eyes.

    Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face.

    A strange sense of anticipation welled up within him.

    Farrow leaned against the wall and slowly made his way downstairs.

    Each step sent a wave of agony through his body, as if his internal organs were being stabbed by knives.

    But he gritted his teeth and pushed forward.

    He was too weak now.

    Weak enough that even a child could overpower him.

    Although he had already taken care of the male owner of the house, the female owner who was out had not yet returned ordinarily, this wouldn''t matter to him. If she came back, he could just dispose of her. If not, then she was simply lucky.

    But now?

    If she happened to return suddenly, it would be him who got eliminated.

    The explosion just moments ago had already drawn the attention of enough police officers.

    Even if they were just a group of incompetents, at this moment, they were a threat.

    The thought of the explosion made Farrow grind his teeth in frustration.

    The trap he had set was flawless.

    Even if Goethe had suspicions, he would have come back to inspect Hode¡¯s body. At that point, Farrow would control the corpse and strike a fatal blow.

    What he hadn''t anticipated was that, from the beginning, Goethe never entered the house.

    Not only did he not enter, but he had even brought a box of explosives, lit it, and tossed it inside.

    Standing by the window, Farrow saw the scene unfold. He immediately attempted to control Hode''s body to make a final stand.

    But it was too late.

    As Hode¡¯s body was destroyed, Farrow suffered a violent backlash.

    "I¡¯ll need at least two weeks to recover!"

    Farrow never imagined that, even with his newfound Supernatural power, he would be forced into such a situation by mere mortals.

    "Just wait!" he thought angrily. "Wait until I recover! I¡¯ll make you wish you were never born!"

    He pushed open the door and looked at the crowd of ordinary people and police gathering across from him. He let out a cold laugh.

    The baseness of mortals!

    Without another word, he turned and walked away.

    He was determined to return to his lair without delay.

    Although urgency gripped him, his body, weakened by the backlash, prevented him from walking quickly. He staggered forward like an elderly person, each step slow and painful.

    Farrow had taken five minutes to cover the hundred or so meters to the street corner.

    Here, he could catch a public carriage.

    He exhaled a sigh of relief.

    His current condition wasn''t suited for much movement.

    Once he reached the street corner, far from the police, Farrow allowed his vigilance to relax.

    He gazed down the road, waiting for the public carriage to appear.

    He didn¡¯t notice a pair of eyes watching him from the shadows since the moment he left the house.

    At this point, a gun barrel emerged from the darkness.

    Despite the backlash, Farrow was still able to sense it.

    Instinctively, he tried to dodge, but his weakened body was unable to respond. He managed only to twist his torso halfway, enough to catch sight of the figure holding the gun behind him.

    "It¡¯s Goethe!"

    Farrow¡¯s face twisted with fear.

    Without hesitation, Goethe pulled the trigger.

    Bang!

    Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

    The first shot struck Farrow in the chest, sending him sprawling to the ground.

    Goethe then aimed at Farrow¡¯s head, continuing to fire.

    Five more shots.

    Until Farrow¡¯s skull was shattered beyond recognition, Goethe cautiously stepped out from the shadows.

    In his hand was another revolver. As he moved forward, he fired two more shots, one at each of Farrow¡¯s chest sides.

    And then?

    A bundle of five lit sticks of dynamite landed directly on Farrow''s body.

 Chapter 14: Rest and Lunch

    Boom!

    The severed limbs and broken arms flew into the air.

    This time, Goethe was certain that Farrow was beyond saving.

    He approached and looked down at Farrow¡¯s dismembered body.

    The other party had supernatural power!

    It was Farrow who had resurrected Hode''s body!

    Goethe was certain of this.

    After all, Farrow had been too conspicuous.

    In fact, after the explosion, it seemed that Goethe had boarded the carriage, but he had been scanning the surroundings for abnormalities.

    Although he didn''t know the exact nature of the power that revived Hode''s body, he knew one thing for sure.

    Someone must have seen him carrying the explosives and immediately decided to bring Hode¡¯s body back to life!

    And there weren¡¯t many places nearby where people could have seen him carrying the explosives.

    First, there was the second floor of Hode¡¯s house.

    Second, the detached house across from Hode''s.

    The first had already been destroyed in the explosion.

    So, only the house across the street remained.

    That¡¯s why, after boarding the carriage, most of Goethe''s attention was focused on that building.

    However, he was not entirely sure.

    He had only made a logical deduction, but since the other party possessed supernatural power, it was very likely that they used their abilities to observe him.

    But when he saw that nearly everyone in the Linden District had come out after the explosion, yet this building remained quiet, Goethe¡¯s attention turned completely to that house.

    When the door finally opened, and the person who came out seemed uninterested and instead walked toward the street, Goethe was convinced that something was off.

    When the person finally exclaimed in surprise, Goethe was sure.

    He walked over and began inspecting the body.

    After the explosion, there was nothing of value left.

    But Goethe continued his detailed examination.

    He was deeply curious about the "Supernatural" powers!

    Why did they possess strength that ordinary people didn¡¯t?

    Where did such power come from?

    Driven by curiosity, Goethe continued his search.

    When Swart arrived, he saw Goethe crouched down, inspecting the severed limbs with such focus, holding a piece of an arm, that the sheriff almost exclaimed "pervert."

    "Ahem, ahem," the sheriff cleared his throat, interrupting Goethe¡¯s concentration.

    Goethe looked up and saw the sheriff pointing around.

    The residents of the Linden District had gathered again, curiosity written all over their faces.

    "We¡¯ll continue the investigation at the station," the sheriff suggested.

    "Mm."

    Goethe didn¡¯t refuse. He lowered his hat and returned to the carriage.

    Swart stood in place, waiting for the residents to approach. When they did, a look of sorrow and helplessness appeared on the sheriff¡¯s face as he slowly said:

    "This is another gas leak accident!"

    "It¡¯s the same gas leak that occurred at Dr. Hode''s house!"

    "I¡¯m not sure if the remaining gas equipment in the neighborhood is safe, but I recommend everyone temporarily leave until the gas company can check and ensure everything is safe."

    After speaking, the sheriff sighed as he looked down at the body.

    "What?"

    "Another gas explosion?"

    "The gas company workers will just give us a quick fix!"

    "That¡¯s right."

    "Those company directors only care about their own profits, not us!"

    As middle-class residents, the people in the Linden District understood perfectly well how the gas company would handle things.

    Just look at the body on the ground!

    They didn¡¯t want to meet the same fate.

    And the charred ground!

    Who could guarantee that the gas wasn¡¯t still leaking?

    Many of the residents seemed to be frightened and took a few steps back.

    More of them turned their eyes to Sheriff Swart.

    "Sheriff Swart, we need your help. You just killed a group of dangerous people for us yesterday. Surely you wouldn¡¯t mind helping us again?"

    They had all seen the morning newspaper.

    Swart was undoubtedly a trustworthy person.

    "Yes, sheriff."

    "We need you to supervise!"Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Hearing the crowd¡¯s voices, Swart¡¯s heart swelled with happiness, though he maintained an air of reluctance.

    "I have work to do..."

    "Don¡¯t worry, we won¡¯t keep you from your duties!"

    "We¡¯ll explain to the chief that you¡¯re working overtime for our sake!"

    Before the sheriff could finish his sentence, the crowd interrupted.

    "Alright then."

    "Since that¡¯s the case, I¡¯ll supervise the gas company¡¯s inspection and repairs here."

    Swart finally nodded.

    His agreement was met with cheers from the residents.

    When Swart returned to the carriage and left, the residents waved him off kindly.

    Sitting back in his seat, Swart kept a smile on his face.

    He was in an excellent mood.

    This was a windfall.

    With the right moves, the money he had spent buying credit from Goethe would mostly be returned.

    And, he would have the support of the residents in the Linden District.

    Compared to the homeless common folk, if he wanted to move forward, the support of these residents was undoubtedly more valuable.

    It was a win-win.

    With that in mind, Swart couldn¡¯t help but hum a cheerful tune.

    Goethe couldn¡¯t help but furrow his brows as he closed his eyes in thought.

    Swart¡¯s tune was awful.

    ¡°Give me half,¡± Goethe said, causing Swart¡¯s humming to abruptly stop.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°What are you talking about, Goethe?¡±

    ¡°What half? I don¡¯t understand what you mean.¡±

    The sheriff began to avoid the issue.

    ¡°Gas Company, supervision, support from the Linden District,¡± Goethe casually mentioned the key points Swart cared about.

    ¡°But I fought for all of this myself!¡± The sheriff argued back.

    ¡°Without me, you wouldn¡¯t have been able to get it,¡± Goethe replied, closing his eyes again and ignoring Swart.

