“Boss, I’m sorry!”

  After leaving The Displaced Castle, William followed behind Javon, his face full of shame as he apologized.

  Because of him, Javon was going to lose his bar—along with a business that earned money by the day. William felt he had committed an unforgivable mistake, something he could never make up for.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  Javon truly didn’t care. It had only ever been a temporary identity; abandoning it didn’t pain him.

  He went to the counter and found Balkin, who was polishing a glass. “Balkin, you’ve done well lately. I’m granting you full operating authority over the bar and ten percent of the shares. From now on, the bar is entirely yours.”

  Balkin froze, then bowed. “Boss, I’ll do it well.”

  Even if you don’t, it doesn’t matter, Javon added silently. He waved a hand indifferently, led William out of the bar, and disappeared into the darkness.

  “Now—put this on!”

  William was walking with nervous unease when Javon’s voice suddenly sounded beside his ear, and an uncanny mask appeared in his hand.

  When they reached a streetlamp, he saw that Mr. Elvander emerging from the darkness wore the face of a middle-aged man. William jolted in fright.

  “Put it on.”

  Javon barked the order. Long habit made William obey at once, changing into a mixed-blood man with South Inves ancestry.

  Like master and servant, the two arrived at No. 27 Phoenix Street.

  After tossing a coin to confirm safety, Javon brought William through the front door and set up a counter-divination arrangement for him.

  “So this is Mr. Elvander’s home…” William stared at the fine carpets and furniture with envy.

  Once, this had been the dream of every working man.

  “From now on, you will address me as Mr. Morley. You are my manservant—Walson!”

  Javon said, “Now clean every room.”

  “Yes!”

  William reflexively reached for a broom. Looking at all those rooms and corridors, he suddenly felt like crying. “Even if I changed jobs, I’m still a laborer…”

  New Calendar 1027, February 11. Thursday.

  Queen’s District, King’s Avenue No. 16, the Art Exhibition Hall.

  The weather was fair. Warm sunlight spilled across the street. Men and women from high society, dressed in impeccable attire, exchanged courteous greetings. Their expressions were leisurely and languid, their manners poised and generous—so sharply contrasted with the paupers of the lower districts that one could almost believe these were two entirely different worlds.

  The Royal Art Exhibition. Near the main gates.

  Because the royal treasure exhibition was about to begin, it had drawn quite a few gentlemen and ladies of high society.

  At the same time, rumors whispered down side streets said that magician Lucivar—who had once run rampant through Wynchester—had already mailed a postcard, announcing he would steal the precious artwork known as the Heart of the Sea today.

  Such an act was, without question, a slap across the face of The Blackwater. It would inevitably provoke a fierce response, and many of the upper class had come specifically to watch the spectacle.

  After all, this was an era in which tours of execution platforms, madhouses, and operating theaters did better business than playhouses.

  There were even many young people in high society who rejected authority, worshiped individuality and the bizarre, and treated the recently notorious Lucivar as an idol.

  More of the truly important figures, however, knew the depth of Inves’s foundations and the strength of the Bureau of Occult Affairs. They had come to watch the magician finally be caught.

  The reason he hadn’t been captured in the past was only because he was too cunning—and because he had counter-divination arrangements on him. Now that everything was in the open, if the magician dared to come head-on, then with strength still short of Beyond Mortality, he would have no chance of escape.

  Inside the exhibition hall—guarded as it was—never mind a Third Sephiroth Transcendent; even a Fourth Sephiroth Beyond Mortality-grade being would likely have only one road ahead: arrest.

  Outside the hall, the crowd flowed like a woven tide, carriages and horses like a dragon’s procession.

  A perfectly ordinary carriage pulled up by the roadside. The door opened, and a properly dressed middle-aged man stepped out, followed by a mixed-blood personal manservant.

  “How lively… good thing I bought tickets in advance.”

  Javon held his cane-sword as he approached the entrance.

  After a rather strict inspection, he brought William smoothly inside.

  Seeing no police officers nearby, William couldn’t help muttering, “Is this really tight security? The guards at the door and the patrolmen feel like a joke.”

  “Of course.” Javon answered in a low voice. “Do you think they’re going to catch Lucivar? They’re obviously just for show. The real measures are probably inside this hall.”

  As they spoke, they moved between glass display cases.

