The National Bureau of Occult Affairs.

  The underground plaza.

  Jacob stood behind the Philosopher, Xistos, staring with reverent awe at the broken spear planted upside down into the stone dais at the center of the plaza.

  At the tip of the spearhead, stains of unknown blood still remained.

  A Deity-grade Eldritcha—The Spear of the Sun King!

  It was displayed brazenly in the open, right there in the plaza at the underground entrance of the Bureau’s headquarters, where every person who came in would see it.

  At the same time, this arcane artifact was the sealing core of the entire National Bureau of Occult Affairs. One could say that the countless arcane artifacts, heretics, Ethereal Realm creatures, corrupted entities… all imprisoned in the Bureau’s underground cells were forcibly suppressed by the authority of The Spear of the Sun King.

  It was placed openly outside because it possessed an uncanny property: anyone who had not been acknowledged by it simply could not touch it—let alone lift it to fight.

  From several hundred years ago to the present day, no one even knew how many heretics who had infiltrated the Bureau had proven this iron law with their lives. The National Bureau of Occult Affairs was more than happy to use it as bait, drawing out one fearless fanatic after another.

  At that moment, Xistos wore a plain robe and stood before the dais in long silence.

  “Director Jacob, we have the latest report.”

  Fiona, the Night Witch walked out of the darkness with unhurried grace, her voice as sweet as a lark’s song.

  “Did you find a lead on that Sothos brat?” Jacob turned and asked.

  “Not yet. It’s another case—casualties are still limited for now, but the potential harm may be severe.”

  Fiona gave a brief account of the Mary Street church.

  “Although Vakdor Im has been killed and the heretics’ altar destroyed, the scene carried traces of another Transcendent. He also left us a clue—no, more like a signpost—pointing straight at the Cult of Desire.

  “This sect may be hiding within the Holy Spirit Church, just like the Greenforest City case. And it may have an evil Crowned One lurking behind it.”

  Fiona proposed, “Given that the Cult of Desire possesses a secrecy rite that uses blood to form contracts, I recommend conducting Second-Class Screening on all Holy Spirit Church clergy in Wynchester. If necessary, we can even proceed to Third-Class.

  “The lesson from Greenforest City is clear: ordinary First-Class Screening may already be outdated. Those hidden organizations have likely found ways to counter it.”

  “Second-Class Screening causes too much disturbance,” Jacob frowned. “It might require activating those special arcane artifacts. And Third-Class Screening requires bringing people directly to the National Bureau of Occult Affairs.”

  He paused, then said coldly, “I can approve Second-Class Screening on suspicious clergy. That Feret fellow who sells his ass won’t dare say a word.”

  Rumors had long circulated that Feret, the Holy Spirit Church’s pontiff, had an intimacy with King Arthur VI that went beyond ordinary friendship—though it had never been proven.

  But Jacob knew it was true.

  Feret was handsome, in his prime, and he and His Majesty had grown up together. Their bond ran deep, and Feret held a certain influence within high society.

  And Jacob was already dissatisfied with how the man had interfered with the Bureau of Occult Affairs during the Greenforest City investigation. This time, he decided he would not indulge him.

  “Cult of Desire?”

  At that moment, Xistos—who had been as still as a statue—spoke at last.

  “What are your instructions, milord?” Jacob and Fiona both bowed.

  “This matter runs deep…” Xistos seemed to know something of the inside story. “The Cult of Desire has considerable influence in Wynchester. The Bureau has known for a long time, but our investigations have repeatedly met resistance…”

  “Like the Bloodcoat Club and the Black Skull Consortium—backed by many nobles?” Jacob felt a weary helplessness.

  The National Bureau of Occult Affairs might be famous within the occult world, but in truth it was only a department of the kingdom.

  And because it was part of the kingdom’s power, it was inevitably controlled.

  Whether it was Thronehall of Wessex or the Upper House, both could exert influence over the Bureau. Thronehall of Wessex aside, the Upper House was held by hereditary nobles—among whom there were certainly Crowned Ones who had opened the Sixth Sephiroth.

  In that regard, the Lower House and the various councils held weaker power. They were merely spokesmen pushed forward by the nobles. Even if there were tycoons and magnates among them, the ancient aristocracy had its pride—and would never share true occult inheritances with lesser folk.

