By the time Ode—now neatly dressed once more—and Jack arrived at the port arranged by GORCC, it was already past ten at night. The young pianist’s stomach was growling loudly with hunger, yet the moment they disembarked, he stuck to Ode like a little tail, remaining on high alert as he followed him toward Ctharnid, who was deep in conversation with Faust.
“Any luck finding that kid’s brother’s corpse?”
The long, drawn-out whistles of ships docking one after another carried through the night air, mingled with the gentle sea breeze. There was an inexplicable sense of calm and homecoming, like a cruise liner returning to harbor with travelers reunited with their loved ones.
Ctharnid shook his head helplessly. “I thought it would be straightforward, but even after calling in a few old friends, we couldn’t locate the body anywhere in the Phantasmal Dream Realm. We’re starting to think it might have been picked up by a passing Moon Beast Caravan during its drift, or perhaps it landed in a region infested with ghouls… Unless the corpse was destroyed, there’s no way we wouldn’t have found it.”
“No, Zane…” Jack, already suffering from low blood sugar, nearly buckled at the knees upon hearing this.
Ode quickly grabbed Jack to steady him, then pressed on. “Or is there a chance Zane was taken out of the Phantasmal Dream Realm by someone?”
“…” Ctharnid looked baffled. “Who would want a corpse? And to what end?”
Faust, with an unlit cigar clamped between his teeth, pondered thoughtfully. “It’s still unclear… But looking back now that things have quieted down, Zane’s actions at the time do seem off in several ways.”
“For instance, that ritual he used to access the Phantasmal Dream Realm. Who taught him that?”
“The Black Brotherhood had no desire to let things blow up that badly, which is why they only sent a ragtag bunch of incompetents. I interrogated those six idiots myself—the ritual they were given was basic as hell. Yet Zane Paine pulled off one that dragged an entire cruise liner into the Phantasmal Dream Realm? You really think the Black Brotherhood would teach some errand boy how to piss off the whole world, all while trying not to do exactly that?”
It did seem unlikely. Ode added, “And Jack’s point is worth noting too—if you were Zane, and you heard your little brother playing the piano as you raised your weapon, realizing he wanted a proper farewell, a final goodbye, would you just ignore that chance? Would you kill him anyway, without a second thought for your brother?”
“It does sound odd… I’ll have someone keep digging into this.” Faust glanced down at the still-dazed Jack and snapped his fingers in front of the boy’s face with an exasperated sigh. “Snap out of it! What’s your next move?”
This was Jack’s call to make, so Ode stayed silent. Instead, he lifted his gaze, scanning the bustling harbor for any sign of Chief Eva. “Where’s Chief Eva?”
He couldn’t spot her right away. All he saw was the warm glow of lights under the starry sky, the port alive with energy and crowds.
He noticed a familiar leader clapping another on the shoulder as they headed with a few companions toward a temporary rest area. “Don’t look so glum—it’s not all bad news! Remember that tech expert who sat to my left at the meeting? His team’s working on embedding tracking chips in weapons right now, figuring out mass production and full rollout. If they pull it off… What? What do you mean you’re not in the mood? This is exactly the time to focus on it! You won’t sleep easy until we sort this out.”
A bit farther off, a small squad of GORCC members listened to their leader’s tirade with dead-fish stares, though their glances toward the brightly lit dining district betrayed their longing to clock out.
Chief Eva sat right there in that very dining district her colleagues were eyeing so wistfully—an outdoor café where the owner amiably set down a cup of coffee and a lit candle for her. Bathed in the candlelight, she unfolded a local newspaper, enjoying the sea breeze with evident contentment.
“…” Ode let out a subtle breath of relief.
Ever since Faust had pointed out that Chief Eva was likely connected to Khirra and wanted to smuggle some experimental material home, Ode had been on edge. He really didn’t approve of dabbling in such forbidden research… though he had to admit, those guns were damn effective, and the Aston Martin drove like a dream.
“Ah, Mr. Faust! And Mr. Ancient Dream.” The Prime Minister’s voice approached from afar, brimming with enthusiasm as he strode up to the group. “I don’t even know how to express my gratitude. Without you… Okay, okay, I know that’s just talk. Let’s get to the practical stuff.”
This Prime Minister clearly wasn’t from noble stock; he was refreshingly down-to-earth as he slung an arm around Faust’s neck. “How about a box of Cohiba cigars? From my private stash. You know how rare these are—Cohibas are reserved for Cuban leaders and top officials. They don’t even hit the market.”
