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

Shireen is indeed very short; Vera can lift Gordon high up, while Gordon can lift Shireen high up. That's roughly the feeling.

The support sent by the Lundnim police turned out to be a lightweight and portable model.

Xilin opened her notebook, straightened her back, and her eyes burned with the enthusiasm unique to newcomers.

Whether Gordon sends her to spy on the cultists, raid some ruin, or kill the crocodile people, she won't even flinch.

"Investigate Green Shade Mansion first. Several people identified at the report meeting have close ties to that place."

"Yes! Where should we start?"

"Laundry room."

Shirin paused, wondering if this was some kind of slang for "underground altar".

"Laundry room? For washing clothes?"

"Yes, clothes, and bed sheets. People can lie, but bed sheets can't. They always have all sorts of stains and bodily fluids on them. Especially those who say things like, 'I just spilled some red wine,' or 'Don't ask, just wash it for me today,' the female workers will definitely remember them."

"Understood." Shirin's face gradually turned serious. She avoided those who would lie and instead asked those who wouldn't.

"More importantly, the laundry girls might not dare to tell the truth when faced with burly police officers, but you are young and friendly, so it's easy for you to chat with them for a bit."

Shirin immediately became happy.

She's small and doesn't seem threatening. She doesn't look like someone who would grab people, and if someone saw her, they would just ask, "Whose child is she?"

Instead of comforting her with "you'll grow taller eventually," Investigator Vic told her directly, "This is already very good."

"I will find out." She nodded vigorously.

"We need to investigate all the missing young girls, those who ran away from home, eloped, or went to other places to make a living but never came back."

Xilin's expression was serious.

She had seen this situation before.

If a girl disappears, people will say she ran off with a man. If a maid goes missing, the employer will suspect she stole something. Then no one cares anymore.

"You suspect they went into Green Shade Mansion?" she asked.

"It's too early to draw conclusions. I've only seen them perform. With so many singers, it's impossible for them to gather together by sheer luck. To continuously replenish their pool of beauties, there must be a whole process, and the methods wouldn't be ordinary."

"Kidnapping?"

"Not necessarily. Arresting someone on the street will definitely involve shouting and yelling, and sometimes you'll need to have some medicine on hand. But if you say it's a high-paying job with room and board included, a respectable job, access to influential people, and a path to instant success, everyone will jump on board without hesitation, and they'll even complain that you're not driving fast enough."

"Understood." Shirin made a deep note of it.

"Finally, we need to track down the carriages and drivers that are always coming and going."

"I'll keep that in mind," Shirin wrote down.

"Repeat it."

"Laundry room, missing persons list, driver and directions. I'll go right now." She had completely pieced together Gordon's wishes. "...And sir, what will you be doing?"

Gordon wore an unfathomable expression.

  

"I have a plan."

Shirin's eyes lit up.

"A real plan."

Xilin stood ramrod straight.

"And such a sophisticated plan is not something a junior officer like you is authorized to know."

Shirin was deflated.

"Then I must continue to strive." She nodded vigorously.

Martin watched from a distance.

It feels like a fox that just tricked its way into getting an official badge, leading a rabbit that firmly believes in the triumph of justice.

"Understood." Shirin saluted. "I'm off to carry out my mission."

"Go."

Shirin was very efficient; she rushed off to retrieve the files. She wanted to run even faster, to let justice get ahead of the bad guys.

Gordon began flipping through the Blackgill Gang's ledgers.

The ledger had been soaked in water, causing the ink to smudge, but fortunately, many records still retained their outlines.

The Blackgill Gang never uses full names; most entries only include the goods, the trading partner, and the transaction amount.

Fish meat, fish bones, demonic materials, salt... what are all these?

Gordon quickly skipped over these details until a symbol appeared repeatedly.

[Shoes. Or perhaps a squashed duck.]

The drawing was quick, and the soles of the shoes were flat and wide. Whenever this symbol appeared, the Black Gill Gang was trading intelligence, not fish.

The following are headlines: “The cargo ship ‘Narwhale’ recently entered port,” “Collector Fox is making a targeted purchase of small, shimmering phase material, starting at 500 gold pounds,” “Underground singing was heard in the western suburbs, but the investigation only found fragments of a homeless man,” and “An anonymous buyer is looking for spiritual crafts that can slow down the decomposition of corpses.”

Scroll down further... "Sectists seek to purchase giant tridacna shells."

So that's how it is. The news originated from this shoe; it was the first to discover the unusual procurement, which led Old Baz to trace it back to the Rice Pump Station.

Gordon scanned the entire document but didn't see his information being sold.

