“Good day, Mrs. Stass.”

  Javon rose and offered a polite bow.

  It was obvious she’d been struck by his looks—she seemed to take a soft breath before replying in a voice that sounded as if she were pinching it thin between her fingers. “Good day, Mr. Augustus. My husband told me about you.”

  In truth, Knox Stass had described Elric as a recommendation from a highly influential figure within the Wild Animal Enthusiasts’ Association. And connections within the Association would be useful for expanding his business.

  So long as Elric Augustus wasn’t truly incompetent, the interview was almost guaranteed to succeed.

  “Just call me Elric.” Javon smiled and sat across from her.

  “This is my son—Theodore.” Mrs. Stass hugged the boy close. “Aren’t you going to greet our guest? It’s polite…”

  Theodore looked as though he could hang a bottle from his pout. He refused to speak until Mrs. Stass promised him a pile of toys and sweets; only then did he grudgingly mutter, “Good day, sir…”

  Mrs. Stass quickly had a maid take Theodore away, then regained her composed posture. “What are your strengths, Elric?”

  “My strongest subjects are ancient languages and scripts—I’m especially versed in Old Greenforest. Beyond that, I enjoy linguistics; I’ve dabbled in Eddish, runes, and even the colonies’ voodoo tongue… Lastly, I can teach field biology, etiquette, and natural history.”

  With each sentence, Mrs. Stass’s eyes brightened, until something close to reverence crept in. “You’re a remarkably learned gentleman. I don’t think I could refuse someone of your scholarship as my child’s tutor. Seven pounds per week, three hours a day—does that suit you?”

  Javon considered, then answered with solemnity, “Not including Saturday and Sunday. I need rest—and I attend church services.”

  “Of course. Our whole family are devout believers of The Holy Spirit.” Mrs. Stass smiled.

  “Then… when does the first lesson begin?” Javon asked.

  “Any time. If you don’t mind, I’d like to invite you to dinner. My husband would like to meet you as well.”

  “It would be my honor.”

  …

  Half an hour later.

  The study had been arranged for instruction—a small blackboard, a dedicated seat, everything in place.

  Javon looked at the boy called Theodore and felt the same weary resignation.

  If I had a choice, I’d rather teach a lovely, well-mannered young lady… Unfortunately…

  In Inves, certain traditions meant male tutors were prone to “incidents” with female students. Any family that cared about its reputation tended to choose tutors of the child’s own gender to avoid scandal.

  “All right. I know your kind…”

  Theodore watched the butler and maid leave the study and close the door, then lifted his chin with smug pride. “My father told me. You people may be learned, but in the end you still work for us. I don’t want to learn poor people’s knowledge. If you dare be strict with me, I’ll have Mother dismiss you!”

  Dismiss was a powerful threat. Theodore had tested it on maids before—almost every time, their faces would go white, like they were about to cry. It delighted him.

  Javon closed his book and pushed up glasses that weren’t there. “Young master, you seem rather precocious.”

  “Of course. I’m already a little man. I can take on more responsibilities.” Theodore declared proudly. “Metana told me that before noble boys come of age, a noble lady teaches them etiquette—more private things, too. Why is my etiquette teacher a man? I want to grow up quickly so I can eat as much ice cream as I want every day.”

  He was clearly displeased.

  Theodore wasn’t wrong. A noble child’s “education” was never limited to books and manners. The young female teachers hired for that role were often from cadet branches—respectable, well-bred, and discreet. Where the boundary lay had always been a matter for the family to decide.

  Javon hadn’t expected such talk to reach the ears of a little brat like Theodore.

  Metana… Metana Jacques? Baron Jacques’s daughter, sixteen… A loudmouth, then. The kind who leaks things without thinking.

  Javon looked at Theodore, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Very well, young master. Let’s return to today’s lesson…”

  He already knew that, in the room next door, a certain lady was peeping through a specially made gap to watch the instruction.

  At this moment, she was probably grinding her teeth and considering whether to march over and thrash Metana on the spot.

  Javon spoke with utmost seriousness. “Today, we’ll begin with a basic introduction to Old Greenforest—the Seventy-Six Phoneme Chart.”

  Murmuring the title under his breath, he walked to a position where his back blocked Mrs. Stass’s view, then turned toward Theodore. A dark, heavy smile spread across his face as he opened a different textbook—its pages packed with dense text.

  Discipline and Punishment—An Introduction.

  An ancient illustration lay on the page, drawn with vivid detail—so vivid it raised gooseflesh.