  “No. The resistance comes from Thronehall of Wessex,” Xistos replied. “From House Sodoma.”

  “The royal family?” Fiona exclaimed in shock. “So King Arthur and Pontiff Feret… are implicated?”

  “Then the rot hidden inside the Holy Spirit Church may exceed anything we imagined. Why would they do this? Inves is their realm, and Wynchester’s residents are their subjects.”

  “Those Crowned Ones stand at the summit of the occult world,” Xistos sighed, “and yet they still cannot endure for long. Apart from pushing open that gate of immortality… what else is there left to pursue?”

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  He continued, “The reappearance of the Greenforest Earl—whether by resurrection or renewed activity—signifies one thing: the gate of immortality has opened.

  “All Crowned Ones will begin to sprint toward the threshold of the Immortal. This is the tide of the age—an irreversible tide.”

  Jacob and Fiona felt their breath catch, as if they had just seen the first curtain of a grand era being raised.

  “So…” Xistos’s gaze swept over the two senior officials. “The Upper House and Thronehall of Wessex have only one demand of us:

  “Seize every trace of the Greenforest Earl. The impact of a World-Sanctioned Immortal is too great. His descendant—Javon Yuggs—has already arrived in Wynchester. Why have you still not found him?”

  “Ever since the Oak Circle’s base was exposed, we lost the trail of Javon Yuggs…” Fiona dipped her head slightly. “He may have altered his appearance.

  “We are screening all Transcendents suspected of being possessed by Malevolent Spirits. But Inves is simply too large—five million people. If he hides in the lower districts, or even the ruins, it will be difficult for us to gain anything.”

  “As for divination…” Jacob sighed. “Madam Firework has recovered. If we ask her to cooperate with the Book of Prophecy at any cost… we may be able to break through the Immortal’s interference…”

  Madam Firework was the Bureau’s most mysterious master diviner. Her true self never left the bounds of the National Bureau of Occult Affairs, always sheltered under The Spear of the Sun King—because the moment she went out, she would be subjected to frenzied assassination attempts.

  And the Book of Prophecy was an Angel-grade arcane artifact capable of foreseeing the future—but at a terrifying cost. It could only be activated by a diviner.

  Every use consumed Madam Firework’s lifespan.

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  Fiona rejected it at once. “Madam Firework has already given the Bureau far too much…”

  “One month.”

  Xistos’s voice sank into a weary sigh. “At most, the Bureau can withstand external pressure for one more month.”

  Fiona and Jacob exchanged a look. Their eyes slowly hardened.

  Night.

  The bar was as lively and loud as ever. Only, without one waitress, Balkin looked a little flustered, working two hands short.

  Javon glanced across the counter, then called over the overworked Balkin. “Get me a lemon water.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  Balkin replied and promptly set down a glass filled with clear water, a slice of green lime tucked at the rim.

  Javon took a casual sip and swept his eyes over the room.

  “Busy tonight. We’re short two people, after all. How’s William been lately?”

  The brat had gone to explore that church alone last time and nearly lost his life. If Javon hadn’t commissioned Karl in advance to rescue him, he might never have seen the kid again.

  Even so, William had returned badly injured—three ribs broken.

  “With your potion, boss, he’s mostly recovered,” Balkin answered. “But he looks mentally drained. He’s working in the cellar right now.”

  “Sigh. Young people always get hurt in love. That’s youth…”

  Javon sighed, then his eyes shifted as he thought for a moment.

  “After Isabet, the bar needs to hire again. Go find two more waitresses.”

  “Sure. I’ve been meaning to suggest it. Any requirements?” Balkin asked.

  “Requirements?” A faint smile tugged at Javon’s lips as he recalled certain tastes of William’s, and he said with solemn seriousness, “Of course they have to be young and pretty—beautiful and charming.

  “And they must be… well-endowed. Especially prominent in the hips.”

  “I understand, boss…”

  ……

  The night grew deeper. Then the bar’s front door swung open, letting a gust of icy wind pour inside.

  A number of drunks looked up toward the entrance and saw a young man.

  He wore a black cloak that covered both chest and back, hood drawn up, and he entered with an elegant, unhurried gait. Once he stepped inside, Javon saw a strand of silver hair at his forehead.

  His cheeks were thin, his chin sharp. He had a pair of bright, arresting eyes, and he was undeniably handsome.

