Ch.147The Fourth Entanglement – Elegy for the Vigilantes (8)

To the journalist, that police officer was the Rat-Catcher. Though the Rat-Catcher had arrived too late, could this officer be different? The detective saw no hope. He would eventually slip down too.

Still, such thoughts were no reason to refuse his employer’s request. When it came to cases, being strict and principled prevented future troubles, and there were things that needed verification.

Evening was approaching. The Followers of the Forest’s Firstborn had their own lives during the day and only became followers at night, so now was the best time. The detective wasn’t one to linger long in someone’s home anyway.

Though the journalist couldn’t see the future, it wasn’t difficult to predict what would happen. In a couple of hours, the detective would return, leave documents about Uncle Leonard, and by tomorrow morning, there would be news about the Followers of the Forest’s Firstborn suffering a mysterious attack. Everyone would surely find it satisfying.

Strangely, there was a sense of déjà vu in those words. It felt like he had heard a similar story before—about someone storming into a building alone and completely destroying everyone inside.

The journalist picked up the newspaper article he had found at the library last time. It was about a brothel in the red-light district that had suffered a mysterious attack, with everyone inside killed.

Without knowledge of the Argonne Invincibles, one couldn’t prepare. Without preparation, one couldn’t respond. They hadn’t been able to respond. The journalist grabbed the article and clutched the detective’s collar.

The detective turned around. He didn’t seem particularly surprised by the article the journalist showed him. It was something that could be inferred just from the fact that he had been there with the madam of Pandemonium.

Since there was nothing particularly shameful about it, the detective smirked.

“Do you have evidence?”

The journalist shook his head. The detective wasn’t one to leave evidence. All he ever left were implications—implications that lasted as long as the marks of strangulation.

“And you’re not the type to write articles without evidence. Even for a small newspaper like Golden Age Press, you should know how weighty such matters are.”

At those words, the journalist asked the same question Willem had asked, though with a different weight.

“You did it last time, and you’re doing it again now. You’re doing the same things but trying to get away with it again. Why? I mean, you’re just like them. How do you always get away with it?”

The detective finally turned his head properly. Looking down at the journalist with his pointed ears drooping and trembling, he said:

“The same? I may do the job, but I’m not obsessed with it. Those creatures think about how they can work even one more day, while I try to rest after work whenever possible. I know that work is just work, not some goddamn divine calling or anything. Don’t think what I said to your detective lordship earlier was a joke.”

Sometimes he would escape into work to avoid complicated thoughts, but that was only occasionally. After finishing work, his routine was to date Levi, drink, or find a vampire to spend the night with.

The detective himself knew he wasn’t in a normal state. Instead of accepting this abnormal state as ideal, he despised it and tried to live like others as much as possible.

Occasionally, there were those who made such efforts seem futile. Like stowaways who drank the waters of war without being veterans, or places like that brothel.

Was this justification too? The detective decided not to worry about it. At the very least, he had never stood in court and had no criminal record, so there was no need to worry.

The journalist had no immediate rebuttal to the detective’s words. He hadn’t even found a single clue to persuade the detective, let alone formulate an argument. The detective simply left through the door.

He didn’t depart immediately. He needed to give Yehoel a tip. That guy was indeed a corrupt cop. He was also an angel so pure that even the word “corruption” seemed pure in comparison.

Even such a person had his uses. Though incompetent, he acknowledged his incompetence, making him easy to manipulate, and his social skills were just enough to keep his position.

So he was a pretty good police connection to hand over to an officer who didn’t even know his lifeline was being held by the journalist’s sympathy. The detective entered a public phone booth and called Yehoel.

“Is this Officer Yehoel? This is civilian collaborator Husband.”

Yehoel answered in a comfortable tone again. If he didn’t understand the gravity of the situation, he could be used appropriately.

“Yeees, this is Yehoel. What’s up now? Hey, kid. What happened to that offer to go to Eden? I’m not the type to get swindled out of money.”

“Six more crimes and you’d switch from angel to demon. Anyway, don’t contact me or come looking for me, just keep your head down. There are rumors these days that the serial killer is someone inside the police.”

Yehoel wasn’t an angel who would be tense from such words. He smirked leisurely.

“You wouldn’t have called out of concern for me… What’s your real business?”