  “Listen, boy,” Javon said softly with his back to Mrs. Stass, his voice low, cold, steady. “If you don’t behave, you’ll learn what this means.”

  Pressure seeped into the air. Theodore’s heart clenched; he didn’t dare look up.

  In the next instant, Javon deliberately raised his voice. “Now… repeat after me. This sound is formed here—use your throat.”

  He spoke with earnest precision, and his finger tapped lightly against Theodore’s shoulder to indicate posture. The Crying Blade on the page caught candlelight, and the room’s tension sharpened into a blade-edge.

  “Waaah!” The little terror burst into tears at once. “Mother… I’m scared!”

  From the next room came the faintest rustle.

  Javon laughed silently to himself.

  Not long after, Mrs. Stass hurried into the study and gathered Theodore into her arms.

  “Mother… he scared me! He’s so strict, I’m frightened!” Theodore sobbed. “He… he threatened me. I don’t like him!”

  Mrs. Stass hesitated.

  She had seen with her own eyes that Javon had been teaching properly; he hadn’t harmed the child. She examined Theodore carefully—no bruises, no scratches, nothing at all.

  Her face darkened in an instant. “Theodore. Apologize to your teacher. Lying is not a good habit!”

  Theodore’s tears froze in his eyes. He lifted his head, mouth falling open, staring at his mother in utter disbelief.

  Six in the evening.

  Knox Stass returned home.

  Mrs. Stass personally helped him remove his coat. “The tutor the Association recommended arrived today.”

  “Did he?” Knox, in his thirties and wearing spectacles, smiled. “What do you think?”

  “Very polite…” Mrs. Stass thought of his handsome face and hesitated. “And very skilled with children. He told me he’s studied some psychology on his own and believes Theodore has certain personality problems—like a tendency to lie… It may be tied to earlier experiences, and it could affect his future.”

  She looked genuinely worried.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  “In business, that might even be a talent—but one shouldn’t deceive one’s family. Like me.” Knox smiled. “I never hide things from you.”

  “Thankfully, after today’s lesson, Theodore was much more obedient,” Mrs. Stass said. “It’s the first time I’ve seen a teacher who can make him listen. I invited Mr. Augustus to stay for dinner with us.”

  “Excellent. I want to meet him too.” Knox’s expression turned slightly grave. “Something happened today.”

  The Stass dinner was lavish. Perfumed candles burned on golden ornamental stands; silver plates carried dish after dish.

  As head of the house, Knox sat at the place of honor and raised his goblet of red wine. “Mr. Augustus, welcome to my home.”

  “Thank you for the invitation.” Javon replied with practiced courtesy, lifting his own glass.

  Even Theodore—under his parents’ stern gaze—raised a small cup of juice. He didn’t dare look toward Javon, as if a wolf sat at the table.

  Knox was a talkative man, well informed on the kingdom’s affairs.

  After conversing with Javon, he seemed genuinely overwhelmed by the breadth of Javon’s knowledge.

  “If I hadn’t seen it myself, I’d think I was speaking with a Royal Academy professor—fifty years old or more,” Knox exclaimed, astonished.

  The other man’s learning—its breadth and its depth—didn’t resemble anything a young man should possess.

  In the end, Knox even rose and offered a solemn bow. “Mr. Augustus, I’m deeply honored that my child can have you as his tutor.”

  “You’re too kind. Theodore is a good boy…” Javon smiled. “He simply needs a little guidance.”

  The meal ended in warmth and laughter. Javon left 97 Woking Street still wearing that pleasant smile.

  …

  In the master bedroom.

  “What was Theodore’s crying about earlier?” Knox asked his wife as she removed her makeup.

  “A small matter. He lied and tried to make me dismiss Elric Augustus…” Mrs. Stass gave a brief account. Compared to a child’s nonsense, she trusted her own eyes and ears.

  “I need to speak with Theodore.” Knox frowned. “Lying to family isn’t a habit we can tolerate. And he’s too young—he shouldn’t be thinking about men and women at all.”

  “It’s Baron Jacques’s Metana!” Mrs. Stass flared at the mention. “It’s bad enough she’s had rumors with her own tutor—now she’s poisoning my Theodore. Oh, The Holy Spirit—he’s only a child!”

  Knox sighed. “Metana may not have meant it…”

  “We’re wealthy. We don’t need to involve ourselves with Baron Jacques.” Mrs. Stass snapped. “We’re upper society already. You don’t need to flatter that disgusting, vain man.”