The Prime Minister turned to Ode, hesitating more this time since they hadn’t crossed paths before and he wasn’t sure how to win him over. “As for you, Mr. Ancient Dream… Side question: Why that codename? It sounds so weird rolling off the tongue.”
Ode was curious too. But with business wrapped up, he didn’t dare chat much with Faust now—lest the man, riding high on a job well done, suddenly recall Ode’s various insubordinations during the mission. He could only sneak peeks at Faust with his eyes.
Luckily, Faust was still in high spirits. Chewing on his cigar butt, he grinned. “Elder Zhong—another colleague of mine—picked it. We did a tarot reading for the kid earlier; he drew three cards, and Elder Zhong chose one as his codename. Said it symbolized ‘destroying the old to build anew.'”
“Fortune-telling? Tarot?” The Prime Minister’s eyes lit up instantly. He stammered hopefully, “Do you think I could—”
“Not accurate.” Faust shut that down quick. “He’s from Hua Country, but he uses romantic Tarot cards.”
“Oh…” The Prime Minister’s face fell. “Fine. Back to business.”
“I’ve been racking my brain over how to thank you, Mr. Ancient Dream. Perhaps a promotion in rank, or a title you’d care to accept?”
Meanwhile, the Royal Liner still lingered on the South Pacific, its fate undecided.
A palm-sized mechanical spider skittered down the deck stairs toward the third-level watertight compartment below.
Its crimson mechanical eye whirred in the dark hold, swiveling about before suddenly locking onto a specific direction and holding still.
The compartment was deathly silent, save for the soft lapping of seawater against the bulkhead.
After a moment, Chief Eva’s voice emanated coolly from the spider. “As I promised, I’m here to complete our deal… Khirra.”
The mechanical eye gleamed like a miniature spotlight, its red beam illuminating the pale eyestalk of the massive octopus.
No one noticed this little interlude on the liner. Far off at the port, Faust escorted the Prime Minister—still reeling from the bombshell of “an entire massive liner, poof, gone”—back to his quarters. He glanced out the hotel corridor window at the harbor quieting down, then finally cracked open the window and lit his cigar.
A thick fog began to blanket the port. Faust puffed away, tying up loose ends, and casually addressed Ode. “What are you still doing here? Not off to get cozy with His Grace the Duke?”
Ode actually wanted Faust to just dish out any punishment now and get it over with, rather than leaving him dangling like the other shoe about to drop.
But the words caught in his throat; saying it outright would sound too cheeky. After all, Faust had spent the whole mission cleaning up his messes. A man had to have some conscience. “Last time we talked about this, you told me not to ‘let a spark turn into a wildfire.’ The time before, when I went to see Cavendish, you gave me just one hour. I figured you didn’t want us together?”
“That was during work—or right before rushing to it,” Faust shot back with a dismissive glance. “You know what people in our line become on the job: cold-blooded, no family ties, hit it and quit it… But now it’s off the clock. We can pretend to be human for a bit.”
Faust turned, leaning his lower back against the windowsill as he eyed Ode with keen interest. “Speaking of which, where do you and His Grace stand now?”
“…” Ode opened his mouth but couldn’t quite articulate.
The word “stand” felt a bit too serious for him. He hadn’t even sorted out what he and Cavendish really were. Sure, he knew why he’d gotten involved with Cavendish in the first place—precaution, intel-gathering… But the events on the liner had left him baffled about Cavendish’s intentions.
Why had Cavendish hinted at Jack’s whereabouts?
Why frame it as something “he wanted to know”?
If Cavendish hadn’t realized Ode could inflict humanistic corruption on monsters, then finding Jack in the Rib Space Gap—fully transformed, irredeemable except by death—would be pure despair. That hardly fit “something he wanted to know.” But who could fathom what Cavendish was thinking? Who could grasp an Outer God’s logic?
Yet if Cavendish had said it that way, it meant he’d planned to tell Ode outright even without discovering that corruption effect—turning despair into the intel Ode craved. What did that imply?
An Outer God not only tangling with a potential threat but intending to hand them the knife aimed at its own throat?
It was bizarre… Was Yog-Sothoth a mad one? Why couldn’t he make sense of its thought process?
There might be other explanations, but Ode decided not to dwell. It felt pointless. “Stand? You think a spy’s cut out for that kind of talk?”
“What? You’re not saying you’re not taking this seriously, are you?” Faust zeroed in on the oddest angle. “Lord help you, then you’d better end it quick. He’s a duke! You know what that entails? I can back you up on ops, but don’t count on me wiping your messy love life’s ass.”
Ode shrugged, about to reply, when from the dining district’s direction, a tall, steady figure emerged from the foggy sea. It wove through the thinning crowds, striding purposefully toward them.
