Chapter 33 – Information and Resonance runes
As the group finally left, the tension in the room seemed to lift instantly. Counting the female detective, Zoe, there were only three people left—two men and one woman—while their opponents had numbered six. Had they not been somewhat capable, they would've been flattened long ago.
"Thanks."
Gesturing for her partner to tidy up the mess in the office, the sharp-featured female detective approached Charles. She glanced at the door where the troublemakers had just exited and said calmly,
"Those people were relatives of that bald police officer. I dug a little too deep into his affairs, and, well… I might've ruffled his feathers."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
Charles said the words, but not a trace of guilt crossed his face.
Business was business. They were simply in a client–contractor relationship. Since he had paid, all he needed to do was wait for results—whatever mishaps occurred in between had nothing to do with him. It wasn't as if there were any personal feelings involved.
"If you were a bit more ladylike, I might've mistaken this for a hero-saving-the-damsel moment," he remarked, half-teasing, his eyes landing on the faint bruise on her cheek.
"Would a lady ever do this kind of work?"
She gave a short laugh, then motioned for him to sit. From the cluttered table, she found a kettle and poured him a cup of tea.
"You're here for the results, I assume?"
"Exactly. How did the investigation go?"
"Wyler Rosen, age forty-six. Former first mate of the Bluebird, Royal Navy of Dulin. Rank: Lieutenant. After retirement, he was invited by Mayor Fegrin of Pita City to serve as the city's Chief of Police. Currently residing at—"
She spoke fluently and without pause, her tone brisk and precise. There was no paper, no notes—yet she recited the information as though she had memorized every detail.
Charles listened silently, not interrupting once.
After finishing her report on the bald police chief, she smoothly transitioned into other findings.
"There's been nothing particularly notable in Canyon Town lately—aside from the mayor marrying his third wife, and the blacksmith's youngest son leaving for the city to 'seek fortune,' only to end up a beggar and come crawling back."
She paused briefly, then continued, "A few years ago, the townsfolk reportedly stopped and expelled a visiting noble—the heir to a barony—from entering the local castle."
At that, she glanced at Charles, gauging his expression. Seeing no reaction, she carried on.
"The townspeople claimed the castle harbors a sleeping demon, one that would awaken and slaughter everyone if disturbed."
"The Church didn't intervene?" Charles asked.
"They did," she replied, shaking her head. "But they found nothing unusual."
"So someone's clearly pulling the strings," Charles muttered under his breath.
Ignoring his discontent, the detective continued,
"Baroness Rhine was born to a prominent noble family in the capital. She inherited her late mother's cousin's estate, remained unmarried all her life, and died suddenly of a heart condition. When she passed, the only person by her side was an adopted girl she took in two years prior. No other relatives were present. Her hobbies included—"
The list went on for some time, but one remark lingered in Charles's mind long after he left the detective's office:
"They say, shortly before her death, Baroness Rhine was trying to cure her adopted daughter."
That single line echoed in his thoughts as he walked through the dim streets, lost in contemplation.
From the information gathered, he could tell one thing—the people of Canyon Town were being manipulated. By whom, he couldn't yet tell, but it was clear there was a deliberate hand behind their hostility.
"Perhaps I'll need the Church after all…" he murmured, mulling over the issue of inheritance.
If the Church had investigated and found nothing, then there likely wasn't any real "demon" in that castle. The locals' paranoia had to be fueled by someone's influence.
Whoever was behind it didn't matter for now. Once he entered the castle and retrieved his family's heirloom, the matter of his title would settle itself. Then no one would dare stop him—"outsider" or not.
Even in this era, when noble privilege had lost much of its former weight, aristocratic titles still carried undeniable influence. And for ordinary people, even a fallen noble house was something to tread around carefully.
"Once I master the Purification Chant, I'll pay the Church a visit," Charles decided, exhaling softly. "I'll mention this matter then."
His study of the chant was going smoothly. He would likely master it soon—though that would bring another kind of test.
Would using the Spiritual Tongue in the real world trigger another attack from… them? He couldn't be sure. There was at least a fifty-fifty chance. And if it didn't work at all, he'd best start planning his escape instead of dreaming about noble titles.
