Chapter 54 | The Crimson Moon Returns

May 17, 1399, Morning.

The morning sunlight could not dispel the scorched-smelling fog. The sky was a blanket of dreary gray; Rhine City spent at least a third of the year shrouded in this kind of smog.

Only a few vendors had set up their pushcarts in Charles Square. Occasional pedestrians strolled across the plaza, while groups of young men and women could be seen waiting by the roadside, preparing to head to work at the factories in the gray fog zone.

Clang, clatter. Several workhorses draped in bells snorted heavily as they emerged from the morning mist, hauling carts heaped high with mounds of coal. Cinders spilled out along the way, prompting a few ragged street urchins to scurry after them, picking up the pieces.

So this is what Charles Square looks like in the early morning.

Lynch yawned and closed the window, still feeling a bit drowsy.

After the officer left yesterday, Lynch had repeatedly practiced his two newly mastered abilities in the apartment, even experimenting with activating an individual authority to strengthen himself, continuing until his energy was completely depleted and his head throbbed with a splitting pain.

Naturally, he hadn’t developed any new abilities, but the training had yielded decent results.

Although mastering the proper timing would require real combat experience, he could at least reliably trigger them whenever he wanted now, which was a considerable improvement.

With Donnie and Maya’s case on his mind—or more precisely, the Shadow Alliance lurking behind it—Lynch found it impossible to fall back asleep once awoken by the clatter of the coal cart bells. He simply hauled himself out of bed and prepared to head out.

Expecting to be on the move all day, Lynch skipped his formal attire in favor of an ordinary linen shirt and a light jacket, topping it off with a flat cap. Looking in the mirror, well, apart from being far too handsome, he looked just like any common lower-class Lande youth.

The first floor was quiet.

After Maggie and Martha retreated to their room last night, the gas lamp had stayed on all night, and Lynch had no idea when it was finally extinguished. Fortunately, everything had remained peaceful inside, so Lynch assumed nothing bad had happened and refrained from intruding on the mother-daughter conversation. He had survived the night on the one-pound loaf of white bread he’d brought home as a gift, though the texture of unheated white bread in this era was truly... hard to describe.

Having beaten up their daughter yesterday, he felt obliged to show some goodwill today. Looking at the empty dining table, Lynch decided to run over to the bakery in the square he’d visited the day before, spending eight pennies on a pound of freshly baked bread along with a large slab of butter.

His wallet stung a little, but he chalked it up to visiting a patient—even if he was the one responsible for her condition.

Lynch set the breakfast in the dining room, packed a few slices of bread for himself, and headed out the door.

It's decided. To make up for the three pennies spent on butter, I'm walking to the Scarecrow Club.

In truth, he intended to ramp up his physical training starting today. After all, mysteries and monsters wouldn't care if you were just a frail detective, and he couldn't keep dragging Officer Natalie down forever.

Forty minutes later, Lynch arrived at the train station drenched in sweat.

It was already past eight in the morning, and the crowd around the station was gradually swelling. Steam whistles shrieked and machinery rumbled as the city slowly woke from its slumber.

Dodging piles of horse manure on the main road that hadn’t been swept yet, Lynch crossed the station square, bought a cup of coffee from a stall, and strolled leisurely into the Scarecrow Club with his cane tucked under his arm, coffee in one hand and bread in the other.

The burly security guard from two days ago was still stationed by the entrance. He glanced at Lynch, perhaps remembering him. Seeing Lynch loaded with parcels and a cup, the guard grinned for reasons unknown and waved him right into the club.

The building was virtually deserted, and the bar’s doors were firmly shut. Lynch looked around for a moment before heading straight for the staircase.

Third floor: the dormitory.

Officer Natalie lived here. Yesterday, they had agreed that he would come find her before noon.

Only yesterday did Lynch learn that the Watchers’ benefits were so generous.

Free staff lodging, free work meals, plus a monthly salary of ten pounds. No wonder those folks spent their free time downstairs drinking and gambling on lizards; they simply had too much money and idle time. Such a luxurious lifestyle was the root of all evil and deserved the utmost disdain.

The third floor was a straight corridor flanked by apartment suites on both sides. The living conditions were genuinely quite pleasant—they certainly weren’t mistreating these warriors who put their lives on the line.

Quite a few people on this floor were already up and about. As soon as Lynch arrived, he spotted a familiar face—the kind soul who had bought him a beer the other day.

The kind middle-aged man was standing in the hallway cleaning his pipe. Seeing Lynch, he paused in surprise, then offered a peculiar smile and pointed next door. “Room 304. Watch yourself.”

How does he know where I'm going? And that smile is so lecherous... what on earth is he thinking?

Besides, what does he mean by "watch yourself"?

Before he could ponder it further, he arrived at Room 304 and raised his hand to knock.

