Will You Still Beat Me?

“Haha, what a pretty cat! I haven't seen it around here before; it must be new.” The landlady, Mrs. Maggie, smiled as she opened the door.

“Yeah...”

Lynch glanced back in the direction where the black cat had disappeared. It was clearly a domestic cat, wearing a collar around its neck. He had even asked Lady Luna, who confirmed it was just a pet cat, but Lynch still found it peculiar, unable to put his finger on what was wrong.

It felt as if that cat were deliberately spying on him.

Whatever. It was just a dumb cat.

Lynch shook his head, clearing the stray thoughts from his mind. Following Mrs. Maggie into the house, he naturally took the grocery basket from her and helped carry it into the kitchen.

To his surprise, there was meat in the basket. Although it was only ground pork, there were a solid two pounds of it, wrapped in a large wad of oiled paper. The alternating streaks of red and white made Lynch's mouth water.

Even the cheapest pound of pork cost ten pennies, and minced meat was nine pennies—far more expensive than white bread.

Since transmigrating, he had lived a frugal and austere life for several days, having eaten only a few slices of bacon. His memory of proper meat was still stuck on the "last meal" he had eaten in the restaurant before hanging himself. His stomach had been deprived of fat for so long that even his burps tasted of dry bread.

“A small token of my gratitude. The food from last night and this morning was really... thank you.” Mrs. Maggie walked over to Lynch's side, keeping her head lowered as she arranged the food in the basket. Her cheeks flushed slightly, and her voice was rather subdued. “And about that matter... thank you for that as well.”

“Thanking me for beating Martha?”

“I spoiled her too much. I never imagined she would do such bad things. If you hadn't taught her a lesson yesterday and let her continue down that path, there's no telling what terrible mistakes she might have made.” The blonde lady looked down and gripped the grocery basket, her body trembling slightly. “But when I went to the police post in the King District today, I was kicked out by the police. They said there were no such cases at all and told me not to cause trouble or make a nuisance of myself. I really don't know what to do now.”

“It's not necessarily a bad thing that no one is pressing charges. Just guide her properly from now on and keep her on the right track. As for compensating the victims, we can think of another way.”

“Sigh... Ever since Duncan left, there are so many things I don't understand, and there really was no one to tell her right from wrong.” Tears slid down her cheeks as the blonde lady suddenly looked up, grasping Lynch's hands tightly. Choking back sobs, she said, “Mr. Levive, thank you for disciplining her on my behalf. You're an educated man. If you have the chance in the future, please help Martha more. She's not a bad child; she just lacked guidance.”

Whoosh. Lynch felt as though steam were about to puff out of his head.

Even with two lifetimes under his belt, when had he ever experienced this kind of physical contact?

Having his hands held by the pretty landlady and feeling the warmth emanating from her palms, Lynch felt his face burning up. He reflexively pulled his hands back with some force, stumbling back a few steps and nearly knocking over a chair, his speech turning into a stammer.

“I-I understand. I'll go back to my room first—no, I mean, I'll go check on Martha first. I'm leaving now!”

Babbling incoherently, Lynch turned and bolted. Startled by the soft giggle behind him, he even bumped into the doorframe on his way out of the kitchen, seeing stars from the impact. Only one thought echoed in his mind:

Panicked as he was, courtesy remained essential. Having received Mrs. Maggie's permission, Lynch knocked on Martha's bedroom door.

The room was small yet cozy. Above the wardrobe in the corner, a brass lamp fixture extended from the wall, casting a dim, warm glow. The moment Lynch stepped inside, he saw the little girl lying on her stomach in her pajamas, her feet kicked up in the air looking utterly bored.

Upon seeing Lynch enter, her small face instantly drained of color. She grabbed a pillow to cover the back of her head, pretending no one was there.

Lynch burst out laughing at the sight of her posture. It seemed he had struck quite hard yesterday—her bottom was too swollen for her to lie flat on her back.

Seemingly hearing his laughter, a pair of small eyes peeked out from under the pillow, glaring at him fiercely as she grumbled, “Hmph, what's so funny? I told Mama about all the bad things I did. I'm not afraid of you anymore!”

