Ulrich blinked, but already disappeared along with his senses. After a moment, he chalked it up to being too paranoid and left Euston Street, heading toward the Eastern District, location of the Shelby's Slough House.

  75 Dudley Street, Eastern District, Portsmouth.

  The change in atmosphere was oppressive. The cobblestones beneath Ulrich's feet grew darker with each step eastward as the stained, oily gray-black seeped in the surrounding.

  The nearby factory—a product of the industrial age—belched columns of thick, putrid smoke into the perpetually overcast sky. The stench lingered heavy in the air, burning coal mixed with the sour tang of unwashed bodies, rotting waste in the alleys, and the metallic remnants of industrial runoff that pooled in the gutters.

  He groaned, pressing his hand on the black cap.

  The buildings here sagged with exaggeration. There were rows of cramped terraced houses leaning against one another like drunks stumbling home. Their brickwork was blackened by soot, mortar crumbling between the stones.

  The occasional pub and corner shop highlighted the residential blocks, their painted signs faded and peeling, but their doors always open—alcohol and women, Portsmouth lacks neither.

  As he walked down the street, a few eyes shot his way. However, seeing his appearance, they quickly turned away.

  He chuckled, adjusting the top of his black coat and dusting the coal-dust off his sleeves before walking toward the building with a sign that reads — "Slough House".

  At the entrance, there was a familiar face, one that he had seen the night before, and the same one which he had almost snuffed the life out of.

  "The boss has been expecting you, Sir Constantine," Greeted Billie, who was puffing a smoke right at the pub's entrance. His voice was a little odd, perhaps something to do with the strong whiskey scent wafting from his breath.

  Ulrich mused before stepping inside the bar.

  Immediately, the smell of whiskey only became stronger, followed by loud discussions and glass clanging. It was an entirely different world, separated by a thin line that is the doorstep.

  The regulars fell quiet as he entered, conversations dying mid-sentence. A few men nodded respectfully, caps lifted slightly—the Shelby name still carried weight here, and it seemed his outfit was rather recognizable.

  He walked through the haze of tobacco smoke toward the private room next to the bar counter, ignoring the resumed murmurs in his wake.

  Ulrich pushed through the private door without knocking. As he entered, two people sat on the high barstool; his appearance immediately made their heads turn.

  "Ulrich, a while, ay?" Donnie greeted, puffing a cloud of smoke. His voice was deep and firm, one that Ulrich found familiar.

  He wore a clean white inner shirt with a black coat, the same one Ulrich had. As a matter of fact, even their black cap were the same, a recognizable fashion style of the Black Hands. If there were a difference, it'd be the golden rosary that hangs on the bottom of his buttoned sleeve, as well as several other decorated jewelry on his body.

  He mused, then nodded," Donnie."

  After which, he turned his head toward Adeline, noting her enthusiastic gaze," Have you been well, Adeline?"

  She pouted in protest.

  Her stature was rather short, just a shoulder of Ulrich, who was considered average height. If not for the bar stool, perhaps he would've had to lower himself to match her eye level.

  "Alright, alright, if that makes you happy."

  Ulrich wryly shook his head, ignoring her banter, then looked at Donnie, who observed him with great consideration.

  "What's the matter with you to contact me?" He questioned, confused, and a little out of touch with the family's business.

  Two months ago, he had left Portsmouth, living in a metal shack in the southern district.

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  Ulrich assumed a rather ordinary life, neither picking fights with the law nor mingling with the underworld. In fact, even during his involvement with the Shelby family, and in that same sense, the Black Hand, many did not know who he was because he kept a rather low-key profile throughout the years.

  It was not surprising that his absence went unnoticed by many. Only those such as Adeline and Donnie, true members of the Shelby family, are aware of it. At most, outsiders would suspect he was tasked with a covert mission by Donnie Shelby himself.

  What many do not know is that Ulrich never worked under the Shelby family; he worked them. This was a secret known to few in Portsmouth, maybe, even Belham.

