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As the train wheels rumbled over the rail joints with gradually diminishing frequency, the locomotive rolled into Backlund, capital of the Loen Kingdom, trailing wisps of dissipating steam.
This most prosperous city in the world boasted a population exceeding five million. To the kingdom's citizens, it represented a land of hope—grudgingly acknowledged by other nations as the "Capital of All Capitals."
Compared to this metropolis, Tingen, where Angel had lived for two months, seemed little more than a provincial town.
Of course, Tingen did have its advantages. The air quality, for instance, far surpassed Backlund's...
The moment Angel stepped off the train onto the platform—dressed in a plain long skirt and hooded cloak—the pale yellow, acrid fog made her recoil.
Though she'd read countless newspaper editorials criticizing Backlund's air quality, even seen satirical cartoons mocking it, the industrial capital's environmental degradation exceeded her wildest imagination.
Even on this semi-open platform, anyone more than thirty meters away became merely a faint silhouette. Gas lamps hung along the platform had been lit early, yet could barely pierce the murky haze—just enough to prevent collisions with pillars or walls.
She remembered Mrs. Carvey from Port Enmat mentioning plans to retire in Backlund, complaining that the port's air was too polluted with industrial waste. Angel wondered if the woman now missed her former home...
Taking a breath of air that "surpassed" even Port Enmat's pollution, Angel silently lit a metaphorical candle for Mrs. Carvey's retirement dreams before picking up her luggage and leaving the platform.
At the station, she purchased a Dixie pie, coffee with extra milk, and a copy of that day's Backlund Daily. Finding an empty bench, she settled in for dinner while perusing the newspaper under the dim lighting.
She flipped to the back pages first, scanning the classified section for rental listings.
Before leaving the Church of the Evernight's headquarters, Angel had received 50 pounds in "operational funds." After spending 1 pound 5 soli on the train ticket and 5 pence on dinner and the newspaper, this represented her entire cash reserve.
Even adding the 1,000 pounds in her anonymous Backlund bank account, she needed to budget carefully now that she was unemployed. Buying property in this expensive city was impossible—besides, she had no idea how long she'd remain here...
Right, of those 1,000 pounds, 350 belonged to Miss Justice, who'd helped her acquire the "complete blood of a Black Abyss Devil Fish" needed for her Witch advancement... That left only 650 pounds.
Thinking of Justice inevitably led her thoughts to Mr. Fool, and to Klein, who had somehow become His devotee.
What other secrets remained hidden? When exactly had he become a follower of The Fool?
Even until he departed, I never truly knew him.
Taking a deep breath to still her wandering thoughts, Angel bit into the grease-laden pie and refocused on the newspaper in her lap. The station's lighting was inadequate for most readers, but with her night vision, it posed no problem.
"Housing Improvement Association—they'd definitely require identification. Not only do I lack it, but registering under Angel Granger's name would likely bring the Nighthawks to my door... North District, Wales Street, detached house, only 2 minutes from St. Samuel Cathedral—better not, I might run into Ms. Daly. How could I face her..."
Scanning rental listings one by one, Angel eliminated those requiring formal identification through legitimate agencies, as well as properties in the West End and Queens District where nobles and wealthy merchants congregated and rents were astronomical. Finally, she selected a promising location.
"Backlund Bridge District, two-story townhouse, furnished, minimum six-month lease."
Recalling the Backlund map she'd seen on the platform, she confirmed the property's general location.
The entire area surrounding Backlund's only major bridge was called the Bridge District. It bordered the Tussock River that bisected the city, with the chaotic, crime-ridden East End and Dock District nearby, while crossing south led to the residential South Bridge District.
There, if danger arose and she needed to flee, multiple escape routes would be available.
Unlike her time in Tingen, she no longer held official status.
To accomplish Miss Arianna's plan, she'd need to contact other secret organizations in Backlund—potentially facing capture or assassination. In such circumstances, convenient transportation and a complex environment would facilitate escape.
Having chosen her target, Angel stopped browsing other advertisements and continued eating her pie while scanning other sections, satisfying her hunger for news after her long isolation.
"Follow-up interview on Hurricane Lieutenant General Qilangos's death... Nothing useful. His death was clearly covered up by the relevant authorities—they didn't even reveal he was a Beyonder."
"Parliament's proposal to establish the 'Kingdom Air Pollution Investigation Committee'... About time they addressed environmental protection. Even the capital has become this terrible—practically rivaling London's fog. They might trigger a smog event like London's at this rate..."
Angel's lips twitched as she attempted a smile, then noticed the next headline.
"Tingen gas pipeline leak explosion claims 85 lives, over 200 injured. Councilor Meynard, who was delivering a campaign speech, confirmed dead at the scene."
