“Why? Is she corrupted, or tainted?”

  Ulrich shrugged. “That’s what I like to find out.”

  Anna narrowed her eyes, as though weighing her options. Fortunately, there were other service workers nearby, helping with serving guests. If not for that, she’d probably get called out for chatting too long with a guest.

  “My labor is not free of charge. What will you pay in return?” She asked, clearly entertaining his request.

  “I see you are interested in that stinking priest. I happened to travel with him for some time. How about we exchange information?”

  In that moment, the duo locked eyes, their gaze flickering with mutual understanding.

  …

  Since he had secured the assistance of this mysterious sun worshiper, the watchman felt more at ease as he made way toward his new residence with an umbrella in his hand. All he had to do now is mediate a meeting between Selena and Anna, having the latter assess Selena’s condition. Although the Ministry had already examined her and found nothing abnormal, he didn’t feel relief, far from it.

  Anna is feared even by that Bishop… She’s the nemesis of all the Twilight madmen.

  He hoped that there was nothing wrong with his friend, and if there was, Anna could perform a thorough purification, followed by ordinary therapy, which would slowly mend the damage that might have occurred to her mind.

  By the time Ulrich finished his thought, he’d made it to the entrance of a terrace house, facing the door as he put the umbrella back into its portable form.

  His gaze traveled the vertical rhythm of the sash windows, each one uniform in its proportions, dividing the glass into neat rectangles that would cast shadows across the interior at predictable hours. Had it been the outer district, the window would sag in a random direction, or the glass would be smashed. Either way, Ulrich used some of his savings and moved to Euston Street, placing himself near Selena's home and St. Samuel, as well as the company, for a number of reasons.

  He pushed open the gate, reached for the keys in his pocket, then inserted them before twisting the lock open. The interior was already decorated, though not fully occupying the space in the hall. He actually preferred the minimal amount of furniture, as that was precisely why he’d picked this terrace house in particular.

  Ulrich threw himself on the soft sofa, the revolver still holstered on his belt. He leaned his head back, gazing at the ceiling, and closed his eyes.

  Now that Selena had been rescued, his other objective has been nudged forward, with another added.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Namely, the existence of the Eternal Club, its clues, as well as the truth behind the destruction of Belham and his own death. The past couple of days, he’d attempted to investigate the clues according to Ma’am Felanor’s words, the number 42. Nothing came up. Once again, he harbored some doubt regarding whether he’d been tricked. But Ulrich didn’t believe that was the case.

  As for Selena, her case wasn’t entirely resolved yet.

  It was more personal, for him, not the Ministry. She had recounted her dreams to Captain and Rosaline, but they waved them off as just bizarre and random dreams, which weren’t meant to be comprehensive in the first place. Ulrich could have offered his insight, but he chose not to. As a matter of fact, they had consulted their seer, Ulrich, but he still refused to speak his mind. That would’ve certainly complicated the matter further, something he’d been avoiding since day 1.

  In that moment, he opened his eyes and lazily glanced at the watch on the wall of the guest room. Nightfall had struck Belham, but the sound of water droplets continued to crash against the window. It was soothing, the rain. Besides Autumn, this time of the year was probably his favorite for one simple reason: constant rain.

  Ulrich closed his eyes again; this time, he didn’t opened it, not for a while. Eventually, that sinking feeling came, and he welcomed another loop in Donghai.

  The bustling skyscrapers came into life, so was that annoying honk. It was 1929 again, for the 5th time? He’d tried to keep count, but found it extremely difficult. Even after awakening, his ability to count had never improved, not even by a single percent.

  Anyway, Ulrich had no objective in this loop, no business to take care of. The seer had decided to call it quits and go on a vacation, indulging in all sorts of delicacies that do not exist in the five luminants.

  “Fuck it.”

  In that moment, Thieving Heaven had awoken in his mind, taking over his body. His eyes darted toward the closest victim, finding his next prey. Like a ghost, Ulrich ran down the street, swiping dozens of wallets with a practiced hand, as though it was rehearsed thousands of times.

  For the next couple of hours, Ulrich stayed true to his goal of taking a vacation. There was no Taiga masked thief that interrupted his loop, not this time, and not again!

  As he sat on a plastic stool in front of a random street food vendor, Ulrich chowed down on a bowl of chili oil rice noodles.

  It was a basic dish, just noodles and oil, no meat or vegetables. He missed that simplicity; the texture of the soft, chewy noodles, mixed with the aromatic oil which was infused with a variety of spices: star anise, cinnamon stick, Szechuan peppers (green and red), scallions, leeks, toasted black peppercorn, gingers, shallots, red chillies, etc.

  When he picked up the last strand of noodles, it glistened under the streetlight, shining with a crimson color that almost reflected his face. And in that reflection, the transmigrator expected to see his own face, but a light made him turn around.

  I just want to eat in peace! He screamed internally, slurping the last strand of noodle into the pits of his stomach as he stared at the corner ahead.

  There was a man, a rather old, white-haired man. Looking at the scene, Ulrich wouldn’t have batted an eye if not for that pool of liquid that had him blinking repeatedly.

  “Blood?” He repeated, putting the bowl of leftover chili oil on the plastic table.

  Once again, that foreboding feeling crept over him. Each time he wanted to take a carefree vacation, God seemingly nudged him back on the path where he belonged. And that path did not allow for vacation!

  "God forbid a man take his vacation in peace..."