"By the way, your place has been pretty empty lately… Something up?" In the underground trading hall of Evil Dragon Bar, a disguised Trissy, feigning boredom, chatted with the "boss" of the venue.
Swain eyed the attractive woman but, true to the Church of the Lord of Storms' ironclad straight-male ethos, gruffly snapped, "Don't ask what you shouldn't." In his mind, he quickly recalled what she'd bought here.
As the former captain of Tingen's Punisher team, Swain was on edge. His patrols in the bar, ostensibly for profit, were really about monitoring these "customers."
Though he doubted a Sequence 5 like Mr. A would bother with such a low-tier trading hub, there was always a chance he'd recruit underlings here.
The Aurora Order had long clashed with the Storm Church. While that pathway's Sequence issues prevented internal use, Punishers knew exactly what materials they might need.
"Half a month ago, she bought a Queen Bee Grass, some essences, and oils… No Secret Supplicant-related materials. She showed up before Mr. A left Backlund, likely having only a partial formula or fragmented info. Now she's back—either staggering purchases to hide the formula or she just got the complete one…"
Drawing on years of experience, Swain made a quick judgment. Normally, he'd alert the Punisher team to follow this lead, digging for a Beyonder organization or recruiting informants.
But with Tingen's Beyonders on high alert, there was no need to burden them over a small fry.
Seeing she still hadn't bought anything, her desired Beyonder material was likely unavailable. He could track her after the current storm passed.
"Don't ask, don't ask," Trissy waved dismissively, as if truly just killing time. "By the way, that old man who greeted you earlier—he's close with you?"
Though inwardly exasperated, Swain followed her gaze. The figure was indeed familiar.
Despite retiring long ago, Swain's instincts as a former Punisher captain remained sharp. Her inquiry about an active Nighthawk sparked suspicion, and he suppressed his irritation to probe.
"That's Old Neil, a broke old fool. Always obsessed with occult nonsense at his age but never amounted to anything, just racked up debts…"
Swain casually disparaged Old Neil. Trissy flashed a seductive smile.
"Nothing? You underestimate him… If I were you, I'd steer clear. He's about to lose control."
"What nonsense is that?" Loss of control was a Beyonder's ultimate curse. Hearing it from her mouth, Swain instantly discarded his earlier assumptions. This woman wasn't some rookie who'd just gathered a potion. Those materials might be for her apprentice!
"Nonsense? For chatting with me, I'll give you a tip: he's corrupted by the Hidden Sage. He's got less than a month before he's done for…"
"The Hidden Sage? Who are you—" Swain's face flushed purple, but as he mustered his Beyonder powers to apprehend her, the woman, standing mere steps away, vanished.
"This…" Swain's brewing anger evaporated, replaced by intense fear. His loose clothes soaked with cold sweat. That move alone confirmed she was a mid-Sequence Beyonder!
"Damn it, how did Tingen suddenly get so many heavyweights?"
Slamming his flask on the table, Swain didn't immediately confront Old Neil. If Neil was truly corrupted by the Hidden Sage or another force, confronting him could trigger his loss of control.
"Moric, find a patrolling Nighthawk on the street. Tell them a wild mid-Sequence Beyonder claimed Old Neil's corrupted by the Hidden Sage and about to lose control! Get Dunn Smith here, now!"
…
While Trissy, leveraging her higher Sequence, bluntly exposed Old Neil's situation to the authorities, Snow had just left the editorial office of the Tussock Times.
Negotiations to publish his work went smoothly. Blood of the Phantom's story aligned perfectly with the era's tastes, and the editor couldn't resist Snow's charming face.
Not to mention, Snow had business ties with a Tussock Times director—
Namely, treating the director's wife's dog.
Ahem.
In short, the novel version of Blood of the Phantom was set for publication. Soon, Tussock Times readers in Backlund would savor the thrill of chasing serialized chapters, bit by bit.
Paying the hackney carriage fare, Snow gazed at the distinctly Victorian streets. Thankfully, they were clean… perhaps thanks to Mr. Huang "The Taste of a Demoness ain't Bad" Tao.
Though his nominal home was here, Snow had spent only one night in this "mansion" since transmigrating. The day after consuming the Secret Supplicant potion, he'd taken a train to Tingen.
Called a mansion, it was just a modest standalone house. Excluding the small yard, the two-story living space spanned about 100 square meters. But in this location, it was a mansion among mansions.
It was like comparing a 50-square-meter apartment in a third-tier city's outer rings to one within the third ring of the capital—a world apart.
Snow's property sat at the border of Backlund's West Borough and Queens District, arguably the best area money could buy in Backlund. Technically, it wasn't bought but gifted by Lady Della as thanks for curing her dog. If the name Della doesn't ring a bell, her husband's title might: the bulwark who stood against the tide of history in the original novel.
But in a way, Snow wished his predecessor had been a down-and-out East District dweller. Why? Because right across from his home was Mr. A's residence—or rather, the venue for Mr. A's secret gatherings.
That's how his unlucky predecessor caught Mr. A's eye.
After all, he fit the Aurora Order's "corporate culture" a bit too perfectly.
(End of Chapter)
Author's note: The bulwark against the tide of history refers to Duke Negan, killed to "follow the choice of the era (Asia)."