  This royal exhibition was a “public-friendly” event hosted by House Sodoma, opening part of the royal collection—artworks and precious jewelry—for citizens to view free of charge.

  Javon entered Hall One and immediately saw, behind the glass, a cloak that shimmered with flowing light, dazzling beneath the lamps.

  It was trimmed in gold thread, dyed an ancient purple associated with nobility, and set with countless sapphires, emeralds, rubies, pearls…

  “The Sothos Cloak… said to have belonged to the last emperor of the Fabri dynasty.”

  A female docent, her voice sweet, introduced it to the visitors. “The patterns represent kingship and rule… and the key point is that this cloak came from the Sun King’s queen. It was her family’s inheritance. According to historians, that queen possessed one-eighth Sothos blood…”

  Javon listened with an expression of helpless disbelief. But he also knew that in this society—high and low alike—bloodlines still carried enormous weight.

  For instance, in the military, the path appeared open even to commoners. One could even be recommended into an officers’ academy and become an officer. Yet in reality, if one wished to rise to certain leadership posts, let alone become a general, one needed at least one-eighth noble blood.

  That hard requirement had strangled the potential of countless talented commoners.

  In truth, the rule looks rotten… but it has a certain logic.

  Javon noted inwardly.

  Because without the bloodlines of those ancient nobles, one would never come into contact with profound occult knowledge, and could not become a true Transcendent. And without personal strength, a general could easily be decapitated by an enemy Transcendent—causing an entire battle to collapse.

  Thus, for commanders in this world, a measure of transcendent power was necessary for self-preservation, before one could afford to command armies on the battlefield.

  A representative example was Marshal Eisen Napoleon.

  Javon lingered with mild interest before the Sothos cloak, then moved to the second display, where he viewed a golden scepter from the Fabri dynasty—said to be the grave good of a witch-empress.

  Then, at the third display, he saw a plain iron-black crown.

  It looked unadorned, even corroded by rust in places.

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  “The Iron Crown of the founder, Sun King Arthur!”

  The docent spoke with heartfelt admiration. “As the great monarch who ended the age of darkness and chaos, Sun King Arthur was wise in his youth. His first crown was forged of iron and lead, with no gold or gemstones—yet it better displayed the greatness of his character…”

  “After King Arthur, House Sodoma replaced it with another crown inlaid with gold and precious stones. But without question, this crown is one of a kind!”

  Clark would be very interested…

  Javon suddenly thought of Clark—his first friend in this world—and fell into brief silence.

  His interest dulled. He followed the flow of people to another display.

  Behind the glass, on a white mannequin, hung a necklace made from countless diamonds and platinum. At its center sat a blue diamond the size of a dove’s egg, gleaming with flowing radiance beneath the lights and drawing the gaze of innumerable women.

  “Queen Mary’s necklace—the Heart of the Sea!”

  The docent’s voice lowered. “This queen is a well-known tragic figure in Inves’s history. Kind and easygoing, beautiful and gracious—yet she never received her husband the king’s favor. Queen Mary often left the palace to sing, dance, and play with commoners… She was beloved by the people, but in the end she died in a palace rebellion.

  “To this day, there is even a famous sparkling wine produced by a royal estate, named Queen Mary’s Sigh, in her memory.”

  There were especially many visitors here. Faces were flushed with excitement, heads turning constantly, expressions full of curiosity. Most had come specifically because of the magician rumor.

  Javon glanced once at the Heart of the Sea necklace and did not linger. He turned away. After he had walked a certain distance, he touched between his brows and felt his Danger Premonition settle noticeably.

  So there really is an arrangement—and it’s hidden, and high-tier…

  Javon made a full round of the exhibition at a leisurely pace. Then he led William out of the hall.

  “Go find somewhere to eat. I need a private room.”

  “Yes, sir.” William bowed. He understood the boss merely wanted a quiet place to divine.

  Queen’s District.

  Southern Country Cuisine.

  This restaurant was a famous upscale venue in the Queen’s District, known for its South Inves specialties.

  The featured dishes were hand-torn flatbread, curry chicken, and honey-roasted red ants.

  To emphasize South Inves flavor, not only was the décor colonial in style, even the servers were mostly indigenous people from the colonies. Javon chose this place for one reason only: it was close to the royal exhibition hall.

  William walked past the attendants and felt their gazes on him were strange. Especially those dark-skinned South Inves girls—their fiery looks made him deeply uncomfortable.