    The sheriff wisely chose not to argue further.

    Because he knew for sure that if he kept arguing, it wouldn¡¯t just be half of it.

    ¡°Damn Goethe!¡±

    ¡°Why is he so sharp?¡± The sheriff silently shouted in his heart. Then, he quickly made a decision to scrape more benefits from the Gas Company to recover his losses.

    As for falling out with Goethe?

    The sheriff wouldn¡¯t dare.

    Having witnessed Goethe¡¯s ruthless side multiple times, the sheriff chose to live with his heart in mind.

    Of course!

    More importantly, Goethe could bring him enough benefits. Though it was always dangerous. And that danger made him understand that he had to flatter Goethe. When the danger came, who else could he rely on?

    Therefore, after returning to the police station, when Goethe came back from inspecting Farrow¡¯s body in the morgue, Swart had already carefully prepared lunch.

    ¡°Braised beef, steamed potatoes, braised celery, molasses tart.¡±

    ¡°I can assure you, this is the best lunch from a nearby restaurant.¡±

    Swart said, handing Goethe a knife and fork.

    The braised beef was served in a bowl, cut into thumb-sized cubes, slowly braised over low heat, with a hint of wine flavor, making the meat aroma even richer.

    The steamed potatoes were whole, cleaned, and steamed in a basket, four of them arranged on a plate.

    The braised celery was simply boiled celery, exuding its unique fragrance.

    What caught Goethe¡¯s attention the most was the molasses tart.

    He had never eaten anything like it before.

    It was probably five pancakes stacked together, with dark brown molasses poured over the top.

    The rich sweetness made one eager to dig in.

    Swart, by this point, had already speared a steaming hot potato with his fork, peeling it with a knife as he said, ¡°The two guys you brought back don¡¯t have any criminal records, but they¡¯re probably habitual offenders. I had people take special care of them for a couple of days, and they¡¯ll spill the truth. Their revolvers and daggers have already been passed on.¡±

    He placed three gold bills worth 1 crown each in front of Goethe.

    Goethe put the three bills in his wallet, then picked up a steamed potato, but without peeling it, simply mashed it into his plate, before pouring the braised beef and sauce over it.

    The soft potato turned a deep yellow after soaking up the meat juice. Goethe took a bite, and the smoothness combined with the tender beef made him scoop another bite.

    Next, he ate a couple of crunchy pieces of celery.

    The molasses tart was shared, half for Goethe and half for Swart.

    Ten minutes later, after eating and drinking to his fill, Goethe finally spoke again.

    ¡°What do you know about Morey?¡±

    Swart, who was about to doze off, sat up straight immediately.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know much about Lord Morey. He only arrived in Lustre a month ago to handle our ¡®special matters.¡¯ The previous contact we had with the authorities hasn¡¯t been seen since three days ago.¡±

    ¡°We didn¡¯t dare to ask too many questions about this. Fortunately, Lord Morey is easier to get along with than expected. His action speed is not as quick as the previous person, but he¡¯s still not bad.¡±

    ¡°So, it¡¯s normal for him to not show up earlier; it¡¯s happened before, but Morey always responds afterward.¡±

    ¡°By the way, the ¡®Black Sail Security Company¡¯ was also founded after Morey arrived. Apart from a young man, it¡¯s just a shell.¡±

    A month ago!

    Upon hearing this time frame, Goethe narrowed his eyes.

    ¡®His family¡¯ had an accident about a month ago!

    Was that a coincidence?

    Or was there some connection?

    Also, the previous official in charge of ¡®special matters¡¯ should not have disappeared without a trace.

    An accident had to have happened!

    That¡¯s why Morey showed up!

    And the cause of the accident was...

    ¡®The Fog Killer!¡¯

    A flash of light passed through Goethe¡¯s eyes.

    As for the delayed reaction?

    It must be because of insufficient manpower.

    Morey must be chasing ¡®The Fog Killer¡¯ and doesn¡¯t have enough energy to manage other matters.

    Hence, he established the ¡®Black Sail Security Company!¡¯

    But...

    The young man inside the security company clearly couldn¡¯t handle things on his own.

    Goethe naturally thought of the indifference the young man had shown this morning and immediately thought of the body in the morgue.

    If he had faced that body...

    He¡¯d probably be easily killed.

    Goethe was very certain of this.

    Even if the body was torn apart, he could still gather some basic information from it.

    For example: Muscles, well-developed!

    It was a level of physical training that no ordinary person could reach, even professionals would need tremendous talent and years of rigorous training to attain.

    Goethe wouldn¡¯t dare face such a person unarmed.

    Not to mention that the person also possessed ¡®Supernatural power!¡¯

    As for whether the young man in the ¡®Black Sail Security Company¡¯ had similar ¡®Supernatural power¡¯?

    If he did, Swart should be more ¡®respectful¡¯ of him, not just calling him casually.

    Though they hadn¡¯t interacted for long, Goethe already understood a little about Swart¡¯s character.

    His thoughts turned back to the body.

    The person with such muscles couldn¡¯t possibly move that slowly.

    ¡°Is it because I killed the resurrected Doctor Hode, and the ¡®Supernatural power¡¯ affected me, making it easy to kill him?¡±

    Goethe once again speculated.

    But this time, he wasn¡¯t confident.

    Compared to his previous ¡®reasonable¡¯ speculation, his lack of understanding about the ¡®Supernatural¡¯ left him uncertain.

    However, he was confident that tonight, Morey would give him an answer.

    At the Garden Club.

    Of course!

    Before that, Goethe had something else on his mind.

    ¡°Do you know the contact details of other agencies or people responsible for ¡®special matters¡¯ aside from Morey?¡±

    Swart froze upon hearing the question.

    ¡°You don¡¯t trust Lord Morey?¡±

    ¡°No, it¡¯s not about trust.¡±

    ¡°I just want to avoid unnecessary danger.¡±

    Goethe replied with a smile.

    Because, just now, a bold hypothesis suddenly appeared in his mind:

    What if Morey was ¡®The Fog Killer¡¯ himself!

 Chapter 15: Garden Club

    Could Morey be the ¡®The Fog Killer¡¯?

    When this question crossed Goethe''s mind, he began to consider its possibility.

    As long as there was a clever use of information gaps, achieving this wouldn¡¯t be impossible in Goethe¡¯s eyes.

    Moreover, the behavior of people like Swart made things even easier.

    Therefore, Goethe had to be cautious.

    After all, he was meeting with the other party later that night.

    He certainly didn¡¯t want the ¡®Night of Answers¡¯ to turn into the ¡®Night of Death.¡¯

    ¡°I¡¯ll go send a telegram,¡± Swart said after a brief thought, rising immediately.

    The sheriff didn¡¯t elaborate further. Clearly, this needed to remain confidential, or perhaps he was deliberately being mysterious, hoping to gain more leverage in future cooperation.

    Goethe didn¡¯t mind. All he needed was a definite answer.

    If Morey really was the ¡®The Fog Killer,¡¯ it wouldn¡¯t be such a bad thing.

    At least the truth would be exposed.

    After all, after so many days in Lustre, appearing at the police station, there would be plenty of clues left behind for true official Supernatural figures to trace him. Goethe could easily step back and stay out of it.

    If not, he would stick to the original plan, meeting the person to learn more, and then figuring out the next step.

    Either way, it would benefit him.

    So, Goethe patiently waited.

    An hour later, Swart returned with two blankets and two sleeping bags.

    Seeing this, Goethe immediately understood the answer.

    Morey was in the clear.

    If Morey had been a problem, Swart wouldn¡¯t have been so ¡®leisurely.¡¯

    In fact, that was indeed the case.

    ¡°Lord Morey is fine.¡±

    Swart entered the office and spoke directly.

    Then, with a hint of flattery, the sheriff handed a blanket and sleeping bag to Goethe.

    ¡°Though you could sleep at the desk, I prefer to lie down,¡± Swart added. ¡°The woolen blanket will protect you from the dampness of the floor.¡±

    ¡°The sleeping bag gives you the illusion of lying on a bed.¡±

    With that, the sheriff spread out the blanket and crawled into the sleeping bag. ¡°Of course, it¡¯s just an illusion. It¡¯s not a real bed, but it¡¯s better than lying in one of those ¡®copper-cornered coffins.¡¯¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know how those bastards came up with it, renting out warehouses full of coffin-shaped beds to homeless people for a copper coin each. If someone dies, they just close the lid and call it a day.¡±

    ¡°Of course, it¡¯s still better than the half-copper ones, where people have to sleep with their upper bodies dangling from a rope. I saw it once, just at dawn. All the snoring people were abruptly dropped to the floor when the rope was cut. The feeling¡­¡± He shook his head.

