That guy?!
Gawain's eyes narrowed instantly.
There were many people Swart could refer to as "that guy," but there was only one "that guy" both of them would recognize—a scoundrel who had beaten them to it at No. 32 Little Durian Street.
Gawain never minded a good fight.
He was all too familiar with death.
Life back home had made him accustomed to it.
But!
Whether it was a fight or death, there was one thing Gawain never let anyone touch.
That was his loot!
Because that was the reward for facing danger and surviving the struggle!
It was rightfully his!
Back home, there had been people who tried to take what was his.
But he had dealt with them.
Now, someone like that had appeared again.
Gawain had no qualms about showing those around him what happens when someone tries to take his spoils.
And as for the loot not being something he obtained personally, but rather given by Morey?
Once Morey handed it over, it was his!
So, at the end of the day, that scoundrel had stolen his stuff!
"Where is he?" Gawain asked in a deep voice.
"At 'Old Bill's Clock Shop.' An hour ago, that guy went there to fence the stolen goods and was caught by Old Bill's men—last night, I informed all the contacts I knew, and Old Bill was one of them. That guy walked right into the trap!" Swart said excitedly, even pumping his fist.
Then he looked expectantly at Gawain, as if waiting for praise.
But Gawain frowned.
Something didn't feel right.
He had personally inspected the scene last night.
The other party was extremely cautious—so cautious that it overcame greed.
Would someone that cautious go to unload the goods without fully understanding the situation?
And would they just happen to pick a contact connected to Swart?
Gawain smelled a conspiracy.
"Did Old Bill personally inform you?" Gawain asked.
"Yes, one of Old Bill's men brought the message. Why, is there a problem?" Swart answered truthfully and then asked softly.
Swart, despite his lack of skill, had a keen sense for danger—especially after working with Gawain. This sheriff could hardly sleep without keeping one eye open.
"What kind of person is Old Bill?" Gawain asked instead of answering.
"What kind of person?"
"People like him are all about the money. But most of the time, he's fairly honest. We've worked together for a long time, so he probably wouldn't betray me... right?" Swart laughed nervously, a bit of doubt on his face.
"Turn back," Gawain said after thinking for two seconds.
"We're not going to Old Bill's?" Swart asked.
"We are."
"But before we go, I need to find some 'insurance,'" Gawain replied.
...
The night grew darker.
Old Bill's Clock Shop had closed two hours ago.
However, there were still lights on inside.
The two-story building across the street was already dark.
In the pitch-black room, Gawain sat on a sofa with his eyes closed, seemingly resting. Swart stood by the window, peeking through a gap in the curtain, watching the clock shop across the street.
"Nothing unusual. About ten minutes ago, Old Bill and his apprentice were moving around inside, grabbing some food," Swart reported.
"Mm," Gawain responded softly, without even opening his eyes.
"Gawain, aren't you worried at all?"
"Aren't you afraid you might be wrong?" Swart asked curiously.
Even though it wasn't the first time he'd worked with Gawain, this time, Gawain seemed more relaxed than ever.
"If I'm wrong, it would be a good thing for us."
"In fact, it might even be..."
"I couldn't ask for more."
Goethe's words made Swart scratch his head.
It was clear that the sheriff didn't understand Goethe's meaning.
And Goethe didn't bother to explain further.
Because, despite his relaxed exterior, Goethe was exceptionally vigilant inside.
Just as he had said, he hoped he was wrong.
If his guess was correct, it would only prove one thing: the 'Fog Killer' or the 'Flesh Church' had more influence in Lust than he had imagined!
That's right!
The 'Fog Killer' or the 'Flesh Church'!
After discovering that 'guy's' odd behavior, Goethe immediately thought of the only two enemies he had in Lust.
That normally cautious 'guy' suddenly appeared—Goethe could think of no other reason than to lure him into a trap.
And before last night, that 'guy' had no connection to the 'Fog Killer' or the 'Flesh Church,' otherwise his actions wouldn't make any sense.
But in less than a day, that 'guy' had completely submitted to the 'Fog Killer' or the 'Flesh Church,' willingly becoming bait.
Whether it was through coercion or temptation.
The hidden implications of this truly unsettled Goethe.
He knew that while Lust's population wasn't as large as the capital, Bode, it still had 300,000 people!
Finding one person in a city of 300,000 is no easy task.
But the 'Fog Killer' or the 'Flesh Church' managed to do it.
And they did it in less than a day.
If it was the 'Flesh Church,' it would be even more shocking.
Because it had only been a single day since he had clashed with the 'Flesh Church.'
What did that signify?
Goethe knew all too well.
The 'Fog Killer' or the 'Flesh Church' must have an extensive and detailed intelligence network in Lust.
This network covered nearly every aspect of the city.
But before, they didn't have it.
Because if they had, there was no way he could have mounted his previous 'counterattack'; he would have been dead long ago.
So, they must have acquired such an intelligence network in a very short time.
Almost instinctively, Goethe thought of the mysterious owner of the Pinecone Hotel.
That person fit his suspicions perfectly.
Moreover, he had been attacked at the Pinecone Hotel last night.
Twice!
But...
Why would that person do this?
He had no grievance or grudge with them.
As for luring the attackers there?
That wouldn't have been a bad thing for the owner; in fact, if used well, it could be beneficial.
Furthermore, he had close ties with the official supernatural authority.
He even already had an official status himself.
Given these premises, there was no way the owner would cooperate with the 'Fog Killer' or the 'Flesh Church.'
Unless the 'Fog Killer' or the 'Flesh Church' had offered something the owner absolutely couldn't refuse—something so valuable that they'd abandon everything else just to obtain it.
"What could that be?"
Goethe was utterly perplexed.
And while Goethe was still lost in thought, Swart suddenly called out softly, "Old Bill is coming out! And someone's with him! Someone's holding Old Bill hostage!"
Goethe quickly moved to the window and lifted a corner of the curtain.
Immediately, he saw across the street, in front of the 'Old Bill's Clock Shop,' an elderly man with graying hair, wearing black work pants and a brown linen shirt, stepping outside.
According to Swart's description, this was Old Bill.
Behind him stood a person cloaked in a way that concealed their face.
This person was completely hidden behind Old Bill, and if they hadn't been on the second floor, Goethe and Swart might have missed them altogether.
But once they noticed, everything became easier.
"Fire."
Goethe said.
Swart immediately lit the candle in the room.
Even through the curtains, the light could still be seen, especially through the gaps in the curtains, where it was particularly bright.
The next moment, the police officers on stakeout nearby extended their guns and pulled the triggers—
Bang, bang, bang.
In a series of gunshots, the faceless person, along with Old Bill in front of them, fell to the ground, motionless.
(End of Chapter)