“Is that so?” Lynch raised a hand.

The little girl instantly tossed the pillow aside, clutched her bottom, and let out a shriek. “Don't hit me! I was wrong, I was wrong! You can't hit me anymore!”

“I think you're just asking for a beating.” Lynch snorted coldly and sat down on a nearby chair. “Does it still hurt?”

“It hurts.”

“That's right. Pain will teach you a lesson. Let's see if you dare do bad things next time.”

Still clutching her bottom, the little girl said aggrievedly, “B-but I don't understand. It clearly benefited everyone, so why couldn't we do it?”

Lynch hesitated for a moment before sighing. “I'm no fanatic for justice, nor do I know much about the conflict between the residents of King District and the outsiders, so I have no right to judge your actions. But no matter what, stealing other people's property is wrong. Even if the discussions you heard from the people around you made you feel like they were stealing your things too, that is no excuse for you to do the same. Just because they are wrong doesn't make it right for you to be wrong. Moreover, regardless of the reason, exploiting other people's kindness to harm them is the most vile act. It will only make everyone afraid to show you goodwill, and in the end, you will be the ones who suffer.”

“Oh... But what about those kids? If I don't organize them, they'll soon go back to the way they were before.”

“Try your best to restrain them for now,” Lynch pondered. “I'll think of something during this time too. You know, your uncle here has actually interacted with a few big shots. I can't meddle in business that's too far away, but helping out the kids around me isn't out of reach.”

“Really? Then I'll have them stay on their best behavior for now. You're not allowed to lie!” The girl's lively gaze peeked out from under the pillow once more, carrying the clever cunning he had seen over the past few days. For some reason, her voice held a hint of anticipation. “Then, Uncle Lynch... if I do something wrong again, will you still beat me?”

Lynch raised an eyebrow and lifted a hand, a menacing grin spreading across his face. “Of course. From now on, you'd better do as I say and behave yourself. Otherwise, I'll beat your backside black and blue, and not even your mother will be able to protect you. Understood?”

“Eek! You really are a perverted, disgusting grown-up! Mama, save me! Hurry and kick him out!”

The little rascal immediately dove back under the pillow, letting out soft squeals. Lynch, both amused and exasperated, gave her little head a light rap through the pillow. “Reflect on your actions properly. I'm heading back upstairs. Get well soon; I'm still waiting for you to bring me tea every day.”

“Uncle Lynch.” Just as Lynch was about to head out the door, little Martha's tender voice called from behind. Turning around, he saw the little girl staring at him with her large blue eyes, saying earnestly, “I know you beat me yesterday because you were genuinely worried about me. Even though I don't know what dangerous thing I did... thank you. And I'm sorry for what happened the other day.”

“It depends on your performance. If you behave well, I'll beat you often in the future.”

Lynch tipped his flat cap to the little girl with a wave, smiling as he left the children's room. The little rascal's fate was quite tumultuous; there was no telling how long her peace would last. He hoped it would endure a little longer, or else the blow to Mrs. Maggie would be far too devastating.

Hearing the sound of running water from the kitchen, Lynch decided not to disturb her and returned alone to his room on the second floor. Looking out the window at the dimming sky, he turned on the gas lamp on the wall, leaned back on the sofa, and opened the folklore storybooks he had brought back from Maya's cabin.

To his surprise, there really were stories about ghouls. Some books even had illustrations, though they were drawn in all sorts of bizarre styles that didn't look accurate at all.

They were a bunch of monsters that fed on corpses, terrifying nightmares lurking in sewers or underground tunnels. If mutilated bodies were found in such places, most were victims who had inadvertently stumbled upon ghouls.

In one of the books, Lynch spotted a piece of information that caught his particular attention, though the description was exceedingly vague.

The King of Gloomy Cold Bones, the object of worship for all ghouls.

It also had another name by which humans addressed it: Mordiggian.

Before Lynch could snap out of his astonishment, a knock sounded at his door. He figured Mrs. Maggie had come to call him for dinner.

Opening the door, it was indeed Mrs. Maggie, but it had nothing to do with dinner.

“Detective Levive, there is a client who wishes to see you.”

His first customer had arrived.