So the official story for the evil god's spawn descent was a gas explosion...
She blinked, carefully reading the entire report.
A week had passed since the incident—another Sunday. Being a week old, the article didn't detail the event itself, only provided follow-up casualty statistics.
Interestingly, the report mentioned survivor accounts claiming that before the Heart Square gas pipeline exploded, a woman had fired several shots at the scene, threatening random violence and causing chaos.
Some believed her actions drove people away from the blast radius, objectively reducing casualties. Others considered her the culprit behind the gas leak explosion.
"You have no idea what disaster you escaped..."
Though she scorned these misconceptions, Angel understood their perspective. After all, topics like sacrificial rituals and evil god descents could never appear in newspapers. Her erratic behavior in Heart Square naturally made her seem like the disaster's perpetrator.
If she'd ignited black flames instead of firing shots, she'd seem even more likely to have triggered the gas pipeline explosion...
Angel smiled bitterly, suddenly sensing that the "Witch" potion within her had quietly digested a small portion.
Public disaster, person guiding the disaster's occurrence, widely spread infamy...
Angel immediately identified these key elements.
Fitting for a pathway that creates death and calamity... Even the "Witch" sequence, whose name concealed its true nature, could digest potions through such acts.
This aligned with her experience role-playing as an Instigator—actions reported in newspapers and seen by more people aided potion digestion more effectively.
Committing these insights to memory, Angel folded the newspaper, drained her coffee, tossed the cup and pie wrapper in the trash, and left the station with her luggage.
Via the extensive subway network, Angel reached the Bridge District, then took a hired carriage, finally arriving at Red Rose Street before darkness fully descended.
This riverside street offered no advantages despite its location. The city-spanning river teemed with steamboats traveling day and night, its surface covered with oil slicks and garbage—occasionally even floating corpses. Most riverside windows remained tightly shut.
The Tussock River section in Tingen was much cleaner than this...
Glancing at the busy waterway, Angel knocked on the door of 25 Red Rose Street.
This three-story detached house had a shop occupying half the ground floor, displaying a faded sign reading "Vallis General Store."
After just a few knocks, the side door beside the shop opened. A brown-haired woman around thirty, wearing an apron, peeked out warily.
"We're closed. What do you need?"
Angel lowered her hood, revealing a friendly smile.
"Apologies for disturbing you. I saw a rental listing in the Backlund Daily. Is there a two-story townhouse available here?"
Seeing Angel's appearance, the woman's wariness diminished considerably. After hearing the question, she smiled.
"Yes, one moment please."
She closed the door. Rapid footsteps departed and returned, then the brown-haired woman reopened the door, inviting Angel inside.
Since the shop occupied much of the ground floor, the actual living room was on the second floor. Angel followed the woman upstairs to a comfortably furnished parlor, where she met the property's true owner, Mrs. Vallis.
Around fifty years old with black hair streaked with considerable silver, Mrs. Vallis showed signs of regular maintenance, though her face and hands bore inevitable wrinkles.
"I hear you wish to rent my property?"
After inviting Angel to sit, Mrs. Vallis asked directly.
"That's right, the two-story unit. The newspaper listed it at 15 soli per week?"
"Indeed. Six-month minimum lease, furniture included at no extra charge, but water and gas are your responsibility. The total is..."
"20 pounds 5 soli."
Angel calculated quickly and answered.
Mrs. Vallis raised an eyebrow appreciatively.
"You calculate swiftly. At least this tenant is educated."
"'This' tenant?"
Angel asked curiously.
"Heh, the last tenant was a Feysac man—rude, argumentative. He vanished without terminating the lease. I worried he'd return, so I left the property vacant for a month. Still haven't seen him."
Mrs. Vallis complained at length about the previous tenant before having her maid fetch a prepared contract.
Angel skimmed it quickly. The contract was standard—requiring one month's advance notice for renewal and rent payment, with no other special conditions.
"By the way, I haven't asked your name yet. I'll need to see your identification as well."
While reviewing the contract and signing in several places, Mrs. Vallis asked casually.
"My apologies, when I came from Tingen, I forgot to bring my identification. If necessary, I can have family send it," Angel replied with a slight smile, subtly "persuading" her.
"No matter, I only ask as a formality. Only the West Villas Field people enjoy constantly checking documents."
Hearing Mrs. Vallis's response, Angel smiled faintly and signed the contract with her false name—the identity she'd use in Backlund going forward.
Erin Watson.
ANNOUNCEMENT
I'm turning this novel — and others — into audiobooks on my YouTube channel NOVELS-WONDERLAND! 🎧
You can listen to them there and show your support. Thank you so much!