Returning home, Rick tossed pre-bought delicatessen and wine onto the coffee table.
Anna was still absent—day eight. Except for one brief return, he hadn't seen her in ages, sparking worry. "Brat said she wanted to move in, but I haven't seen hide nor hair for days."
He unscrewed the wine bottle, gulping directly from it. Closing his eyes, he tried to calm down, but the impending mission and Anna's recent odd behavior frayed his nerves. "Fuck it. I should check the Underground. Hope nothing's happened to her."
Recalling the trash can overflowing with tissues, he realized—beyond wiping a runny nose, they could've been for tears. "Dammit!"
Growing more agitated, Rick grabbed his coat and bolted out. Following past memory, he struggled to find the Underground entrance, then followed dank, shadowy drainage pipes to the bustling black market.
In a foul mood, Rick shouldered roughly through the crowd, ignoring the jostling as he forced a path to Baldy Murphy's stall. His arrival had caused a commotion, so Murphy recognized him at once, leaping up to greet him.
"What brings you here? Looking to sell?"
"Nope. Looking for someone." Rick eyed Murphy coldly. "Has Anna stopped by recently?"
"Anna?" Murphy hesitated. "She came a week ago, but not since."
"A week ago?" That matched the day she'd left the first note. "Why'd she come?"
"She had a deal with Lothar, remember?" Murphy stole a glance at Rick. "She asked me to take her to him, said she wanted to know why he'd paid 240,000 coins just to see her again."
"You took her?"
"Yep."
"Then what?"
"Then they talked for ages in Lothar's secret chamber. Finally, I saw Anna leave in tears."
"Dammit!" Rick slammed his fist into Murphy's stall, collapsing it. His mind leaped to worst-case scenarios. Furious, he grabbed Murphy's collar. "Take me to Lothar. I need answers."
Cowering before Rick's rage, Murphy didn't dare refuse. Abandoning his wrecked stall, he panicked, leading Rick toward Lothar's section.
Lothar's stall sat deep in the black market. Though this area usually teemed with more customers, a conspicuous vacancy yawned where his stall should be.
"H-he's not open," Murphy stammered fearfully.
Rick's frown deepened. He approached a neighboring vendor. "How long has Lothar been gone?"
"About a week," the vendor replied.
"A week?" Matching Anna's disappearance, Rick had no doubt. He rushed behind Lothar's stall, fumbling for the secret chamber door.
"Just press the relief beside the stall," Murphy called from behind.
"Relief?" Rick found the carving at once but grew suspicious. "Why tell me? And you leave the door unlocked?"
"Black market vendors are forbidden aboveground—we're always at our stalls or in chambers. Neighbors watch our spots if we step away. Secret chambers are private, not meant to be locked."
"Why help me? You're friends. Aren't you worried I'll hurt him?"
Murphy hesitated. "Truth is, I need to know why he's been gone. His identity's always been mysterious. Maybe he found a way to escape... so—"
"Wait, why stay underground? Even with Lord Arthur's decree, escaping should be easy if you have enough coin."
"Because of the Shadows—they enforce the decree. They hide among us. Set foot aboveground, and you die mid-journey. I suspect... Lothar might be one of them."
"Shadows can leave the Underground?"
"Nope. The Shadows are warriors exiled by Lord Arthur. Only by earning enough merit to reclaim their honor can they return aboveground, and a new Shadow replaces them."
"Harsh ruler." Rick shook his head in surprise, pressing the relief. A mechanical click sounded, and the secret chamber's stone door slid open. He rushed in, finding a thin layer of dust on the furniture—Lothar hadn't returned in days.
Rick scanned the chamber. Like other black marketeers, Lothar stored goods everywhere, but a prominent bookshelf stood out, lined with insect-related tomes and ledgers. As his gaze swept the books, he noticed an unassuming volume at the top left: Ison's legal code, embossed with the city's shield-shaped insect emblem.
No ordinary black marketeer would keep a legal code. They only needed to remember the ban on surfacing. The book's tattered pages suggested frequent use—Lothar's true identity became clear.
"He is a Shadow!" Rick frowned, plucking the code. Flipping through, a bookmark-like paper fell out. On it was a silver mayfly pendant; the reverse showed a fire dragonfly pendant, both labeled: Royal Seal.
"Royal Seal!—" Rick gasped. This meant the seal of the monarch—Lord Arthur. And Anna had an identical necklace; Lothar had changed his mind after seeing it.
"Dammit, did Anna steal that necklace?" Rick's thoughts spiraled, picturing Anna in a dark cell. "That brat..."
Sweating profusely, he left the Underground and staggered home. Too consumed by worry, he didn't notice the cigar smoke or the figure inside until he entered.
"You're finally back. I've waited long." A familiar voice came from the shadows.
"Who?!" Startled, Rick tensed into a fighting stance.
In the darkness, the cigar tip glowed, briefly illuminating Gria's impeccably gentlemanly features.
Relaxing at the sight of Gria, Rick flicked the wall lamp. The firefly inside vibrated its wings, casting a warm yellow-white light that filled the room. "How'd you find this place? Why sit in the dark?" Rick snapped, too agitated to mind his tone.
