Don't Even Think About Running

His trench coat and top hat hung from the coat rack, while his cane leaned against the wall.

The memo board was already mounted on the wall beside the living room fireplace, pinned with several newly written notes and flanked by a map of Rhine City.

He had bought it on the way home, costing him a whole seven pennies.

Lynch realized he had made a mistake—he hadn't collected his five-pound consulting fee before Natalie backed out, leaving him with only thirteen shillings to his name.

Fortunately, he still had the handgun. Lynch sat on the sofa, loading bullets into the new firearm.

It was an ordinary small revolver, heavy in his palm. He had no idea how to use it, let alone disassemble it. After simply loading the bullets, he slid it into the holster, practicing drawing and holstering it a few times.

Having parted ways barely over an hour ago, Lynch already found himself missing that figure who had constantly shielded him from the front.

Slender yet unyielding, standing like an impassable barrier.

Lynch sighed. Although the lady officer's voluntary withdrawal had caught him off guard, he understood that her decision was the right one.

She owed him nothing and was under no obligation to march to her death alongside him.

Not to mention, she didn't even know his very life was on the line.

Thus, Lynch bore no resentment toward her. It was just that... being marooned and helpless in an unfamiliar world was never a pleasant feeling.

Clutching the moon pendant against his chest, Lynch murmured in his mind.

The gentle female voice offered no reply, and the moon outside the window had not yet fully risen. Even so, Lynch felt as if he had returned once more to that chilling crimson moonlight, beholding the crimson moon that had accompanied him for countless millennia.

Shaking his head vigorously to cast aside distracting thoughts, Lynch turned his gaze back to the memo board.

Though today's investigation had run into dead ends at every turn, carefully organizing everything revealed that they had actually gained quite a lot.

City hall (documents) -> Hall of Order (case files, burned) -> Rhine City Investigator newspaper office (?)

Although the case files in the first clue chain had been burned, that only proved something was likely wrong with them, and perhaps some information could be retrieved from the newspaper office, meaning the trail wasn't completely dead. Thus, one of tomorrow's tasks was to pay a visit to the Rhine City Investigator office. If they refused to cooperate, he would find another way.

Eldest daughter of the Valente family -> Hillman (immensely powerful) -> Purple flesh tumor (suspected medicine delivery, clay jar).

The eldest daughter of the Valente family also tied back into the first chain's city hall and Hall of Order.

Beneath this second clue chain, Lynch had drawn a row of question marks, perfectly mirroring the muddled confusion inside his head.

This person's movement trajectory was highly suspicious and likely deeply intertwined with the case. Yet she hadn't taken any substantive action—at least none that had been discovered. Jumping to conclusions about her identity was premature, especially with such a powerful hillman lurking behind her. He would first need to get a clear picture of the Valente family.

But that posed a major problem. Without Officer Natalie's help, he lacked channels for a deep investigation. The memory of that figure in men's attire flashed through his mind once more. She's still plenty reliable. Just you wait—once this crisis passes, I'll come find you. You still owe me two favors, and I'm not letting you off the hook.

William's Holiday Surprise (extremely dangerous) -> Donnie Narton (deceased, suspected mystery erosion, newspaper reporter, specifics unknown) -> Thorn Flower (!!!).

Donnie Narton appeared to be an uninvolved bystander, but upon hearing the police mention he was a newspaper reporter, Lynch had jotted him down anyway. Although the police had no idea which newspaper he worked for, it didn't rule out a connection to the Investigator. If so, he would belong to the first clue chain.

As for Thorn Flower, Lynch had made a point of writing it in oversized letters accompanied by even bigger exclamation marks.

He decided not to touch this place for the time being.

It was an overtly hazardous location; only someone without a brain would charge in blindly. If all other leads went cold, only then would he consider this danger zone.

Besides, Lynch had no idea where it even was. He had combed through his memories without finding a trace of relevant information, and several scans of the map had yielded nothing. He couldn't help but feel a touch relieved.

As he pondered, a rustling sound suddenly came from the living room doorway. Turning around, he saw a bright little golden head poking in from outside.

Little Martha was peeking in from the door, holding a pot of black tea.

Looking at the girl, Lynch felt a wave of mixed emotions, but he still waved his hand, beckoning the little one inside.

“Helping your mother with chores?”

