“Tom, mix me a glass of Blood of St. Martin.”
Rooney carefully smoothed out the wrinkles on his suit and walked over to sit on the other side of Karl. Thus, three suspicious individuals harboring secrets sat in a row at the bar.
No, four. The mole hunting for the mole was just as suspicious.
Lynch sighed. He realized now that while the situation with the convicts in the internal group was still uncertain, the external group's mission was, on the surface, a normal tomb raiding operation. It had gathered a group of outlaws who were accustomed to such work. It was natural for them to spend their days together, drinking and socializing to build rapport for their future shared actions.
Yet, among these six recruits, beyond their identities as outlaws, some seemed to have other backgrounds. It might be better to gather all six at once to avoid having to track down the remaining three separately.
Lynch’s gaze flickered. After a brief moment of thought, he curved his lips behind his round fan and chuckled softly: “You may call me Ms. Selene. My identity is temporarily classified. Mr. Rooney is correct; it was I who brought the most critical item. If all goes well, I will be joining you in the operation three days from now.”
“Hm?” The three were stunned and looked at each other. Karl Jones asked in confusion: “Beautiful lady, you aren’t joking, are you? I haven’t heard the boss mention this.”
“His Excellency Howard surely wouldn’t agree to this. We all passed Howard’s tests to join this operation.” Rooney, the ancient book broker, also frowned, surveying the mysterious beauty who loved toying with her round fan with a skeptical gaze, as if trying to discern her identity and motives. “Could it be that you possess some characteristic we do not?”
Keep guessing. If you manage to guess correctly, consider it my loss.
“Yes, I do indeed.” Lynch smiled and said calmly: “I have the key item.”
Perhaps they had never encountered such a forthright answer before, as their expressions were all somewhat subtle. However, no one expressed further doubt; after all, no one was foolish enough to tell a lie that would be debunked with a simple inquiry.
Lynch, however, was not watching their reactions. His attention was focused on the bartender, Tom, who was mixing the Blood of St. Martin that Rooney had ordered. His cocktail-shaking movements were as fluid as flowing water, but just as Lynch mentioned joining the operation, the man’s movements suffered a slight hesitation—so subtle that if one hadn’t been watching the drink being shaken, it would have been impossible to notice.
Who is this? He has secrets of his own. Could he have been sent by Howard to monitor this group?
“I only just finalized this with Howard a short while ago, so I wanted to come over and meet everyone first. I didn’t expect to run into Mr. Jones as soon as I stepped out.” While pondering, Lynch said leisurely: “And the other three? Why don’t you all come over for a drink and get to know one another?”
Lynch was no longer nervous. He had roughly clarified the relationship between Howard and these people. As Howard’s investigator, Howard would unconditionally support his lies, so his cover would never be blown. He was essentially entering the group with capital; no one had the qualifications to question him. On the contrary, the six of them would have to try their best to keep him satisfied—especially the mole, unless the mole wanted to cause trouble right now.
I might as well just gather these people together, let everyone put on a lively show, and see who else has problems. Heh...
Hm? I must have been using this fan for too long. Why have I become as twisted as those madwomen?
“Haha, that’s fine too! Having such a beautiful lady join our team is something I wouldn’t even dare dream of. Ah, Dr. Jenna, I didn’t mean you weren’t beautiful, but having more scenery is just an encouragement for everyone, isn’t it?”
Indeed, in any world, beauty represents justice. In the blink of an eye, Karl Jones had accepted Lynch’s explanation and stood up, beaming:
“But there’s no need to go find them. We already agreed to gather here every night to build rapport for the mission in a few days. They’ll be here soon... Ha, sure enough, they’ve arrived.”
The door opened to reveal a man and a woman. The man was a middle-aged man in his forties, short and fat with a thick, bushy beard. Although he wore a formal suit, he looked sloppy, with wine stains even on his beard and hat. Aside from his beard, the most striking thing about him was his large, round nose, which made him look as ridiculous as a cartoon character.
The woman seemed even stranger. She arrived wearing a loose, baggy nightgown, with messy hair, dark circles under her eyes, cracked lips, and reddened eyes. She clutched a thick tome to her chest and walked unsteadily, looking as if she hadn’t slept in days. Her gaze was vacant and her expression dazed, leading Lynch to think that if she weren’t following the man beside her, she wouldn’t have been able to walk at all and would have just collapsed to sleep halfway there.