    ¡°But even that is better than the people who pay a quarter copper, who are only allowed to sit on the floor or lean against a wall, not even allowed to lie down, and are constantly monitored.¡±

    ¡°Still, the truly unfortunate are those who can¡¯t even get into these ¡®shelters.¡¯ Winter in Lustre is colder than you''d think¡­¡±

    As the sheriff spoke, his voice gradually trailed off, and the sound of snoring filled the air.

    Goethe glanced at him and then unrolled his own blanket, crawling into his sleeping bag but leaving it open. June weather wasn¡¯t cold.

    This would be enough.

    Goethe half-lay, half-reclined, keeping both revolvers close.

    He even positioned himself toward the inner side.

    He didn¡¯t know if danger would arrive, so he had to prepare in advance.

    Just like Swart.

    Why had he chosen to sleep with Goethe in the police station office?

    It was obvious that he too sensed the danger.

    After all, who would choose to sleep in an office if it was more comfortable than a bed?

    Becoming a sheriff in this world might have its flaws, but stupidity wasn¡¯t one of them.

    And the small talk before bed?

    It was probably meant to emphasize how hard it was to get the blanket and sleeping bag, closing the gap between them further.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    Was it a test or sympathy for the poor?

    The former was possible.

    The latter?

    Goethe smiled and closed his eyes.

    Before long, light snoring began.

    When Goethe woke again, it was already six in the evening.

    The ticking of the clock in the police station lobby allowed Goethe to make an accurate guess.

    He crawled out of the sleeping bag, put on his shoes, and headed to the washroom.

    Five minutes later, he was done.

    When Goethe returned to the office, Swart had also woken up.

    ¡°Are we going to the Garden Club tonight?¡±

    Goethe asked directly, noticing Swart was still half-asleep.

    Swart might not have the skills, but his status was useful, especially when dealing with routine problems.

    ¡°Of course!¡±

    As soon as Swart heard Goethe mention the Garden Club, he perked up, rushing to wash up and ordering a carriage.

    ¡°I haven¡¯t been to the Garden Club in ages.¡±

    ¡°I wonder if Miss Sheila will perform tonight. Have you heard her sing?¡±

    ¡°She really has a beautiful voice.¡±

    Once in the carriage, the sheriff was all excited.

    Sheila?

    Tall, a beautiful voice, a mole by her mouth.

    Upon hearing the name, Goethe immediately pictured a woman in a white dress standing beside a piano, the club¡¯s ¡®star,¡¯ renowned in Lustre.

    She didn¡¯t dance with people, only sang occasionally.

    And listening to Sheila sing required an extra fee.

    One gold crown.

    A fortune for the poor.

    Yet, it was highly sought after by the middle class.

    It seemed that spending 1 gold crown would make them different from the poor, granting them a unique status.

    Goethe had spent it before.

    And that¡¯s when he truly remembered Ms. Sheila.

    At least, from the memories Goethe had, Ms. Sheila was quite the dazzling figure.

    Men...

    They were always like this.

    Habitually fixating on what caught their attention.

    It was like when a beautiful female athlete steps out, instantly attracting all the men¡¯s attention. But if you asked them for her jersey number, the chances are they''d be unable to answer.

    They only focused on the main point.

    Without a doubt, the previous Goethe was like that.

    And Swart, who kept bringing up Sheila¡¯s name?

    He was already infatuated.

    But Goethe didn¡¯t care.

    It wasn¡¯t that he was immune, it was that he had seen better.

    After going through makeup, beautification, and filters, Goethe¡¯s immunity had risen substantially.

    ¡°If Ms. Sheila isn¡¯t singing, we could find two lovely ladies to dance three dances, and then... heh heh heh.¡±

    Swart gave a smile that every man would understand.

    The Garden Club did offer some special services, but these services had thresholds.

    First, you had to dance three dances. Only if the lady you danced with wasn¡¯t offended would there be further steps.

    Money?

    Of course, it was essential.

    Or rather, money was the most important thing.

    ¡°We¡¯re here! We¡¯re here!¡±

    Without waiting for the coachman to open the door, Swart jumped out of the carriage.

    Goethe followed him and got out of the carriage as well.

    As they arrived, the attendants at the Garden Club¡¯s entrance immediately approached.

    To be a front-door attendant at the Garden Club, one had to have a good eye.

    They recognized Swart.

    And they recognized Goethe.

    The former because of his status.

    The latter because of his frequent visits to the Garden Club... and some matters involving his family.

    ¡°Good evening, Sheriff Swart, Young Master Goethe.¡±

    The attendant smiled and bowed, though internally, they were very curious about why these two would come together. But on the surface, there was not the slightest hint of doubt.

    Swart handed over two silver coins, the ticket fees for both of them.

    Goethe handed over another two silver coins for their tea table fees.

    The two of them didn¡¯t need any guidance from the attendants. They walked straight into the Garden Club with ease.

    The neon lights made the place look especially unique.

    White walls, columns with distinct stripes, and clean steps all under the colorful glow that made everything sparkle, as if you were stepping up to a stage and seeing the legs and busts inside.

    Ladies, all heavily made up, gathered in the main hall. Crystal chandeliers hung from above, lighting up the room in luxury, creating a clear separation from the barren world outside.

    Chairs scattered along the walls, each next to a small table with a pot of tea and a plate of snacks.

    But, aside from Goethe, no one was paying attention to these things.

    Even Swart wasn¡¯t.

    The sheriff was looking for a target.

    This moment, during the pause between dances, was the best time to find a partner.

    Everyone in the hall was doing the same.

    Men did it, and women did it too.

    So, when Goethe sat alone, sipping his tea and eating snacks, he became the center of attention.

    The tea was bitter.

    The snacks, slightly sweet.

    But they were worth 1 silver coin? Goethe was certain of that.

    But they were bearable, after all, the people here didn¡¯t mind these details.

    As long as the tea quenched their thirst, and the snacks eased their hunger, that was enough.

    Goethe took another snack, and just then, a young girl dressed as a maid walked toward him.

    If before Goethe¡¯s actions had drawn attention, now he was the focus of the entire room.

    Because she was Sheila¡¯s maid.

    ¡°Goethe! Goethe!¡±

    ¡°Look, it¡¯s Ms. Sheila¡¯s maid, Susan!¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s walking right toward me!¡±

    ¡°Did I catch Ms. Sheila¡¯s attention?!¡±

    As the maid drew closer, Swart grew excited, while Goethe glanced at her, placed the snack in his mouth, and sipped his tea, moistening the snack to swallow it more easily.

    She was undoubtedly coming for him.

    And this was, of course, part of Morey¡¯s plan.

    Just as Goethe was about to stand up, the maid didn¡¯t stop in front of him. Instead, she walked past him and stood in front of Swart.

    ¡°Is this Sheriff Swart?¡±

    ¡°Ms. Sheila wishes to see you.¡±

    The maid whispered softly.

    Swart was overjoyed.

    Goethe froze for a moment.

 Chapter 16: An Unexpected Way

    Is it really Swart you''re looking for?

    Goethe calmly sat down, following the natural flow of the situation.

    Along with the other men in the hall, he watched with interest as Swart, his face full of surprise, walked with the young maid down a corridor to the side of the hall, the one leading to the stairs to the second floor.

    Unlike the envious looks of the other men, Goethe was deep in thought.

    He didn¡¯t believe Miss Sheila would have sought out Swart without a reason.

    There must be something behind it.

    As Goethe pondered, suddenly a crumpled paper ball was thrown into his lap.

    He silently opened the note, which clearly read¡ª

    Washroom!

    Goethe squeezed the paper, crumpling it back up. As everyone''s attention was still focused on Swart, he turned and walked toward the washroom at the corner of the hall.

    "Here."

    Morey''s voice came from... the ladies'' side.

    Goethe frowned.

    He didn¡¯t enter right away, instead standing at the door.

    Then Morey emerged from inside.

    Seeing Morey, Goethe furrowed his brow even more tightly.

    In fact...

    He felt the snacks he''d just eaten churning in his stomach.

    A blue dress, a white shawl, heavily made-up face, especially the lips, bright scarlet, with unshaven stubble around the edges. His hair, clearly styled, looked rather amateur, aiming for natural curls but instead resembling a bird''s nest. In his hand was a parasol, and upon noticing Goethe, Morey gave him a playful wink.

    Ugh!

    Goethe couldn¡¯t hold back.

    Since learning he''d meet Morey at the Garden Club tonight, Goethe had imagined their encounter many times. But he never expected it to be like this.

