Chapter 44

Using a short holiday after a major battle to investigate the disappearance of a vagrant missing for three years? Ode could hardly refuse that. “Alright. Where did this vagrant go missing?”

He withdrew the hand that had been covering his grandfather’s tombstone, patted it twice in farewell, and strode out of the cemetery without looking back.

As he lowered his head to pull out his phone, preparing to access GORCC’s database for a quick lookup, the corner of his eye caught Cavendish tilting his face ever so slightly for a fleeting moment, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features.

“…?” Ode halted in his tracks, phone in hand. “What’s with that look on your face? Have you suddenly decided you don’t want to share this case with me after all?”

“No, I just didn’t expect you to be so eager to keep working at this hour.” Cavendish turned under Ode’s suspicious gaze, probing the path ahead with his cane to lead the way. “It’s already ten o’clock. The site where that vagrant vanished three years ago now has a new family living there. I think we’d best wait until tomorrow to knock on the door. Tonight, we should head back to Cavendish Manor to rest.”

“Really? Since when did I not know you could be so considerate?” Ode nearly burst out laughing—well, he actually did laugh. “I thought the etiquette you learned in school was showing up in the dead of night with a gun to knock on doors. And casually leaving a copy of The Sea-Wolf on the doorstep of your visit… Wait a minute, back then, were you planning to ‘put flowers on my grave’ or something??”

Perhaps because they were surrounded by rows of tombstones, enlightenment struck Ode in that instant. “So that’s why you randomly left a book you thought was perfect for me outside my room door… You knew I was going to die in there the next second—”

“But you didn’t die.” Cavendish hadn’t expected this old grudge to resurface at a time like this. His footsteps quickened imperceptibly.

Ode nearly laughed in frustration, his voice rising. “That’s because of my own abilities!!”

“Ah-oo…” A flock of night owls took flight in alarm, their hoarse cries adding fuel to the already awkward atmosphere.

“…………” By the roadside, Hein the old butler waiting beside the Daimler DE27 nearly froze solid.

Just a second ago, he’d been calmly thinking that having been through one ordeal already, he absolutely wouldn’t overreact this time. But the next second, Ode’s shout nearly sent him off. Mustering his courage, he shakily glanced toward his master—and was utterly horrified to see Mr. Ode snatch the cane from the Duke’s hand, smash it viciously to the ground, swipe a hand along his leg, and somehow produce a pistol. He aimed it at the cane on the ground:

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Three muzzle flashes later, the cane lay in several broken sections.

“…” Cavendish prudently shut his mouth, sensing—no, certain—that Ode wanted to put those bullets in his head far more than into the cane. After careful consideration, he chose a neutral topic: “Are we still investigating the case?”

Ode responded with a cold snort. He stalked over to the Daimler DE27, climbed into the back seat, and slammed the door with a resounding clang that made Hein flinch.

Ancestors preserve us, ancestors preserve us—that’s enough… Hein prayed fervently in his mind, terrified that the Duke might snap and strike back any second.

But what came next challenged his heart even more. Once his master had settled safely into the car, the gentleman in the back spun the pistol’s cylinder with a sinister click. “That vagrant’s case had better give me something worth my while.”

“…………” Cavendish, who had only regretted his slip after Ode agreed, and had already mentally planned how to cover his tracks, fell silent. It was hard to say something like “but you never know what might happen” when it might draw bullets.

Fortunately, Ode’s phone rang just then, temporarily easing the tension in the car. “Hello? … Little Qianning?”

Hein gingerly pressed the accelerator from the front seat.

Ode was caught off guard, but the next instant, he realized he’d given himself away with his tone. Little Qianning’s voice exploded from the phone: “What’s with that tone?! What’s with that tone!!”

“Good heavens! I’ve been busting my ass out here every day, running around covered in dust, all to help you redeem the ancestral home sooner. And you pick up my call sounding so surprised!? What, did killing monsters on the battlefield make you all cocky, and now you’ve forgotten about the guy slaving away for you night and day?!”