He closed the ledger and went to the blockade line.

"You're looking for this?" Gordon peeked out from under the cover.

Old Baz's eyes immediately tensed up.

"Give me."

"Is this a shoe or a duck?"

"The shoes. I didn't draw them."

"What does it represent?"

"An information broker." Old Baz paused for a moment, then lowered his voice, "He buys and sells information. This guy has an organization behind him that specializes in collecting source material, relics, and all sorts of strange things."

How do I contact him?

"There's a white chair in the alley opposite the fire station on the east side of Waping Wharf. Sit down there."

"Then?"

"If he trusts you, he will naturally show himself."

"That must be the most mysterious chair in Lundnim."

After Old Baz finished speaking, he immediately reached out his hand.

"I've said what I needed to say, give me the ledger."

"These are pieces of evidence from the scene."

"You little brat..." Old Baz's eyes widened.

"Watch your form of address." Gordon pointed to his octagonal badge. "You need to submit a written application to the Department of Paranormal Affairs."

Old Baz discovered that Gordon was no longer someone he could negotiate with.

"So, I'll be able to come back alive?"

"Don't worry, the prison is sturdier than the warehouse, and for now, it's safe there."

Old Baz wanted to curse.

But then it suddenly occurred to him that there were indeed a few of his good-for-nothing henchmen who were imprisoned for fighting and theft. They had survived the monster's attack last night while they were guarding each other's backsides in their cells.

"You have to make sure the ledger isn't lost by anyone. If it's gone, the Black Gill Gang is truly gone," Old Baz said through gritted teeth.

"Don't worry, it's very safe. It's just that if you want to come back, you'll have to fill out more than a dozen forms, and by the time the process is complete, you might not want it anymore."

"..."

Gordon handed the ledger to Martin as an artifact from the scene.

Martin checked the contents and turned a page in his notebook.

"What's your impression of this 'shoe'?" Gordon asked.

"He knows some things, but he hasn't seen me."

"You sat in that chair. How long did you wait?"

"Three days."

"I wouldn't dare to come out either."

"...In short, you discovered and submitted the Blackgill Gang's ledgers on site, investigated several suspicious individuals at the report meeting, and continued to track the Blackwater Hermitage. I am now officially registering a 'minor achievement' for you."

Gordon was overjoyed. After all this time, the Empire had finally noticed him.

"Achievements are categorized as large or small?"

"The agency has four tiers: minor achievements, major achievements, great achievements, and legendary achievements. Those who serve the empire are rewarded according to their merits."

"Legendary achievements sound impressive, but what does that require?"

"Defend against major disasters and resolve threats to the security of the Empire."

"Finding the ledger is hardly legendary."

"not enough."

"Does the ledger contain a secret that could change the fate of the empire?"

"That's the legend of the ledger. Not yours."

Martin's words were impeccable, so Gordon compromised. Today it's the ledger, maybe later it's the crocodile man, the dragon lizard demon, and Olivia, and finally the fisherman king—the achievements will surely grow greater.

"What can I exchange for this little achievement?"

"Supplies, equipment, daily necessities, or kits for new employees."

Gordon's eyes lit up immediately.

Finally, we can acquire imperial assets.

"I want guns, silver halide bullets, regeneration potion, life-extending ampoules, awakening salts, sealing wax, holy oil... Do you have signal flares?"

"Yes. It's usually used to call for backup. Patrol officers inside the city and mounted police outside the city will come to help if they see it."

"That's exactly what I need. When dealing with the Secret Order, I can't just stand on the street and rely on my personal charm to stop people from helping me."

Martin began taking notes.

"...Based on the current allocation, one standard-issue pistol, 12 silver salt bullets, 2 regeneration agents, 1 bottle of life-extending ampoule, 6 packets of awakening salt, 2 jars of sealing wax, 1 jug of holy oil, 2 signal flares..." Martin recorded.

As Gordon listened to the rustling of pen and paper, he gradually became peaceful.

This is what it feels like to have a legitimate institution backing you.

Vera had always been reluctant to spend money on these potions, but now that some of the good stuff has finally flowed out of the Empire's warehouses and into their hands.

Resources are in unlimited supply, and reinforcements are on their way.

"Where do I pick it up?"

"Any department or police station supply depot, with this receipt." Martin tore off a page.

He took out his seal, pressed it down hard, and stamped out a glowing silver steel stamp with cold edges.

"This imprint is linked to your investigator badge and cannot be transferred to others. Consequently, if the badge is lost, it will not be reissued."

"Understood." Gordon carefully accepted it. It seemed that if he and Badge fell into the water separately, he would have to save Badge first.

