June 9, 1399, 8:00 AM.
Lynch stretched as he woke from his sleep.
Sunlight spilled onto the bed through the clean, bright glass windows. This was a habit Lynch had formed since crossing over; every night, he needed to sleep under the glow of the red moon, much like how his soul had been steeped in moonlight year round before his transmigration.
The sunlight on his face felt warm and comfortable. Listening to the bustling crowd, the rolling wheels, and the chirping birds outside the window, Lynch felt a sense of genuine happiness.
Waking up naturally from a deep sleep was something he envied those students and corporate slaves for in his past life.
Lynch yawned lazily and climbed out of bed, shaking his injured leg. Madam Nightingale had come by for one final follow up yesterday, confirming that his broken leg had fully healed and was ready to be broken again.
The last part was little Martha's comment, which earned her a few swats from Lynch. She had howled and scampered away, yet she kept giggling while clutching her backside, making Lynch wonder if the child had awakened some strange hobby from being hit by him.
He picked up the casual clothes by the bedside and put them on, the fresh scent of soap washing over him.
Number Five had gotten blood and grime all over Natalie, and when he rushed home overnight, it had frightened Mrs. Maggie and little Martha, who thought something had happened to Lynch. It had taken quite a while to soothe the two women.
However, knowing he had serious business to attend to today, the landlady had proactively snatched up his dirty clothes and washed them from top to bottom. She had delivered them early last night, and wearing them now, Lynch felt warm from the inside out.
But Lynch immediately discovered a problem. A big problem.
They were indeed washed spotlessly clean, but the issue was that even certain clothing components had been taken to be washed. Now, they were folded neatly and pressed beneath the clothes, leaving Lynch staring at them for a long while.
The image of the landlady helping wash that garment flashed through his mind, his smile gradually turning awkward as a series of letters and numbers flickered before his eyes. Realizing this, Lynch quickly slapped himself once to shake the strange code out of his brain.
No, I am the one who suffered a loss here. Forget it, a loss is a loss; I will not haggle over such a trivial matter. I am truly broad minded.
After slapping himself again to console his misplaced sense of shame, Lynch opened the safe and took out his three mystery relics and a handgun. He equipped them one by one, added the calming grass and bullets, and then walked down the stairs with his new pipe clamped in his teeth.
It feels more and more like being a detective. This kind of life doesn't seem too bad.
"Good morning, Mrs. Maggie."
As soon as he got downstairs, he heard Mrs. Maggie humming from the kitchen. The melody was cheerful and soft, making anyone who heard it feel calm.
Looking over, sure enough, the landlady was wearing a thin house dress with an apron tied over it. She was busy in the kitchen, her steps light, with a faint smile playing at the corners of her eyes and mouth.
"Ah, Mr. Lynch."
Turning around to see Lynch tipping his hat to her, Mrs. Maggie covered her mouth, her deep blue eyes curving into crescents as she let out a delicate laugh:
"Why are you being so polite today? Please, have a seat. I figured you would be waking up soon, so I am preparing your breakfast. The newspaper is on the table; have a look, and breakfast will be ready in a moment."
"How could I impose?"
Lynch glanced at her slender, busy back. Hmm, couldn't see clearly. He looked again. Huh, still couldn't see clearly. I must be blind. Should I try to grope like a blind man touching an elephant... He quickly slapped himself again. The sound was quite loud, drawing a curious look from the landlady.
It is fine. As long as I am not embarrassed, the one who is embarrassed is her. Lynch muttered some nonsense about mosquitoes and the like, sat down, picked up the newspaper, and read it amidst the rushing water and the clinking of porcelain.
"Where is Martha? Off to school?"
"Yes, her teacher has been praising her often these past few days. It is thanks to your discipline; thank you so much."
"And after school?"
"Recently, she rarely wanders outside with those other children. She comes home right after school to keep me company. However, she has been spending a lot of time with that female reporter, Miss Maya, these past few days. I do not know what they are planning. Since she is an adult and a friend of yours, I thought she was reliable, so I did not interfere."
You call a woman who dares to break into a ghoul nest alone to conduct an interview 'reliable'?
Lynch twitched his lips, though he could roughly guess what those two restless women were plotting. It was nothing more than trying to find a way out for those children in the Crown District besides robbery. That was not a bad thing, so he would let them be.