  He didn’t dare keep staring at their revealing clothing and beautiful curves. He slipped into the private room.

  The walls were tinted a deep red, painted with South Inves religious murals of monkey-faced figures. In the corner, incense burners and candles released spices and essential oils brought from the colonies, said to have aphrodisiac effects—extremely popular among Inves’s upper nobles.

  Javon did not order flatbread. He only asked for curry chicken cooked at high heat, along with some light fruit drinks.

  He had just finished lunch. He instructed William to send the other servers away and sat by the window.

  From here, the entrance to the exhibition hall was clearly visible. The angle was excellent. In his hand, he idly toyed with a small pennant that read Happy New Year.

  “Si—Mr. Morley.” William closed the door and bowed. “I’ve arranged it. No one will disturb us.”

  “Good…”

  Javon held the pennant in one hand, and with the other produced tools such as a crystal pendulum. He began his divination.

  He had already vaguely inferred the magician’s plan, and had made corresponding preparations.

  “Have you ever hunted?” Javon looked at William and suddenly smiled. “After you set the trap, all that remains is patience and waiting…”

  He calmly turned his gaze toward the exhibition hall.

  About an hour later.

  Inside the hall, amid the crowd.

  An elderly gentleman with graying hair—combed meticulously—walked slowly to the display for the Heart of the Sea. He wore a black formal suit and held a gold-trimmed cane.

  He stared at the dazzling necklace and the blue diamond at its center, and his eyes gradually became enraptured.

  “Sir, each visitor may stay for at most three minutes… please leave time for those behind you.”

  The docent took out a silver pocket watch and stepped forward with a polite smile, gesturing for the old man to move on.

  “Cough… cough…”

  The old gentleman suddenly bent over, coughing continuously. He drew out a handkerchief, pressed it to his mouth and nose, and looked as though he were in great pain.

  “Someone help! He needs assistance!”

  “A doctor?!”

  The crowd scattered at once. The elderly gentleman collapsed onto the floor. His white handkerchief fell aside—stained with dark red blood.

  Patrolling guards ran over immediately and formed a cordon, scanning the surrounding people with wary eyes. But most of their attention remained fixed on the Heart of the Sea display.

  Within the crowd, several plainclothes figures quietly drew closer—most were Bureau of Occult Affairs Transcendents in disguise, mixed with members of the royal intelligence office.

  The elderly gentleman was quickly lifted onto a stretcher and carried toward the rest area behind the hall for treatment.

  At that moment, on the blood-stained white handkerchief, a mysterious symbol drawn in Spirit Language suddenly flared with light.

  “A delayed-trigger talisman!” A Transcendent bodyguard’s pupils shrank.

  Hiss!

  But it was too late. The handkerchief detonated, bursting into a choking white fog that blanketed the entire hall.

  The fog spread. The panicked crowd ran and screamed, tying up a great deal of security.

  Then, through the mist, a black shadow suddenly shot forward. A pistol in his right hand, he fired three shots at the glass case holding the Heart of the Sea.

  Bang bang bang!

  Under the piercing gunfire, many of the terrified people dropped to the floor.

  The glass shielding the display shattered into fragments, shards spraying everywhere. The figure lunged to the case, reached out, and grasped for the Heart of the Sea necklace.

  “Forbidden!” A stern male voice rang out.

  Around the Heart of the Sea display, the air abruptly became viscous. Space itself seemed to congeal. The black shadow was held in a ridiculous pose—mid-sprint, arm outstretched—frozen before the display like a statue.

  “Civilians, get down!”

  The stern voice sounded again. A figure cut through the fog, leading Bureau agents as they surrounded the display.

  The leader looked middle-aged, wearing a black uniform. At his waist hung a leather belt full of hidden compartments packed with talismans, medicines, powders… He had a square face, blue eyes, resolute features, and in his hand was a black whip.

  The demon-hunter—Heisinger!

  He was a Beyond Mortality-grade being under the Bureau of Occult Affairs, captain of a special operations unit, renowned for plentiful methods and a hardline style.

  Snap!

  Heisinger lashed the whip. Flames roared to life along it, and like a python it coiled forward, bound the frozen figure, and yanked it hard to the floor.

  Crack!

  The figure slammed down. Its hat fell away, revealing its true face: black button eyes, a face stitched from burlap, lipstick painted into an enormous smiling mouth…

  It was a large puppet construct!