  Upon hearing this question, Donnie spoke in a low, barely above a whisper, voice," Our family business has come to a halt," He said, bearing the thick accent of Portsmouth.

  "And I'd like to request your opinion on the matter."

  Donnie glanced at Ulrich, attempting to grasp his thought. However, he was met with disappointment.

  Since he had known this young lad years ago, he felt that Ulrich was rather eccentric and peculiar. A young kid who didn't quite act his age, an unchanging expression, and thoughts that were greatly concealed.

  "You must have heard of the recent shore bans, as well as the crackdown from the union."

  Ulrich nodded, recalling Vander's and Selena's words. "They say it is due to the rising number of sea beasts pouring from the sea. Do you believe this?"

  "Them Union folks, they are restless these days, it is like someone lit their arse on fire, and I wondered why— I mean, they flipped the entire city upside down for days!"

  Ulrich leaned forward, curious and somewhat impatient at Donnie's drawn-out words.

  "There's a big package in town, Ulrich, and I mean By now, Donnie's voice dropped to a whisper, his eyes glancing at Adeline and Ulrich in quick succession.

  "And I assume this package is precisely the source of your trouble? Let me guess even further, this package, you have it?"

  Hearing this, Donnie smiled, praising his quick thinking," That's right, it is in my hand, but I cannot sell it nor make pounds with it. It is like a bomb in my hand that can go off at any moment."

  This time, Ulrich questioned," What is the package?"

  For the first time, Donnie grew silent, as though he was hesitating. However, after a few seconds, he puffed a cloud of smoke and answered.

  "Guns, and I don't mean small guns. But harpoonist weaponry, enough to level the entirety of Portsmouth."

  Hearing this, Ulrich frowned, his expression darkened as he coldly said," Throw it to someone else, Donnie, this is not the kind of fortune you believed it is."

  At the same time, Adeline chimed in on the side," I told you! Do you listen to me now, brother? This is not worth the lot of troubles that's coming our way!"

  Inwardly, Ulrich wanted to go back into hiding and avoid the troubles that were coming.

  Donnie Shelby has always been a pragmatic and ambitious person, but even by Donnie's ambitious standard, this was suicidal. If this was the Donnie that Ulrich remembered, then this shouldn't be a question at all. So what's changed?

  Ulrich didn't stay long. He advised Donnie to be realistic and listen to Adeline before heading back to the northern district, where the safe house was.

  …

  After returning to the dilapidated unit on Lower Darwin Street, Ulrich took off his black cap and went to the room on the second floor. The first thing he did was secure the room, making sure it was safe from intruders. After which, he was able to unload the thick book and place it on the wooden crate.

  Then, he thought about the Shelby's dilemma before tossing it in the back of his mind.

  Unknowingly, his worries and concerns as of late have been reduced from many to few—his dreams and personal circumstances. With that in mind, he quickly sat on the chair and began reading through the book given to him by Madam Francis.

  There was many types of divination: Astrology, Scrying, Numerology, Cartomancy, Dowsing, all having the same purpose of gaining knowledge regarding hidden or future matters.

  The list had Ulrich head spinning as the explanation of each type was littered with steps and meaning.

  He continued reading, occasionally stopping to let the information sink in his mind before continuing.

  His eyes widened at the speed at which he understood the content. But it made sense, given that he had some lingering knowledge bestowed upon him when using the incomplete shadow rune.

  by D. N. Newyn

  All Severa Montreal ever wanted was to become the greatest dungeoneer alive. Instead, she got to manage other dungeoneers.

  a bit of a spoiled brat. How dare she demand respect when she was only the youngest prodigy in the history of the Synod of Thaumaturgic Studies and the youngest ever to solo a Tier II dungeon?

  other dungeoneers as well. Complete, moronic beginners. She would have to face her worst enemy: socializing. But if tolerating other people was what it would take to become the best dungeoneer manager, so be it.