    The first time he met Morey, he wore a black tuxedo, a white shirt, and a stacked front collar. Even though his tuxedo was worn and fraying, he still carried himself like a gentleman.

    But now?

    He looked utterly ridiculous.

    "I''m so sorry you have to see me like this!"

    Morey said apologetically, lifting ¡®her¡¯ skirt slightly.

    Seeing Morey so familiar with this, Goethe instinctively took a step back.

    "Please believe me, I have no interest in wearing women''s clothing. I dressed like this because I had no choice."

    Morey explained, ¡®her¡¯ tone embarrassed, and ¡®she¡¯ seemed to instinctively adopt a shy expression.

    If it had been a young woman making that expression, it would have been charming.

    But a middle-aged man doing so...

    Ugh!

    Goethe couldn''t stop himself from dry heaving in disgust.

    "I don¡¯t judge anyone¡¯s preferences as long as they don''t affect others."

    Not wanting to linger on this matter, Goethe emphasized his stance and quickly changed the subject.

    "Can you finally tell me everything now?"

    With that, Goethe put aside his discomfort and stared directly at Morey.

    Morey blinked.

    Goethe could only squint in irritation.

    But he didn¡¯t give up.

    "This afternoon, you had Swart investigate me."

    Morey didn¡¯t answer immediately. Instead, he countered with a question.

    "I don¡¯t want to lose my life carelessly."

    Goethe nodded firmly.

    "Being cautious and careful might not guarantee a longer life, but it¡¯s enough to make others take notice. A month ago, Allen Crowley, the official agent in charge of the supernatural, and his two assistants, and their whole team, were wiped out!"

    "In their logs, the last entry said ''The Fog Killer!''"

    "And wherever ''The Fog Killer'' appears, that¡¯s where we are now, the Garden Club tonight!"

    Morey said, but Goethe frowned.

    He¡¯d suspected the official supernatural team had been taken out, and it was clear the ''Fog Killer'' had done it.

    It also made sense that ''The Fog Killer'' would show up at the Garden Club tonight.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    But what puzzled him was why Morey was so certain of it.

    Seeing the confusion in Goethe¡¯s expression, Morey quickly explained.

    "Fortune-telling!"

    Goethe was taken aback.

    This was an answer he had never considered.

    Could fortune-telling really be that powerful?

    If it were, why not just find the ''Fog Killer'' directly?

    Why all this trouble?

    "Fortune-telling isn¡¯t all-powerful, especially the results. Only truly expert practitioners can interpret it. If ''The Fog Killer'' hadn''t killed Allen Crowley and his two assistants, that master wouldn¡¯t have intervened."

    Morey quickly clarified.

    "Mm."

    Goethe, who didn¡¯t know much about the supernatural, could only nod. His desire for that kind of power grew, but he knew this wasn¡¯t the right moment to ask.

    He pushed ahead with another question. "What about my family? Why did they suffer misfortune?"

    Morey¡¯s expression turned serious.

    "That''s exactly what I need to explain to you!"

    "Goethe Wayne, ''Wayne'' should not be your surname. Your real surname is... Modus!"

    "Goethe, Modus!"

    "Of course, you might not be familiar with this name, but in terms more commonly known to people, you should have heard of it¡ª"

    "George!"

    Morey said the name with authority.

    "The one imprinted on the coin?"

    Goethe froze.

    When he read the part about the ''Witch¡¯s Blessing,'' he had naturally understood he had a bloodline of exceptional origin, called the ''Mad King.'' But he had never imagined the ''Mad King'' was actually George I.

    "Yes, the king imprinted on the coin¡ªthe one known as the ''Founder of Tessin,'' ''Protector of the Maga Isles,'' ''Son of the Dragon,'' ''Blessed by Fairies,'' ''The Invincible Knight''¡ªKing George I."

    "Are you saying that I¡¯m part of the royal family?" Goethe asked with a teasing tone.

    It wasn¡¯t truly teasing, but a way to cover up the unrest deep inside him.

    He clearly remembered that, according to the "Witch''s Blessing," he should have been the one to put an end to the "Mad King''s bloodline." If George I and the "Mad King" were the same person, then what made the current Tessin royal family?

    Impostors?

    Or perhaps... green with envy?

    But, no matter what, just look at the way Morey is respecting him.

    Goethe knew this wasn¡¯t something he could address right now.

    "This might disappoint you," Morey replied, his voice carrying a somber note.

    "In January of 1860, the royal family and ministers issued the ''Exile Act'' from that moment on, the royal family stopped recognizing any bloodline of His Majesty George I that had been left outside, because... there were just too many!"

    "His Majesty was incredibly energetic, with over a hundred recorded offspring, not to mention the countless others scattered around. It¡¯s simply staggering."

    "So, Goethe, you''re not alone. If we include distant relatives, you probably have hundreds, or even more, family members."

    Morey chuckled, shaking his head.

    But Goethe felt even more bewildered.

    The true bloodline of the "Mad King" had been severed, yet there were still hundreds of descendants carrying his name. This was truly ironic.

    And then... the "Witch"!

    What had happened back then for the "Witch" to hate the "Mad King" so much? Did she wish for the "Mad King''s" bloodline to be eradicated?

    Goethe pondered these questions as Morey continued.

    "The ''Fog Killer'' first appeared in the capital, Bode."

    "He killed five women with special professions in Bode¡¯s eastern district, using disembowelment as his method, and then disappeared without a trace."

    "We exhausted all efforts to catch him, but we found nothing because every time he struck, it was on a foggy night. That¡¯s why he was given the name ''Fog Killer.''"

    "Just when we thought he had vanished, he reappeared this time in Lustre..."

    At this point, Morey glanced at Goethe before continuing.

    "The death of your family was likely the ''Fog Killer''s'' revenge."

    "The earlier manhunt for him had been ordered by a royal family member. The royal family couldn''t retaliate directly against Tessin, but they could take out the distant branches of the bloodline to vent their frustration."

    "Aaron Crowley must have discovered this and tried to stop it, but failed... and lost his life in the process."

    Goethe¡¯s expression hardened.

    "Alright, so what should we do now?" he asked coldly.

    Once again, he assumed the role of the vengeful young man.

    Clearly, Goethe had performed so well earlier that the character had become ingrained, and Morey, without any suspicion, let out a faint sigh.

    "Capture him!" Morey said firmly.

    "Or..."

    "Kill him."

    Morey spoke with conviction, then, as the official in charge of Lustre, added, "Of course, as promised, I¡¯ll do my best to ensure your safety."

    "And the ''Fog Killer'' will definitely come after me."

    "Based on his pattern of targeting special professional women, particularly young and beautiful ones, as soon as he notices me, he¡¯ll come after me. But don¡¯t worry, I have a real identity here: Beatrice, a poor girl who had to sign a short-term contract with the Garden Club to treat her sister¡¯s illness."

    Morey spoke with confidence.

    So much confidence that it nearly broke Goethe''s carefully crafted cold exterior.

    "Let¡¯s put aside the name Beatrice and the ''young and beautiful'' bit. At the very least, you should be a woman, right?"

    "Right now, you look like a creepy man in women¡¯s clothing!"

    Goethe couldn¡¯t help but mentally mock him.

    "You still don¡¯t understand the ''mystical side''!"

    "You don¡¯t get ''Supernatural power'' either!"

    "Goethe, do you know..."

    "Magic potions?"

    Clearly noticing Goethe¡¯s skepticism, Morey swiftly pulled out a test tube from his hand and uncorked it, drinking it down in one gulp.

    As he breathed in, Morey underwent a dramatic transformation.

    His skin became fair, smooth, and glowed under the light like milk.

    His facial features, proportionally adjusted, became refined and beautiful.

    His figure grew taller, with a gown that couldn¡¯t hide his elegant ankles.

    Even his messy hair now looked naturally beautiful.

    As for the originally gaudy makeup it now exuded a wild charm, reminiscent of a lazy female leopard lounging on a tree.

    Beautiful, yet dangerous!

    Makeup, beautifying, filters, nothing compared to this!

    Goethe couldn¡¯t help but silently admire.

    And once again, it proved an old saying: Clothes, makeup, and how they look depend on the face.

    Just like now, Morey''s face changed everything!

    He was truly stunning!

    Goethe couldn¡¯t help but compliment ¡®her¡¯ beauty, but then he remembered how Morey looked earlier, and his lips twitched.

    "Let¡¯s go!"

    "It¡¯s our turn to make an appearance!"

    Morey¡¯s voice softened, and ¡®she¡¯ raised ¡®her¡¯ arm gracefully.

    But just as they were about to leave, Goethe suddenly recalled something.

