Ch.181The Fifth Entanglement – Vampire Waltz (1)

Today, it’s four hours again. The headache from the hangover was somewhere between an electric current and a chill. The detective got up from bed while clutching his head. It was 5:30 AM.

At least in midsummer, the sun would rise around the time he woke up, but today was too early. There was no sign of sunrise. Nevertheless, he had slept as much as he could.

It was because he was accustomed to working in the morning. When one couldn’t force themselves to sleep, they naturally looked for something to do.

Starting with the request he made to the journalist a week ago, he had made the same request to all his informants. He had already spoken to the kobold at the tobacco shop, and had asked for information from the Good Friends and the back-alley detective agencies.

The fee for the Good Friends was a significant expense even for a detective, but the warlock issue was something that couldn’t be compared to money. If one had different intentions, it would be right to spend whatever it took to eradicate them.

The web wasn’t dense enough yet. He needed to find more informants. Even as a detective, without prior knowledge, he would have to rely on improvisation like when he dealt with the Old Gourmet Society.

Improvisation wasn’t necessarily bad, but it was best not to have to use it. He brought out the fireproof safe, opened it on his desk, and took out the client logs. It was a record of his five years as a detective.

In the first year, he hadn’t received many cases, but there was one involving a warlock. It had nothing to do with what he was looking for now.

It was about safely putting a dwarf warlock on a train who had slashed his own palm with a knife out of determination not to use magic, rendering his right hand unable to properly hold even a pen, let alone a ritual dagger.

He shed tears when the detective revealed he was a member of the Argonne Invincibles. The detective had done for him what he had never done for himself, only for his comrades. That’s why he didn’t kill him.

The warlock said he could have escaped just by cutting his palm. He tried to say something more afterward but couldn’t bring himself to. That dwarf knew the weight of magic.

He couldn’t use him as an informant. He was already dead. There wasn’t even a remarkable story behind it. While living in seclusion, he was shot by a robber on his way to the post office to mail a letter.

After the warlock who gave up even one hand to abandon magic, he had seen another one two years ago. This time it was someone who properly used magic. He killed him for turning corpses into monstrosities under the pretense of reviving them.

After a few quiet years, he started encountering warlocks again this year. Moreover, there was now the stowaway case. It seemed like something that had been keeping its head down was trying to raise it.

If those things were trying to become active, he had to move too. When things that had been hiding with their heads down try to rise and move, it’s either because they can’t survive otherwise or because they’ve become most powerful.

There was no reason for them to become powerful. This wasn’t a place full of dwarves who repeatedly and habitually spewed words of betrayal. It was a country of people who already had too many things they hated to hate goblins.

Then perhaps they thought there would be no opportunity to move if not now, or maybe they were just moving as individuals rather than as a single entity.

It was funny, if anything, that he had to investigate while hoping he was making a false move. He needed a place to get another informant.

“There’s no one better than that kobold in the slums. No one else would stick their head in there claiming to be a proper informant.”

Even though the information from that kobold was crude, it was cheap and good enough to get leads for investigation. So he could leave the slums to him.

The Good Friends, an information company that collaborated with Blingkerton, had connections with the mafia and were somewhat professional, so they would show utility worth the money spent. That was enough.

Other informants also had their own areas they could cover. The detective agencies could get information from small and shabby gangs, Yehoel could get information from the police, but… it seemed insufficient to track warlocks.

It wouldn’t be bad to have an informant more connected to the underworld…. In that case, looking in a bar would be best.

The first place the detective thought of was Bar Enoch. Not only were there many vampires, but even the taxi driver who was a regular at Enoch was something not human. He was an existence that couldn’t be explained by mere years of experience.

If more such beings gathered there, he might be able to make one of them an informant. If he was going to wander around bars looking for either intoxication or coolness anyway, it would be better to wander productively.

He had already put an “out of office” sign on the door of the Husband Detective Agency. He would be at Bar Enoch in the evening, and probably wouldn’t return home until tomorrow morning.

During the day, he needed to look into magic. He put on a proper suit. The detective tired twice as slowly as others even in the heat. Even if he moved twice as much as others, he only sweated half as much.