With that thought, Charles didn't head home. Instead, he walked straight to the clockmaker's shop.
The same elderly man with the monocle greeted him. As always, the shop was quiet—eerily so, as if no one else ever stepped foot inside.
After a few polite exchanges, Charles placed the black crystal on the counter.
"An elemental crystal?"
The old man picked it up and studied it briefly before nodding.
"Yes. These are quite versatile—used in ritual magic, spell enhancement, alchemical enchantments, and even for crafting devices inscribed with Resonance Runes."
"Is it worth much?" Charles asked bluntly.
"Not particularly, functionally speaking," the man replied. "But it's rare, so it has value. If you're selling, I can offer one pound and three shillings.
If you'd rather keep it for use, though—you'll need a matching Resonance runes."
"Resonance runes?"
"Yes. It's a form of magical writing—something every spellcaster must learn. You're not quite at that level yet. However…" The old man's tone softened into a sly hum.
"If you hand this crystal over to me, I could give you a complete set of compatible Resonance Runes in exchange. The kind you can use right away."
"It's a form of magical writing—a discipline every spellcaster must master. You're not quite ready for it yet, but…" He paused, then added with a faint smile, "If you hand this crystal over to me, I could give you a complete set of compatible scripts. Ones you could use right away."
"How about compatible Resonance runes?"
Before the old man could finish, a loud voice boomed from behind.
Charles turned to see a tall man of dark, bronze-brown skin stepping into the shop. His broad frame and square jaw gave him the look of a mountain tribesman—massive, thick-set, his shaven face marked by rolls of flesh that made his eyes seem unnaturally small. Those narrow eyes were fixed squarely on the crystal in Charles's hand.
He carried himself like someone used to being obeyed, and his fine clothes suggested wealth. Clearly, a regular customer.
The shopkeeper's expression, however, soured immediately.
"Eddie," he said coldly, "don't think I don't know what you're after. This young man is with the Church."
"The Church?" The man—Eddie—froze, then sighed. "Ah, that so? Then forget it. I'm not stupid enough to cross them."
He started to move past the counter toward the inner corridor, but Charles stopped him.
"Wait. You said you have compatible Resonance runes?"
"Of course I do." Eddie gave him a sidelong glance, his interest faint but present.
"Would you trade for them? Like you mentioned earlier?"
"For a normal deal?" Eddie snorted. "You'd need at least ten of those crystals."
"Ten?" Charles turned toward the shopkeeper. The old man only shrugged.
Thinking for a moment, Charles asked, "Where can I find you?"
Eddie studied him for a few seconds, then grinned faintly. "Just tell the old man here you're looking for me. He'll know how to reach me."
With that, he pushed open the side door and disappeared from view.
Charles stood there, deep in thought. Behind the counter, the old man shook his head.
"I don't know what your connection to the Church really is," he said quietly, "but that man is trouble. If you're not truly one of them, you'd best avoid dealing with him."
Then, curiosity got the better of him.
"So tell me, what is your connection to the Church? A new initiate?"
"Maybe," Charles said with a shrug. "They've asked me to practice a spell called Purification. What do you think that means?"
"That's quite clear," the old man said. His eyes softened slightly—almost pitying.
Charles didn't notice. He kept speaking, absent-mindedly.
"Too bad I'm slow at it. Every now and then I keep hearing strange voices—it's incredibly annoying."
The old man's expression changed slightly. "That's called the Voice of Ulm. Everyone who studies divine magic under the Church must endure it. It's a trial. Once you fully master the chant, the voices will fade."
"Fully master?" Charles asked, intrigued. The old man seemed to know more than he let on.
"When you can switch between the states instantly," he said simply.
"Is there no shortcut? No way to skip that phase altogether?"
The old man shook his head.
"Impossible. Can you become a master swordsman without training? It's the same principle. The soul must be trained, just like the body."
"So chanting spells is… a kind of spiritual exercise?"
"Exactly. And the true goal is to eventually abandon the chant entirely."
"Abandon it? Then how does one cast spells?"
"In truth," the old man said, his tone patient, "the words are only a crutch for beginners. Skilled spellcasters rarely speak their incantations—unless they're performing a sacrificial rite."
His words lingered in Charles's mind long after he left the shop.