“…” Ode’s anger and pitch plummeted together, much like Cavendish ten seconds earlier. “N-no… You, uh, made some progress?”

“Progress? Give me a break, who are you underestimating?” Little Qianning scoffed. “All the terms are finalized. The trade routes will enter the construction phase starting tomorrow.”

“I’m calling because—back when we talked splits, you said time was tight and I’d have to handle most things myself, so you’d just take a finder’s fee, right? Here’s the deal—”

“One of the partners heard about you through some grapevine—those trade routes you handled back in university. He’s offering to give us several points off, as long as you meet him tonight. Just to make a friend and open doors. With the points he’s conceding—even if you only take the finder’s fee—it’ll be enough to redeem the ancestral home! I’ll go with you. It’s a small-scale cocktail party, all young guns from politics and business… You know, I need to network a bit.”

“…” Ode hesitated.

He weighed it for a moment, then hurriedly told Little Qianning, “Hold on,” covered the phone’s mic, and turned to Cavendish. “You said investigating has to wait until morning anyway, so tonight I’ll—”

Boom…

Without any warning, the entire Daimler DE27 exploded.

Ode only had time to instinctively glance at the old butler up front before Cavendish slammed him down, his nose smashing into Cavendish’s full, heaving chest.

By the time he blinked, Ode found himself tightly held in Cavendish’s arms on the roadside. The old butler—pale-faced and wide-eyed—dangled from Cavendish’s grip, still dazed.

“What the hell??” Even Ode felt a lingering chill. He shoved Cavendish away and crouched by the burning wreckage of the vintage car. “Was there a bomb in it? No… I refuse to believe you’d get in a car with something like that.”

His back was to the master-servant pair, so he missed the way Cavendish’s chest heaved visibly beneath his calm, restrained suit, those blue eyes reflecting the flickering flames like a man teetering on a cliff’s edge, hesitating between the abyss ahead and the open plain behind.

Boom…

The vintage car spewed another tongue of fire.

Ode leaped back, narrowly dodging the secondary blast. When he looked again, even the intact wreckage was gone—everything reduced to scattered debris.

“…” Cavendish gazed at the antique reduced to shattered bits in the inferno for a moment, then spoke in a now-calm, soothing tone. “Maybe the car was just too old. As long as everyone’s alright. —Speaking of which, doesn’t this feel like a warning? I was just about to suggest we investigate together, and the car blows up. Maybe we should take action tonight to avoid any accidents with the case.”

“…??” Ode twisted around from his crouch by the car, incredulous, his fine hips and legs outlined tautly in his suit trousers. “Is there any connection between cause and effect here? Who’s the one who said tonight wasn’t good for door-knocking and morning would be better?”

He suddenly remembered something, instantly on alert. “Wait… You didn’t blow up the car yourself, did you?? Why? Don’t want me going to that cocktail party?”

“No, of course not.” The calmer Cavendish appeared, the more suspicious he seemed to Ode. “It’s because of the case. Even though the vagrant vanished, there’s still one eyewitness alive. What if he runs into trouble?”

“…Are you serious?” Ode rose dubiously. “But even if we want to go, the car’s gone. How do we get there? The party’s in central London—”

The sound of an engine approached from the distance, cutting Ode off. Another Daimler DE27 emerged from the night, a stone-faced bald bodyguard at the wheel.

“…” Ode would bet this car had been summoned by Cavendish on the spot, its previous driver probably yanked from bed by his unscrupulous boss.

Cavendish climbed in, first boosting the driver’s morale with a promise of doubled pay for the year—a pure, natural, pollution-free shot of adrenaline—then turned toward the door. “Aren’t you getting in?”

