Countess Hathaway

Naturally, Lynch didn’t actually beat the captured little brat, merely swatting the little kid on the back of the head on a whim.

The other kids had long since scattered. Martha, however, didn’t run. Pouting with an unwilling expression, she stayed by Lynch’s side, though she actively followed him as they walked toward Charles Square.

She walked with a limp, which made Lynch chuckle out loud at the sight.

Apparently, her swollen rear hadn’t healed yet.

Under the little brat’s fuming glare, Lynch simply scooped her up and carried her all the way back to the 221 apartment. The little thing kicked aimlessly a few times before settling down, snuggling comfortably in Lynch’s arms.

Seeing the two of them return together gave Mrs. Maggie, who was preparing dinner, quite a start. Only after confirming that her daughter hadn’t been beaten again did she relax, covering her mouth with a gentle smile.

“Got new clothes? The craftsmanship is machine-tailored, but the material is quite good. But why did you get them so dirty? You’re covered in dirt.”

Hm? Lynch looked down. He hadn’t noticed until she mentioned it, but he was indeed covered in dust and grime.

The bloodstains in the relic memories were materializations of mystery and wouldn’t adhere to one’s body to be brought into the mortal world, but he and Officer Natalie had rolled around plenty in the secret chamber. As a result, he was covered in grime from head to toe, though neither of them had realized it.

“Take them off quickly. I’ll wash them for you. Making a man do these chores on his own is sheer torture.”

“No, don’t.” Blushing, Lynch said awkwardly, “I have to head out soon. I need to wear formal attire for a formal occasion.”

“Then you definitely can’t go covered in dirt! Are you planning to embarrass yourself? Change into your original outfit before you go. Though made of cheap material, at least it’s handmade, and the quality isn’t inferior to this one. Go change quickly and bring it down to me; I’ll have it cleaned for you in a couple of days.”

“Mom, pay attention! This guy just beat your daughter so hard she couldn’t get out of bed, and now you want to wash his clothes? Are you trying to reward him? Just let him stay dirty! Anyway... Ah, I was wrong! No, Mom, look, he’s going to hit me again!”

The little rascal immediately circled to the other side of the landlady to hide. With two beautiful, blonde-haired, blue-eyed faces pressed close together, the evening room seemed noticeably brighter.

The gentle smile warmed Lynch’s heart, and he briskly fled back to the second floor. The stove fire in the kitchen must have been too hot; otherwise, why did his face feel slightly flushed?

Carefully changing out of the Rangers uniform, since no one had asked him to return it when parting ways earlier, Lynch treated it as an unspoken understanding to keep it as a disguise prop for the future.

After changing into his cheapest formal suit and bringing the dirty clothes downstairs with a blush, Lynch finally closed his room door, reorganized his combat equipment, and retrieved the invitation letter and theater ticket.

Box 204 at the Black Cat Theater, an invitation from Countess Hathaway.

Lynch was actually quite worried; neither the theater nor the person rang any bells in the memories from his past life.

This was somewhat strange. The unforgettable encounter with Jeremy and the spider monster at Thorn Flower had left a deep impression on him, making him fear that this invitation might be yet another trap laid by cultists.

Barely two days had passed, yet he had already encountered multiple mysterious events that most people wouldn’t see in a lifetime, even communicating face-to-face with mysterious heteromorphs. Every single day was eventful and thrilling, clearly exhibiting the traits of a beacon of mystery, which forced him to be exceptionally cautious.

That was why he had deliberately inquired at the Scarecrow Club earlier. Though he wanted to meet her, he had resolved never to attend if there was any sign of foul play.

Even Officer Natalie had never heard of the Black Cat Theater, but Mr. V had.

It was a luxurious theater situated on the secluded Emerald Street in the Crown District. Not open to the general public, it was frequented exclusively by dignitaries and celebrities, with its theater boxes serving as their traditional social arena. People without sufficient status couldn’t even enter, no matter how many sought an opportunity to buy their way in with vast sums of money, only to be denied.

As for Countess Hathaway, she was a high-ranking noble in Rhine City.

Keeping a very low profile, she rarely interacted with commoners. Even Mr. V had only vaguely heard of her. Reportedly, she was an idle noble without real political authority, yet her social standing was so high that even Duke Vane treated her with great care.

The information wasn’t very detailed, but it was enough for Lynch.

Both the theater and the hostess possessed public and entirely legitimate backgrounds. Not having heard of them before was simply due to his own lack of status. While a bit disheartening, it meant the danger level was significantly reduced, so there was nothing to fear.

It was merely an ordinary invitation; surely he wouldn’t run into cultists again this time.