“Seems like it’s not just thanks to me that your head and neck are still friends. A few corrupt cops will commit suicide soon. Contact me when it’s wrapped up as suicide. Got it?”

Not many people truly committed suicide on their own. Congressman Edward Collins had committed suicide, but he had borrowed the detective’s hand a little.

Yehoel was still incredibly relaxed. This time too, he was thinking about payment first. Among those who lived like that, Yehoel might be the only one in New York living a proper life.

“This time I’ll really collect from Eden, so keep that in mind. And, you know, let’s be good. Have you ever seen me give up comfort? I’m that, you know, that. Knock and… whatever. You know?”

“It seems the God-President didn’t give you enough intelligence to hit someone from behind. Alright, next time we’ll really meet at Eden.”

A level of stupidity that required no suspicion was somewhat of a good character trait. Yehoel had his own sharpness in his own way, but it wasn’t often present.

The detective drove toward a familiar building. Most of Charles Clichy’s personal requests came by phone, so he wasn’t used to visiting, but when working with the Followers of the Forest’s Firstborn, he often used the back door.

Despite having quit working, he hadn’t thrown away the back door key. He never knew when he might need to enter again, and now he needed to enter like this, so it had been a wise decision.

After picking the back door lock, he peered inside briefly. There was no sign of anyone. It was usually quiet at this hour, but now with their power greatly diminished, it seemed there were no elves wandering inside the building at this time.

He quietly closed the door, locked it again, and entered. Inside the Followers of the Forest’s Firstborn’s building, there was always a pine scent. He didn’t know if it was something they worshipped. He had never been interested in their ideology.

However, the detective smelled something other than pine. It was the smell of ozone. It was coming from the right. Walking as if he couldn’t detect it beneath the pine scent, he traced the source of the smell.

It was definitely on the right. This meant it wasn’t blocking the corridor leading in from the back door. Were there any mages among the Followers of the Forest’s Firstborn who used refraction magic? There were a few.

When walking quietly enough to muffle even his footsteps, he could faintly hear breathing. It was definitely on the right wall of the corridor, and pretending not to notice, he continued walking forward.

Elven senses differ from human senses. To an elf, both pine and ozone smells would be easily distinguishable, but not to an ordinary person. While an elf might detect another elf’s deliberately lowered breathing, humans generally couldn’t. Thus, elves often underestimated the senses of other races.

The detective pretended to pass by the elf. Acting as if he was naturally passing by, he raised his hand and brushed it along the corridor wall at the height of the elf’s neck.

The elf, thinking the detective hadn’t noticed him, failed to react. Though still not clearly visible, the detective could feel the elf’s skin touch his hand.

If it had been another elf’s senses, they might have detected something was there even if not clearly visible, but the detective had to search.

He pulled his hand back, lifting the elf. Since he was wearing gloves anyway, he watched for a moment as the struggling elf dispelled the magic. It was a not-too-bad-looking elf with black hair.

He pressed and blocked the blood vessels on both sides of the neck to make the elf lose consciousness. There was no need to create a noisy murder case, and the journalist, who was essentially his client, would dislike it too, so he tossed the elf aside.

After confirming there was no one near the stairs, he went up. The document room was on the third floor. Since the Forest’s Firstborn had died, they probably hadn’t organized anything, so documents about Leonard Price would still be there.

The second floor was almost empty, but in front of the document room on the third floor stood an elf holding a staff. Though not emitting an ozone smell, the staff with markings indicated he was a mage.

The Forest’s Firstborn had helped train many elven mages. It was natural that many mages were attached to them. Charles Clichy himself had written two papers on mana mechanics.

It wasn’t common for a mage who wanted to learn lightning magic to be able to learn it. The mage raised his staff. He lifted his hand holding the staff and measured the distance to the detective with the markings on the staff and his thumb.

“What? Why is a human inside the building? You seem to know where you are, but if you don’t leave, I’ll shoot. Unlike guns, magic doesn’t make a sound, you know?”

Mages who couldn’t have observers like Charles Clichy generally used magic in that way. The power was less than a gun’s. It was ridiculous to expect more from a lower-class elf.

Moreover, the detective only received half the effect of magic. He also received only half of all harm… his body could resist magic twice as much. Ignoring this, he continued walking. The stairs were on his side.

