The Photograph

Sure enough, these fellows weren't just competing to snatch cases for credit; they were deliberately causing trouble and setting up roadblocks.

The “His Excellency” they mentioned was likely the mastermind behind their actions. It was just unclear whether it was Chairman Grant of the House of Commons, and whether the fourth-ranking figure on the city council possessed the authority to influence the Rangers.

As for the one in the picture frame, he was definitely the puppeteer behind the scenes. It seemed they weren't on the same side as the hillmen after all. Which made sense—the hillmen openly opposed the tunnel, whereas this bunch seemed more inclined to support its construction. For now, he would categorize them that way.

Lynch's mind turned rapidly. The conversation he had just overheard replayed again and again in his thoughts as he carefully digested every single word. According to what they said, Maya had forged a connection with Mordiggian, the King of Gloomy Cold Bones—what they called hearing its whispers. That was probably why she was transforming into a ghoul as well.

Apparently for that very reason, she had become vital to those hillmen, and now the Rangers and the mastermind's faction were looking for her too.

What did those ghouls want with her? Surely they weren't trying to sacrifice her to their Mordiggian? And what about the Rangers? Did they want to use Maya as a bargaining chip to secure some benefit?

It seemed pausing to wait for intel had been the right call. It was better to figure out their intentions first. Otherwise, while he might be a “worthless detective,” he certainly wouldn't work for free. To expect him to find Maya for them pro bono—they had to be out of their minds! She was his fellow sufferer sharing the same plight; they had to pay up!

Amused by his own internal quips, Lynch quickly rummaged through the Rangers' office. He didn't expect to find written orders left by whoever commanded them—if people covertly colluding with mysterious heteromorphs and deliberately sabotaging royal special services could leave behind a paper trail, they wouldn't be worth worrying about in the first place. They definitely took secrecy seriously; Lynch even suspected that the archive fire that afternoon had been their doing, set to destroy whatever in the railway incident files that had cost Donnie his life.

Yet after searching around, he actually did find something.

A photograph of a young woman.

Even in black and white, the portrait's charm could not be concealed.

Even by the aesthetic standards of his previous world, the lady in the photograph was remarkably beautiful.

She wore traditional noble lady attire and a feathered hat, exuding an overwhelming aura of elegance and aristocracy.

Lynch remembered this face. He had seen it once at city hall a few days ago—it was the eldest daughter of the high noble Valente family.

Turning the photograph over, the back was covered with handwriting:

“Diana de Valente, 22 years old, Sister of Suffering, rank two authority.

“Eldest daughter of the Valente family. The family is suspected of having close ties to the hillmen. Dispatched by the Church of Suffering, she has been stationed in Rhine City for two years. The possibility of her using this opportunity to deepen ties with the hillmen and conspire with them cannot be ruled out. Monitor closely where possible. However, given the Valente family's profound background, frontal conflict must be strictly avoided.”

Sure enough, this prominent noble really did have ties to the ghouls. It was likely thanks to their support that a pack of hillmen ghouls could stand against a city-level, or even national-level, tunnel project.

Then what was the purpose of the Rangers and the mastermind behind the scenes in looking for Maya? Could they be intending to offer Maya to the ghouls in exchange for them ceasing to obstruct the tunnel project?

It was self-consistent, but it was purely conjecture—not only baseless, but by no means the only possibility. In the end, Lynch shook his head and cast the hypothesis aside.

Best to withhold judgment for now. There was too little information. He would wait for the intel from the capital to arrive, investigate the connection between this high noble and the ghouls, and then consider his next move.

His mind made up, Lynch put everything back in its original place and quietly slipped out of the Rangers' office.

He had initially thought of helping them “tidy up” their documents—sparing them from running out of space the next time they snatched files—and had even pulled out his lighter, but after some hesitation, he abandoned the thought.

Primarily, he wasn't confident he could burn down only this single room. If he burned down the entire Hall of Order, that would be a crime.

Forget it. I'll spare them this once and settle the score next time.

Lynch quietly opened the office door and slipped back into the hallway while no one was around. Without using his lurking ability again, he walked down the stairs in plain view.

Things in the East Wing were in a bit of disarray. Many blue uniforms were running down the stairs, and there was plenty of noisy clamor outside—hardly any less chaotic than the day of the fire.

Several people ran past Lynch, but he carried himself so casually that no one questioned his presence. In the end, he took the initiative to grab a passing blue uniform and flashed the badge inside his cap. “I saw the Rangers' emergency bell ringing. What happened?”

“Reporting, sir! Twelve special corpses were discovered. In accordance with protocol, the commanding officers of the Rangers and the Watchers have been notified.”

“How special?” Lynch guessed that so-called “special corpses” likely meant bodies from bizarre deaths, most likely connected to mystery.

The blue uniform held out his hands, evidently knowing nothing more. Realizing it had nothing to do with his commissioned investigation, Lynch lost interest entirely and contentedly slipped out of the Hall of Order.

Having learned of the Rangers' sinister motives and glimpsed some intelligence regarding the Valente family, Lynch felt that his trip to the Hall of Order had not been in vain. Most importantly, it was his first time applying lurking and phantasmal sound in practice, and they turned out to be surprisingly effective. This made Lynch resolve to use them in more crucial places next time—such as Room 304 of a certain club.

It was nearly eleven o'clock. Lynch delayed no longer and headed first to the commercial district near Crown Square, spending three pounds at Mad Smith to customize a sturdy safe.

It was a newly opened metal shop. Instead of traditional hand-forged goods, all its products were industrially manufactured, produced rapidly, and priced cheaply. Over the past few years, similar shops had sprung up one after another, selling goods directly from nearby factories. Their reputations were universally terrible, yet for some reason, their clientele only grew larger and larger.

Lynch was well aware of what the future held, but compared to the path of immortality, such things were hardly worth mentioning. Thus, like most people, he disregarded sentimental feelings and opted for the most cost-effective choice before mailing all of today's receipts to the Black Night Cathedral.

I'm going to go broke. Before this month's five-pound reimbursement comes in, I must find a way to recoup some funds.

Working a regular job was out of the question—the money came far too slowly. The only way was to work hard on commissions, wrapping up Mrs. Sterling's case as quickly as possible to earn whatever he could.

Having methodically executed all his plans throughout the morning, Lynch was in a remarkably good mood. Humming a famous nursery rhyme from his homeland about a certain bridge falling down—thoughtfully replacing “London” with “Rhine”—he briskly walked back to the 221 apartment under the horrified gazes of passersby. The moment he stepped through the door, he couldn't help but laugh out loud.

A little creature didn't dare sit down and could only lie propped on her stomach by the dining table with her bottom stuck in the air, accompanying her mother in preparing lunch. Seeing Lynch return, she immediately glared at him like an indignant quail, puffing out her cheeks and pulling a face at him.

“Hm?” Lynch raised his palm.

“Eek! Mama, he's going to spank me again!” Little Martha instantly covered her rear and scooted closer toward her mother.

The blonde lady covered her mouth with a chuckle and said gently to Lynch, “Mrs. Sterling came looking for you earlier. Seeing you weren't here, she left.”

“I noticed she wasn't at the square either.” Lynch frowned. “Did something change?”

“She didn't tell me the details, but it seems Janet isn't doing well and couldn't come over. She hopes you can pay a visit to their home if it's convenient.”

Lynch felt the good mood he had maintained all morning quickly evaporate, and he gave a pensive nod.

It seems it's not just a matter of a mental breakdown; otherwise, she wouldn't be unable to come at all. The situation might be more severe than I thought.

I'll go have a look after lunch.