Unable to repay my student loans, I had no choice but to work part-time as a demon hunter.

"...Explain yourself, what do you mean by 'crisis resolved'?" Gray frowned, his tone lacking surprise, only disbelief. "You didn't just happen to kill a Deepclaw demon and then foolishly assume the alarm is over, did you?"

"That's not the case," Evans said solemnly. "Last night, all the Deepclaw demons that were harassing the Monford family were eliminated."

"Are you kidding me?" Gray asked, puzzled. "The fact that they're appearing in groups means there's a nest, and possibly a huge mother giving birth within a few kilometers."

He frowned as soon as he finished speaking.

He sensed movement at the other end of the hallway; it could move, walk, and even look for something to eat.

Vera came out.

She glanced at the Earl, then at Grey, then at Evans, and was disappointed to find that none of the three could eat.

"What do you want to eat?" she asked.

"Were you the one who accepted the commission last night?" Gray remembered Vera Cartrett. A rising star, with considerable combat strength, intelligence unknown, loves to eat, and will be kidnapped sooner or later.

"Um."

"You cleaned out the Deep Claw Demon at No. 7 Baiyu Road, the ancestral home of Montfort?"

"Um."

"How many?"

"About ten, I remember catching six alive, and selling them all." Vera tilted her head.

The lobby fell into a deathly silence.

Gray had seen too many hunters exaggerate their kills. Killing one animal and claiming it was three, hearing a noise in the sewers and saying they chased it all the way to the riverbank.

They killed about ten water monkeys and captured six alive. This isn't an exaggeration; it's called a dream.

"You said you, a second-tier hunter, captured six Deepclaw Demons last night," Gray said.

"I'm not alone," Vera said.

Ah, that makes sense.

This is something that can't be done by one person alone. Traps, silver salt bullets, and the cooperation of multiple source hunters—as long as there are people and money, what are Deepclaw demons?

"Which firm took my job?" Gray asked.

"It was college students who were fishing. People from the old fish market were moving their catch. I only killed the ones that were nearby, but I killed quite a few others as well," Vera said honestly.

What makes this reasonable?

“Miss Cartret,” Gray said seriously, “if you really had encountered six Deepclaws in the water last night, you wouldn’t be standing here discussing breakfast with me right now.”

  

"I didn't go into the water."

"So they just swim out of the mud, line up and climb ashore, without struggling or resisting, stretching out their necks for you to chop them down?" Gray scoffed.

"Yes. Exactly the same as what you said." Vera nodded seriously, even a little surprised that he was so smart.

Gray laughed angrily. A real conman would weave a more plausible story.

Charlotte walked into the foyer at that moment.

Her hair wasn't fully combed, and she looked tired. Upon seeing her father, she paused, then quickly composed herself.

"Were you there last night too?" The count looked at his only daughter. "You saw Deepclaws? Many?"

“I didn’t count them one by one,” Charlotte said, “but there were definitely a lot.”

The count's expression finally turned serious.

The butler might be confused. The hunter might exaggerate. But Charlotte, trained in etiquette from a young age, knew what was acceptable to joke about and what would only invite a scolding.

"Who else is present?"

"Gordon," Charlotte said, "the Gordon I mentioned to you."

That young man wasn't your average poor guy; he was a high-quality poor guy.

Some of his judgments were quite clever, even unbecoming of his status. Charlotte had previously relayed some interesting observations; the Earl had made money from his railway investments a few months earlier and had since taken an interest in this commoner student.

Interests are one thing, trust is another. Some people, when they have their first stroke of luck in their lives, may think that the world will allow them to do whatever they want from then on.

"Sir, Mr. Gordon Vick is downstairs," Evans whispered.

Gordon emerged from his room, still half-asleep, but perked up when he saw the new faces.

The Earl looked at Gordon; it was their first meeting.

"My lord," Gordon said.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," said the Count. "I need a precise explanation for what happened last night."

Gordon thought for a moment, and realized that sometimes the truth sounds like the ramblings of a mental patient.

Therefore, Gordon was confident and decided to offer the esteemed Earl a scientifically logical answer.

"People at the old fish market call this 'baiting,'" Gordon said. "But that's the colloquial term. We generally call it targeted behavioral inducement. You understand, the former is at most a business of a few pounds of corn, while the latter is what gets you Imperial funding."

"Targeted behavioral inducement?" Earl Monford repeated, as if trying to discern the deeper meaning or trap within.

"This is cutting-edge research from the Royal Academy of Sciences," Gordon said. "Last night, we used this technology to bring all the nearby Deepclaws together. Miss Vera Cartrett and her enthusiastic partners at the Old Fish Market wiped them all out, and the result is clear: the family crisis is averted, and your reputation is unharmed."

