Was I Really That Tired?

“Where did you hear all that?”

Cecil raised an eyebrow.

“The report, little Cecil. The report you submitted.”

Iseryon spoke as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

He pulled an exquisite iron cigarette case from the pocket of his white suit and expertly flicked out a cigarette with his fingertips.

With a sharp click, the cigarette was firmly clamped between his lips.

“That was an encrypted report for the General Bureau,” Cecil said, sounding somewhat helpless.

“It seems the authority of a special-class investigator is indeed a bit larger than I imagined.”

“Authority is just a piece of scrap paper if you don't use it.”

Iseryon shrugged.

“Don't look at me like that. I’m just fulfilling my duties as a ‘guardian’ and checking in on the growth of my junior.”

Cecil took a deep breath, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, and asked instead, “How is my teacher?”

At this question, Iseryon’s hand paused as he went to light the cigarette.

With a flick of his thumb, a cluster of deep orange flame leapt from his fingertip, precisely igniting the tobacco.

He took a deep breath, letting the pungent tobacco smoke swirl in his lungs before slowly exhaling a cloud.

“Old Ted...”

Iseryon’s eyes turned misty for a moment before he returned to his usual cynical self.

“You know how it is. Since Old Ted retired, he’s been living quite the comfortable life.”

“He started a small farm in the Landon outskirts. His research subjects have changed from ‘ancient god ruins’ to ‘how to grow larger potatoes.’”

“As of now, there’s nothing that requires the old man to step in personally.”

Hearing this, Cecil’s tense shoulders relaxed slightly.

As Ted’s most prized student, she knew the destructive power of that old man better than anyone.

“However, knowing his temper...”

Iseryon’s tone shifted, carrying a hint of schadenfreude.

“If he found out about the current state of the Agency—especially those rotten, filthy affairs—I probably wouldn't be able to hold him back.”

“Once that ‘Old Lion’ loses his temper, he’ll blow the roof off Hope County.”

“When that happens, from the Director and Deputy Director down to every department head... none of them would escape a brutal thrashing.”

Iseryon flicked his ash, his expression darkening slightly.

“So, regarding the mole, it’s best not to inform the old man. We don't want to startle the snake.”

Cecil remained silent for a moment before nodding. “Agreed.”

Their conversation echoed through the corridor.

“What are your plans next?” Iseryon asked after a brief silence, the fire of his cigarette glowing faintly in the dim light.

“I’ll probably stay here for a while.”

“Then I might meet up with the Landon advance party in Moon Bay.”

The “White Lion” puckered his lips in agreement and nodded.

Suddenly, he reverted to his inquisitive state.

“On a serious note, where is that Scale Three kid now?”

He blinked, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Taking down a mountain of flesh single-handedly and managing to keep his sanity in that chaos... That’s interesting. Why haven't you recruited such a talent into the Agency?”

Cecil pressed a hand to her forehead in exasperation.

“Recruit him?” she retorted irritably.

“That guy not only has ties to the Inferno, but his background is also extremely complex.”

“He’s like a cunning fox. Do you really think it’s appropriate to let him into the Seventh Agency?”

Instead of showing disappointment, Iseryon’s interest only grew.

“The Inferno?”

He stopped abruptly, nearly dropping the cigarette from his mouth.

“Why wasn't such explosive news in the report?”

Cecil gave a cold snort. “I still have a use for him.”

“Oh! He’s your informant!”

Iseryon slapped his thigh, as excited as a child with a new toy.

“Well, that’s even more interesting!”

“A student of a Saint actually hiring an Inferno outsider as backup.”

“I love a plot filled with such contrasts.”

He chuckled, his gaze becoming profound.

“I’ll have to find a way to meet this kid when I have the chance.”

Looking at the “Saint” before her who was acting almost childishly, Cecil couldn't help but shake her head secretly.

Ever since she started studying mysticism under her teacher, Ted, this guy had always been like this.

Despite being a Scale Seven Saint standing at the peak of human potential, he had a strange and twisted obsession with the concept of being “hard-boiled.”

At times, he even behaved like an over-dramatic teenager who refused to grow up.

With the formal arrival of this special-class investigator from the Landon headquarters, the Hope County Branch of the Seventh Agency began deploying tasks targeting the god's husk and the mole.

However, none of these undercurrents had any direct connection to Charlotte at the moment.

Inside the isolation ward of the asylum.