“Do I look like I’m talking nonsense?! Damn, everyone just ignores me now. When I wore a mask, no one looked at me like that, but now…”

The elven mage spoke with an indignant voice, and the smell of ozone spread around. A pure mana lump flew toward the detective, corroding the surrounding air. The detective caught it lightly with his ungloved hand.

There was a burning sensation left on his palm, but that was it. Still, it was better to catch it properly since it would damage clothes if hit. Mana was a catalyst. It accelerated all reactions. Clothes getting damaged was also a reaction.

Though he acted as if it was nothing, normally this level of power would burn flesh and corrode bone if it reached it.

Even so, compared to what he had seen during the Great War, it was almost cute. When hit by mana bullets, fired at a rate of five per shell, a person would collapse like a moldy piece of bread, leaving only a mush.

Even such mana bullets only left mild burns after he wrapped spells around his body. Realizing that the mana bullets he was firing had no effect, the elf in a suit quickly turned around.

The detective, who had only been walking until now, finally planted his feet and ran. If the elf screamed, every elf in the building would notice, so he needed to handle this cleanly now.

The elf, who had run a few steps, tried to look back but stumbled. The detective’s hand caught his head before it could hit the floor with a loud noise. The detective lifted him by the head and whispered:

“Keep your mouth shut. So they do post someone at the document room. I’m a visitor looking for documents, will you help?”

Since elven hearing could easily detect gunshots even with a silencer, he didn’t take out his gun to threaten. The threat of someone who was unaffected by mana bullets running toward him was enough.

The elf whispered in a voice so quiet that even other elves couldn’t hear. Quiet, weak, and powerless, she resembled the current Followers of the Forest’s Firstborn. She would fit well as the new Forest’s Firstborn.

“W-what documents are you… looking for?”

“The ledger containing the money spent on Leonard Price. Find it. Oh, if you want to scream, go ahead. There’s something called freedom of expression. As long as you can take responsibility, you can express your thoughts and feelings however you want.”

At the detective’s sarcasm, the elf couldn’t properly focus her gaze and kept shifting her eyes. Eventually, she lowered her eyes completely and whispered, almost sobbing:

“There are quite a lot of documents in there, so it will take a long time…”

The detective quietly held the elf’s head and pressed it against the floor. He quietly pressed it between his hand and the floor.

Difficult-to-find documents usually became easier to find this way. Normally, he would have slapped her cheek, but since there was a need to avoid making noise now, he decided to press instead.

“If it’s the documents of the man who arrested and took away the Forest’s Firstborn, they would have kept them somewhere useful. Do you still think it will take a long time?”

The elf couldn’t nod or shake her head, but barely opened her lips to speak. She rambled:

“I took it out. Took, uh, took it out. I took it out with the files of other traitors, so I’ll bring it soon, soon, uh, r-right away…”

Only then did the detective release the elf’s head and help her up. Seeing that the elf’s hand holding the document room key was shaking so much that she couldn’t properly insert the key into the door’s lock, he placed his hand over hers to help open the door and made her go inside.

Leaning against the doorframe and waiting, the elf quickly found and brought the documents. The quality of the documents was quite good. The man had received his current apartment, wedding gifts, and job congratulation gifts from Charles Clichy.

It seemed they were hometown friends, yet despite being so deeply involved, he went around saying they needed to hunt traitors and hypocrites. The detective quietly took the file. He left the place.

In the first-floor corridor, the elf was still lying unconscious. The detective, who had entered as casually as if taking a walk without any sense of fighting, left the followers’ building with the same indifference and got into his car.

It took exactly one hour for the detective to return to the journalist’s apartment. The round trip by car took fifty-five minutes. He knocked on the journalist’s apartment door, and it soon opened.

The journalist shuddered as if finding it eerie that the detective had returned so quickly and with the ledger.

“You don’t need to tell me what happened in that hour. Um, are the Followers of the Forest’s Firstborn…?”

“Those who needed to leave had already left, and only a few random mages were there. Don’t act like something happened. Nothing happened. I just went in and took the ledger, that’s all.”

The journalist didn’t believe the detective’s words. However, he decided to acknowledge the fact that he had found important material to persuade Uncle Leonard.