Ode: “…”

Grandfather’s body had already been retrieved, and GORCC was holding the ancestral home to prevent auction—so delaying the redemption a bit wouldn’t hurt. In comparison, if Cavendish’s “runs into trouble” warning was real, heading out tonight might save a life…

After much deliberation, Ode politely declined the cocktail party invite and repeatedly promised to drop by Qian Ning’s new place after wrapping up the urgent matter, to keep the exhausted Little Qianning company with an all-nighter of gaming.

“I’ve never played games.” Cavendish turned to reassert his presence after Ode hung up.

Ode didn’t look up, switching to his messaging app to hunt for Faust’s number. He reached out, pinched Cavendish’s chin, and twisted his face forward. “Really? What about the game where you drag someone out of bed in the middle of the night and dress them up? You seemed pretty proficient at that.”

He quickly typed out a message to Faust: 【There’s a cocktail party tonight at the London Kingfisher Hotel—the one Little Qianning’s attending. Can you send someone to scope it out? OK? Also, check backgrounds on all guests and staff.】

Why was Cavendish so dead-set against him attending this party? Ode couldn’t shake the suspicion.

【Faust: God of Fortune’s on the move—you don’t say, GORCC would’ve sent people anyway. All guests and staff screened clean… But why bring it up suddenly? Hear any rumors?】

【Faust: Wait. Come to think of it, the team scoping the place did have an unexpected change. A local guy got bumped by someone from the Soviet Branch. They followed all the shift protocols… But I’ll look into it.】

Out of caution, Ode urged Faust to check thoroughly—that guy might be trouble. When he looked up, Cavendish was staring out the window, giving him the back of his head—but the window reflected the man’s lips curving in irrepressible amusement: “…?? What are you grinning like an idiot about?”

“I’m not grinning like an idiot.” Cavendish turned back earnestly. “Can we discuss the case details now?”

Ode: “?? Damn it.”

It had been his idea to push the case from the start, yet Cavendish had stalled every step, and now this guy was turning the tables: “I @#￥@”

Whatever. He’d put up with it. They could bicker anytime, but right now they needed to focus on the case. “How did you even get wind of this homeless man’s disappearance, Your Grace the Duke?”

Cavendish caught the emphasis Ode put on those words, highlighting the vast gap in their statuses. By all rights, Cavendish shouldn’t have any connection to a case like this. “Three years ago, on June 6th, I got a phone call from an old acquaintance—Reid.”

“His voice was frantic with terror, rambling incoherently that he’d killed a homeless man. But seconds later, he took it back, insisting it had nothing to do with him.”

It did sound like there was more to the story. Ode weighed his words carefully. “So what really happened? Was the homeless man killed? Did your acquaintance do it?”

“I don’t know.” Cavendish shook his head. “I didn’t rush over to Reid’s place right after the call. Truth be told, Reid and I weren’t close. He knew how to reach me, but I’d never even heard of him before.”

“All I know afterward came from the newspapers—Reid filed a false report, claiming he’d killed a homeless man. He begged the police to come right away, saying he didn’t know what else he might do.”

“But when the police burst in, there was no homeless man’s body in the house, not even a drop of blood. All that was with Reid was an exquisitely carved plaster statue—a self-portrait.”

“…” Ode fell silent for a few seconds. Even knowing he was in a world that defied all logic, he still had to start with the rational assumptions. “Did the police confirm the homeless man had been in the house at some point?”

Cavendish nodded. “They found the man’s DNA and hair. But no signs of a struggle.”

“Reid was a sculptor, so the place was littered with plaster scraps. His family shelled out for an experienced private detective, who inspected the scene and agreed that with all that plaster dust everywhere, any fight would have left traces. But after three days, the detective turned up nothing. The only find was a stash of illegal drugs hidden in the fireplace…”

“In the end, the detective and the police reached the same conclusion: Reid’s claim of killing the homeless man was just a hallucination from his drug binge. The man had probably left long before, and Reid had simply been chipping away at plaster in a manic frenzy for days.”

“…” Ode lowered his gaze in thought. “What if the plaster statue had the body wrapped inside…?”

