The Invitation

June 9, 1399, 8:00 AM.

Lynch stretched and woke from his sleep.

Sunlight streamed through the clean, clear glass window and onto the bed. This was a habit Lynch had developed since transmigrating; he had to sleep under the shine of the crimson moon every night, just like how his soul had been soaked in moonlight year-round before his transmigration.

The warm sun on his face felt incredibly comfortable. Hearing the bustling voices, rolling carriage wheels, and chirping birds outside the window gave Lynch a profound sense of happiness.

Sleeping until he woke up naturally—the students and corporate slaves of his past life would die of envy.

Lynch let out a lazy yawn and climbed out of bed, shaking his injured leg. Mrs. Nightingale had visited again yesterday for a final follow-up, confirming that his broken leg had fully healed and was ready to be broken again.

The last part was little Martha's comment, which had earned her a few slaps on the behind from Lynch. She had squealed in protest, but then covered her bottom and giggled, making Lynch highly suspicious of whether he had awakened some strange fetish in the child.

He picked up his casual clothes from the bedside and slipped them on, immediately greeted by the fresh scent of soap.

Number Five had gotten covered in blood from Natalie, and when he rushed home overnight, it had startled Mrs. Maggie and little Martha, who thought something had happened to Lynch as well. It had taken him a long time to soothe the two women.

However, after learning that he was going out to take care of serious business today, the landlady had taken the initiative to snatch away his dirty clothes and wash them inside out. She had brought them up early last night, and wearing them now made Lynch feel warm from head to toe.

But Lynch immediately discovered a problem—a big problem.

They were indeed washed spotlessly clean, but the issue was that even certain items of undergarments had been taken and washed. They were now folded neatly and pressed beneath his clothes, causing Lynch to stare at them in a daze for a long time.

An image of the landlady washing that particular item of clothing floated into his mind, and his smile gradually turned inappropriate as a series of letters and numbers flashed before his eyes. Realizing this, Lynch quickly slapped himself to shake the strange code out of his brain.

No way, I'm the one who lost out here. Oh well, so be it. I won't fuss over such a small matter. I really am broad-minded.

Slapping himself once more to console his missing sense of shame, Lynch opened his safe, took out his three mystery relics and a pistol, equipped them one by one, packed some calming grass and bullets, and finally walked down the stairs with a new pipe in his mouth.

I'm starting to feel more and more like a detective. This kind of life doesn't seem too bad.

“Good day, Mrs. Maggie.”

As soon as he went downstairs, he heard Mrs. Maggie humming from the kitchen. Her song was bright and soft, unconsciously bringing peace of mind to anyone who heard it.

Peeking inside, he saw that the landlady was indeed busy in the kitchen, wearing a thin, casual dress with an apron tied around her waist. Her steps were light, and a gentle smile played in her eyes and at the corners of her mouth.

“Ah, Mr. Lynch.”

Turning around to see Lynch tipping his hat to her, Mrs. Maggie covered her mouth, her deep blue eyes curving as she let out a soft giggle.

“Why so polite today? Please, have a seat. I figured you'd be waking up around now, so I'm preparing breakfast for you. The newspaper is on the table. Have a read, and breakfast will be ready in a moment.”

“How could I trouble you?”

Lynch glanced at her slender back as she bustled about. Hmm, didn't get a clear look. Let me look again. Huh, still not clear. I must be blind. Maybe I should switch to playing blind man's buff... He quickly slapped himself again. The sound was quite loud, drawing a curious look from the landlady.

It's fine. As long as I'm not embarrassed, she's the one who'll be embarrassed. Lynch muttered some nonsense about mosquitoes, sat down, picked up the newspaper, and began to read amidst the rushing water and the clatter of porcelain.

“Where's Martha? Off to school?”

“Yes. Her teacher has been praising her a lot these past few days. It's all thanks to your guidance. Thank you so much.”

“What about after school?”

“Lately, she rarely roams around outside with those children. She comes straight home after school to keep me company. However, she's been spending a lot of time with that female reporter, Miss Maya, lately. I don't know what they're up to. But since she's an adult and your friend, she should be reliable, so I didn't interfere.”

You call a woman who dared to venture into a ghoul nest alone for an interview 'reliable'?

Lynch's lips twitched, but he could guess what those two troublesome females were planning. It was nothing more than helping those children of King District find a livelihood other than robbery. It wasn't a bad thing, so he decided to let them be.