  The young man walked straight to the bar. His gaze swept once over Balkin and Javon before he spoke.

  “Who’s the owner? Please get me a mojito.”

  That was the bounty-hunter signal for reporting a completed commission—a rule Javon had personally established after becoming the owner.

  From behind the counter, Javon felt a subtle familiarity. A hint of a smile touched his face.

  “I’m the owner. Tell me what you’ve got.”

  He glanced around and decided to transact at the bar. The young man carried no bloodstains, and he hadn’t dragged in any corpse or similarly horrifying item. It looked like a rather ordinary commission—recovering valuables or lost pets, perhaps.

  The young man slipped his right hand into his cloak and produced a rolled packet of documents. His voice was steady.

  “It’s the commission regarding the arson at Baron Jacques’s estate.”

  “You found the truth?” Javon asked with interest.

  He had issued that bounty personally. Over this period, many hunters had taken the job, but all they produced were messy, nonsensical investigation reports. The real arsonist remained undiscovered.

  Even so, Javon had generously reimbursed their paper and travel expenses. As for the hundred-pound bounty—no one had ever claimed it.

  “Yes.” The young bounty hunter lifted his brows, confidence clear in his tone. “Baron Jacques is not simple. He holds a court position—though it’s only responsibility for His Majesty’s wardrobe…”

  “As for his social circle, it’s subject to the kingdom guard’s review and supervision. I see no issue there. And as for the true culprit of the arson—he’s right here.”

  He flipped the documents open and pressed the final report page down on the counter.

  Javon’s brows rose slightly. He smiled, counted out eighty pounds in banknotes, and slid them across.

  “Young bounty hunter—if you can prove you’ve completed the commission satisfactorily, I’m willing to pay.”

  “Excellent.”

  The young hunter turned the page over.

  It was… blank.

  At that instant, Javon sensed a transcendent ability activating. Because his Danger Premonition did not trigger, he kept smiling and allowed the other’s movements.

  This isn’t cognition-alteration—it’s an illusion… Veil? He’s laid an illusion over the surface of the paper…

  Javon glanced at Balkin. The manager seemed to have seen a name on the page, and he blurted out in shock:

  “Elvander?!”

  “Kid,” Javon said, feigning anger, “are you here to cause trouble?”

  His hands dipped beneath the counter. He drew out a double-barreled shotgun in one swift motion, the black muzzle leveled at the young hunter’s forehead.

  “Haha… I just wanted to put on a show. No need to be so tense.”

  The hunter tugged at his cloak with one hand and tossed it into the air.

  His appearance changed in an instant—

  A silver-white suit that gleamed under the lights. A tall white top hat. A pure-white cape flowing behind him. A red rose pinned to his chest.

  A gold-rimmed monocle sat over his left eye, lending him an even stronger scholar’s air. Paired with that sharp chin, bright eyes, and handsome face, he looked uniquely striking—full of presence.

  “Allow me to introduce myself again,” he said. “I’m Lucivar!”

  “Lucivar—the famous magician?” Javon’s grip on the shotgun did not loosen in the slightest. He kept the barrel aimed straight at the man’s head. “Why come to my bar—and make trouble?”

  “Boss, your bar’s fame in the occult world is only growing,” Lucivar said lightly, taking a sip from the drink at the counter. A playful curve touched his lips. “It’s a fine stage.

  “I’m only a magician here to perform. No need to be nervous. For example—your shotgun might not fire bullets at all. It might fire fireworks.”

  “You can try it.”

  Javon pulled the trigger without hesitation.

  Bang!

  With the gunshot, countless ribbons—white, red, green, blue, and every color between—burst from the muzzle. It looked less like a killing weapon and more like a festive ceremonial gun.

  And after the firework stream, a small pennant was even fired out. The cloth unfurled as it fell, revealing the words—

  Happy New Year.

  A celebration banner. No one knew where Lucivar had gotten it.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, happy new year… well, fine—new year’s already passed…”

  While delivering the deadpan joke, Lucivar lifted the tall white hat with a gloved hand. He shook out his silver cape and gripped a cane set with a red gemstone, bowing as if an actor departing the stage.

  “Farewell.”

  Bang!

  Another gunshot rang out—Karl the Mad.

  But the bullet passed uselessly through a cloud of smoke. The magician at its heart was already gone.