“Mhm.”

Holding the tray, the girl came pattering in and set it briskly upon the coffee table with practiced ease.

“Do you often help your mother bring tea upstairs?”

“Mhm.”

Flashing a sweet smile, the girl nodded vigorously, skillfully setting out the teacups and pouring the tea.

Her smile was gentle and well-behaved. Yet the thought that this little brat had smiled just as sweetly yesterday before smashing a clay jar over him—his back still aching faintly—sent a chill down Lynch's spine. Such a pretty child, yet all she knows is mischief. Lynch felt a strong urge to pin her to the floor and give her a sound thrashing.

“Are you ready to explain your actions from yesterday? I've already given you an entire day to think it over.”

“Mhm, I'll explain everything to Uncle.” The girl adopted a sheepish expression. “Though... could I... use the washroom first? I'm afraid if I go downstairs and come back up, Mama will get suspicious.”

Lynch pursed his lips, muttering inwardly as he pointed toward the washroom door. The girl looked even more embarrassed, blushing as she scurried inside.

But in less than a minute, a piercing scream rang out. The washroom door burst open, and little Martha dashed out, clothes disheveled and hair in disarray as if she had been violated. Her face was fraught with terror, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. The moment she burst out, she buried her face in her hands and let out an even more agonizing shriek.

Yet after screeching twice, the little girl noticed the room was dead silent, not at all what she had anticipated. Instead, her mother's alarmed inquiries drifted up from the foot of the stairs, accompanied by the sound of hurried footsteps rushing upward—only, there were two sets of footsteps.

Lowering her hands from her face, little Martha was stunned to discover that Lynch, who had been in the room a moment ago, was nowhere to be seen. Turning her head, she saw Lynch running up from downstairs right behind her mother.

Before the girl could react, her mother lunged forward and pulled her tightly into an embrace. Over her mother's shoulder, she caught sight of Lynch clenching his fists and flashing a sinister smirk.

Lynch was actually rejoicing inwardly—he had nearly fallen into a trap again.

At first, seeing how adept her movements were, he had merely felt sympathy, thinking that as a child of a poor household, she was quite sensible to help her mother with chores.

But the moment he thought of a poor household, he realized that this family was by no means well-off and desperately relied on rental income.

Yet during their first meeting, Mrs. Maggie had inadvertently let slip that the previous tenant had been abruptly driven out.

To kick out a tenant despite needing the rent so badly meant the person must have crossed one of her taboos. And while Mrs. Maggie was generally gentle and mild-tempered, Lynch had witnessed firsthand how terrifying she became whenever that taboo was breached.

Her taboo was naturally little Martha. The eviction of the previous tenant was undoubtedly connected to this little troublemaker as well.

Putting the pieces together the instant the little girl entered the washroom, Lynch had immediately bolted from the room and sprinted down the stairs at top speed.

Whatever plot she had cooked up, securing an alibi came first.

Mrs. Maggie had been sorting tableware in the kitchen, utterly bewildered by Lynch's sudden appearance downstairs. Before Lynch could even speak, Martha's scream came from upstairs.

Sure enough, Mrs. Maggie rushed upstairs at once, with Lynch feigning panic right behind her, both appearing together before Martha's eyes.

“What's wrong? Are you all right? What happened?” In a panic, Mrs. Maggie cradled her daughter's face, examining her from left to right.

Seeing Lynch's smirk, the little girl quickly caught on. Her eyes darted around, and she pointed toward the washroom, sobbing, “B-Bugs...”

Clenching his fists, Lynch no longer felt like tattling to Mrs. Maggie. He wanted to go toe-to-toe with this little imp himself.

Giving her a thrashing with his own two hands would be ideal.

Realizing it was a false alarm, Mrs. Maggie finally let out a sigh of relief. Swatting her daughter a few times and apologizing to Lynch, she dragged the girl back downstairs.

Caught between laughter and tears, Lynch sat back down on the sofa, barely daring to drink the black tea on the table. Yet within a few minutes, the blonde-haired, blue-eyed little rascal slipped back upstairs.

Plumping herself onto the sofa, she picked up the tea she had just poured, gulped it down, and huffed in a childish voice, “Consider this your win. Name your terms so you won't tell Mama. Do I just have to do this and that for you?”

The smile froze on Lynch's face. Frowning, he asked sternly, “Have you done that before?”