Gray felt extremely uncomfortable. He instinctively sensed that there was some huge conspiracy behind this, but he had too little information to make any hasty judgments.

Out of professional ethics, he had to speak up: "You might have managed to complete the hunt last night, through luck, bait, or even those lunatics at the Old Fish Market. But only professional Source Hunters can deal with the Otherworldly Demons. You've underestimated the terror behind this. From now on, it's best to leave things to the professionals. I'll investigate everything."

Gordon looked at Gray. He could give Gray face, but he couldn't let Gray treat the whole thing as an amateur's mess; if this matter were to be investigated further, it would become extremely troublesome.

The count did not immediately respond.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I just want to know the answer. If a large group of Others really did die on the riverbank last night, then we certainly won’t be the only ones who know about it now.”

After he said that, everyone understood what he was waiting for.

Soon, as the sky brightened a bit more, the newspaper deliveryman arrived at the door.

The maid led the newsboy into the hallway. The boy carried a large leather bag, his face covered in soot, making it impossible to see his features. He had been running all over town since early morning trying to survive. His shoes stopped at the edge of the carpet, knowing full well that he shouldn't step any further in.

He looked up and saw noblemen, young ladies, butlers, hunters, yet another hunter, and a college student who had somehow appeared there.

Everyone was watching him.

The newsboy immediately realized that it might be difficult to get a tip from this family today.

"Hmm... I have the Imperial Post, the Lundnim Morning Post, the Plaza May Business News, and last night's horse racing supplement..." he said.

"Have you been to the old fish market? What's the news there?" the count asked.

The newsboy paused for a moment.

After delivering newspapers for two years, this was the first time he had ever heard a nobleman ask him about a place like the Old Fish Market.

"Yeah, I know, I've been there. It's really noisy over there, lots of people are there to watch the fun. Deepclaw Demon, you know? It's actually a water monkey, some people say, it looks like a child and has fish gills."

He had thought this was a topic that would amuse the nobles.

No one in the lobby laughed. Instead, everyone's gaze turned extremely stern in an instant, as if six knives were pressed against his neck.

"Speak. Down." The count's voice was soft, yet carried an undeniable authority.

"Live and dead, they're piled up like a small mountain! There's a guy called Old Baz who chased away all the casual customers, saying he wanted to connect with a wholesaler of demonic materials. There are still some alive ones; some people are betting on which one will die first, and someone got bitten, their screams sounding like a pig being slaughtered..."

"Has anyone mentioned the Otherworldly Lair?" Gray's expression turned grim.

"No," the newsboy scratched his head and answered honestly, "The old rascal said he didn't have to do much last night, it was like someone was setting up a nest for him. If he had brought ten more cages..."

"..." Gray remained silent.

"..." The count closed his eyes.

Evans sighed. From this day forward, the word "baiting" would carry weight in this family.

The newsboy had another delivery to make. He tactfully took his leave.

Earl Monford leaned back and gave Evans instructions.

"Buy out several informants' testimonies. Remove the Montfort house from the story. Send the correct version to the Lundnim Morning Post and several editorial offices." He paused, then added, "Also, the entire city's media is forbidden from using the word 'diving'."

"Yes." Evans left.

Morning light streamed into the foyer through the towering stained-glass windows.

Earl Montfort replayed the scene from last night in his mind.

Hunters, Deepclaws, gangsters… it’s certainly a dark chapter in the Monford family’s history that shouldn’t be written into the annals. Because his own source essence, the Golden Lineage, is indeed closely tied to the family’s reputation, and such noise would damage its power.

But in any case, the crisis was resolved, face was saved, and even the official vultures couldn't smell the scent. Those alien materials were enough to excite the people in the old fish market for a few days, while Arthur Gray, who was asking for exorbitant prices, could only stand there like a wooden stake, caught in a dilemma.

That's...amazing.

If you live long enough, anything can happen.

The Earl of Montfort had fully accepted these facts. The only remaining question was how to deal with Gordon.

He sized up the young man.

Gordon stood politely, knowing that the Earl would definitely calculate the risks and rewards. He wasn't afraid of being speculated about. Nobles did control resources and violence, but they were still human, and humans had fears and selfishness. There were things that could be discussed.

"If you don't serve breakfast soon," Vera said, having had enough, "then I'll take my leave."

Ah, and this too. The Earl had a headache. Where did this come from? Does Evans read the price list from bottom to top? He should change that habit.

"Prepare breakfast for everyone," Earl Montfort ordered his servants with a sigh.