"Finding you is child's play for me. And I came with urgent business. As for the dark..." Gria stroked his beard, smiling. "I enjoy the tranquility of immersing myself in shadows."
"Weirdo." Rick cursed, grabbing two goblets from the wine rack. He poured for them both. "So what's the new bullshit? Spill."
"Bullshit?" Gria balked, outraged. "This is crucial! How dare you—"
Rick sighed, realizing his rudeness. "Fine, my mistake. I'm in a foul mood. Forgive me."
Gria adjusted his collar and reseated himself, accepting the apology. Sipping wine, he asked casually: "What's bothering you?"
"Personal stuff." Rick smiled bitterly. "Anyway, let's hear your news. Must be important if you rushed here."
"Indeed." Gria set down his glass, expression turning grave. "I just learned Lady Manny, originally arriving in two weeks, has accelerated her journey after an ambush. She'll reach Ison tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?!" Rick jolted. He hadn't expected the mission to start so soon, not with Anna's crisis unresolved.
Gria noticed Rick's turmoil. "Problem?"
Biting his lip, Rick shook his head. "Too hasty. I'm unprepared. I don't even know her itinerary—how can I scout ambush points with so little time?"
"I know it's tough, so I brought you materials." Gria produced a black briefcase, revealing stacks of documents and maps. Unfolding a massive 4x5m map, he explained: "Detailed topographic map of Ison. All info is updated—flawless. Just verify in the field."
Rick gaped at the map, showing not only streets but underground conduits and even rough sketches of Palais Saint-Rosel's main passages. "You got this?!"
Gria preened at Rick's astonishment. "The Guild's power exceeds your imagination. Given more time, I could've done better."
"What's this?" Rick pulled out a stack of files. Flipping through, he saw detailed profiles—combat styles, histories— 标注 (marked) beside each name.
"These are the top assassins likely involved. They may be your opponents."
"So many?"
"Just compiling all potential threats."
"Oh." Midway, Rick froze at Shust's file. His name glowed red, underlined in bloodlike ink: Extreme Danger.
Noticing Rick's stare, Gria explained, "That's Nirvana Shust— extremely dangerous. Not the strongest 1v1, but his assassination skills are peerless. I hear he has a new ally: Dragon Wolf, ex-Wolfpack Hunter Balzac the Dragon Louse."
"I know." Rick set the file down.
"You know?" Gria eyed him queerly.
"I know Shust. We... got along. I even learned combat from him."
"You..." Gria stood, shocked and wary. Rick's words sparked countless implications.
"We're friends. He stays in Ison briefly, like me. But... are you sure he's involved?"
Rick's candor and calm convinced Gria. Lighting another cigar, he said, "As Shust's friend, you know his nature. Where there's a kill, he'll be first in line."
"True. He wouldn't miss this." Rick smirked.
Gria studied him, then laughed, clapping Rick's shoulder. "Do what you need. I trust you. But remember: among these assassins, the deadliest aren't Shust—they're the Thornton family."
"Thornton family?"
"Famous for breeding killers. An evil clan that seized Thornton City south of the Forest Domain through vile means."
"Do you have their files?"
"Yes. Their Thornton jujutsu is legendary, and they're the only mayor-backed force I can confirm will strike."
"Jujutsu?"
The name triggered memories. Rick recalled a week ago— that alley brawl. Fragments of memory: a black-clad fighter with odd techniques, and someone shouting "Thornton jujutsu."
"Could that have been them?"
Rick grew increasingly suspicious. If that night fight had really happened, why was there no word of it afterward? Too suspicious.
"You onto something?" Gria asked.
"Got an idea, need to verify it." Rick planned to revisit that brothel alley, ask where those men had gone.
"Fine, handle the details. Let's discuss the itinerary."
"Go on."
"Lady Manny's main goal in Ison is to secure Lord Arthur's support. He's one of the few Hundred Cities lords upholding the old order, and the Guild relies on it. She wants him to use his prestige to reinforce the order. It's a tough decision for Lord Arthur, so negotiations will drag. She'll frequent Palais Saint-Rosel."
"Palais Saint-Rosel?" Rick's eyes lit—new hope for rescuing Anna. If she'd stolen the Royal Seal, she'd likely be in its dungeon. Sneaking in was impossible, but accompanying Lady Manny would boost his odds.
"Will I enter with her?"
Gria stroked his beard, nodding. "Though I doubt assassins will strike there, better safe. I'll grant you special status as the Pai Mansion's personal escort—you can enter."
"But..." Gria's tone sharpened. "You aren't planning something there, are you?"
"Of course not!～～" Caught, Rick waved his hands awkwardly. Gria didn't press, finishing instructions before leaving.
Alone, Rick pored over files. He stuck a masterful sketch portrait on the wall: golden hair, sea-blue eyes, a flawless face marred by faint melancholy. She looked Rick's age, yet that sadness—even in a portrait—was palpable. Why so troubled, born to power? The Guild's future?
Rick didn't dwell. Surprisingly, joining this mission had connected everything: friends who'd parted in Ison might reunite through this.
"Maybe it's fate..." Rick smiled, draining his glass.