"Your coffee, in your preferred taste: more milk, less sugar. You and Natalie must have a lot in common; your tastes are exactly opposite."
"No, what is the logic in that sentence?"
Lynch's teeth ached at the thought of Natalie's taste. He felt the amount of sugar she put in one cup of coffee was enough to last him half a month. Fortunately, since the new continent had been developed several hundred years ago, cane sugar could be mass produced; otherwise, all the sugar in the world would not be enough for her.
"Heh, it is not that exaggerated. You are speaking ill of her again. Be careful, or she might pin you to the ground and sentence you to death the next time she visits."
"Wouldn't that require me to pin you... cough, cough. The oven is hot, the oven is hot."
His thoughtless nonsense made the blonde lady blush. She dropped her coffee cup and hid by the oven. Feeling the atmosphere in the dining room was a bit strange, he quickly changed the subject: "Any interesting news?"
"Hmm... A freighter named the Morale sank outside the White Bird Port at the shipping terminal. The Morale & Son firm has suffered heavy losses."
"Things like that happen often. Some get rich, some become poor. Not that interesting. Ah, Mr. Lynch, could you help me get the honey? It is in the cabinet."
Handing over the honey naturally, Lynch continued flipping through the newspaper: "What about this? Recently, people have been seeing strange people wandering near the docks at night. They reek of a thick fishy odor, looking somewhat like fishermen, but they linger on the shore mysteriously, and no one knows what their goal is. Some even saw huge octopus tentacles stretching out of the Lande River, a hundred meters long, dragging some strange fishermen into the sea. I suspect the person who wrote this has no concept of what a hundred meters actually is."
"These strange messages should be of interest to you, right?" Two fried eggs were brought out, the round yolks shining golden just like the sun outside, steaming and fragrant.
"Also, let me see... A princess from some country, here to study, named Chloe. She is holding a ball on the night of the 15th and will be displaying a ruby called 'Flaming Red Lips' from her hometown. She is inviting celebrities from all walks of life. Hmm, did you get an invitation?"
"Heh, I also wish someone would invite me. What woman does not love a grand ball? Unfortunately, I did not get one. What kind of celebrity am I? On the contrary, so many important people come to find you; they will surely invite you."
The bread, toasted to a charred yellow, had been evenly spread with jam and butter. Mrs. Maggie brought the bread to Lynch and sat down across from him, resting her chin on her hands as she watched him read the newspaper. Her long eyelashes fluttered as she listened intently.
"Then I will wait attentively for the invitation letter. This is an invitation you promised. If I receive it, you must accompany me. If I do not, I will come looking for you for it." Lynch curled his lips, feeling it sounded familiar, but since it did not concern him, he took a bite of half the bread. "But... celebrities? Can that be exchanged for a few pounds of monthly income? If it can, I will go be one."
"You are teasing me again. Where would I find an invitation for you?" Mrs. Maggie's face flushed, and she gave Lynch a reproachful look, but she suddenly paused. "Oh, that is right. There was a letter for you this morning. It was placed on the shoe cabinet. I will go get it for you now."
With that, the blonde lady lifted her skirt and hurried away, returning shortly to hand him a letter: "Here, your ball invitation has arrived."
It felt thick and hard to the touch, like cardboard. There was no sender or stamp on the envelope, clearly delivered by hand. This immediately reminded Lynch of a previous, similar experience: the letter of provocation sent to him by the Black Spider of the Shadow Alliance. Lynch frowned and tore open the envelope.
His expression then turned strange.
"What is it, Mr. Lynch?" The strange expression made Mrs. Maggie feel confused. "Did something happen?"
Lynch looked up and gave her a peculiar look: "An invitation to a banquet. Issued by that Princess Chloe."
"Huh?"
"A private party organized by that princess. The guests are all wealthy or powerful big shots. I just do not know why she specifically invited a private investigator named Mr. Lynch Levive to attend."
Lynch sighed softly and tossed the invitation onto the dining table: "I think I know why she invited a small fry like me."
Flaming Red Lips, what a good name.
But it would be even better if it were not a ruby.
It seems trouble has come knocking.
Bang, bang, bang.
Just as he was pondering, a sudden knock on the door interrupted Lynch's breakfast.
Rate on N.U.
