The Lonestone Capital City was still shaken by the incident in the Church District. Even several days afterward.
It had been several days after Jack battled the demonic Emissary of Wealth. News of the 'masked specter' and the 'golden monster' had widespread and had been twisted until beyond recognition.
The closest version was actually the urban legends appearing among the poor, especially the street kids.
The abducted children were about to be sacrificed to the 'Gold Devil'. But they were saved by a pair of ghosts. The enigmatic 'Jack Mystery' and the sharp-mouthed 'Spooky Spider'. A pair of ghosts who didn't fear the church's exorcism.
The kidnapped children, including the heavily injured boy Spider had rescued first, were safe. Their physical wounds had miraculously healed. Even the festering ones.
Jack and Spider had seen to it. The process had been tedious. Requiring both of them to inscribe [Arcane Healing Lullaby] into their spectral grimoires. It was a potent, non-divine restoration spell. Far more effective than the basic [Healing Chant].
Each inscription cost a precious, permanent slot in their limited grimoire pages. But Jack didn't hesitate. Spider was similar. He had only grumbled about the inconvenience before decisively etching the intricate runes in his grimoire.
They were anomalies. They were ghosts who were in some sense more human than many living humans. More compassionate. In their strange, mystical way.
Despite their miraculous recovery, the children were still street-kids. Saved from a cult? Yes. But not from the grim reality of Lonestone's harsh life. Their liberation had been a rescue. Not a societal overhaul.
Jack understood that immediately. He could use his wealth to help them all. But, it would bring a lot of problems. For him and for those children. Handling societal issue like that alone was practically committing social suicide.
Therefore, Jack asked Reina to subtly act. She had long volunteered herself into some of Lonestone's burgeoning charity organizations. She nudged the organizations to gradually disrupt the cycle that fed helpless children into the city's shadows.
It was a slow, agonizing process. The problem was tangled in many conflicts of interest after all. And bureaucratic system that seemed to be designed to ignore the inconvenient truths of its own suffering.
Reina had quickly discovered. Lonestone's charitable spirit was often extended only as far as public perception allowed. Real change was still a long and hard climbing process.
Spider had left the city. He stayed long enough to ensure his young charge was stable. And that the immediate threat was really gone.
After that, he had grown restless. Not long afterward, the spectral boy had given Jack a curt nod of farewell. And a sarcastic remark about Lonestone's lack of interesting sights.
He vanished into the night. His own adventures called. Jack understood. Spider was an independent person... er, ghost.
After all, he hadn't gone to the afterlife was because he wanted to explore the world. Like Jack, Spider was a ghost untethered by anything but his own evolving moral compass.
Late tonight, as was his custom, Jack resumed his solitary patrol. In his specter form.
The city, even in its quiet hours of slumber, never truly slept. Its industrial heart pulsed with automated machinery. Its Renaissance spires in central districts cast long, elegant shadows. And its slum was festered with quiet corruption.
Invisible, he drifted through the labyrinthine streets. A silent judge. His form was a mere ripple in the gloom though.
He passed by an opulent private club. Its windows were glowing with a soft, expensive light. The clinking of glasses. Muted laughter. And the distant strains of a live band drifted onto the street.
Jack had no interest in the petty indulgences of the rich. But a specific set of voices caught his ethereal ear. These weren't the usual drunken merchants or bored nobles.
These voices carried a distinct resonance. The subtle hum of cultivated power. The belonged to Transcendent City Enforcers.
He drifted closer. Phasing through a decorative wrought-iron gate. Into the club's well-maintained courtyard.
Three figures stood near a bubbling fountain. Their uniforms were slightly askew. Drinks in hand. One was a young man. Barely out of the academy judging by his fresh-faced eagerness. And still-gleaming uniform.
Another was a burly, scarred veteran. His armored gauntlets were resting on a table beside a half-empty tankard. The third was a muscular woman. Her expression was sharp. Her movements were precise even in relaxation.
"Can you believe it, Smithson Bro?" The young man was saying. His voice a little too loud. "That whole mess with the Emissary of Wealth. It was… a nightmare. Commander Thorne was furious. Said he'd never seen anything like it."
The veteran, Smithson, grunted. Taking a long swig. "Seen worse, kid. Plenty worse. But yeah, that thing was a nasty piece of work. Good thing that… whatever it was… stepped in. Otherwise, half the district would be ash."
"Still..." The young man pressed. A hint of frustration was in his voice. "Where was the big bosses? They're supposed to be in the city, aren't they? High-stage transcendent powerhouses. Why weren't they there, helping?"
Jack paused. His invisible form was hovering near a decorative plant. This was the question that had gnawed at him. He had practically wandered to every district. From the slum, to the Noble District of Lonestone. Even to the Elrush Palace.