  “Watch the other displays!”

  Heisinger’s expression did not change as he issued orders to the Occult Constabulary around him.

  Crack!

  At that moment, the sound of shattering glass came from the third display. A figure flashed in, stepped onto the platform, and bowed to the surrounding crowd in blatant provocation.

  He wore a pure white suit, a gold-rimmed monocle, and a red rose pinned to his chest.

  Magician—Lucivar!

  He appeared abruptly on the display, seized the Sun King’s Iron Crown, then lifted a hand crossbow in his right hand and aimed at the exhibition hall’s towering dome.

  Though the ritual demanded he warn his opponents in advance, keeping them on guard and pushing the challenge to its limit, it did not explicitly require that he obey the postcard to the letter—stealing one specific item.

  On that point, the magician chose deception.

  His true target was not the Heart of the Sea, but the Sun King’s Iron Crown—an artifact of greater historical value!

  The crossbow fired. A grappling claw with rope shot out, shattered glass, and caught the metal framework of the dome.

  The rope reeled in fast, hoisting the magician upward.

  Crackle—clatter.

  Countless shards rained down from the dome like a storm, sending visitors scattering in terror like a flock of panicked ducks.

  “Activate—The Vanishing Oil Painting. Everyone else, ranged attacks!”

  Heisinger barked the command. At once, a Bureau operative unfurled an oil painting.

  Red, white, black… pigments spilled into the air, staining the void with color as if to swallow the entire region into the canvas.

  The other operatives and guards drew guns and talismans, unleashing them at the magician.

  “Your enthusiasm is truly irresistible…”

  Lucivar, hanging in midair, blew a kiss. He looped the Iron Crown around his arm like a bracelet, then produced a cane tipped with a ruby, and gave it a light flourish.

  Pop.

  Like puncturing a soap bubble, the vivid colors around him vanished without trace.

  Those talismans and other transcendent powers were erased as if rubbed away by an eraser.

  “How can there be an arcane artifact like that?”

  “Erasing all transcendent powers?”

  One investigator watched Lucivar evade bullets with ease, then leap onto the exhibition roof, his face turning bleak with despair…

  “He’s here!”

  Inside the upscale Southern Country restaurant.

  When chaos erupted at the hall—white fog pouring out and smoking many of the upper-class spectators out through the doors—William’s expression brightened and he cried out.

  Through the window, Javon saw a snow-white figure on the exhibition roof.

  The man moved with agile ease, subduing the Transcendents who had been stationed on the roof, kicking them from the high building one by one. Casualties were heavy.

  Before Heisinger could reach the roof, three white gliders launched from different directions. Rose petals drifted down in a fluttering storm, drawing constant cries from the street below.

  So flamboyant… he shouldn’t be called a magician. He should be called Kid…

  Javon muttered a complaint only he himself could understand.

  “Boss—this… is that an ability like clones? And why can that white thing fly?” William asked blankly.

  “It’s not flying. It’s gliding. You should read more physics…”

  Javon watched the commotion outside and the various bizarre Transcendents and officers chasing after each glider. He couldn’t help admiring it.

  “At least… he’s successfully split the pursuing force. And… under all eyes, magician Lucivar has fulfilled his declaration and completed a grand performance!”

  Javon did not know that the Heart of the Sea had not been stolen, that the missing item was the Iron Crown. But it made no difference. In fact, the Iron Crown was worth even more than the Heart of the Sea.

  “Boss… no, Mr. Morley—what do we do?” William asked anxiously as the magician fled the scene at speed.

  “What do we do? Go outside and pick one to chase? Or you drive the carriage while I divine directions inside the cabin?”

  Javon did not answer directly. Instead, he leisurely sipped his fruit drink.

  “What you see may not be real… magicians are always adept at visual deception.”

  “But whether it’s real or false doesn’t matter… as long as we guess the core of his escape.”

  His expression turned solemn. He tossed a black case to William.

  “This is Roberts’s Arcane Insect Box. I’ve told you how to use it. In a moment, I’ll attempt to enter the Ethereal Realm with my spirit-body, and you’ll be responsible for using this arcane artifact to protect me!”

  Through extensive divination and deduction, Javon had already begun to understand the magician’s intent.

  Lucivar should also know that with only a few gliders—though he could toy with the Bureau for a time—he could never truly escape Wynchester.

  Everything he had done so far was only to buy time.