There was no response from within. Lynch knocked five or six times in a row, and just as he began to suspect nobody was home, a heavy set of footsteps approached. The door was yanked open violently, accompanied by a deafening roar:

“Who is it? Can't a person get some sleep—”

The roar cut off abruptly. The two froze, staring blankly at each other across the doorway.

Lynch beheld a version of the officer he had never seen before.

Her hair was a disheveled mess, crease marks ran across her face, and she wore a set of plaid cotton pajamas. Clutched tightly in her arms was a large, fluffy pillow. Barefoot on the wooden floor, she stared at him with bleary, sleep-filled eyes.

However, the daze in her gaze quickly cleared, and her half-lidded eyes snapped wide open. The officer suddenly let out a screech. She swung the pillow with a whistling whoosh straight into Lynch’s face, the impact forcing him back two full steps.

Having thrown her strike, the officer spun around and sprinted straight into the inner bedroom, slamming the door shut and leaving Lynch standing there with a pillow over his head.

Damn that "watch yourself"—would being a little clearer offend the gods?!

Lynch whipped his head around to glare at the middle-aged man next door. The man was already crouched on the floor clutching his mouth with laughter. Seeing Lynch glare at him, he immediately clamped his hands over his stomach, scurried back into his own apartment, slammed the door shut, and erupted into bouts of laughter accompanied by thumping on the door.

I take back what I said earlier. Kind soul, my ass.

Fortunately, the coffee hadn’t spilled. Lynch grumpily entered Room 304, set down the breakfast, picked up the pillow to hug it against his chest, and sat down on the living room sofa.

The accommodations were indeed splendid, even more spacious than Apartment 221, equipped with a sofa, a fireplace, and a large wine cabinet filled with an assortment of red wines.

There was even a waist-high plush doll resting on the sofa. Lynch naturally set down the pillow and scooped the doll into his arms.

Lynch felt this trip had been entirely worthwhile. Who would have thought this stern, conservative woman had such a side? Not only did she sleep in, but she also liked cuddling plushies—how wonderfully girly. Hahaha, and the scent on it was... No, wait, I'm not a pervert.

While locked in this fierce internal struggle, the bedroom door clicked open. The officer walked out, now dressed in her usual gentleman-style formal attire. Seeing her plush doll in Lynch’s arms, her face flushed crimson. She snatched it away, hurled it into the bedroom, and locked the door. Then, storming back with huffy strides, she swung the pillow onto Lynch’s head a few more times before grabbing a slice of bread from the coffee table and biting down furiously, as if venting her spite by ripping off a piece of his flesh.

“You bastard, why are you here so early? Didn't we say before noon?”

“Isn't right now before noon?” Lynch handed her the coffee and explained with a beaming smile, “I felt a bit uneasy and figured it was better to visit Donnie’s place sooner.”

“The problem is that the Hall of Order’s people are still investigating. I don't even know where he lives yet.” Officer Natalie took a gulp of coffee and asked with confusion, “What are you worried about?”

“I'm worried about the Rangers’ movements. The more I thought about it last night, the weirder it seemed. They shouldn’t have shown up.”

“That’s completely normal. Donnie is dead, killed inside Bessie’s shop under bizarre circumstances. The Rangers are also mystery hunters, so they have every right to participate in the investigation.”

“But they shouldn’t have snatched the evidence as if purposely obstructing us, because they shouldn’t have known we’d be there. In theory, once we raided Thorn Flower the night before last, our investigation was officially over. The culprit was pinned on the Railway Workers’ Union—that was the public conclusion announced by city hall. We had no justification to pursue it any further.”

Officer Natalie frowned, her expression turning somber.

“Everyone should have assumed the case was closed, yet they acted as if they knew we were coming and carted everything away ahead of time. That makes no sense.”

“True. The Rangers routinely target the Watchers, but they shouldn't have been able to pull that off.”

“That’s why I suspect someone is instigating them from the shadows—someone who knows the Railway Workers’ Union wasn’t the real culprit and that we’d likely keep investigating.”

“Only the true culprit would know for certain that the ones we caught weren't the real culprits.” The officer sighed. “So you’re worried Chairman Grant provoked their jealousy?”

“Whether he provoked them or not isn't the point. What worries me is whether whoever is pulling the strings will continue throwing obstacles in our way,” Lynch said with a wry smile. “You're using the Hall of Order’s police officers to investigate Donnie’s residence, but those inquiries can hardly be hidden from the Rangers. After all, they’re a local Rhine organization with closer ties to the police than you have. The police wouldn't even need to offend you; just giving the Rangers a heads-up would be enough to disrupt our investigation.”

“Hiss... They both fall under city hall, so they’re definitely closer.” Abandoning all decorum, the officer shoved the bread into her mouth, downed the rest of her coffee, and hastily put on her top hat and picked up her sidearm sword. “We can't let our guard down. We’d better go check it out right away.”

“Don't we still not know the exact address?”

“They’ve already found the street name: Fox Lane. There are at least three hundred households and thousands of residents living there, so it won't be easy to find.”