“No. It was empty.” Cavendish said. “The detective already broke it open. Solid plaster all the way through.”

“Fair enough,” Ode scratched his nose bridge. “Then we should pay Reid a visit, check out the scene from back then… Oh, damn. That was three years ago. A new family lives there now—what traces could be left?”

“But Reid, the eyewitness, is still alive.” They were discussing a gravely serious case, yet Cavendish’s tone and expression carried an irrepressible excitement and glee—words that felt as oddly mismatched on him as a matryoshka doll come to life.

“…Where does he live now?” Ode asked.

“Reid Sanatorium,” Cavendish replied.

Ode: “…”

Ode double-checked. “You want to visit an asylum at nearly eleven at night??”

Why don’t you check yourself in while you’re at it? It’d be convenient.

Cavendish corrected him. “Not ‘visit.’ ‘Infiltrate.’ My status makes it awkward for me to come and go from a place like that. And your credentials won’t hold much water at a private sanatorium either.”

Ode: “…So you want me to sneak into an asylum at eleven at night… with a blind guy?”

Ode said with utter sincerity, “Why don’t you disguise yourself as a patient? I can pose as a family member, weep and wail, and get you admitted.”

Cavendish actually considered it for a moment. “And you’d come back to get me?”

“No.” Ode smiled at Cavendish. “I’d take your inheritance and go find my next sugar daddy.”

No one could imagine the sheer shock rippling through the two veteran drivers up front as they eavesdropped on the backseat banter—their eyes nearly popping out of their sockets, their minds and bodies utterly shaken, tempted to bang their heads on the dashboard in despair. In any case, that ancient old car suddenly accelerated to speeds wildly inappropriate for its age. By the time Faust’s text came through, Ode was already out of the vehicle.

Ode paused to read Faust’s reply:

【Checked it out!! Ha, guess what??? That night you went berserk with the Red Flood, that Russian was at the safehouse too. Love at first sight, they say… or rather, he saw his chance and seized it. Ha! Can you guess who the partner spilling the discounts was? One of his fake identities! Damn… hitting on a coworker with a work alias. This guy’s got balls. Just watch me crush him :)))】

Faust’s parade of closing parentheses felt like a girlfriend venting to her best friend with a raised torch. Ode couldn’t help but pity the Soviet Colleague a little, but: 【You sure that’s all there is to it?】

【? What else could it be? …Your questions are giving me the creeps. I’ll drag this kid out later and grill him some more.】

Only then did Ode nod in relief. He was just about to pocket his phone when, in its reflective glow, he caught Cavendish tilting his head ever so slightly, lips curving in what might have been a smirk—as if deriving endless amusement from the Soviet Colleague’s misfortune.

Ode: “?? What the hell is that smug, triumphant look on your face supposed to mean?”

“…?” The two old-timers up front couldn’t help craning their necks, desperate to see how an expression like “smug triumph” could appear on their boss’s perpetually paralyzed face.

But when they glanced back, the Duke had already turned away, presenting only the back of his head. “No smug triumph. How do you plan to infiltrate? The sanatorium is surrounded by electrified fences. Tampering with them will trigger alarms.”

Riiip—

A muffled tearing sound like rent fabric echoed from midair. A black-red fissure yawned open beside Ode.

Ode leaped lightly into the fissure, bracing its edges until it hovered above the electrified fence. Then he crouched down.

The firelight from the Dream Realm behind him lit his dark-red tousled hair like fresh blood, his facial features swallowed by backlit shadow. Only his green eyes gleamed like those of a wolf prowling the wilderness.

He whistled down at Cavendish below—not entirely seriously. “Give me your hand.”

Dare you?

It was as if night winds carried the wail of dry bones, the rustling scrape of skeletal fingers drawing near.

Cavendish’s hand twitched at his side, as if tempted to raise it. In the end, he just chuckled softly and lifted his hand to tap the gate normally. “I was just telling you I could open the door for you.”

Click. The lock sprang open with a soft sound.