But he hadn't felt any oppressive aura. In Highcliff Town, he could easily felt the threatening vibe from the locations where the Countess Ashworth and Cardinal Gawain were. The kind that made the air itself feel heavy. Here, he could not sense any.
He had battled the cultists and faced down that demonic creature. And still, the oppressive, unmistakable aura of high-level transcendent power had been absent.
There were powerful individuals. Yes. like Commander Thorne. But he was just in enhanced stage, like him. Nowhere close to the illuminated stage like Countess Ashworth.
He had assumed that they were simply reclusive. Restraining their aura. Or perhaps they were out, handling some external businesses. But the young enforcer's question mirrored his own.
Smithson scoffed. Setting down his tankard with a thud. "Kid, you really think the big guns come out for every little cultist summoning? Those guys operate on a different level. They're not even here in… this Lonestone." He waved a dismissive hand. Encompassing the entire sprawling city.
The muscular woman had been silently observing. She spoke now. Her voice was a low, modulated hum. "Smithson, you really shouldn't be talking about such things in public. Even here."
"Relax, Barrise." Smithson waved her off. "It's Taylor. He's new. Needs to learn how things work. Besides, who's listening? Just us. And a few drunkards who wouldn't understand a lick of it anyway."
He leaned in conspiratorially. His voice was dropping slightly. Though still easily audible to Jack's enhanced senses. "They're in True Lonestone City, Taylor. That's where they are. King Willion, General Primefeller, Countess Ashworth, Elder Keystone, Arch-Inquisitor Oakstake… all the big names. Pretty much everyone above Illuminated Stage, unless they're on a specific assignment outside."
Taylor's eyes widened. "True Lonestone City? I thought that was just a myth. A sort of… spiritual symbol."
Smithson chuckled. "Myth? Kid, half the real power in this kingdom is tucked away in 'myths'. True Lonestone City isn't just a symbol. It's a place. A spatial realm."
He paused, and continued. "It is said that the ley lines converge there like nowhere else in the kingdom. The mystical energy there is so abundant that it is practically tangible. Perfect for training, for honing your abilities without having to worry about… distractions."
He gestured again. This time more pointedly at the surrounding city outside the club walls.
Jack mentally filed the information away. True Lonestone City. A spatial realm. Mystical energy. Illuminated stage...
It actually explained the lack of truly powerful transcendent aura he had felt. They weren't hiding their aura. They were simply not here.
They were in Lonestone City. But not in this mundane Lonestone City. The kingdom's higher tiered powerhouses had their own exclusive playground. A place where their power could flourish unhindered by the mundane, chaotic existence of the common folk.
It was logical. From a certain dispassionate point of view. The strong cultivating their strength. Away from the weak. Away from the grime.
"So?" Taylor continued. Still processing. "They just… ignore what happens here? Like with that golden creature?"
Barrise sighed. "They don't 'ignore' it, Taylor. They don't know. Technically, if the ghost didn't slay that monster, they would be informed. And then, they would come and solve the problem."
"Yep. But we're all already dead." Smithson commented sarcastically.
Barrise ignored him. Sipped her beverage. And continued. "They have their own concerns. Threats on a scale you can't even imagine right now. We handle the street-level problems. They handle the… planar ones."
Smithson snorted. "Planar ones, indeed. Means they don't get their silk robes dirty dealing with rogue cultists and common thugs. We do that. And frankly, it's better that way. Less bureaucracy, more direct action."
He finished his tankard. And motioned to a passing server for another round. "So, Taylor, heard about the new patrol assignments? They're sending us to the docks next week. Lot of shady characters down there. Don't get yourself filleted."
The conversation shifted abruptly to mundane patrol routes. The latest gossip about other Enforcers. And the quality of the club's ale.
Jack lost interest. He had gleaned the information he'd unknowingly sought. The topic of True Lonestone City had satisfied his intellectual curiosity. But the subsequent chatter was irrelevant to his purpose.
The higher ups of the Elrush Kingdom could tend to their planar threats. And cultivate their mystical energy in their exclusive dimension for all he cared.
His domain would be this mundane Lonestone. The one festering with the very corruption they seemed content to ignore.
He drifted away from the opulent club. Leaving the trio of Enforcers to their drinks and their dismissive conversation.
The streets of Lonestone offered an endless supply of subjects to be judged. A sharp, high-pitched scream echoed from a nearby alleyway. Followed by a muffled thud.
Jack's ethereal form solidified slightly. A predatory gleam in his masked eyes. The universe was providing him with another opportunity to deliver suitable judgement.
And Jack was always eager to oblige.