  “You don’t understand.” Knox sighed. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. Today, Pastor Ande of the Holy Spirit Church showed me a miracle. And he told me the times have changed. The legends are real. The Holy Spirit Church truly possesses transcendent power—and those old noble families do as well.”

  “I see…” Mrs. Stass’s reaction was oddly calm. She accepted it with unsettling ease. Knox didn’t notice.

  “I finally understand where our Stass family falls short compared to nobles. We need a mystical inheritance too.” Knox’s voice grew fervent. “I tried to learn more. After I promised a large donation, Pastor Ande finally hinted that in the ancient texts and legends of Greenforest, there lies a key to the mysterious.”

  “So that’s why you were even more courteous when Mr. Augustus demonstrated his skill in ancient languages today.” Mrs. Stass looked enlightened.

  “Of course. If we don’t hold that key, we’ll be swept aside by the tide of this new age.” Knox spoke with conviction.

  “Darling, I’ll help you.” Mrs. Stass wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, her tone solemn.

  For families that had already climbed into high society, the greatest fear was that their descendants might fall back down the ladder.

  And because of that fear, they were often willing to pay an enormous—sometimes ruinous—price.

  The next day, Javon returned to the Stass house at the agreed hour.

  The maid at the gate didn’t even consult the masters. She let him in at once and offered a gentle smile.

  Theodore looked far more obedient as well, sparing Javon a great deal of trouble.

  Javon sent Theodore to the study to wait for class and then saw Mrs. Stass approaching.

  “Good day, madam.” He greeted her with a smile.

  “Good day, Mr. Augustus.” There was unmistakable worry on her face. “There are some things I’d like to ask you.”

  “Go ahead.” Javon adopted a listening posture.

  Mrs. Stass bit her lip, dismissed the accompanying maid, and fell silent for a long while before asking, “Mr. Augustus… do you believe in the existence of the supernatural, and of gods?”

  Javon answered with a perfectly serious face, “Mrs. Stass—please believe in science.”

  New Calendar 1027, February 27th, Saturday.

  Little Theodore let out a long breath. Weekends meant no lessons—no need to see that devil of a teacher again.

  Javon, however, wore a laborer’s outfit and a low-pulled cap as he lay in wait near the Stass residence.

  He hadn’t come to be a tutor.

  He had come to investigate.

  Even from the newspapers, it’s clear the upper levels of the kingdom are in flux—complex, volatile, hard to predict. Nothing is calm.

  According to Mr. Knox, certain churches in Wynchester have priests boldly displaying “miracles.” That’s real transcendent power. Pope Feret must be planning something.

  And from these days of contact… the one with the biggest problem in the Stass household is Mrs. Stass.

  Javon didn’t wait long. Mrs. Stass left with her maid Annie and climbed into a carriage that rolled down the street.

  After several turns, the carriage stopped outside a club.

  The building was ornate, its sign refined. Its full name read: Slaan Beauty Club.

  A gathering place for women who fancied themselves upper society—hosting salons, enjoying beauty treatments, discussing cosmetics and perfume brands, and cultivating connections.

  A husband’s status translated cleanly into a wife’s authority among such circles. The higher the husband’s position, the more absolute the wife’s power became.

  Nothing unusual here.

  He tossed a coin and confirmed as much. Seeing his own clothes, Javon didn’t go to a restaurant; he bought bread and a hot sausage at the roadside for lunch.

  By afternoon, she still hadn’t emerged.

  Meanwhile, Javon watched many carriages of well-dressed ladies depart.

  Unless…

  He considered, then produced a single strand of golden hair and performed another divination on Mrs. Stass’s location.

  This time, what he saw was nothing like the petty scheming of fashionable women.

  Green George District—inside a walled compound of red brick.

  A circle of figures in black robes stood with silver masks over their faces, watching a man at the center wearing a golden mask.

  “Offer your devotion to the great Latter Light!” the golden-masked figure proclaimed as he lit a brazier.

  “Latter Light, Latter Light…” The silver-masked worshippers lifted both hands and chanted hymns praising Latter Light.

  “You are One, and you are All!”

  “All things, and Sovereignty…”

  “You give birth to everything…”

  …

  Their faces were hidden; their builds unclear. Some were slender and curving—clearly women.

  “The great Latter Light has told me you are righteous, and you shall guide the lost lambs…” The golden-masked figure sang, voice rising. “I shall grant you holy marks. I shall grant you miracles—so you may walk upon water, so you may take what you will from flame, so blade and gun cannot harm your flesh. This is proof that you are my saint!”