The only suspicious detail was the black cat that delivered the letter. But the one inviting him wasn’t the cat, but Countess Hathaway. If such a prominent figure was genuinely bored, keeping a cat trained to deliver letters was quite normal. The cat hadn’t opened its mouth to speak, after all, so there was no need to be overly anxious.

Along the way, Lynch didn’t know how many bizarre thoughts he had cooked up in his head, right until the carriage abruptly came to a stop.

Indeed, Lynch had arrived in a hired carriage—an expensive box carriage, no less.

Not because he wanted to put on airs, but out of a habit developed during his corporate drone days in his past life.

When someone of her standing sent an invitation devoid of apparent malice, dressing or acting inappropriately would only embarrass the host. Therefore, if one didn’t want to offend someone without cause, it was best to show utmost respect for their standing.

Before him stood a grand Baroque-style opera house covering a substantial area, not looking overly out of place amidst a cluster of Victorian buildings.

Out front was a large square where over a dozen lavishly decorated carriages were parked. No guests were currently entering the entrance; only a dozen or so attendants in purple vests stood in a neat, orderly row, stretching from the parking area all the way up the theater steps.

Watching Lynch approach in his cheap attire, the attendants’ expressions remained completely unchanged. With bows that seemed measured with a ruler, they guided Lynch all the way to the theater entrance.

Only here was he stopped by two attendants in red vests. Without so much as glancing at Lynch’s clothes, the two bowed respectfully and took Lynch’s invitation letter and theater ticket.

“Countess Hathaway?” The stone-faced attendant finally showed an expression, sizing him up with considerable surprise before clearing the doorway and gesturing for him to follow: “Please follow me. Her Ladyship the Countess’s private box is on the second floor. She has not arrived yet, perhaps not being particularly interested in tonight’s play, but her...”

“Hm?”

“It’s nothing. Please mind your step,” the attendant said, already leading Lynch deeper into the theater. It was a distinctive two-story structure. Aside from the stage in front, there was no general seating; instead, individual private boxes lined the surrounding walls, each with a window facing the stage. “We will take a detour this way to avoid disturbing other guests.”

“Has the performance started? Am I late?” Lynch asked, somewhat confused. Hadn’t the invitation said nine o’clock?

The guiding attendant was visibly taken aback, but still explained in all seriousness, “If you are here to enjoy the performance, then indeed you are late. If you are here for other purposes, you are actually a bit early; the second act has not yet ended.”

“I don’t get it.” Lynch dropped the pretense and sighed. “Explain it, please.”

The attendant smiled and whispered, “It is social etiquette among high society. They are accustomed to sending servants to network during the first intermission and visiting one another during the second intermission. While deviating from this might be considered slightly impolite, it is not strictly enforced, so you need not worry. We have arrived. Here it is: 204. You may go right in and await Her Ladyship the Countess. I wish you a pleasant evening.”

Hesitating for a moment, Lynch took a deep breath and pushed the box door open.

The countess indeed had not arrived, and the box was completely empty. However, on the sofa directly facing the window, a black cat lay sprawled, lazily watching the entrance.

It was none other than the beautiful black cat that had delivered the letter.

So that was why the attendant had hesitated earlier: the person hadn’t arrived, but the cat had.

Then he might as well wait.

The corner of Lynch’s mouth twitched, and he simply sat down next to the black cat. The black cat didn’t run, staring straight at Lynch with jewel-like translucent green eyes.

“Hello there, we meet again. Sorry for pointing a gun at you last time.” Bored of waiting, Lynch idly waved at the cat and amused himself by saying, “I am Lynch Levive. And you?”

【Lynch, please be careful.】

At the same time, the black cat opened its mouth: “I am Anna Hathaway.”

The air fell dead silent. In that instant, Lynch felt his scalp tingle with goosebumps.

Because the black cat before his eyes suddenly transformed, enshrouded in a phantom silhouette, just like his experience at Thorn Flower the night before last.

The silhouette was that of a mature, beautiful woman. Though her features were somewhat indistinct, a pair of spirited, cat-like eyes gazed at him through the black cat’s real eyes. A teasing smile hung at the corners of her lips, opening and closing in sync with the cat’s mouth to emit a human voice.

Yet as Lynch focused deeper, he saw a third layer of imagery overlapping with the woman.

It was a bizarre female figure with the head of a cat and the body of a human, clad in ancient garments. The gaze in her feline eyes seemed to carry boundless eeriness and majesty, piercing through the boundary between illusion and reality to fix upon Lynch’s face.

The moment his gaze locked with the cat-headed woman, Lynch felt countless pieces of information surge into his brain simultaneously, bursting like an explosion in his mind with only a single thought remaining:

Holy crap, what on earth is this.