Normally, wearing proper summer attire was simply because it was natural. There was even a criminal he had caught after running barefoot through a snowy field for two hours in the dead of winter. Fortunately, he didn’t have to cut off any toes.

From among the newly printed business cards, he took out one printed with the name of Clichy Corporation. Originally, Charles Clichy had printed it for him as a sign of goodwill, saying he could use it if needed.

Now that the Forest’s Firstborn who remembered that incident was dead, he could use it freely without worry. Although Clichy Corporation’s reputation had fallen, its money hadn’t.

No matter how much a reputation plummeted, if money remained, at least a minimum level of authority could be maintained. The detective’s name was Henry Davis until he reached his destination. He got in the car and drove through the streets of New York.

He happened to pass by the building of the New York Ogre Association, and the ogres, who had been trying to hold out with curtains drawn and doors firmly locked until now, were opening their doors and placing desks in front.

The people gathered in front began to curse the Old Gourmet Society, and the ogres joined in the momentum. Then, an old ogre who looked like the chairman of the Ogre Association shouted as if to organize the commotion.

“Why are desert elves and elves considered kin? Why use the word ‘kin’ when they’re so different? Because they share many things. When elves speak of a world tree made of oak, desert elves speak of a world tree made of date palm, and they have the same ears and culture. But why call the Old Gourmet Society our kin! They don’t even understand what ogre cuisine is!”

He must have practiced before coming out. It was too detailed with examples to have been improvised on the spot. In response, other ogres also began to spew hatred toward the Old Gourmet Society.

If the wave is too big to confront, one might as well ride it. Despite their massive bodies, ogres were a race with quite good athletic abilities, and riding waves wasn’t even work for them.

They’ve decided to cut off the tail completely. If so, the detective had nothing to worry about now. It was the same principle as when he let go of the dwarf who had cut his palm.

The detective drove a bit further and got out in front of a building constructed in an antique Gothic style, or in other words, looking centuries older than the surrounding buildings. He practiced a smile of sorts before getting out.

It was the New York branch of the American Necromantic Medical Association. A place full of necromancers. They weren’t such ominous individuals. They occasionally controlled corpses, but they used anatomical cadavers received from nearby university hospitals.

Their areas of expertise were medicine and criminology. Those two combined with necromancy were very effective.

Necromancers could use healing magic on bodies that had already started to decompose and were losing evidence, helping to identify the deceased, and they could also selectively decompose only the already rotting parts of wounds, allowing new flesh to grow without using a knife.

In fact, neither was important. A few days ago, a newspaper article reported that a necromancer from the New York Necromantic Medical Association had discovered a way to break magic or curses. The detailed method wasn’t included.

The receptionists at the reception desk relaxed their expressions when dealing with a neatly dressed young man in a suit. He approached them, smiled a now quite natural smile, and briefly bowed his head in greeting.

He pushed forward his business card. While they read the card, he spoke.

“I’m Henry Davis from the pharmaceutical division of Clichy Corporation. Since our president changed, Clichy Corporation has been trying to start businesses that are more beneficial to society. Our division head saw the amazing discovery of the Necromantic Medical Association in the newspaper a few days ago and asked me to find out what method it is and if it’s practical, so I’ve come to visit…”

The detective knew that this kind of approach would elicit one of two responses. Either they would be happy that someone was genuinely interested, or they would be offended that they were being treated like merchants.

Fortunately, this time it was the former. An association with the ambiguous name of “necromantic medicine” wouldn’t likely receive many donations or investments, so they were attracted by Clichy Corporation’s money.

The receptionist smiled brightly and looked at the detective. He was a man who could get anything with a well-tailored suit and neatly arranged hair.

“Dr. Lysander’s research will finally see the light of day! I thought Clichy Corporation was just a bad place, but to come like this just from seeing a cheap advertorial in the newspaper…”

The detective shook his head. He was good at pretending to be a good person.

“A cheap advertorial? Our division head, our company, didn’t come because of a single line of advertisement in the newspaper. You know. What we saw was a promising gem.”