“Your coffee, just the way you like it—extra milk, light sugar. You and Natalie would definitely get along well; your tastes are complete opposites.”

“Wait, where is the logic in that sentence?”

Just thinking about Natalie's taste made Lynch's teeth ache. He felt that the amount of sugar she put in a cup of coffee could last him half a month. Fortunately, since the discovery of the New Continent hundreds of years ago, cane sugar could be mass-produced in this world; otherwise, there wouldn't be enough sugar in the world to satisfy her.

“Heh, how is it that exaggerated? You're speaking ill of her again. Be careful, or the next time she visits, she'll pin you to the ground and sentence you to death again.”

“Then she'd have to let me pin you... Cough, cough, the oven is hot, the oven is hot.”

His thoughtless nonsense made the blonde lady blush as well. She set down the coffee cup and retreated to the oven. Sensing the strange atmosphere in the dining room, she quickly changed the subject. “Is there any interesting news?”

“Hmm... A freighter named the Morale sank outside the shipping dock at White Bird Port. The Morale & Son firm suffered heavy losses.”

“Things like that happen all the time. Some strike it rich, while others fall into poverty. It's not very interesting. Ah, Mr. Lynch, could you help me grab the honey? It's in the cabinet.”

Handing over the honey naturally, Lynch continued to browse the newspaper. “What about this? Over the past few days, people have been spotting strange figures wandering near the docks at night. They smell strongly of fish and look a bit like fishermen, but they linger mysteriously on the shore, their purposes unknown. Some even claim to have seen a giant octopus tentacle, at least a hundred meters long, rise from the Lande River and drag some of those strange fishermen into the water. I highly doubt the person who wrote this even understands what a hundred meters actually looks like.”

“These strange reports must be right up your alley, aren't they?” Two fried eggs were served. The round, golden yolks looked just like the sun outside, steaming and releasing a savory aroma.

“Let's see, what else... A princess from some kingdom who came here to study, named Chloe, is hosting a ball on the night of the fifteenth. She'll be showcasing a ruby from her hometown called Flaming Red Lips, and she's invited celebrities and socialites from all walks of life. Hmm, did she invite you?”

“Heh, I'd certainly love to be invited. What woman doesn't like a grand ball? Sadly, no. I'm hardly a socialite. You, on the other hand, have so many prominent figures coming to see you; she will definitely invite you.”

Mrs. Maggie placed the toasted, golden-brown bread—evenly spread with jam and butter—before Lynch. She then sat down opposite him, resting her chin in her hands as she watched him read the newspaper, her long eyelashes fluttering as she listened attentively.

“Then I'll be waiting expectantly for that invitation. Since you practically promised it, if I receive it, you have to accompany me. If I don't, I'll hold you personally responsible.” Lynch curled his lips. The news felt vaguely familiar, but since it didn't concern him, he simply bit off half a slice of bread. “But... a socialite? Can that be exchanged for a few pounds of monthly income? If so, sign me up.”

“You're teasing me again. Where on earth would I find an invitation for you?” Mrs. Maggie blushed and rolled her eyes playfully at Lynch, but then she suddenly paused. “Oh, right! There was a letter for you this morning. It was left on the shoe cabinet. I'll go grab it for you right now.”

With that, the blonde lady lifted her skirt and hurried off, returning a moment later to hand him a letter. “Here. Your invitation to the ball has arrived.”

It felt thick and stiff, like cardboard. There was no sender or stamp on the envelope, indicating it had been hand-delivered. This immediately reminded Lynch of a similar past experience when Mr. Black Spider of the Shadow Alliance had sent him a provocation. Lynch frowned and tore open the envelope.

His expression quickly turned bizarre.

“What is it, Mr. Lynch?” Mrs. Maggie asked, puzzled by his strange look. “Did something happen?”

Lynch looked up, casting a strange glance at her. “An invitation to a banquet. It's from Princess Chloe.”

“Huh?”

“A private cocktail party hosted by the princess. The invitees are all wealthy or powerful figures. Yet, for some reason, it specifically invites private detective Mr. Lynch Levive to attend.”

Lynch sighed softly and tossed the invitation onto the dining table. “I think I can guess why she invited a nobody like me.”

Flaming Red Lips. What a fine name.

But it would be much better if it weren't a ruby.

It seemed trouble had found its way to his doorstep.

Just as he was pondering this, a sudden knock on the door interrupted Lynch's breakfast.