When Jeanne heard the voice that was clearly not Talulah's, she knew the "main character" she was looking for had arrived. Consequently, she addressed Kashchey in an extremely gentle tone.
She didn't actually hold a personal grudge against him for the assassination attempt. After all, the wheels for that plot were set in motion years ago; at most, Kashchey was an unwitting accomplice from the past. Even as an ancient immortal, he couldn't have predicted he would one day run into a Saint capable of summoning a Deus Ex Machina, let alone one who would end up sharing his life force.
However, even if Jeanne didn't plan to use this to make trouble for him, she still intended to maintain control of the conversation. She had fully grasped his habits of being flamboyant, acting profound, and speaking in riddles. She wasn't going to give him a single chance to be cryptic today.
What Jeanne didn't realize was the state of Kashchey's mental world. While she didn't blame him personally, her "Father God"—the one watching over His daughter—had no such reservations. The divine displeasure manifest in the glowing sword above made Kashchey's soul fade several shades paler. He looked at the blade hanging over his head with lingering fear, feeling as though this time, it truly intended to fall.
Beside him, Talulah's expression had turned quite unpleasant. She was currently trying to manifest her own sword, seemingly ready to perform another "patricide" right then and there. Even FrostNova and Alina were looking at him with sinister glints in their eyes. FrostNova was debating whether to call Patriot over to restrain him, while Alina began preparing a Baptismal Chant, ready to give the Black Snake a "grand finale."
Kashchey gestured frantically for the three of them not to be so hasty; there was still room for mediation. While their attitudes had dropped to "cold indifference" at best, his most pressing issue was Jeanne.
He scrambled to profess his status as a law-abiding citizen, swearing he had no knowledge of the plot, all while frantically recalling his remaining sleeper agents in Lungmen. Those agents were originally meant to stir up trouble between the city and the slums, performing acts that the slums loved and the LGD hated. Their real purpose was to secure smuggling routes for when he eventually led an Infected army to take the city.
But he hadn't given them any orders recently! Usually, when they didn't have a mission, they were quite well-behaved, weren't they? They spent their days diligently "fishing" by the river—even if he'd never seen them actually catch a single fish.
"You don't need to be so afraid, Mr. Kashchey. I'm not an unreasonable person who would blame you just because they are connected to you," Jeanne said, hearing his voice tremble so much he sounded like he was about to shed his skin. She decided to let him calm down first.
I'm not afraid of what you'll do; I'm afraid your 'Father' will just erase me, Kashchey grumbled internally. He wasn't worried about the sensible Jeanne, but if her God happened to be in a bad mood and used him as a punching bag, he was finished.
The greatest tragedy in the world is knowing the person threatening your life is right in front of you, yet being unable to do anything about it.
Although Jeanne spoke lightly, Kashchey could guess just how perilous the situation had been. The noble subordinates he had placed in Lungmen were no pushovers; an assassination attempt would have been meticulously planned—the kind with almost zero chance of survival.
Kashchey suddenly remembered something. During his earlier meeting with the Emperor, he had heard that the Laterano Pope in Chernobog had suddenly become extremely agitated, nearly "grabbing his gear" to settle a score. At the time, they thought some fool on their side had caused a religious incident, but now it was clear what had really happened.
"Just tell me who the leader of this operation is. I have a general understanding of these smugglers; if you give me a name, I can identify them."
Kashchey was absolutely fuming. He hadn't even backstabbed his former partners yet, and here they were backstabbing him—and on such a massive scale! Aside from facing the God who doted on His daughter, when had he ever suffered such a loss? Even being kicked out of Lungmen years ago wasn't as severe as this.
If he found out who dragged him into this mess, he'd show them what "humanitarian destruction" looked like. Hanging such people from a streetlamp would be considered "dying of natural causes."
"It was a Vouivre. I believe his name was Tom. He led a group that chased us all the way, and in the middle of it, there was a group that seemed to have taken some drugs that turned them into lunatics."
The moment Jeanne mentioned a "Vouivre powerhouse," Kashchey knew exactly who it was. The racial characteristics were far too distinct. Most of the nobles who used his network to infiltrate Lungmen were Ursus; a rare race like a Vouivre—and a massive one at that—stuck out like a sore thumb.
In both Lungmen and Ursus, Vouivres were rare in urban settings, and they were terrible undercover agents because they were too conspicuous. He remembered a certain noble saying the guy was a brilliant fighter, so he had sent him to Lungmen to be "free-roaming" as a hidden piece.
"I remember him! That Vouivre named Tom-Whatever-He-Is. The guy who seems to have nothing but muscle in his head. He's a thug for Baron Chichikov. Wait until I get back; I'll look into the situation thoroughly for you."
Kashchey had pushed his brain to the limit. Even he was surprised he could recall a piece of intel he had only glanced at years ago. He thought he had forgotten it, but with his survival instinct overclocked, he remembered the file perfectly—down to the punctuation marks.
Alright, Baron Chichikov, is it? It seems the first 'example' to be made when I start purging those who disrespect Imperial authority has appeared.
Looking at the sword in the sky, Kashchey felt his predicament wasn't entirely unfair. The fact that the blade hadn't fallen yet meant Jeanne's God was at least reasonable. If it were up to him, he would have dragged out every last person involved and executed nine generations of their kin; anything less would be a loss of face.
If I don't dig up your ancestral graves and serve your ancestors' ashes to you for your final meal, it can only mean I've converted to Buddhism.
"I remember that guy is part of a faction specifically responsible for wealth accumulation and investment among those nobles. He seems to have very clandestine agreements with Columbia's Rhine Lab, and sometimes helps them with pharmaceutical research."
Kashchey naturally knew Chichikov's profile inside out; such secrets were easily unearthed by him. He even knew the Baron wasn't his legal mother's biological son and likely had half-Columbian blood from a nouveau riche family, which was how he connected with Rhine Lab. However, the guy lacked intelligence and had a loose tongue, loving to show off his secrets.
"If you go to the company affiliated with Rhine Lab to investigate, don't bother looking anywhere else. Just find the place in that company with a golden Ripping Beast statue or painting."
Jeanne hadn't expected Kashchey to know Tom—and his master—so intimately. But why a golden Ripping Beast? There were no such things as pure gold Ripping Beasts in the world; who would be foolish enough to display such a thing?
"Trust me. He has a habit of throwing all his shameful secrets into a hidden room. And luckily, I heard the architecture of the Lungmen branch was built according to his designs."