    "According to that fortune teller, the ''Fog Killer'' will definitely appear at the Garden Club tonight?"

    "Of course!" Morey said with certainty.

    Goethe¡¯s expression changed immediately¡ª

    Swart!

    Now he understood where the problem lay.

 Chapter 17: Hunter and Prey

    Previously, Goethe couldn¡¯t understand why Miss Sheila would seek out Swart.

    It couldn¡¯t possibly be for reasons like forming an alliance or seeking protection.

    This wasn¡¯t Swart¡¯s first time at the Garden Club.

    It wasn¡¯t the first time Miss Sheila knew of him either.

    If she wanted to meet him, she would have arranged it long ago.

    Besides, considering the circles she moved in, with just a hint of her intentions, there were people far more useful than Swart, people who would eagerly offer their services.

    So what did Swart have, aside from his own authority?

    Money?

    That was laughable.

    For someone of Miss Sheila¡¯s stature, even if her wealth were reduced tenfold, she could easily outshine Swart by miles.

    That¡¯s why, before, Goethe simply couldn¡¯t fathom it.

    But now, Goethe finally understood.

    It wasn¡¯t Miss Sheila looking for Swart.

    It was the "Fog Killer" who was after him!

    Why was the Fog Killer doing this?

    Of course, it was to try and "remove" all the people around him, even if those people seemed utterly useless.

    As for why not directly come after him?

    Goethe¡¯s eyes turned toward Morey, who was dressed in women''s clothes, and he couldn¡¯t help but take a deep breath.

    The Fog Killer wasn¡¯t a fool. If they were, they wouldn¡¯t have escaped the official pursuit in the capital, Bode, and then eliminated a special, superhuman official in Lustre.

    Most likely, the Fog Killer had predicted that Morey would use "divination" to track his movements.

    Then, the Fog Killer boldly laid their trap, waiting for Morey to step into it.

    But¡­ they weren¡¯t sure who Morey was!

    Even though theFog Killer knew more about "supernaturals" than he did!

    So, he was left behind!

    He became the "bait" to lure Morey out!

    Just as Morey used him as bait to draw the Fog Killer out!

    Between Morey and the Fog Killer, the roles of hunter and prey continuously shifted.

    And him?

    He was, from beginning to end, nothing more than "bait."

    In fact, he could be called the "ultimate bait."

    Goethe didn¡¯t mind this.

    He only hoped to stay alive.

    With that thought, Goethe stopped in his tracks.

    "Morey, I think we should change our entrance."

    He said this aloud.

    ...

    At the Garden Club, in the hall.

    The whispers that had filled the room came to a brief halt once again.

    Everyone''s attention was drawn to the lady who appeared at the corner of the hall.

    Her exquisite, beautiful face made the bright lights in the hall seem dull by comparison.

    Especially for the men, their gazes were firmly fixed on the lady in the blue dress.

    As for the other women who had previously appeared attractive?

    They were fine before, but with the appearance of the lady in blue, they suddenly seemed plain, almost ugly, in comparison.

    As they stared, their eyes suddenly froze.

    Who was the man holding her hand?

    Why did the lady look so shy?

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    And why were they heading toward the door?

    Then¡ª

    "To the Pinecone Hotel."

    Goethe¡¯s voice clearly rang out in the hall.

    The Pinecone Hotel was the finest and most expensive hotel in Lustre, located in a wealthy district where nobles and the rich lived. It was beautiful, clean, and very safe, with police patrolling around the clock and private bodyguards of the nobles making it a no-go zone for others.

    What would a man and a woman do at the best, most expensive hotel in the city?

    The answer was obvious.

    Immediately, all the men felt disheartened.

    Meanwhile, the surrounding women were filled with jealousy.

    "She''s just a short-term contract worker on her first day, what¡¯s so special about her?"

    "Yeah, she¡¯s nothing special!"

    "Exactly!"

    The jealous mutterings rang out, but those women suddenly noticed the men around them becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

    It wasn¡¯t until this moment that they realized the foolishness of their actions.

    Normally, they would never do such a thing, but jealousy made them ugly, and it clouded their judgment.

    They regretted it instantly.

    But it was too late.

    That lady in the blue dress was destined to be the focus of the evening.

    The carriage wheels rolled swiftly over the smooth cobblestone streets, heading straight for the Pinecone Hotel.

    Inside the carriage, Morey lit a piece of incense, then quickly made several gestures that ordinary people couldn¡¯t possibly replicate. Only after that did he softly say: "We can talk now."

    "Were you just blocking the sound?" Goethe asked curiously.

    This wasn¡¯t an act, he was genuinely interested in supernatural powers.

    "It wasn¡¯t just blocking the sound, it was a disguise."

    "If someone wants to listen, they¡¯ll hear what they wish to hear."

    "And this will help with our plan."

    Morey explained, then looked at Goethe with admiration.

    After Goethe briefly outlined his guess, Morey immediately agreed with his plan.

    As the current special official of the supernaturals in Lustre, Morey understood the Fog Killer¡¯s better than Goethe did.

    "You¡¯re very clever, even smarter than I expected. Plus, your reactions are quick..."

    "So, I hope our cooperation can go deeper."

    With that, Morey stared intently at Goethe.

    Goethe frowned.

    It wasn¡¯t that Goethe opposed deepening the cooperation.

    It was just that the way Morey looked right now made him feel uncomfortable.

    A young woman who appeared as beautiful as a flower, but in reality was a man in his forties with graying hair, sitting across from you and talking about deeper cooperation, it felt almost like being forced to eat canned herring, only to find that the supposed post-meal fruit was durian.

    That feeling...

    It was like seeing a stick meant for stirring muck!

    Goethe had no choice but to look away from Morey, shifting his focus to clear his thoughts.

    "Deepening cooperation is fine, but what do I gain from it?"

    "Can I learn these supernatural powers?"

    Goethe asked directly, having quickly adjusted his mindset.

    It wasn¡¯t that he couldn¡¯t take a more roundabout approach, but Goethe felt that, given the current situation, being straightforward was better.

    "Yes."

    "Provided you have the talent!"

    "If you don¡¯t have the talent, even if you learn¡­ the results won¡¯t be as good as a revolver, unless you want to perform tricks on the street."

    Morey answered directly. After a brief pause, he continued, "In addition to learning supernatural powers, you¡¯ll also receive a nice weekly salary, though of course, you¡¯ll have to work for it."

    "Like what we¡¯re doing now?" Goethe asked.

    "Exactly like this," Morey nodded.

    "That¡¯s dangerously close!" Goethe responded.

    "Anything worth doing comes with risk!"

    "And around here, the rewards often far exceed the risk!" Morey emphasized.

    Goethe didn¡¯t respond this time.

    He believed that every effort should have its reward, but as for Morey¡¯s claim that the rewards far exceeded the risks, he didn¡¯t say more. Given the situation, the risks they took, with their lives on the line each time, made even the greatest rewards seem justifiable.

    At that moment, the carriage came to a stop.

    They had arrived at the Pinecone Hotel.

    Morey tugged at ¡®her¡¯ hair, then adjusted ¡®her¡¯ skirt, looking disheveled as ¡®she¡¯ stepped down from the carriage.

    Seeing the driver¡¯s knowing smile, Goethe took a deep breath and threw 1 silver coin at him.

    It wasn¡¯t the market price.

    It was the Garden Club¡¯s price.

    As expensive as ever.

    But Goethe was confident it would be worth it.

    And indeed, it proved to be so.

    Just as Goethe and Morey were about to link arms and enter the hotel, a thin fog appeared in the distance.

    The next moment, the fog thickened, swelling like a tide, rushing toward them.

    Goethe seemed startled, his face filled with panic as he grabbed Morey and ran toward the Pinecone Hotel.

    But the fog came too fast.

    In an instant, it enveloped them both.

    Seeing this, Morey smiled.

    The "Fog Killer" had finally taken the bait!

    Without hesitation, Morey pulled a scroll from beneath ¡®her¡¯ skirt and tore it open.

    A burst of light erupted.

    The thick fog was instantly dispersed.

    "Ah!"

    A scream, faint yet piercing, echoed in Goethe¡¯s ears. It seemed far away, yet close, and Goethe couldn¡¯t rely on the sound to pinpoint its source, while Morey instantly tracked it.

    "I¡¯ll be right back!"

    With those words, Morey darted off.

    The speed was astonishing. In the time it took for Goethe to take a breath, Morey¡¯s figure had already vanished.

    However, chaos erupted at the end of the street.

    Bang, bang!

    Two gunshots rang out, and the two patrolling officers who had been standing nearby collapsed to the ground. Seven or eight figures, all armed, appeared in Goethe¡¯s line of sight.

