Infiltration

A small cabinet door was cleverly embedded into the wall, concealing a dumbwaiter used for meal delivery.

The food tray was not on this floor, exposing a pitch-black shaft running through the levels.

The shaft was narrow, barely large enough for a person to pass through. The dead man must have entered the basement from here earlier.

Having witnessed everything just now, Lynch had pieced together a rough picture of his ordeal.

The ones who had caused the destruction during the protest were not the targeted hillmen or construction workers, but rather the protesting railway workers themselves.

The goal was to create a greater sensation in public opinion, likely with the secondary motive of framing the hillmen to ensure the railway project could proceed smoothly.

What happened next was easy to deduce: after fleeing back here, the man had hidden away. Yet drawn by something unknown, he had snuck into the basement and learned things he shouldn't have known.

It was still difficult to evaluate the true motives of these people, but the methods they employed were revolting to Lynch. Not only had they sacrificed hundreds of their own supporters, but they were also entangled with such grotesque horrors.

Lynch suspected that those spiderlings were like venomous vermin in a jar, slaughtering and devouring one another until only one remained—eventually growing into the giant spider he had glimpsed through the static.

And the cause was merely catching a glimpse of something forbidden?

No wonder Madam Bessie had reacted with such sheer terror. If she had been a step slower back then, she probably would have ended up like this too.

Then what about Officer Natalie...?

Lynch believed that as a native of this world who had prior dealings with this establishment, the officer certainly knew that the dumbwaiters inside the private rooms led down into the basement.

She could easily infiltrate the depths just by finding an empty room.

Lynch sighed. Reaching in to grasp the steel cable, he threw his body forward in imitation of a secret agent from the movies—and plummeted straight down.

Movies truly were full of lies; rappelling was nowhere near that easy.

Fortunately, it was only one floor down, and the tray below cushioned the fall. Aside from a good scare, he was unharmed.

Lynch clutched his chest, waiting a few moments to calm his nerves before carefully climbing out of the dumbwaiter.

Beyond was a narrow corridor shrouded in deep darkness, though light seeped through a door in the distance.

The thud of his landing didn't seem to have attracted attention. It was quiet outside, with only the turning of gears and the rumble of machinery drifting faintly from beyond the door.

Damn it, he had descended without preparing a light source.

Terrified out of his mind and constantly fearing that a swarm of spiders might burst from the surrounding shadows to tear him apart, Lynch didn't dare move too quickly. Holding his cane in one hand and gripping his revolver in the other, he dragged his feet along the wall, creeping slowly toward the light.

Fortunately, he encountered no danger. As the distance closed, the light from the doorway grew brighter, allowing him to faintly make out his surroundings.

Lynch let out a long breath, preparing to quicken his pace and stride toward the light. But just as he took his first step, something brushed against his ankle.

It was over.

Lynch's heart sank instantly.

A low, rounded mass lay huddled on the ground. In both size and posture, it looked exactly like a human-head-sized giant spider crouched on the floor. Lynch's mind instantly swarmed with images of spiders, his finger already touching his ring, ready to slip it on the moment the creature moved.

Yet after waiting several seconds without any movement, Lynch cautiously shifted his foot and nudged it a few times. Mutters from his past life slipping from his lips, he bent down and picked up the object.

A hat.

A top hat.

It was a false alarm, yet Lynch felt no joy. Staring grimly at the hat, he brought it to his nose and caught its scent.

A faint hair fragrance drifted from the hat—a scent Lynch had just smelled that afternoon, accompanied by the charming sight beneath the Hall of Order's portico.

A wave of weakness washed over his muscles—the aftereffect of sudden relief following extreme tension.

Pressing the hat tightly against his chest, Lynch leaned against the wall with his eyes closed. After a long silence, he murmured softly, “I finally found you.”

Yes, the anxiety that had weighed on his heart all night finally eased; he had finally found traces of her. Yet immediately following it was an even greater worry.

Her absence here meant she was currently facing real danger.

Wait for me.

Tossing his own hat aside, Lynch put on the female officer's top hat. Only then did he walk quickly to the illuminated doorway, carefully peering outside.

It was an ordinary underground kitchen. Though it was past nine at night, a few chefs and waiters were still bustling about. Further away was likely the steam engine room, where faint shadows of figures moved back and forth.

Before anyone could notice him, Lynch withdrew back behind the door and leaned against the frame, frowning.

Contrary to what he had imagined, it was crowded out there.

These were ordinary people; not a single monster could be sensed. Just like the waiters upstairs, they were likely regular employees of Thorn Flower.

The problem was how to infiltrate. He couldn't turn invisible or sneak in unnoticed. With so many eyes outside, being spotted once would mean getting thrown out. Getting thrown out was one thing, but if they handed him over to those monsters, he would be truly finished.

He had to find a way, otherwise... Hm? Wait, something wasn't right.

If he couldn't sneak through, how had the deceased snuck in this afternoon?

According to the driver's words, he hadn't been brought in, but had snuck in on his own.

There would have been even more people in the kitchen during the day. Logically speaking, a simple train driver couldn't possess such stealth skills.

Unless he hadn't needed to infiltrate at all—he likely never left this hallway.

Lynch understood now: Natalie's hat hadn't fallen here accidentally either. She had left it intentionally. Deep down, she too was likely hoping someone would find her in time to rescue her from danger. Even knowing it was a long shot, she had left her hat behind to preserve a glimmer of hope.

In that case, the location of the hat held the key to the puzzle.

Suppressing his restless thoughts, Lynch stepped back a few paces to where the hat had been, inspecting the surroundings carefully under the faint light from outside.

Yet there was nothing unusual around him, nothing except dumbwaiters spaced at regular intervals along the wall.

Hm? A dumbwaiter?

In theory, this should be the lowest floor, but what if there was another level beneath it?

A spark struck Lynch's mind. Knowing he had grasped the crucial point, he rushed over to the dumbwaiter opening directly across from where the hat lay and peered closely inside.

A wave of nausea hit him at the very first glance.

Along the edges of the lift door, he found several streaks of bluish-purple fluid that had trickled down the wall. The frame was marked by numerous deep scratches left by sharp implements. A padlock had been affixed to the door, but it had been pried open and tossed carelessly to the side.

It truly was here.

Gently opening the dumbwaiter door, the friction of metal sounded grating in the darkness, making Lynch hold his breath and listen intently. Fortunately, the mechanical din outside continued unabated; no one had noticed.

A foul, stinking stench surged from the opened door, making Lynch gag repeatedly. Looking down at the filth and scratches on the wall, he gritted his teeth and emptied his mind.

He couldn't afford to think right now. Even knowing it might be suicide, he couldn't dwell on it—the moment he overthought it, he would lose the nerve to go down.

He was a man, not a coward.

Taking off his trench coat, he wrapped it around the steel cable. Lynch hadn't forgotten his earlier lesson; a coat cost more than four Lande pounds. You'd better compensate me for this, and don't you dare try dodging your debt by dying...

Cursing furiously in his heart, Lynch pushed forward and slid down the steel cable, plunging into the darkness below.

Before he even hit the ground, an immense pressure radiated from the depths of the dark.

It was the all-too-familiar, solemn, and imposing deterrence brought by Order.

Lynch knew: that was the soul of Officer Natalie Angel, fighting with everything she had.