“…” Ode’s words died on his lips. He couldn’t help suspecting Cavendish had overheard Faust’s half-baked breakup advice.
He withdrew his gaze and changed the subject. “Rather than dwelling on all that, I’d rather hurry back to Grandfather’s grave and see him one more time. Last time, at his funeral, I left in such a rush that I barely got to say a word to him. Can you help send me there?”
Faust didn’t see the need for such a big production. Couldn’t he just visit the grave after they got back? He was pretty worn out himself right now.
But considering that Ode hadn’t had a chance to stay and chat because he’d dragged him along on this mission, Faust still clamped his cigar between his teeth and gave Ode’s shoulder a one-handed pat. “Give my regards to the old man.”
White mist swallowed his vision. In the next instant, when Ode opened his eyes again, he found himself standing before the angel statue at the heart of Grandfather’s graveyard. Beneath the night sky, rows of pale gray tombstones stood silently amid the soil, draped in a thin sheen of dew by the faint, chill fog.
“…”
Ode stood motionless for a few seconds before taking his first steps forward.
Once he reached Grandfather’s grave, he pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped the moisture from the stone. Then he plopped down onto the ground without a care for whether his suit would get dirty or if the gesture was proper. In that moment, all he felt was profound relief.
It was as if time had rewound to when Grandfather was still alive. He’d perch on the windowsill of Grandfather’s study, or at his knee, a book or paper draped casually over his crossed legs, and the leisurely hours would slip by in perfect stillness.
“Not much of a difference, is there? Except you’re a little cold to lean against now.” Ode let out a wry chuckle. “I’m sorry I rushed off last time… I have to admit, part of it was that I didn’t know how to face you. Because… I’ve always suspected I was the one responsible for driving you mad all of a sudden, making you refuse emergency treatment.”
No one could know the weight that lifted from his heart in that instant—after so much self-doubt and endless internal recriminations, he’d finally received a solid answer.
His contamination wouldn’t drive anyone insane. It might even help the mad hold onto their sanity. He couldn’t have killed his own family.
“I—”
Ode was just about to tell Grandfather about his recent work when a sharp crack rang out nearby—the unmistakable snap of a dry branch underfoot.
In a flash, the handgun slid into his palm. Ode spun around, gun raised. “Who’s there?!”
Beyond the graveyard’s edge, Cavendish stood propped on his cane amid the crisscrossing shadows of the trees. He neither approached nor retreated.
Moonlight washed over his face, cold and smooth as carved jade, tracing the fringe of hair on his forehead, the high, almost cruel bridge of his nose, and his thin, dark lips. It lent him the unreal quality of an oil painting veiled in silvery haze.
“…”
Ode kept the gun trained on him as he cocked his head, genuinely surprised. He’d assumed Cavendish wouldn’t follow after hearing him mention the grave visit—just as Cavendish must have known about the funeral but hadn’t forced his way in. “Why’d you come?”
“Trying to invite you to the manor.” Cavendish showed no sign of drawing nearer. “Your family home hasn’t been bought back yet, and your rental’s a pile of rubble from the blast. I figured you might need a place to lay your head.”
Ode returned a smile, then remembered the blind man couldn’t see it anyway. Mockery wasted. He rolled his eyes with a faint huff, letting his face slacken back into lazy neutrality.
“Very thoughtful. But I’ve got the employee dorms, remember?”
The corner of Cavendish’s mouth twitched upward. “Then I guess I’m not thoughtful enough. Why else won’t you even lower the gun?”
Ode: “…”
Click.
With a soft metallic snick, Ode released his grip. The gleaming silver Beretta dangled from his finger by the trigger guard, swaying twice before he holstered it at his thigh. “No idea. Maybe keeping the barrel pointed at you just makes me happy?”
“But not happy enough to accept?”
“…”
Ode planted his hands on his hips, fingertips drumming twice against the gun grip. Then he leaned forward, pressing his palms to either side of the tombstone as if shielding Grandfather’s ears. “No. We can hook up, but we’re not shacking up. And unfortunately, I’m not in the mood for hooking up right now, so…”
Ode trailed off, but the lingering drawl of his voice said the rest.
Cavendish stood at the graveyard’s fringe, eyes downcast in evident thought. A moment later, he raised his head.
“So I’ve got a missing persons case I’d like your help with. Maybe its oddity will catch your interest?”
“…”
Ode’s brows knit together, wary. “What kind of missing persons case? Isn’t the police handling it?”
“It happened three years ago… No family reported it, so no one knows. And even if they had, the cops might not have bothered, since the missing person was a homeless man.”