    "Kill him!"

    As soon as they saw Goethe, they shouted.

    Goethe glanced behind him, then, unhurriedly, pushed open the door and walked into the nearby Pinecone Hotel. Seeing the calm and collected front desk attendant, he said, "Give me a room!"

 Chapter 18 The Best Choice

    The Pinecone Hotel¡¯s status as the most expensive hotel in Lustre was well-deserved.

    Goethe stood in the suite on the top floor, looking down¡ª

    There were eight attackers in total.

    By now, they were all lying defeated on the ground.

    And what about the hotel staff?

    Not a single one was injured.

    Because the battle ended the moment it began. The attackers didn¡¯t even have time to react before they were riddled with bullets from rows of long guns that extended from the second floor of the hotel.

    "The hotel¡¯s security must have at least 20 people!" Goethe counted the guns that had just appeared and then glanced down at the receipt placed on the table.

    It clearly stated¡ª

    Room 802, 5 gold coins per day.

    ...

    A price that would deter any ordinary person.

    But it was worth every coin, wasn¡¯t it?

    Back in his hometown, Goethe had never minded using others'' strength, especially when it was justifiable.

    However, the key was still his own strength.

    Goethe was well aware of this.

    And he wouldn¡¯t forget it.

    Tap, tap, tap!

    The sound of footsteps grew louder as they approached.

    Goethe raised his glass and looked toward the door.

    The glass contained lemon water included in the room price.

    If it were a different time, Goethe wouldn¡¯t mind enjoying a drink. But now, his focus was on the door.

    Thud, thud, thud!

    "Come in."

    Goethe spoke as he walked back into the outer room of the suite and sat on the sofa.

    The door opened, and two people walked in.

    One was a tall man, nearly two meters in height. Even in a suit, his muscular build was evident. His face was fierce, with a scar under his eye that added an extra layer of brutality.

    Beside him stood a police officer.

    The officer froze as soon as he saw Goethe sitting on the sofa.

    Clearly, he recognized Goethe.

    In fact, since Goethe had shown up at the police station the previous night, his actions had already made the officers remember his face in the shortest time possible.

    Because¡­

    Each time, someone died.

    From Soko at first, then Tucker, and the gas leak incident in the shady part of the street.

    A disaster!

    An omen!

    That was how the police officers privately referred to Goethe.

    Of course, it was in private.

    On the surface¡ª

    "Good evening, Mr. Goethe," the officer greeted politely before glancing around. "Isn¡¯t Captain Swart with you?"

    "He should still be at the Garden Club," Goethe replied.

    "There might be trouble. If possible, you should send more people to pick him up," Goethe suggested.

    He didn¡¯t know Swart¡¯s current situation.

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    But if he could help the man out, he wouldn¡¯t mind.

    On the condition that...

    Swart was lucky enough.

    "Understood!"

    "I¡¯ll head there right now!"

    The officer, eager to leave, quickly turned and left the room.

    Now, only Goethe and the imposing, muscular man remained in the suite.

    "I¡¯m Regrey, the head of security at the Pinecone Hotel."

    "Welcome to the Pinecone Hotel."

    "I also hope you have a pleasant stay. Let¡¯s avoid any more unpleasant events like tonight."

    Regrey, the head of security, said with a pointed tone.

    Goethe understood clearly.

    The Pinecone Hotel wasn¡¯t a sanctuary.

    It wasn¡¯t possible for them to provide protection every time he got into trouble.

    This time, it was because he had entered the hotel that they were compelled to intervene.

    But this was a one-time thing. There would be no next time.

    "Of course."

    Goethe smiled in response.

    Regrey was polite, without any excessive words or actions, and besides, Goethe had benefited from the situation.

    It was best to take the win and leave it at that.

    "Thank you for your understanding."

    "If you need any service, just ring the bell."

    "We have attendants available 24/7 to provide you with sincere service."

    Regrey bowed slightly before backing out of the room and gently closing the door behind him.

    Goethe remained seated on the sofa, not getting up.

    He was waiting for news.

    Or more precisely: Morey.

    Time passed, second by second.

    Goethe¡¯s expression grew more serious.

    Although he didn¡¯t know how someone with ¡®Supernatural¡¯ powers would fight, he knew that the longer this dragged on, the worse the outcome might be.

    This wasn¡¯t about ¡®Supernatural¡¯ powers, but because Morey had likely prepared thoroughly!

    In this situation, a swift resolution was the best choice!

    Unless¡­

    An accident happened!

    Whoosh!

    Goethe took a deep breath.

    No plan, no matter how perfect, is immune to unexpected twists.

    "I hope it''s not the worst-case scenario!" Goethe silently thought to himself.

    If the situation turned out to be one where Morey was killed and turned the tables, Goethe would likely have to break the agreement he had just made with Regrey, the head of security.

    Meanwhile, Goethe didn¡¯t rush out to look for Morey.

    Facing the unknown ¡®Supernatural¡¯ powers, Goethe knew that staying here, ensuring his own safety, and not interfering with Morey would be the best help he could offer.

    Time continued to pass, and then¡ª

    Tap, tap, tap!

    Footsteps echoed down the hallway.

    "Goethe!"

    A familiar voice rang out.

    It wasn¡¯t Morey.

    It was Swart.

    So soon?!

    Goethe furrowed his brow.

    When Goethe opened the door, the sheriff, who had just reached the door, wore a look of someone who had narrowly escaped danger. He exclaimed loudly, "Goethe, I¡¯m so glad to see you! You wouldn¡¯t believe what I just went through!"

    As he spoke, he began walking toward Goethe.

    Goethe, in an instant, drew his gun.

    But the sheriff¡¯s hand shot up with lightning speed.

    Wham!

    His fingertip struck the edge of Goethe''s hand holding the gun, and the immense force sent the revolver flying. As Goethe¡¯s other hand reached for his second revolver, preparing to draw it, the sheriff¡¯s other hand swiftly gripped his wrist.

    Wham!

    The second revolver dropped to the floor.

    Without hesitation, the sheriff pushed both of Goethe¡¯s hands away with force.

    Boom!

    Goethe was sent flying back into the room, crashing heavily onto the sofa. Ignoring the pain in his wrists, he rolled with the momentum, narrowly avoiding the kick that came right after.

    Creak!

    The solid wooden, velvet-covered sofa shattered under the force of the kick.

    "Next time, it will be your bones!" the sheriff snarled.

    "I¡¯ll crush every bone in your body!" he added, a wicked smile stretching across his face.

    Then, his eyes gleamed with mocking malice.

    "But if you tell me how you knew I wasn¡¯t Swart, I might make your death a little more merciful."

    Goethe, still feeling the pain in his wrists, stared at his assailant.

    Though his wrists weren¡¯t broken, the effort had clearly affected them.

    The assailant¡¯s strength was undoubtedly overpowering.

    His speed was also impressive.

    And on top of that, he had remarkable skill.

    Without a weapon, Goethe knew he stood no chance.

    "I didn¡¯t know you weren¡¯t Swart. I just instinctively stay alert," Goethe lied smoothly, shaking his wrists.

    The pain began to lessen, but the idea of fighting was impossible.

    "Stay alert?"

    "You think you can fool me?"

    "And I fell for it?"

    The attacker froze for a moment, then his face darkened.

    "Good!" he sneered.

    "I¡¯ve changed my mind!"

    "I won¡¯t let you die quickly. I¡¯m going to crush every bone in your body and let you die in agony, screaming. That¡¯s the only way to wipe away the humiliation you¡¯ve caused me!"

    Having received the answer he wanted, the assailant grinned maliciously, charging straight at Goethe.

    Looking at the murderous intent in his eyes, Goethe wasted no time in making his best move:

    "[Bloody Honor] boosts [Hand-to-Hand Combat]!"

 Chapter 19: Temporary Shelter

    In his heart, a thought stirred, and words appeared¡ª

    [Hand-to-Hand Combat (Proficient) ¡ú Hand-to-Hand Combat (Mastered)]

    [Hand-to-Hand Combat has reached the Mastered level, unlocking the special option: Well-Trained!]

    [Hand-to-Hand Combat (Mastered): Solid foundation, rich combat experience, and exceptional talent have made you stand out even among professional fighters; Effect: Physique +0.4 (Basic, Novice, Proficient, Mastered 0.1), Technique +0.3 (Novice, Proficient, Mastered 0.1)]

    [Well-Trained: Years of rigorous training have far surpassed the limits of ordinary humans; Effect: Physique +0.2]

    ...

    In an instant, both his Physique and Technique levels increased once again.

    Especially his Physique, where the appearance of the ''Mastered option'' was a surprise to him.

