Cooperation

The code of cooperation was an unwritten rule among the Kingdom of Lande's border defense forces.

In cases handled by the military, accomplices were given two choices: resist to the end and share the primary culprit's sentence—which usually meant hanging or decapitation—or confess the truth to receive immunity. Once the case was closed and it was confirmed they hadn't lied, they could take their bounty and leave.

The smuggler made his decision in under a second. Not only did he answer the officer's questions, but he also came clean about everything.

Walter Davis, known as the Slave Owner. Male, 190 centimeters tall, features unknown. He always wore a fish-head mask and reeked of a heavy fishy stench. When his hands touched anything, they would occasionally leave behind traces of foul-smelling mucus, which was thoroughly repulsive.

The two water thieves were his henchmen, while the smuggler had merely been hired for his familiarity with the local area.

It had happened the afternoon of the day before yesterday. He was drinking at a tavern in White Bird Port—Rhine City's dedicated ocean harbor—when Davis approached him.

Naturally, he knew Davis was a wanted fugitive, but no one in his line of work had clean hands anyway, so there was little cause for hesitation. Moreover, with the Slave Owner's terrifying reputation for puppeteering victims, when forced to choose between Lande pounds and tentacles worming into his brain, he wisely chose the cash.

There had been another stranger present at the time, whom Davis addressed as Mr. Jefferson. He was a skinny, middle-aged man in formal attire wearing a monocle. From the smuggler's experience, the man practically exuded shrewdness and cunning, yet he spent money lavishly when hiring him, suggesting he might be a very successful businessman.

The smuggler hadn't known what they planned to do either. He had simply helped them rent an empty warehouse near the docks, slipped inside, had a friend padlock the door from the outside, and spent the night there.

Just a short while ago, Davis and Jefferson had suddenly begun whispering in secret before vanishing for several minutes. All the while, non-stop explosions rattled the outside, terrifying the smuggler out of his wits.

But the two quickly returned, beaming with joy. The merchant-like Jefferson had even excitedly handed out two pounds in cash to each of them.

Yet within minutes, their expressions darkened dramatically. In the end, just as Davis was flying into a rage, Jefferson whispered a few words into his ear, and the two vanished into thin air with a whoosh. Their objective was likely a speedboat hidden by the shore beforehand. The pair made a preemptive escape, leaving behind the other three to face the fury of the Lande Navy.

It seemed they truly had been just one step short.

Though he didn't say it aloud, Lynch couldn't help feeling a surge of frustration.

He had given it his all, drawing on every shred of experience from both his past and present lives, yet he was still two minutes too late.

If only he had been a step faster. With Knight Rick's strength as a rank six authority holder, the enemy never would have gotten away. Unfortunately, all he could do now was gaze helplessly at the myriad sails dotting the river.

They were clearly the ones who picked a fight with me first, and now they had the nerve to retaliate by stealing my goddess's memories. Fine. Jefferson, Davis, I'll remember this.

You might have won this round, but the game is far from over. Let's keep playing.

I'll make you realize you messed with the wrong guy.

“Mr. Detective,” the formidable rank six knight said, acting quite deferential at this moment. “Thank you for your assistance in helping us identify Davis and Jefferson. His Eminence the Archbishop has already sent for a portrait artist to draw Jefferson based on the smuggler's description and issue a nationwide wanted notice for him. In the meantime, we'll do everything we can to track Davis down. They should be together right now, so finding Davis will mean finding Jefferson.”

Lynch looked at him in confusion, unsure why he was saying all this.

“You are a professional detective and have more than proven your abilities. I wanted to ask if you have any other advice regarding our next move.” Archbishop Trinlais had tactfully stepped away, while Knight Rick gave an awkward smile and lowered his head. “The Black Night and the Twin Moons were originally one. We are willing to seek aid from Lady Red Moon's Soul Severer. I hope you can continue to guide us so we can drag the culprits into the open as quickly as possible and defend the goddess's honor.”

Talk about indirect. Shouldn't you ask whether the Red Moon's Soul Severer is willing to accept first? ‘Neighbor, how about I turn him down? Or turn down the "her" up above?’

【You may.】

‘Hm? Is there any benefit to doing that?’

【None whatsoever.】

‘Then why did you tell me to turn him down?’

【I merely accompany you, bearing witness to every choice you make, regardless of whether it is sane.】

‘I feel like you're insulting me in a roundabout way, but I've decided to be the bigger person.’

Having mentally bothered Lady Red Moon, Lynch felt in much better spirits. After a moment's thought, he said, “Actually, now that they've succeeded, I doubt they're staying together. Jefferson is likely a Rhine native with a legitimate identity; he has no need to hide alongside Davis.”

“Oh? What makes you say that?”

“Naturally, there's a reason. If I recall correctly, you mentioned the voyage took three days, right? That means the timeframe for this whole affair was actually very tight.”

“What do you mean?”

“On the fifteenth, I made an enemy of the Ancient Flicker. On the morning of the sixteenth, Archbishop Trinlais confirmed the commission's reward—the Red Moon Memories—would be transferred ahead of schedule and handed over to me. I'm not sure of your exact methods, but the dispatch must have arrived that very day. The ship then departed on the seventeenth and traveled for three days—the seventeenth, eighteenth, and nineteenth—arriving in Rhine today. I haven't miscalculated the itinerary, have I?”

“That's correct.”

“In other words, the earliest Jefferson could have formulated a plan was the seventeenth. Meanwhile, the smuggler was hired on the afternoon of the eighteenth, and by then, Davis had already joined Jefferson's scheme. That means Jefferson had to contact Davis by the morning of the eighteenth at the latest. Considering someone like Davis isn't easy to find and requires time to reach, their initial contact must have taken place on the seventeenth. That is to say, as soon as the transport plan was drafted over there, word reached here, and the theft was arranged immediately.”

Knight Rick nodded vigorously.

“He wouldn't have had the time to travel here from another region, meaning he was in Rhine City all along. There's a very high probability he's a local. Therefore, I suggest that rather than obsessing over Davis—who hasn't been caught despite years on the wanted list—we shift our focus and start with this Jefferson instead.”

“But we have no clues about this Jefferson at all,” Rick said fretfully.

“No, quite the contrary. Compared to Davis, who has spent years being cautious on the run, Jefferson has left us plenty of clues.”

Lynch gave a cold smile as he produced the three slips of paper he had collected, all bearing portraits of the Ancient Flicker.

“This pattern seems to be a necessity for his teleportation ability, allowing him to swap positions with the target. To support that ability, he likely carries quite a few on him. The problem is, drawing such a complicated design by hand once or twice is fine, but he couldn't possibly have the free time to do it repeatedly. So, look closely—these weren't hand-drawn at all. They were printed with ink.”

“What is that?” Having lived sequestered within the church for years, Knight Rick was a bit confused.

“Just like a newspaper—mass-printed using a machine.”

A sudden flash of inspiration had struck Lynch earlier. He realized that unlike his past world, where print shops were on every street corner, printing presses were still a rarity here. There weren't many in all of Rhine City.

Since Jefferson was a local, the portraits of the Flicker were most likely printed locally in Rhine City. Following the lead of printing presses had a very good chance of smoking him out.

And printing presses... In this day and age, who knew the layout of printing houses better than a newspaper reporter? Besides, he happened to have a senior reporter on his payroll.

Heh. Jefferson, Davis... looks like our second round is about to begin.

I'm coming for you.