The tea shop was cozy, though a bit cramped. That wasn’t a complaint; no, far from it. As a matter of fact, he prefer the constricted space, it allow him to stay enclosed, physically and mentally.

  Ulrich glanced around, looking for an empty table. The scent of tea, warm and soothing, embraced his coat, enticing him like sweet honey dancing in the air. For a moment, he’d almost forgotten where he was, only to quickly snap back to reality when a service worker greeted him.

  “Anna at your service.”

  It was a soft voice befitting the atmosphere, one that placated the troubles of any patrons.

  “How may I be of service to you, sire?”

  She stood before him in a crisp black dress that fell to her ankles, its high collar fastened with a small cameo brooch. A white lace-trimmed apron, spotless and carefully pressed, tied neatly at her waist. Her dark hair was pulled back into a modest bun beneath a simple white cap, not a strand out of place.

  Her posture was impeccable, shoulders back, hands clasped gently in front of her; the very picture of proper service.

  He turned, scratching his cheek, “I was looking for a table. Do you mind if I sit over there?” He said, pointing at the vacant seat near the corner, facing the window.

  “And I would also like to order a honey lemon tea.”

  “Of course,” She chuckled and smiled, one that could charm any young man, not Ulrich though. Anna briskly reached into her apron pocket, taking out a tiny notebook, then scribbled on the note, presumably his order.

  “Anything else you’d like, sire?”

  Ulrich gave it a thought, a serious thought. When was the last time he’d treated himself? It’s been so long, and the days continue to past. The last time he truly treated himself was when he invited Selena out for a meal. But that was so long ago he’d forgotten.

  “Yes. If I may, a slice of Sponge Cake.”

  Her eyes flickered with astonishment, though her professionalism remained stout as her hand started moving. “Will that be everything?”

  Ulrich nodded.

  “I’ll be right back with your tea and pastry, just hang on a minute, sir.”

  Saying so, she left, disappearing behind the counter and entering the swinging wooden door. Ulrich paid her no mind, making his way to the table and taking his seat, glancing out the window.

  In that moment, he took out a coin, spinning it on the table out of habit. There wasn’t much time until night, until “Operation Ursus”. The details were vague, as Captain Ottis only briefly mentioned them before he left the Sanctuary.

  The Operation was simple: capture the enemy with no room for negotiation, no due process, and no legality. The negotiation will be performed after the enemy is captured through mystical means, that is, after Terry Mondie is captured. This operation was not sanctioned by the Union, but by the Churches. Rosaline, as well as the Bishop of St. Samuel, has given their tacit approval.

  I knew that man was dangerous… But their countermeasure is extreme!

  His thought was interrupted when Anna returned, her shadow looming over his table.

  “If you excuse me, here is your drink and pastry.”

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  She held a metal tray in the palm of her hand, balancing it gracefully. In one swift motion, the tea, as well as a slice of Sponge Cake, lay before him. Once again, she bowed slightly, “Enjoy your time, good sire.”

  Ulrich didn’t glance at her leaving, his hand picking up the tea cup, appreciating the sweet aroma of honey mixed with what he assumed were locally grown tea leaves. Without as much as blowing the content to cool it down, he took a sip, only to almost spit out the content. It was hot—no, that wasn’t the problem.

  It’s sweet. Too sweet!

  On second thought, he’d prefer coffee over tea any time. Disappointed, Ulrich put down the cup, reaching for the fork and took a bite of the cake.

  That’s better. Sweet pastry, I can appreciate.

  In that moment, his mind cleared, like something had washed over it. Once the clarity came, his first encounter, the loop in which he met Ma’am Felanor, came to his mind.

  I need to find some clues about that damnable club, the Eternal Club.

  The only clue he had was a number: 42. It was vague and abstract, giving him a headache. He'd decide to deal with it later and enjoy the last bits of the sponge cake. The most pressing matter at the moment is Operation Ursus.

  …

  The sea had swallowed the sun, and darkness came, embracing the now quiet Euston Street. As Ulrich made his way to Cartwright Security, he felt utterly free and happy. Was it the sugar rush that he’d been missing? Or the satisfaction of enjoying a leisurely walk that cleared his mind?

  Ulrich, the Seer, had the intuition that everything would turn out well for him this time around. Capture Terry Mondie, get a clue about Selena’s whereabouts, and perhaps, finally end his search. After that, he’d focus his attention on the Eternal Club, figuring out the truth of the destruction of Belham as well as his own death.

  He kept thinking, imagining, and before he could go further, his face twisted, eyes narrowed.

  Who is following me?

  Ulrich continued walking, pretending as though he didn't notice the stalker. Eventually, he stopped at a crossway. Turning right would lead him to the Company, yet he kept walking ahead, moving toward the direction of St. Samuel.

  It was a silent walk, followed by the occasional passerby who brushed past him. Ulrich's hand rested in his pocket; he was ready to use Dark Arrow in the case of confrontation.

  Fortunately, by the time he made it to St. Samuel's door, the pursuer didn’t make any move, simply following closely behind. He was relief that was the case, after all, fighting in the middle of the street would certainly be too flashy.

  Admittedly, the Seer almost wished for an unforeseen disaster, to spice things up.

  Having returned from the shadow realm, his body was itching for a fight. Those cute little skeletons and their brittle skulls, part of him missed it. The sensation of his spear smashing their skulls was like stepping on a crunchy autumn leaf, and the feeling of his Vital Runes being fed. It was all too satisfying.

  Wait—why does that sound so perverted…

  Since his experience in the shadow realm, nothing scared him, or at least, not much could scare him. However, the situation was delicate, and he did not want to ruin the Ministry’s operation, not when it was equally important to him.

  Arriving in front of St. Samuel's door, he stopped for a moment, then tipped his hat, entering without glancing back. Immediately, his sense had told him that the pursuer's eyes were gone, retreating like a hallucination playing tricks on his mind.

  They’re afraid of entering the church. Interesting.

  “If it isn’t young Constantine.” Father Lorel greeted him, that reverend and calming voice that Ulrich hadn’t heard in a long time.

  “Father Lorel, it’s good to see you.”

  “I heard you descend on the desecrated land for the first time. How was it?”

  Desecrated land?

  Ulrich recalled Margrave, the horde of skeletons, as well as that black-faced tree, then finally, Henrik the Knight.

  “Good. Very , father.”

  In a bit of a rush to get back to the Sanctuary, Ulrich decided to bring up the matter of a pursuer who followed him. He wasn’t here for a lecture, and it would be a mistake if Father Lorel didn’t understand that. After all, Ulrich didn’t want to be late for the briefing of such an important operation.

  “Actually, Father, I have something to confess.”

  “Oh?”