But as the two approached, Lynch suddenly felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and his heart contracted violently.
The feeling of being peered at by a powerful mysterious force, like when he had first teleported here, flashed by. At the same time, a sensation of being near a scorching flame welled up, making his whole body feel like it was burning. It wasn’t a sensation felt by his skin, but an perception from his inspiration, somewhat similar to the soul-scorching feeling he experienced when wearing the ring, only much lighter.
What the hell is this?
Lynch’s expression stiffened, but thanks to the fan covering his face, he remained undiscovered. He quickly recalled the information in his mind. The short, fat man should be the antique hunter known as the Relic Hound, Jack Adams, a Soul Severer of an unknown fallen god.
The other woman was the linguist Judy Butterfly, rumored to be a Soul Severer of the fallen god, the Lord of Blazing Flame. Unsurprisingly, the scorching sensation must have come from her. But Lynch was certain he had never perceived such a thing from any other Soul Severer—not even from the rank-eight President Olei. Is this woman really a Soul Severer? Judging by his inspiration, she absolutely had issues, and she was far from as simple as the records claimed.
Very well. Four out of six people are suspicious. How much more exaggerated can this get? Surely one of the remaining two must be a normal outlaw, like this big-nosed man...
“Hey, Tom, give me a beer.”
Jack, the sloppy, fat man, sat down beside Jenna, his tone rude and his movements boorish. This caused Dr. Jenna, who was sitting next to him, to pause and stand up with a look of disgust, glaring at Jack.
Their eyes met for a fleeting moment. Jenna snorted coldly, muttered that he was disgusting, and walked around to sit next to Rooney on the other side. Jack slammed the table, pointing at Jenna and unleashing a barrage of abuse, full of foul language that didn't sound at all like a Lande gentleman, until the bartender pushed a beer in front of him and he finally quieted down.
“My apologies, beautiful lady.” Karl squeezed back beside Lynch with a grin. “Jack and Dr. Jenna just don’t get along. They’ve accumulated quite a bit of unhappiness these past few days and often clash, but they’re fine when it comes to business. After all, we are all professionals.”
“Heh, it’s easy for conflicts to arise when there are many people. Understandable.”
Lynch smiled nonchalantly, but in reality, he had already drawn a fifth question mark. Karl said they didn't get along, which meant they didn't actually have a deep-seated grudge; it was just mutual dislike. Such things happened from time to time and were normal phenomena. But if the identity of one party was almost certainly problematic, then it wasn't normal at all. It easily made one suspect that they were creating a facade of discord to distance themselves from one another, which instead suggested that both of them were likely problematic.
“So, where is the other gentleman, Mr. Salin?”
The Salin in the files claimed to be a folklorist, but he mostly specialized in changing identities and infiltrating rural villages to swindle tribes out of their ancient totems or holy relics—in short, a folklore fraud.
“He likely won't be seen until tomorrow during the day. Salin often disappears at night and rarely participates in our gatherings. When asked why, he refuses to explain, so we stopped looking for him at night.”
“I see...”
Lynch watched the busy bartender, Tom, and sighed softly. He roughly knew why this fraud didn't appear at night; he probably thought the bartender’s job was more interesting than being a fraud.
However, the idea of observing one’s companions in secret after pretending to be one of them every day was not something a normal person would do. If someone told him that this man’s identity had no other problems, Lynch would start to doubt his own intelligence.
So, is this meant for me to tell Howard that everyone he recruited is a mole?
And you moles—who exactly are you performing these scenes for? Can't you coordinate with each other?
And what about me? I can't exactly tell you all in private that I’m a mole too; I’m sure you wouldn't dare believe me. Besides, Howard isn't a fool. As long as he has buried one of his real people among them, the moment I’m exposed, I’m completely finished.
Karl Jones was explaining the situation to everyone on Lynch’s behalf, while Lynch only felt that the more he thought, the more annoyed he became. He wished he didn't know anything at all.
But just as he was at his most troubled, he suddenly realized a strange gaze. Following the line of sight, he saw Ms. Judy, the woman who made him the most vigilant, staring at him intently. Her gaze was unfathomable and sent a chill through his entire body.
Rate on N.U.