She nodded as if there was no problem and came out from behind the reception desk. She seemed ready to guide him properly. I’ve gained her goodwill. The detective suppressed the urge to smirk.

Past the reception area, there was a black and white mural depicting a doctor reviving the dead with herbs. Above it, the necromancers’ motto “Treating life with death as medicine” was elegantly engraved.

It was a place with good sunlight and location, suitable for use as a hospital or an expensive school building. Necromancers knew well how they would look if they were in a dark place.

The receptionist even knocked on the door of the necromancy doctor’s room for the detective. Only after hearing “Come in” did she wave goodbye to the detective and turn back to go downstairs.

Inside was a doctor who seemed to be barely enjoying the end of his thirties. He wore glasses on his face, and his forearms, waist, and neck were thin, giving a frail impression, but there was enthusiasm in his eyes.

He was a man with a large skeletal frame but little flesh, making his sunken cheeks prominent. He looked at the detective and asked curiously.

“Um, what brings you here?”

The detective once again made an elegant self-introduction. He talked about the pharmaceutical division of Clichy Corporation and subtly hinted that the company wanted to know more about the method.

He didn’t need to know the exact mechanism. What the detective needed to know was how it worked. Simply transferring magic wouldn’t do. If possible, it should be eliminated entirely.

As the detective spoke each word, hope gradually began to appear on the doctor’s gaunt face. The first investor is a fake, this is pitiful in its own way. The detective swallowed his words.

Since he seemed to have almost won him over, the detective instead showed humility.

“…We know how Clichy Corporation is perceived now. But that’s precisely why we came to the Necromantic Medical Association instead of going to genetics or biology associations. We wanted to show that we’re breaking ties with eugenics and making a completely fresh start. And you, doctor, have given us the perfect opportunity.”

He shook his head with an overwhelmed expression. He was so happy that the detective almost felt guilty as he extended his hand and shook it vigorously. He didn’t actually feel guilty.

“No, no. It’s me who received the perfect opportunity, not the company. Ah, well… it’s simple. Since we’re a necromancy association…”

After explaining all the practical issues that necromancers typically discuss, such as why they use dead people and how they would procure cadavers if the business started properly… he began to explain the method.

“I want you to understand that this is a field where sufficiently continuous measures are possible. Ah, the method is simple. We transfer the magical circuit remaining in the practitioner’s body to a cadaver used for necromancy, preventing the magic from activating. Since magic is weakened in a dead body compared to when alive, even the strongest magic can be removed more simply.”

Transferring the magical circuit must be like what I did for that ogre who almost turned into a monstrosity. The detective nodded. Since it involves physically cutting it out, medicine would be necessary.

It was a method of transferring magic, but the fact that it was based on complete removal rather than just transfer was quite appealing. It was more than what the detective had hoped for during the day.

The detective, who had recorded all the content to inform his comrades, nodded. He returned a now natural smile.

“Well, I’ve taken proper notes, so I’ll have to go back and report. If things progress well, we’ll contact you separately. Even if things don’t work out, I’ll at least convey our sincere condolences.”

Books may be stationary, but people move. It wasn’t rare for the detective to gather more information than what his comrades could find by searching through books at night.

Dr. Lysander, whose tension had completely dissolved due to the detective’s words and attitude, nodded. He was completely relaxed, slumped in his chair.

“I’ll probably become even more emaciated by the time your call comes… Anyway, thank you so much! I’ll wait and hope for a positive review.”

A scholar without a sponsor could do nothing. Most problems were money problems, and money problems were as complex to solve as they were simple in their solution.

The detective inserted two pages of the notebook where he had recorded the content into the cover of the platinum branch he had borrowed, then went to the Veterans Association Hall. After pushing the platinum branch through the peephole, he turned away without hesitation.

Bar Enoch opens later than other bars. Vampires loved the night, not the evening, so it might be unavoidable.

In fact, it didn’t open that late. While the detective was contemplating the possibility of freedom from magic, the time for Bar Enoch to open had already passed.

He headed to Enoch belatedly. He did so with the thoughts of possibility, or hope, left as they were, only adding the thought that he needed to find an informant.