Over the past night, Charlotte had gradually adapted to her current body.

She sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at her hands.

Her skin was still fair, and her fingers were still slender.

But she could feel a surge of unprecedented power coursing between her capillaries and muscle fibers.

It was the product of the deep conversion between her spirituality and her physical form.

First and foremost, there was a significant change in her physical strength and power.

Ms. Cecil hadn't lied to her before she left.

For someone whose strength was significantly below the normal standard, a potion often provided a more pronounced feedback effect.

Like pouring water into a parched sponge, the reaction was always the most intense.

Sure enough, Charlotte could now clearly feel that her strength was approaching that of a healthy adult male.

Clang!

A crisp sound rang out.

Charlotte’s brooch had accidentally slipped and fallen under the bed.

In the past, she would have had to blush and call for a nurse, or struggle to find a stick to fish it out.

But now, in her haste, Charlotte instinctively reached out and grabbed the heavy solid wood bed frame, giving it a sudden upward tug.

To her shock, the entire bed was lifted.

Charlotte was stunned.

This was something she could never have achieved before.

It suddenly occurred to her—no wonder! No wonder Al could tear through ash bread with his bare hands!

So that was it!

“Liar,” Charlotte whispered to herself.

When the doctor walked in with the examination report and told her she could leave, Charlotte didn't seem eager to go home.

Her eyes dimmed as she softly asked about Victoria’s condition.

However, the doctor’s silence felt like a knife to her heart.

After Charlotte’s repeated pleas, the doctor finally led her to look at Victoria through a thick pane of lead-sealed glass.

Victoria’s condition was not optimistic.

Inside the isolation ward, the light was dim and the air was filled with the pungent smell of medicine.

The noble girl who once had brilliant blonde hair and a bright smile now lay on the hospital bed like a piece of withered wood.

The long hair she was so proud of had turned completely white and brittle.

Most shocking of all were the empty sleeves at her shoulders.

To stop the spread of the dark erosion pollution, Victoria’s arms had undergone an emergency amputation.

This sight caused Charlotte to burst into tears instantly.

A powerful sense of guilt washed over her once again like a tide.

If only she hadn't been so soft-hearted... If only she hadn't allowed it...

Charlotte desperately wanted to rush in and hug Victoria, even if it was just to hold her non-existent hands.

But given Victoria’s state, she was sternly refused by the doctor and the guarding investigators.

She left in a daze, her heart filled with disappointment and powerless frustration.

Taking a public carriage, Charlotte returned to the familiar Ash Street amidst the swaying motion.

As she stepped off, the cool breeze blowing against her cheeks finally cleared her head a little, allowing her to pull herself away from her emotions.

A question suddenly popped into her mind: Had Al covered for her?

Based on her understanding of her brother, Al knew her situation well. He should... have made up a reason to fool Arthur... right?

At the thought of Arthur’s stern face, Charlotte’s heart was filled with trepidation.

She stood at the front door, taking a few deep breaths to try and adjust her expression.

The door was pushed open.

Before Charlotte could even change her shoes, she saw a figure that made her entire body stiffen.

Arthur was patting his head, walking down the stairs with a pained and confused expression.

His hair was a mess, and his uniform collar was crooked; he looked like he hadn't yet recovered from a hangover.

“Lottie?” Arthur looked up and caught Charlotte’s gaze.

“Arthur?” Charlotte looked at her brother, who seemed to have just woken up, feeling guilty to the extreme.

“Where were you last night?” Arthur stopped, leaning against the banister, his tone becoming somewhat serious.

His police instincts told him something was wrong, but his head was still throbbing in waves.

Seeing his state, a flash of realization hit Charlotte.

This state wasn't right. He didn't look angry; it was more like... he had blacked out?

“Didn't Al tell you?” Charlotte tentatively threw out her shield.

“Al?” Arthur was stunned.

He rubbed his temples as memories began to slowly piece themselves together in his mind.

Oh, right! It seemed he had returned home last night and run right into that foul-smelling, strange-looking Elias.

He remembered grabbing Elias by the shoulder and angrily demanding to know where he had taken Lottie.

And then...

What happened after that?

Arthur only remembered Elias making a very strange expression before everything went black.

His last memory seemed to be Al shouting in a panic, his voice sounding very anxious.

When he opened his eyes again, he was already in his bedroom. He hadn't even taken off his shoes.

Was I really that tired?