“No, I heard it from the last tenant. Isn't that what you grown-ups like?”

“So you told your mother and had him thrown out?”

“Hmph, all disgusting grown-ups are the same.”

“Well done. Remember, if anyone ever says something like that to you again, tell your mother—or tell me,” Lynch said after a moment of thought, speaking earnestly. “I'm not a police officer, nor do I uphold order like your Aunt Natalie, so what you do is none of my business. But since you messed with me, and Mrs. Maggie takes care of me, I have to look out for her. So right now, I need an explanation. Why did you do all those things?”

“It was my first time too! They forced me...”

“What just happened should have shown you that I can foresee many things I shouldn't know—like knowing who their leader really is. So think carefully before making up stories. I'm only giving you one chance to explain.”

Martha bared her teeth like she wanted to bite him, but after stealing a glance into Lynch's eyes, she muttered under her breath, “Fine, I admit defeat. That's right—I'm their leader, and I led them to do all of it.”

“And your reason?”

“Money, of course. Everyone gets a share each time. They have to survive, and so do I. Mama has to support the household and maintain this building, but most importantly, pay for my schooling. Primary education is barely manageable right now, but she wants me to continue into secondary education. School costs money for so many things. If I didn't supplement it with extra income, our family would have a really hard time.”

Lynch nodded. Education in the Kingdom of Lande wasn't cheap. Primary education, akin to elementary and middle school, spanned four years and cost around eight pounds in tuition annually. Secondary education was akin to vocational high school and cost even more—at least twenty pounds per year over three years, which was well beyond the means of an ordinary household.

“And if I didn't lead them in doing bad things, would they just stop? At least I've had some schooling. I know what can be done and when to show restraint, which those idiots don't. In the past, they went even further and ended up getting people killed. Not only did they hang on the gallows, but they made outsiders terrified of King District, afraid to ever set foot here. If I quit, they'd revert to their old ways immediately, and their slightly normal lives would be ruined all over again.”

Instead of rebuking her, Lynch poured her a cup of tea. He watched the young girl drink it down and wipe her mouth, venting indignantly:

“They don't have good mothers. Their families don't care about them at all. The only difference between them and street urchins is that they get a bite to eat every day so they don't starve on the streets. Thanks to those benevolent lords in the city government who banned factories from hiring child labor—oh, how truly kind of them—if the kids want to eat just a little more, they have no choice but to steal and mug people. Back then, 'King District kid' became local slang in Rhine. The whole city knew us as uneducated bastards.”

Lynch let out a sigh. Compared to these people at rock bottom, the original owner of his body had actually been quite well-off, and his current situation was outright comfortable.

“Now it's better. Every few days, they can bring home a few pennies or even a shilling or two. Their parents treat them much better, and the police treat them better too—at least they don't beat them to a pulp on sight. Adults coming to King District aren't as terrified anymore; even women dare to come in alone. Isn't that a good thing? Did I do something wrong?”

Lynch countered, “Then what about me? Just because I showed a soft heart, I got beaten and robbed by you. Did I do something wrong? Would I dare show mercy in the future?”

The girl fell silent. After a while, she mumbled, “People like you usually take money from King District and look down on us residents too. You had it coming.”

But after grumbling a few words, she lowered her head and whispered, “I know it's not right, but to change things, we have to find them another way out. Lately, I've found other ways to make money, so we do far fewer bad things. Everything is gradually improving. Just give me a little more time.”

“Hm? Other ways?”

Lynch grew a bit tense. Children thought differently from adults; who knew what dangerous methods she was talking about?

“King District kids run wild all over the city and can be found everywhere, so no news in town escapes us,” the little girl said proudly. “Over the past two years, people from several newspapers have bought information from us. Especially one big sister—she's bought news from us many times and gave us quite a bit of money. She even said she'd try to find newsboy jobs for the kids to help supplement their household income so they wouldn't have to run wild on the streets. How things are now is good for everyone. So please give me a little more time, and don't make Mama sad by telling her.”

Though information brokers often faced great danger, feeding tips to newspapers was comparatively much safer.

Furthermore, information within such a network was shared communally; rarely did a piece of intel remain known only to a single individual. Silencing them would require wiping out all the street children, which was clearly implausible, meaning the risk to any single child was actually very low.