    Immediately, adding them together, Physique rose by +0.3!

    This brought an immediate and noticeable change.

    His strength, speed, reflexes, vision, smell, hearing, as well as his resistance to damage and self-recovery, all increased sharply in that moment.

    At least, when he looked at the incoming attacker with murderous intent, he felt that the opponent was ¡®slowing down¡¯!

    No!

    It wasn¡¯t that the opponent had slowed down!

    It was that his own speed had increased!

    His dynamic vision effortlessly locked onto the attacker!

    His recovered wrist easily deflected the incoming punch!

    Then...

    A leg shot upwards!

    This kick was beyond mere precision; it felt as though it had been imprinted onto his soul.

    Before the strike, it was like a gazelle¡¯s horn¡ªimpossible to predict.

    During the strike, it was as swift and deadly as a tiger descending the mountain.

    Boom!

    The attacker was hit hard by the kick, immediately bending over, clutching his crotch, his mouth wide open, about to scream in pain.

    But at that moment, Goethe had already raised his right hand and plunged his fingers into the attacker¡¯s eyes.

    Next, his index and middle fingers curled downward.

    Immediately, crystalline fragments mixed with blood shot out.

    ¡°Ahhh!¡±

    The scream of agony echoed. The attacker, who had been holding his crotch, now reached out to grab Goethe¡¯s fingers embedded in his eye sockets. Goethe swiftly withdrew his right hand, then...

    Delivered another kick!

    Boom!

    With this final kick, the attacker collapsed to the ground.

    Goethe quickly moved to the door, picking up the two revolvers that had fallen to the ground. He aimed at the writhing, pain-stricken attacker and pulled the triggers repeatedly.

    Bang, bang, bang!

    The two revolvers emptied all twelve bullets. Only then did Goethe stop.

    The attacker was dead, beyond any chance of survival.

    Goethe didn¡¯t approach. As he reloaded his firearms, he looked toward the hallway.

    Regrey, who had just left, was now running back hurriedly.

    Upon seeing Goethe standing with his guns and the corpse on the ground, the head of security¡¯s face turned ashen.

    As the head of security at the Pinecone Hotel, Regrey¡¯s main responsibility was ensuring the safety of the hotel¡¯s guests. No matter what happened outside, the hotel had to remain comfortable and secure.

    But now?

    Someone had entered the hotel and attacked one of the guests.

    Even if the guest hadn¡¯t been harmed, it was still his failure.

    This would affect the hotel¡¯s evaluation of him.

    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    More importantly, the hotel would face negative reviews.

    And the consequences of those reviews would fall squarely on him.

    This was the last thing Regrey wanted.

    ¡°Master Goethe, are you alright?¡± Regrey asked as he approached the attacker¡¯s corpse.

    At this point, Regrey had already begun thinking about how to minimize the fallout.

    When he saw the attacker¡¯s face starting to melt away, revealing another one beneath, Regrey¡¯s eyes narrowed, and his expression grew even more serious. As he flipped the body over, he put on a pair of gloves.

    Goethe, standing nearby, immediately understood.

    Clearly, as the head of security at Pinecone Hotel, Regrey knew things that ordinary people didn¡¯t.

    In fact...

    He had likely come into contact with ¡®Supernatural¡¯ powers more than once?

    Otherwise, there was no way he could be so nonchalant.

    Goethe guessed.

    Regrey stood up.

    ¡°My apologies, Master Goethe. I am deeply sorry for the scare. This is my failure,¡± Regrey said directly, offering an unreserved apology. He straightened up and continued, ¡°I¡¯ll arrange a new room for you immediately, and I¡¯ll ensure you¡¯re fully compensated.¡±

    ¡°Mm,¡± Goethe nodded, not making any further comments.

    He believed that the compensation Regrey promised would certainly be satisfactory.

    After Regrey left, Goethe began inspecting the attacker¡¯s body.

    Nothing was found.

    This didn¡¯t surprise Goethe.

    He had been watching closely while Regrey checked the body earlier.

    Not only was there no identification, but the attacker didn¡¯t even have a copper cent on them.

    And that wasn¡¯t what Goethe was looking for.

    He was looking for [Bloody Honor]!

    This was the only thing he could rely on right now.

    ¡°He wasn¡¯t directly involved in the ¡®Wayne Family¡¯ incident!¡± Goethe speculated, his gaze falling once more on the attacker¡¯s body.

    Though worried about exposure, the attacker had taken precautions...

    But it wasn¡¯t clever enough.

    The attacker¡¯s face, now missing its eyes, made identification harder, but their overall appearance still remained. If one were to follow the appearance, it would be easy to figure out their identity.

    What Goethe truly cared about was the ability to change faces.

    Was it his own?

    Or¡­

    Someone under the command of the Fog Killer!

    Or perhaps, it¡¯s the Fog Killer themselves!

    If it¡¯s the former, that¡¯s one thing.

    But if it¡¯s the latter, then it¡¯s a serious problem.

    Because that would mean the next attack would be even more unpredictable and devious!

    It¡¯s just like what happened earlier. The Fog Killer clearly had more than one plan prepared, able to restrain the seemingly stronger Morey on the surface and then send someone to kill and silence him.

    Aside from misjudging his strength, their strategy was nearly flawless.

    In fact, the misjudgment wasn¡¯t really their fault.

    They simply had no way of knowing that he possessed something like [Bloody Honor].

    But Goethe felt no joy in this.

    Because after consuming it again with no gain, his [Bloody Honor] was now down to only one.

    And with this lesson learned, the Fog Killer would certainly be more careful next time. Paired with their ability to alter their appearance, just the thought of it made Goethe¡¯s headache.

    He couldn¡¯t guarantee that every attacker would be as foolish as the one on the ground, revealing their true form with a single trick.

    ¡°Perhaps I should consider using some secret signals,¡± Goethe mused quietly.

    As he thought about what kind of secret code would help identify the people around him, Regrey returned.

    ¡°Master Goethe, please follow me,¡± said the head of security, leading Goethe to room 801.

    Compared to 802, room 801 was larger and more luxurious.

    Just by stepping on the soft carpet beneath his feet, Goethe confirmed this, not to mention the opulent furnishings inside.

    Bright, golden.

    It exuded a sense of indescribable luxury.

    Yet there was a certain comfort to it.

    As if... a ¡®home¡¯!

    ¡°Master Goethe, the boss is already aware of this matter. Therefore, for the next month, you will not only have the right to stay in room 801, but our hotel will also provide security services for you. As long as you are inside the hotel, your safety will be our highest priority!¡±

    ¡°At the same time, there will always be at least two armed guards stationed outside your door, 24 hours a day.¡±

    ¡°Moreover, regarding your family and the troubles you¡¯ve encountered, the boss will also try to assist you.¡±

    ¡°And...¡±

    ¡°Please accept this.¡±

    Regrey then placed a gold crown before Goethe.

    ¡°Please convey my thanks to the boss on my behalf.¡±

    Goethe slipped the gold crown into his wallet.

    The other party had already shown enough sincerity, what more could he ask for?

    Whether it was the gold crown in his wallet, the promised security services, or the 24-hour guards, even if it was just within the hotel, it was enough to give him a bit more peace of mind.

    Not to mention the second offer.

    The person was the owner of the most expensive hotel in Lustre, with influence and connections far exceeding his own. If the person was willing to help, it would naturally be more effective than simply posting a bounty at the Hunter''s Bar.

    Seeing Goethe accept the gold crown, Regrey smiled and bowed to express his gratitude.

    Knock, knock, knock!

    ¡°Master Goethe, a woman who calls herself Beatrice is here to see you.¡±

    At this moment, a new hotel security staff member spoke from outside the door.

    Regrey looked at Goethe.

    ¡°She¡¯s my companion,¡± Goethe replied.

    Upon hearing Goethe¡¯s response, Regrey turned and opened the door.

    The moment he did, the security head was obviously taken by Beatrice''s exquisite and beautiful appearance, along with her slightly wild aura. However, he quickly regained composure and flashed Goethe a knowing smile.

    ¡°Have a good night.¡±

    ¡°Rest assured, we have female security personnel. Since Miss Beatrice is on this floor, it proves she¡¯s cleared,¡± Regrey said before leaving the room.

    He didn¡¯t forget to close the door behind him.

