Rhine Train Station

May 19, 1399, 6:00 AM.

Lynch woke up early and jogged out of 221 apartment in lightweight attire.

The commission to take little Martha out wouldn't be until mid-morning, and he couldn't let his established conditioning routine be easily disrupted.

“Extra! Extra! Grant Screw Factory maliciously attacked by unidentified individuals! Multiple managers killed! The Hall of Order takes decisive action, resolving the crisis at maximum speed and immediately restoring regular production!”

The city had already awoken. Plenty of people were bustling about the streets, and newsboys waving the morning papers dashed across the city. On Charles Square, Mrs. Sterling's bakery cart had yet to appear, but Lynch was in no hurry. Carrying his cane, he jogged all the way to the Police Club next to the Hall of Order, finding the instructor he had scheduled an appointment with yesterday.

The club was primarily established for the police officers of the Hall of Order. To accommodate officers wanting to train before work, it opened earlier than civilian clubs, with instructors on duty by seven o'clock. A fee of one shilling per hour wasn't cheap, but in Lynch's eyes, that was far better than losing his life due to insufficient combat ability. Money that needed to be spent should never be spared.

Only after beginning his professional instruction did Lynch realize his previous notions had been utterly wrong. Swinging a stick around wildly couldn't be considered fighting at all.

In fact, in this nation of gentlemen that was Lande, the widespread popularity of canes had long since given rise to a comprehensive system of cane fighting. It was a complex weapon-combat technique blending the short stick, rapier, dagger, hook, and even the whip. Though Lynch had no idea why a bizarre weapon like a whip was thrown into the mix, adhering to the principle that one could never have too many skills, he accepted the instructor's training curriculum in its entirety.

However, the moment he picked up his cane, the instructor mocked him.

He was holding the cheapest birch cane. It was too brittle and lacked flexibility, easily snapping during everyday use, let alone in high-intensity combat. The instructor aggressively promoted the combat canes he sold on consignment, some of which even concealed daggers within.

None of them were cheap: a combat cane made of fine boxwood cost over four pounds, ones with concealed daggers exceeded five pounds, and as for a cane made of top-tier cardinal fir, it commanded the astronomical price of eight pounds.

Lynch's assets were sufficient to afford the cheapest boxwood cane, but in the end, he declined.

The instructor was an ordinary person after all, and the weapons were meant for ordinary people. Lynch planned to ask Officer Natalie in a couple of days to see if there were any mystery relic weapons like the Judgment of Vigen in her hands.

Of course, that definitely wouldn't be cheap. If ordinary ones already cost eight pounds, who knew how much a mystery relic weapon would go for?

Damn it, I've made quite a bit of money, so why am I still so poor? Is poverty also an inevitable fate on the path of immortality?

【It is not the fate of the path of immortality, but it is your fate, Lynch.】

‘Thanks, neighbor. That joke was hilarious. Ha. Ha.’

While enduring Lady Luna's stinging reminder, Lynch completed his first training session with the instructor. This was when Cat's Favor proved its timely value—the coordination and flexibility of his movements left the professional instructor thoroughly astonished, declaring outright that even professionals with long-term training could hardly match such performance. He didn't seem like a novice in the least; training someone like this was simply too easy.

However, when Lynch casually asked if the fee could be cut in half since it was so easy, the instructor promptly kicked him out on the pretext that the lesson was over.

So unfriendly—there were clearly thirty seconds left. Lynch felt he was definitely retaliating, but as a generous Lande gentleman, he decided not to hold it against him.

Although the morning training had left his body exhausted and cost a fair amount of money, he was in genuinely high spirits, feeling his survivability had improved just a bit more.

When he returned to Charles Square, it wasn't yet nine o'clock. The familiar aroma of bread was already wafting through the air. Mrs. Sterling stood behind her bakery cart greeting customers, and upon spotting Lynch, she immediately handed over an envelope stuffed with five shillings.

This caught Lynch a little by surprise. There was no evidence proving little Janet had been rescued by him, and he had already prepared himself mentally for the old woman to default on the payment. He hadn't expected her to be so sensible, not only paying the fee but also thrusting a loaf of white bread into his hands.