Recalling how his reputation was almost ruined moments ago, Lynch's hands itched. As if guessing his thoughts, the little rascal covered her backside and scooted to the side, putting distance between them.

Lynch rolled his eyes, having already lost the desire to report her to Mrs. Maggie.

Every stratum of society had its own way of surviving; as an outsider, it was not his place to pass judgment on whether the girl was right or wrong. If she wasn't lying, she certainly wasn't heinous, and practically speaking, things were turning for the better. It was just...

“What about yourself, though?” Lynch sighed, his voice softening. “You gain the least from all of this. You're so clever—haven't you thought about yourself?”

“Me? I don't have many years left to live anyway, so what's there to think about? I just want Mama's life to be a bit easier these next few years. Once I die young in a few years, Mama will be freed, and I won't have any regrets.”

“Hm?” Looking at this infuriating yet tender face, Lynch couldn't help feeling a surge of sympathy. He asked softly, “Why?”

“They think I'm just a kid who knows nothing, so they kept it from me. But I already knew back when Papa had his accident—it was all my fault.” The girl pouted, her eyes reddening as she rubbed her nose and whispered, “I overheard Aunt Natalie and the others talking. I have a special constitution, suitable for being a container for something. People like that rarely live long—they're all killed by something called 'mystery.' Hmph, I'm not scared. If I die, I die. I've accepted it long ago. As long as Mama is happy for these few years, that's enough.”

Lynch wasn't sure. After thinking it over, he soothed her first, “While I don't necessarily agree with your explanation, I have no standing to condemn you either. So, I'll keep this a secret from your mother for now. But you must behave. No more pulling tricks on me, and do your best to tell me the truth.”

Pouting, the girl hesitated for a moment before finally nodding.

“Very good.” Lynch high-fived the girl to seal the agreement. “Now tell me, who else has touched your ring recently?”

“My ring? Nobody touched it.”

“Did it come into contact with anything?”

“Oh, I remember! The day before yesterday, the reporter big sister asked me to deliver a small pouch of photographs to one of her colleagues. I was afraid of losing the pouch, so I hung it around my neck during the delivery,” the little girl explained, oblivious to the implications. “So the ring should have only touched that pouch.”

Lynch hesitated for a moment, then pointed at the name on the memo board and asked, “Her colleague couldn't happen to be this Donnie Narton, could it?”

“I don't know him. I never learned his name.” The girl looked up at the board. “Huh?”

“What is it?”

“Uncle, do you know that place too?” The girl pointed at the oversized word “Thorn Flower,” written right next to Donnie's name.

Lynch felt every pore on his body tighten, his breath catching in his throat. Tensely, he asked, “You know this place?”

“Yeah! Aunt Natalie took me and Mama there two years ago. It seemed to have something to do with Papa.”

“Oh, no wonder you know... Wait, what did you say?” Lynch suddenly registered what she said, staring at the little girl until she shrank back. “Natalie knows it too? And she was the one who brought you there?”

“Mhm...” Cowering in fear on the sofa, the girl nodded.

Realizing the discrepancy, Lynch replayed the memories in his mind and instantly spotted the anomalies.

The parting scene surfaced before his eyes once more, the lady officer softly uttering her farewell.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Lynch.”

Her tone had been unprecedentedly gentle. That hadn't been a simple goodbye—it was a final farewell.

Lynch suddenly slapped himself hard across the face.

“Damn it, I'm such an idiot! How didn't I realize?”

He had felt it odd that she would be scared off so suddenly, but because it had coincided with his own desire to keep her safe, he hadn't thought deeper into it.

Yet looking back now, her actions had been abnormal all along.

A person who would run around all night without a single complaint just to save Lynch's life; who was willing to delve into a relic's memories to face hundreds of monsters just to protect him; who thoughtfully went out of her way to secure benefits for him with the Watchers; who, on a single word from him, would abandon acquired clues to flee the scene...

Would someone like that suddenly undergo a complete 180 and shrink back in the face of danger?

It could only be an act.

Lynch thumped his head in frustration. He didn't even need to think—the answer was screaming in his face.

Staring at the darkening sky outside, Lynch felt as if his mind had never spun faster.

“Martha.” Lynch stared sternly at the trembling little girl. “Tell me where Thorn Flower is. Right now.”