    As soon as the door clicked shut, ¡®Beatrice,¡¯ who had looked normal and even flashed a shy smile, suddenly collapsed onto the carpet. Her face turned ashen, and blood began spilling from her mouth. Despite this, the officially designated representative for Lustre¡¯s Supernatural matters dressed as a woman still managed to smile faintly, her voice soft as she whispered:

    ¡°Guess what I just discovered?¡±

 Chapter 20: The Secret Keeper

    If you were to ask Goethe what kind of person he hated most, the answer would definitely be those who played the ¡®mysterious riddle game.¡¯

    Looking at Morey, who was clearly heavily injured but still trying to act all mysterious, Goethe rolled his eyes in frustration.

    ¡°Let the ¡®riddle master¡¯ go die!¡± he muttered under his breath.

    Sitting with his arms crossed, Goethe coldly asked, ¡°You think I¡¯ll play along?¡±

    ¡°Heh, you really have no sense of humor.¡± Morey gave a light cough before weakly propping himself up, dragging his body to sit on the couch. He then continued, ¡°I found the ¡®Fog Killer¡¯s¡¯ lair in Lustre!¡±

    ¡°Not just that, I¡¯ve destroyed the whole place, including his subordinates!¡±

    ¡°And the ¡®Fog Killer¡¯ himself? He¡¯s injured, worse than me!¡±

    Saying this, Morey smiled triumphantly.

    ¡°Now it makes sense!¡±

    Goethe immediately grasped the ¡®Fog Killer¡¯s¡¯ plan. It had been a clever ruse, acting injured or truly being injured, yet still ignoring Morey and heading straight back to his lair.

    And in doing so, he used his lair in Lustre to delay Morey¡¯s return, while having his subordinates land the fatal blow on him.

    It had to be said the ¡®Fog Killer¡¯ was ruthless, cold-blooded, and willing to invest heavily.

    Not only did he use his own lair and subordinates as bait, but even he himself had been willing to become part of the trap!

    However, now it had all come to naught.

    The lair was destroyed.

    The subordinates were lost.

    And the ¡®Fog Killer¡¯ himself was severely wounded.

    Goethe felt like he could finally let out a breath of relief.

    But he didn¡¯t show any sign of relaxation in front of Morey. Instead, his tone was deep as he spoke.

    ¡°I was staying in room 802.¡±

    ¡°You were attacked?¡± Morey immediately realized what had happened.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Goethe nodded. ¡°Lucky for me, I managed to avoid it.¡±

    Morey stared at Goethe for four or five seconds before responding.

    ¡°Sorry.¡±

    Morey looked genuinely apologetic.

    Goethe simply shrugged.

    ¡°No need to apologize. We¡¯re just business partners.¡±

    Seeing Goethe¡¯s lighthearted response, Morey¡¯s guilt grew. Just the day before, he had promised to do everything he could to ensure Goethe¡¯s safety, yet when the ¡®Fog Killer¡¯ showed a weakness earlier, he had forgotten all about it.

    If Goethe had died because of this, Morey would have carried that guilt for the rest of his life.

    Fortunately, that didn¡¯t happen!

    Morey felt a sense of relief in his heart.

    Then the idea that had been brewing in his mind earlier, the one about wanting a deeper collaboration with Goethe, became even clearer.

    No!

    It wasn¡¯t just ¡®deeper.¡¯

    It was much more ¡®intimate.¡¯

    ¡°Of course it¡¯s necessary.¡±

    ¡°I told you before, we¡¯ll be collaborating even more closely in the future.¡±

    ¡°And now, you¡¯ve shown you have that ability far beyond what I expected.¡±

    ¡°So¡­¡±

    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    ¡°I want you to join us.¡±

    Morey emphasized, then extended his invitation.

    Looking at Morey¡¯s sincere expression, Goethe wondered if he had overplayed his part, after all, they both knew what this was really about. It was a matter of helping Morey fill his manpower gap, while Goethe would achieve his goal of learning ¡®Supernatural¡¯ knowledge under even easier conditions than before.

    Yet why did it feel like Morey was so easily ¡®fooled¡¯?

    A strange feeling bubbled up in Goethe¡¯s chest.

    He began to recall the little details about Morey.

    The first time they met, Morey seemed to have trouble interacting with strangers, almost like he had social anxiety.

    The second time, Morey had dressed as a woman, looking downright creepy.

    By the third meeting, however, he had become sincere, almost like an innocent, na?ve person.

    ¡°Could it be¡­¡±

    ¡°Multiple personalities?¡±

    Goethe quietly wondered.

    ¡°Of course not!¡± Morey seemed to have read Goethe¡¯s thoughts. He quickly denied it with a smile and said, ¡°I¡¯ve just been influenced¡­¡±

    ¡°The power of the Supernatural is far more complex, bizarre, and... dangerous than you imagine.¡±

    ¡°Danger?¡±

    ¡°Supernatural powers can affect the user?¡±

    Goethe furrowed his brow.

    ¡°Mm.¡±

    ¡°Most of the time, it¡¯s within a controllable range, but sometimes, it becomes uncontrollable.¡±

    ¡°For example: using Supernatural power that exceeds one¡¯s endurance.¡±

    Morey explained.

    ¡°Specifically?¡±

    Goethe pressed for more details.

    When it came to a important issue that might affect him, Goethe wouldn¡¯t hold back.

    ¡°Gaining immense power for a short period or using certain tools!¡±

    ¡°The former is more complex, but the latter?¡±

    ¡°Just like me!¡±

    ¡°The first time we met, I used the ¡®Identification Pocket Watch,¡¯ which caused the negative effect of ¡®social anxiety.¡¯¡±

    ¡°And just now, when I drank the ¡®Magic Potion,¡¯ normally, I would only develop an interest in cross-dressing, but after being injured, my personality became more sensitive, fragile, and sentimental, like that of a woman.¡±

    ¡°Sorry, sorry!¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t want to break my promise to protect you, but when faced with an opportunity to kill the ¡®Fog Killer,¡¯ I¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry¡­ I¡­¡±

    Morey¡¯s words began to falter as he covered his face and started crying uncontrollably.

    What was worse, the effect of the magic potion began to wear off.

    Morey returned to his original form.

    A middle-aged man with graying hair, dressed in women¡¯s clothing, sat on the couch, covering his face and crying¡­

    Goethe felt a sudden pang in his chest.

    This situation was even more difficult to handle than the previous attacker.

    He furrowed his brow and sighed lightly.

    ¡°It¡¯s not your fault.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re already planning to compensate me, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Right!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll compensate you now!¡±

    Morey said, lifting his head. His makeup was smeared from crying, and his face¡­ became even harder for Goethe to look at.

    Fortunately, the negative effects seemed to be fading.

    Morey regained control over his emotions.

    He straightened up, looked at Goethe seriously, and made the invitation again¡ª

    ¡°As compensation, Goethe, I will be your sponsor and invite you to join our organization.¡±

    ¡°Of course, not as a full member.¡±

    ¡°For the next 3-6 months, you will act as an external member, and only after completing your ¡®probationary period¡¯ will you go to headquarters for testing and become a full member.¡±

    ¡°Of course, if you have ¡®talent,¡¯ everything will be simpler.¡±

    ¡°Talent?¡±

    Goethe asked, focusing on the key point.

    ¡°Yes!¡±

    ¡°Those with talent will undergo a free ¡®baptism¡¯ at the headquarters and receive true ¡®supernatural power.¡¯ Those without talent, or with insufficient talent, will undergo a series of training sessions before being given another chance. If they fail the second time, they will have to accumulate achievements to exchange for a second ¡®baptism¡¯ opportunity.¡±

    ¡°Only if both attempts fail will they be assigned to action teams, support, or logistics departments.¡±

    Morey answered confidently.

    However, compared to earlier, Morey had started to recover, and his speech became more vague.

    Goethe didn¡¯t mind.

    This was only natural.

    Just like there¡¯s no reward without effort.

    If he didn¡¯t join this organization, there was no way to learn the secrets.

    So, when faced with Morey¡¯s third invitation¡ª

    ¡°Well then, Goethe, would you be willing to join us?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    Goethe answered quickly and confidently.

    Morey¡¯s place was the only one where he could currently access and learn Supernatural power. Other places might exist, but who could guarantee that they¡¯d be better than Morey¡¯s?

    At least here, representing official Supernatural power, Goethe saw ¡®order.¡¯

    Moreover, he hadn¡¯t forgotten what Morey had said about being ¡®erased from memory¡¯ according to normal procedures, along with the undesirable consequences that came with it.

    A threat?

    Maybe.

    But what Goethe saw more was: opportunity!

    Upon hearing Goethe¡¯s affirmative answer, Morey smiled.

    The official Supernatural power agent from Lustre struggled to stand up from the couch. His face became serious, and his tone formal¡ª

    ¡°We listen to secrets, we keep secrets, we accept secrets!¡±

    ¡°Welcome, Secret Keeper!¡±