  As he spoke, he reached into the fire and drew out a gold pound coin with his bare hand.

  “Latter Light! Latter Light!” The voices of the silver masks surged higher.

  “God declares… you shall cast aside worldly wealth and pursue the union of spirit and flesh.”

  The golden-masked figure intoned the doctrine, calling the masked worshippers forward one by one to throw wallets, necklaces, and rings—symbols of worldly money—into a black box that represented the abyss of hell.

  “We abandon gold and silver, as we abandon evil…”

  They sang as they approached, offering themselves in what looked like devout sacrifice.

  A silver-masked woman stepped before the golden-masked saint. “Glorious saint… I am willing to donate one hundred pounds, to prove my devotion!”

  Mrs. Stass’s entry into the Latter Light Society had originally been accidental. Her mother was a fervent believer, and day after day she had flooded her daughter with endless persuasion…

  At first, Mrs. Stass hadn’t believed in any supernatural phenomenon.

  But after the “saint” performed acts like walking on water and taking objects from flame, she became half convinced and joined as a believer of Latter Light.

  Then her husband admitted with his own mouth that the supernatural existed—an admission that pushed her into full faith.

  Behind the golden mask, the saint’s eyes flicked rapidly over Mrs. Stass’s body.

  From his standing height, he had a clear view of the graceful curve of her back—and the startling fullness above.

  He said nothing. Only, calmly, “Continue.”

  As the gathering neared its end and the worshippers filed out, Mrs. Stass hesitated—debating whether to request an audience with the saint. He clearly possessed transcendent ability. Perhaps he could offer her husband some kind of mystical guidance.

  If she could obtain that, she’d pay two thousand—no, five thousand pounds.

  “The saint wishes to see you.”

  Just as she was about to leave, a member stopped her and spoke in a low voice. “In the room behind.”

  Mrs. Stass went to the chamber at the back of the hall. The golden-masked saint was there.

  “Devout lamb…” he began, slow and measured. The candles burned quietly, releasing a pleasant scent.

  “My lord…” Mrs. Stass bowed reverently, her body already softening. “I… I want you to curse my enemy. Let the god Latter Light punish that loose woman—Metana Jacques!”

  She planned to begin by cursing an enemy. Once that succeeded, she could move deeper and ask more about the supernatural.

  “God teaches us to do good.”

  The golden-masked figure gave a short laugh, his tone turning sharp. “You are falling into the abyss. Your body and mind are polluted. Your soul will be punished!”

  His voice lashed like a whip. Sparks erupted in his hand.

  “Ah… forgive me!” Mrs. Stass collapsed to the floor in terror. Alongside the fear, a shameful craving flared within her.

  “We are only mortal. Certain desires are not shameful…” The golden-masked figure stepped forward and gently pressed a hand to her shoulder. “I will punish your foe. But it should not be a curse. We should bring her into the Society as well—let God enlighten her, let her see her error.”

  His voice dropped lower and lower. A mist of tears gathered in Mrs. Stass’s eyes.

  “I will cleanse your body and spirit…”

  Under the saint’s robe, the hem tented slightly. His voice grew hoarse…

  Then he saw Mrs. Stass slump—unconscious.

  He froze. Removing the golden mask, he revealed an utterly ordinary middle-aged face, with a thinning crown.

  “Strange… did I put too much aphrodisiac in the candles? Or did I handle the seduction wrong?” He stared at the burning candles in the corner, puzzled, then stripped off his robe and began removing the wires and stage tools wrapped around his body.

  Next, the cult leader knelt beside Mrs. Stass, removed her mask, and revealed a delicate, refined face.

  “Ah… imagining a lady of high society moaning beneath me—how thrilling. I can feel my soul about to leave my body!” He licked his lips.

  “And… she’ll bring more and more ‘noble ladies’ into the Society…”

  He bent to lift her and carry her to the bed.

  “I’m rather disappointed,” a voice said abruptly. Javon stepped in from the doorway at an unhurried pace. “I watched this farce for so long, and in the end I caught nothing but a filthy little swindler who cheats money and bodies.”

  The balding middle-aged man jolted, panic flashing across his face. “Who are you? How did you get in here?”

  “By walking in. Your accomplices are asleep—just like Mrs. Stass.” Javon sounded genuinely disappointed.

  He had cast his net hoping for a large fish.

  Instead, he’d hauled up something that wasn’t even worthy of being called a shrimp.

  And this con man’s “craft” was so crude, it likely didn’t even match the gang that had once duped William Mark.