“Though I don’t know how you spotted him and countered from that range… well, you have your ways. I won’t ask.”

  She changed tack, her tone turning serious.

  “But that’s not their full lineup.”

  “This team has a third member. Codename: ‘Poxman.’ Supposedly good with various poisons, treacherous. The most obvious physical trait is… skin covered in festering sores and pustules.”

  Nicole looked at Pandora, her expression clearly puzzled.

  “Such a… blatant, almost trademark feature… You never saw anyone like that the whole time?”

  Pandora shook her head.

  She really hadn’t encountered anyone matching that “pustule-covered” description.

  But…

  She did have a highly suspicious candidate.

  Namely, the blond broker waiting outside.

  In fact, when this broker first came to her saying the mysterious trader “Raelf Pence” had agreed to meet—but insisted on this desolate flower market instead of safe, crowded Eden—strong suspicion had already taken root.

  Back then, his reasons sounded somewhat plausible: sensitive goods, a cautious trader, avoiding exposure. That kind of thing wasn’t unheard of in the ruins.

  So at the time, she’d just used her usual caution, sending Elsa to scout ahead from a distance, observing the terrain and buildings around the market.

  That scouting had spotted a figure on a distant rooftop—deliberately camouflaged, but still feeling “off” to Elsa’s senses. That was Index Finger.

  When she actually arrived, her mental link with Elsa confirmed multiple hostile presences hiding in different spots.

  With that prior warning, her spiritual perception and combat instinct made pinpointing the ambushers before they struck… not too hard.

  Now, the intel Nicole gave fit perfectly with what Elsa had relayed about an anonymous contact and the whole event’s logic.

  It confirmed her guess:

  That blond broker was the team’s third member, Poxman.

  Thinking it over, Pandora’s gaze sharpened slightly.

  Through the shop’s broken window, the blond figure pacing uneasily below was clearly reflected in her eyes.

  As for why Nicole’s description of Poxman’s “distinctive features” didn’t clear the broker but made him more suspicious…

  Well, she was someone who often had to hide her own identity and change her appearance. She wouldn’t rule out a highly suspicious target just because of some rumored “look.”

  On the contrary, such rumors contradicting reality could be deliberate misdirection. And the case of Iron Hand—where the codename didn’t fully match his actual power, even hinting at misdirection—was a ready example.

  For now, unless the legendary Poxman showed up in front of her, alive and covered in classic sores…

  This blond broker’s place on her suspect list was fixed.

  But she didn’t need to explain all that to Nicole right now.

  She planned… to keep this “Poxman” alive. For a while.

  A dead man was just a silent corpse. A live one might help trace the source of the Hunter team’s hostility, or find whoever was pulling their strings from the shadows.

  Then she could properly… have a chat with that person.

  “Alright then.” Nicole shrugged, not dwelling on whether Poxman was real or had fled. She was clearly more interested in information on another level.

  “Not finding Poxman isn’t a big deal. My intel says he’s a slippery, sneaky type, good at hiding. Maybe he ran the second things went bad.”

  She paused, shifting focus again, her eyes gaining a hint of gravity.

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  “But I should point something out. This ‘Hunter team’ isn’t like those scavenger packs in the ruins that band together just to survive. The difference isn’t just their higher strength and better coordination…”

  Nicole’s voice lowered slightly. “It’s also about who’s behind them.”

  “Who’s behind them?” Pandora raised an eyebrow.

  “Right.” Nicole nodded, her expression serious. “Intel from my network, cross-checked and analyzed, points to one possibility: They probably have a real controller. Someone backing them, providing shelter. And this person…”

  She looked straight into Pandora’s eyes. “…is very likely a well-established third-ranker.”

  Third rank.

  The term hung in the air, bringing a moment of silence.

  Pandora raised a hand, gently rubbing her temple, murmuring softly, “A third rank, huh…”

  If there really was a third-ranker targeting her from the shadows, that would be… somewhat troublesome.

  But how “troublesome” exactly depended on who this third-ranker was, and their actual level.

  “Third rank” was just a broad category. A newly broken-through third-ranker on shaky footing was completely different from one who’d been settled in the rank for years, with a deep foundation, maybe even touching the next tier’s threshold.

  Not to mention, at third rank, individuals almost certainly had their own Mentors. Whether the mentor was a fourth-rank Demon Hunter or a powerful sixth-rank one… All that meant the actual influence and threat level between different third-rankers could be worlds apart.

  That’s why, hearing “third rank,” Pandora felt “troubled” rather than purely “endangered” or “in despair.”