Learning that little Janet had recovered very well, showing no further signs of a trance-like state, and had already gone to school this morning, Lynch was completely relieved. Satisfied, he cradled the warm bread and headed home, secretly pinching off a piece along the way to pop into his mouth.

Whether it was just psychological or not, it tasted exceptionally sweet.

Inside the apartment, Martha was already dressed and ready, wearing a slightly worn princess dress. When this brat wasn't acting out, she was actually quite pretty—with blonde hair and blue eyes like a doll—and was lingering in the dining room with her mother, waiting for Lynch to return and take her out.

Lynch was still a bit uneasy, questioning Mrs. Maggie repeatedly to confirm that the person coming was a construction worker rather than a plumber before finally feeling secure enough to leave the house with Martha.

The little thing seemed to have recovered well, already able to run and jump. After being cooped up at home for several days nursing her injuries, she was full of energy now, running circles around Lynch and prompting passing pedestrians to glance back from time to time.

Wait, don't look at us so warmly—we're enemies, the irreconcilable kind.

Unfortunately, no one could hear Lynch's inner thoughts. Lynch could only sigh and wave to little Martha. He thought the little girl would be having too wild a time to be called back, but as soon as he waved, the little rascal obediently ran back, naturally took Lynch's hand, and skipped along beside him.

A twinge of pity suddenly surfaced in Lynch's heart. He realized that ever since her father died, this little one had probably never experienced moments like this again. His spanking, unexpectedly, seemed to have beaten a sense of reliance into her.

Letting out a quiet sigh, Lynch didn't pull away. Holding the little thing's soft hand, he asked casually, “Don't you have to go to school today?”

The little girl immediately pouted, glaring at Lynch with resentment as she huffed, “Hmph, isn't it all because someone beat me so bad I couldn't get out of bed? Mama asked for a few days off for me. Today is the last day, and I have to go back to class tomorrow. I really wish I could rest for a few more days.”

“That's easy. I'll give you another spanking, and then you can have a few more days off.”

“I don't want to!” Covering her bottom, the little girl scurried around to Lynch's other side and took his hand again. “You're the worst! You're not allowed to just hit people!”

“I won't hit you, but you have to honestly tell me: what are you going to the train station for?”

“I promised to keep it a secret from everyone. Stop asking; I have to keep my word, so I can't tell you.” The little girl's expression grew tense, and after thinking for a moment, she pressed, “Doing that is right, isn't it?”

“Mm, keeping promises is a virtue. I won't force you to say it. But the train station is huge, isn't it? Where specifically are you going?”

“Right at the station entrance, near the station square.”

Located in the Cross District, the train station was one of Rhine City's landmark structures—a long building hundreds of meters across, with a two-story central pavilion and wings extending out to either side.

Dozens of trains arrived and departed every day, handling an endless flow of passengers and cargo.

Just past nine in the morning, the station had long since begun its daily hustle and bustle. Colossal steam locomotives pulled long lines of carriages, chugging along the tracks in various directions. Lynch wasn't surprised by Mrs. Maggie's concern; such an environment was simply too dangerous for an eight- or nine-year-old girl, no matter how clever or precocious she might be.

Yet the little thing knew the way even better than Lynch, having likely run over here on her own plenty of times. She dragged Lynch all the way to the most crowded area in front of the station concourse, where several green 'blackboards' stood erect.

Hm? Lynch realized it immediately.

There was no method of communication more covert than leaving a message on a public message board in the middle of a densely packed crowd. But...

Sensing little Martha was about to dash over, he hurriedly pulled the little one back. Pretending nothing was amiss, he glanced around the perimeter to confirm there were no suspicious persons watching them, only then leading little Martha over to the message board.

The moment he drew near, Lynch's heart immediately tightened.

A faint yet unmistakable stench wafted from around the message board.

The rotting stench of ghouls.

Had Maya left it, or the hillmen? Should he let little Martha leave her message?

In an instant, Lynch found himself caught in a dilemma.