“How did you figure that out?”
Guardian raised an eyebrow.
Locke waved his hands dismissively.
“I’m purely guessing.”
“Think about it,” Locke said, enduring the pungent stench of the surroundings.
“Using the location where we entered from the cultist hideout as the origin...”
“Combined with the flow of this main pipe and the slope of these junctions...”
He gestured in the air, tracing a rough geometric shape.
“The end of it leads pretty much straight toward the West District.”
“Specifically, near the Lily of the Valley Convent.”
The stout branch manager nodded thoughtfully.
“That fits.”
“Ms. Cecil just sent a message. She’s sending people to move the bodies over there.”
“While they’re at it, I’ll have them guard the sewer exits in that area as well.”
A flash of ruthlessness crossed Guardian’s eyes.
With the route ahead confirmed, the team enjoyed a brief respite. Under the harsh glare of the floating spell light, the investigators began working right where they stood.
Guardian spread out the paper documents seized from the Mist Veil Society hideout onto a stone platform created by an alchemy spell.
Beside him, Blaine held a small notebook, reporting the results of the earlier interrogations.
All the clues and fragments were finally coming together perfectly. The evidence pointed precisely at one person—or rather, a codename.
“A high-level deacon of the Mist Veil Society—Mr. Green.”
Guardian let out a cold sneer as he looked over the files.
It was this man who had carried out the home invasion and murder in Room 517 of the Golden Rose Hotel.
“Wait...”
Guardian’s brow furrowed suddenly as he flipped through a top-secret ledger recovered from the hideout’s basement.
The figures on the page made him suck in a breath of the sewer’s unique fragrance.
The ledger clearly recorded that the higher-ups of the Mist Veil Society had approved a massive sum of money.
A full fifty thousand gold crowns!
This was the price the Mist Veil Society had attempted to pay John Baker for the containment object in his possession.
The strangest part was that John Baker had actually refused!
The knot in Guardian’s brow tightened.
This was like a beggar who hadn’t eaten in three days turning down a plate of hot roasted goose!
According to the Seventh Agency’s files, John Baker was no saint who viewed money as dirt. He was a professional career criminal driven entirely by profit.
Furthermore, the man had always been extremely cautious, specializing in taking the money and running, erasing all traces of his existence.
Now, with fifty thousand gold crowns placed before him, when did this money-grubbing Landon thief suddenly decide to become a guardian of justice?
Guardian’s gaze fixed on the words “Transaction Failed.”
“Unless...” he mused silently.
“Behind this object, there’s an even more enticing interest hidden.”
“The actual value of that relic... is likely far beyond the fifty thousand gold crowns offered as a mere opening bid!”
Just as Guardian fell into deep thought, a low, rapid vibration came from the vest pressed against his chest.
Guardian’s spirits lifted. It was the specific frequency of the Origin Web communicator.
This meant only one thing: Ms. Cecil had arrived with the remaining investigators.
A few minutes later, the two teams finally converged. The first thing they did upon meeting was cover their noses and mouths in perfect unison.
Of course, this didn't include some of the mystics.
“Goddess above...”
Ms. Cecil’s usually cold and elegant face was now filled with undisguised disgust and resistance.
She was currently covered in a thin, pale blue arcane film.
The Scale One spell, 【Arcane Filter】, could form a thin membrane on the body's surface to filter out harmful gases.
This spell, normally used to protect against toxins, was unexpectedly useful here. Many mystics who hadn't acquired this spell stood there with miserable expressions.
Usually, they mocked others for having “useless” utility spells. Now, they realized the joke was on them.
“Branch Manager Guardian, what on earth have you all been through?”
Cecil looked at her colleague, her brow furrowed so deeply it could have crushed a fly.
Guardian coughed awkwardly. He was actually on the verge of gagging himself, but as the branch manager, he had to maintain his image.
“It couldn’t be helped...”
The two sides kept their explanations brief, quickly and seamlessly exchanging their critical intelligence.
When Cecil heard that the straight underground waterway led directly to the West District—specifically toward the Lily of the Valley Convent—her eyes instantly sharpened.
Her professional instincts kicked in immediately.
“If that’s the case,” Cecil issued her orders without hesitation, “I will immediately notify Finn back at the branch.”
“I’ll have him take the two rookies and rush to the perimeter of the convent.”
“They don’t need to fight; they just need to keep a death grip on every sewer exit in that area!”
Plugging the rat holes was basic tactics.
After making these arrangements, Cecil paused and turned to Guardian, posing a crucial question.
“So, what about the hotel?”
“Are you certain the crime scene at the Golden Rose Hotel no longer needs anyone guarding it?”
Her eyes burned with a trace of worry.
“We’ve pulled every capable fighter into this sunless underground. How can you be sure this isn't a lure to draw us away from the real prize?”
“What if the relic is still in the hotel?”
“I’m certain,” Guardian replied decisively, without a hint of hesitation.
“As long as we spread our manpower wide enough, we will find that Fortville family relic regardless of where those rats run.”
“As for the Golden Rose Hotel...” Guardian’s voice grew heavy, his eyes gleaming with the cunning of an old fox. “That place lost all its value long ago.”
He looked directly into Cecil’s questioning gaze.
“The case happened a full month ago, Cecil!”
“With the way those cultists from the Mist Veil Society operate—never leaving even a scrap behind—there is no way Room 517 would still be sitting there, covered in dust and perfectly intact, waiting for us to search it!”
Guardian began to dismantle her logic point by point.
“You could assume that the damned master thief John Baker had incredible methods. That he had some special secret technique to perfectly shield the spiritual imprint of a containment object marked by the Storm Inquisition. You could even assume he could fool high-level detection spells.”
“But!” Guardian raised his voice slightly. “The people in the Mist Veil Society aren't idiots either.”
“If they knew that containment object was in that room, they wouldn't have stopped until they had pried up the floorboards, scraped off the wallpaper, and turned every inch of that space upside down!”
“Therefore, the relic cannot possibly still be at the hotel.”
Guardian took a deep breath, only to be choked by the stench, causing his brow to lock tight again.
His thoughts became clearer the more he spoke.
“Furthermore, after several hours of tracking and detailed comparative investigation, there is one thing we can be one hundred percent certain of.”
“That is, within this spiritual trail we are currently biting onto...”
“There is indeed the spiritual imprint left by John Baker before his death!”
“My deduction is this—”
“After John Baker was murdered in the hotel room by the Mist Veil Society deacon, the relic he had hidden was quickly turned up by the killer.”
“But the moment the other party took the relic, it triggered some kind of marking spell John Baker had set up beforehand!”
Guardian let out a cold snort.
“Thieves don't leave empty-handed. The killer couldn't have left the scene in such a hurry without getting anything from John.”
“The one who did the killing was a deacon of the Mist Veil Society. He wouldn't have run just because he was afraid of the police, would he?”
After saying so much, Guardian felt as if the sewer smell was crawling into his mouth. He waved his hand and let out a muffled grunt.
“We... we should keep moving while we talk.”
Ms. Cecil looked at the disheveled branch manager and nodded sympathetically.
“Agreed...”
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