"I hope your 'plan' is successful." Martin turned around. "I'm going to monitor some of the Empire's powerful enemies to prevent them from causing trouble at this critical juncture."

"Do you need any help?" Gordon asked curiously. Those who could be considered a formidable enemy of the empire were probably not involved in tax evasion.

"Just keeping an eye on people, no real achievements."

"Then you will definitely be able to complete it independently."

Martin glanced at Gordon, then turned and left. His mind was filled with names even worse than the Fish King, and he could only hope that Gordon would alleviate the pressure on the agency.

Back on the street.

Gordon retrieved the grayish-white keratin left behind by the dragon lizard demon and activated his source energy.

"Recognizing the strings".

The world remembers its connections and traces, knows what it once belonged to, what it came into contact with, and where it separated from...

A phantom thread, visible only to him, emerged from it, pointing diagonally toward the northern district of Lundenim.

There are theaters and restaurants there, and lights that stay on all night; that's where Green Shade Mansion is located.

It likely lurks in the undercurrents beneath the mansion, where Olivia, the crocodile man, the singer, and the doctor may all reside. Who is the ability user, who is ordinary, and who isn't even human—there are currently no answers.

It's best to accumulate strength and fight on battlefields that you can decide for yourself.

"Let's go." Gordon and Vera returned to the Royal College of Natural Sciences. "Let's see if our report is rated as excellent."

"What if we don't receive it?"

"This means the principal is a fish-man."

……

As dusk fell, the report meeting drew to a close.

The crowds had dispersed, the booths were empty, the banners were rolled up one by one, and the experimental equipment was packed back into wooden crates. The square, which had been crowded during the day, gradually revealed its original emptiness.

As soon as Gordon approached the booth, a figure rushed out.

Charlotte's eyes were filled with joy.

"Gordon!" she cheered. "Three pieces of good news!"

"Speak in order of price from highest to lowest."

"The rats have all been sold, for a total of 36 gold pounds, except for the rat sticks."

"Very good." Gordon immediately looked towards the back of the platform.

The rats had already built their escape vehicle.

It was a wooden box containing biscuits and feed, with four brass wheels underneath.

It gazed anxiously ahead, wondering why it hadn't yet achieved freedom.

"Move the box!"

The mouse saw carriages coming and going, and only knew that things with wheels could roll, but it didn't know what was driving them.

"And the second piece of news?" Gordon turned around.

"Our project was rated as excellent, and the university gave us 25 pounds of experimental funding."

"Very good, very good." Gordon nodded vigorously. "That's 61 gold pounds now."

"The third piece of good news!" Charlotte jumped up and down. "We don't have to do those summer projects, social experiments, and assignments! We can go out and play!"

In another two weeks it will be July, and universities will have a three-month summer vacation, lasting until October.

Her heart had already crossed the world, drifting to cool mountain villas, Luming's art salon, and the magnificent wilderness and forests of New Albion. In those days, the most serious decisions were simply whether to have black tea or coffee for breakfast.

"I have to do the experiment first, then we'll talk about it," Gordon had to interrupt Charlotte's thoughts.

Her thoughts rushed back from the other side of the ocean and landed on the outskirts of Lundnium.

"Now?"

"The sooner the better."

Gordon led Charlotte to the bottom of the tent and gave her his solemn instructions.

"...Do not send anyone there, nor write letters or send any supplies."

What if someone asks you about it?

"You say you don't know where I am. Regardless of who sent the person asking—whether it's the academy, the agency, the police, or even your father—the matter is kept secret. Keep it a secret until I come back to see you in person."

Charlotte understood.

Gordon plans to disappear from the public eye for the time being.

"Understood." Charlotte took a deep breath. "...I'll compile the results of the report meeting, while keeping an eye on Mud Company and covering your whereabouts. If anyone insists on looking for you, I'll spread some false information, saying you went to sea, saying you..."

She paused, her expression showing dissatisfaction.

"...He was hit by a car and died."

"Great!" Gordon's eyes lit up. "This is exactly the effect I wanted."

"But I don't want you to die," Charlotte whispered. "That bottle of wine... I've already left it at home. Waiting for you to come back and open it."

Gordon reached out and stroked her hair.

Soft, golden hair brushed against his fingertips, delicate and warm.

She paused for a moment.

Based on her upbringing, she should step back, remind him of manners and boundaries, and decide whether to pursue the matter.

This time she didn't avoid it.

She simply tilted her head slightly and looked at Gordon.

Then, she raised her hand to tidy his wind-blown black hair, her eyes full of concern.