  But they’d already come for her. They’d set a lethal trap.

  Could she really back down now?

  Pandora’s gaze sharpened. Her hand clenched, then relaxed. She looked at Nicole and gave a firm nod.

  “Alright. Understood.”

  “Whoever they are, whatever their background…

  “We still need the basics first. I need to know who’s targeting me, and why.”

  Nicole nodded. “Sure. That’s about all I’ve got on this Hunter team’s basic situation.” She spread her hands. “No more useful details from me right now. So…”

  Her eyes held a question. “The key probably lies with that ‘Raelf Pence’ you mentioned. Do you know where he is now?”

  Pandora asked.

  Nicole shot her a mildly annoyed look. Seven months of collaborations and deals had built a trust between them that was tighter than just business partners. So around Pandora, she was more relaxed.

  “How could I possibly know his exact location right now? I’m not a mind-reader!”

  Then she pivoted, the corner of her mouth curving into her usual smug smile. “But then again…

  “I do know where we should go… where we’ll most likely find him.”

  “Where?” Pandora pressed.

  Nicole didn’t play coy. She said two words crisply:

  “His. Home.”

  ………………

  About an hour later, Pandora stood before the door of a standalone house at the edge of a district. The exterior looked neat, even carrying a hint of old-world, middle-class style.

  The area was remote but quiet, with space between houses. The remaining greenery was better kept than in most ruins. Clearly, the people living here—even among second-rank apprentices—were doing well.

  Pandora didn’t knock right away. She stood quietly for a few seconds, listening.

  Faint, clear music from old-world orchestral instruments drifted out. Soothing, deliberately elegant.

  She subtly sniffed the air, analyzing the scents mixing with the music.

  Then she raised her hand and knocked.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  Three times. Even. Not loud, not soft.

  The music inside paused slightly, then resumed.

  A few seconds later, the door opened.

  It was a young man in neat but outdated black servant’s clothes. His face wore a perfect, curved smile—measured as if by a ruler, precise but lifeless. His eyes looked hollow.

  “Welcome, ma’am.” His voice was steady, polite. He stepped aside.

  As the door opened fully, the faint music swelled, clear and full, washing out the doorway like a tide.

  Pandora stepped inside.

  Her gaze swept the foyer and living room layout the moment she entered.

  The owner clearly loved his home. Maybe too much. He bordered on obsessive about decoration.

  The place was spotless. The lighting was bright but soft.

  Dark wood, velvet, brass, and glassware filled the space. Several oil paintings in a classical style hung on the walls—serene pastures, elegant gatherings. The furniture had smooth lines and intricate carvings. A crystal chandelier hung from the high ceiling, refracting dazzling but gentle light.

  The whole space felt visually rich, a stark clash with the gray, rough style of the ruins outside.

  At the same time, Pandora noticed the wide, long dining table at the center of the room. A pristine lace cloth covered it. An exquisite silver tea set was laid out. A three-tiered cake stand was piled high with pastries in tempting shapes and colors. A small serving cart nearby held platters under silver domes.

  This wasn’t an afternoon tea for one.

  This was a formal tea party.

  And the invited guest…

  The answer seemed obvious.

  “Baroness. You’ve finally arrived.”

  A man’s voice came from deep in the living room, exaggeratedly enthusiastic.

  Servants and maids stood on either side, gesturing respectfully.

  In the high-backed armchair at the far end of the room, positioned with its back to the large window, bathed in the brightest light…

  A man in a classical, tailored gentleman’s suit stood up slowly. One hand behind his back, the other traced a graceful semicircle as he gave a slight bow. Lace and satin ribbons adorned his clothes.

  “Please. Do come in.”

  He looked up, beaming at Pandora.

  His eyes sparkled in the bright light with excitement, anticipation, and a certain calculating glint.

  Raelf Pence.

  Pandora had never seen him before. This carefully groomed face with its exaggerated smile was completely unfamiliar.

  He acted enthusiastic and friendly, gracious as an old-world salon host.

  Pandora wasn’t buying it.

  She walked slowly to the long table covered with lace and pastries but didn’t sit.

  Her gaze rested calmly on Raelf Pence’s face. Her voice held no real emotion, just a blunt, cool disinterest.

  “Explain,” she said.

  “Do you have a grudge against me?”

  The question was so direct that the flowing orchestral music seemed to falter for a second.

  Raelf’s smile froze, then quickly resumed its enthusiastic curve. He acted like he hadn’t heard the sharpness in her words. Instead, he elegantly picked up his cup of steaming amber-red tea and took a delicate sip.