Ch.184The Fifth Entanglement – Vampire Waltz (4)

Mind-reading magic reads thoughts. But only thoughts. If one knew where memories are stored in the brain, one could read memories too, but no one knew that yet.

Mircala had even considered taking a job as a nurse in a mental hospital to use electrical magic to probe brains and find where memories are stored.

But she was not someone who could cross that line. Abandoning human principles for revenge, even for a loved one, was unthinkable to her.

Mircala had determination but not madness. Revenge is revenge. After revenge ends, we must continue living the next day as ordinary people, not as avengers. Crossing that line would make that impossible.

Neither this nor that, just indecisive. Mircala was such a hesitant person. She pretended to be thorough to cover her indecisiveness, but inside she was uncertain.

Mircala took another deep drag from her cigarette holder. Her lover had always told her not to smoke like this. She never obeyed. She had only been somewhat considerate. The cigarette smoke spread out.

Watching her, the detective also took out a pack of cigarettes with a red circle drawn on it and put one in his mouth. He didn’t light it himself.

Since Mircala understood what this meant, she reached toward the detective’s mouth. Gathering mana at her fingertips to light someone’s cigarette was a very natural act for those who could use magic.

She had done it routinely, but the detective grabbed her wrist. She could have pulled away if she applied force, but her muscles were too tense to properly exert strength.

She couldn’t even think of activating mind-reading magic. The embarrassment of being caught and preemptive fear almost showed on her face, but she managed to stop it just beneath a layer of makeup.

The detective murmured. It was a warning. At least for now.

“I thought the perfume smell was strong, and sure enough, it even covers the ozone smell that comes when using magic. Listen carefully. Once I leave this curtain, I’ll trust you. I’d like you to help me do that.”

Her voice would tremble if she spoke immediately. Mircala held back her words and only blew cigarette smoke at the detective. She needed to buy time. She had to appear relaxed.

It took no more than five seconds to compose her voice. Rather than drawing suspicion by stalling longer, it was better to respond immediately even with jumbled words.

“If I had planned to make a deal from the start, I wouldn’t have worn this perfume. You’re the one who appeared before me when I was out normally and gave me this job. Do you think I can read the future?”

No, Mircala herself had clearly told the detective she came to meet her father. That would reveal her intention to hide magic from her father. Mircala activated her mind-reading magic.

The detective was thinking the same thing. She needed to preempt him. If she didn’t speak first, it would become suspicious. This detective needed to be handled carefully—she couldn’t make him suspicious or turn him into an enemy.

“No one likes the smell of ozone, so you’re suspicious of the perfume I put on to meet my respected father? Didn’t you say a detective sells trust?”

The detective didn’t apologize. He was the most difficult kind of person to deal with. Using mind-reading magic for a long time could make one proficient in human psychology, but without mind-reading magic, one couldn’t handle such a thick-skinned person.

Yet his skill at detecting the smell of magic was like a hunting dog’s, so she couldn’t read his mind without wearing perfume.

“That’s why I’m trying to trust you. I’ll contact you when I receive information.”

At least the interrogation didn’t continue, which suggested she had succeeded in building minimal trust, or at least opening the floodgates of suspicion a little. The detective opened the curtain and left.

Only then did Mircala, trusting in her sound-dampening magic, let out her held breath. Without even noticing the cigarette burning out at the tip of her holder, she placed her hand on her forehead and tried to swallow the residue of relief, possibility, or… fear that still remained. It felt as if the detective had grabbed her throat rather than her wrist.

Still, work had to be done. For the next few days, she used mind-reading magic to gather information.

Contrary to her bluff, Littlehold’s information broker was still alive and well. She heard he was in the red-light district that day.

Strangely, such people tended to avoid calamity. Or perhaps it was disappointment from naively expecting misfortune to befall evil people. Misfortune was always a coin toss.

So all she could do was approach the dwarf’s informants and extract information using mind-reading magic. If he had really died, she would have handled it at the office as she had boasted to the detective.

The work wasn’t difficult. Dwarves often had fantasies about tall women. By stepping into that fantasy and laughing at their unnecessary remarks, she could become friendly with them.

While the information broker might be suspicious of those approaching him, the informants weren’t even suspicious. Mircala thought this time would be just as simple.

Indeed, it was easy to make them think naturally and occasionally let words slip by bringing them to a bar.

Mircala, who had decided to handle this job as usual and then focus on persuading the detective, asked a thoroughly drunk dwarf. She activated her mind-reading magic. An intoxicated mind doesn’t detect smells well.

“By the way, dwarves are a race with many warlocks, aren’t they? Even though it’s taboo, it’s quite enjoyable to see someone boldly breaking taboos… Oh, are there many warlocks in Littlehold? I suddenly got curious.”

Without mind-reading magic, this would just be a silly act, but as long as he gave the question even a little serious thought, she could know the answer. Mircala read the electrical currents flowing in the dwarf’s mind. She translated them.

The dwarf was… imagining something bizarre. He was imagining a dwarf fighting a monster with two heads, four arms extending from its torso, and walking on four legs.

What is that monster? Did dwarf warlock-soldiers fight such things? This was the problem with mind-reading magic. She could read minds but couldn’t obtain background knowledge.

However, the dwarf informant didn’t think long. As if getting goosebumps, he shuddered once and shook his head to dispel the imagination, then said:

“Of course! Hiccup, for dwarves, warlocks are… heroes, that’s why. Those damn Doppelsöldners. The monsters with two heads and limbs that the Americans brought—only warlocks and Doppelgängers could catch them! It’s funny to say this while living in America, but… well, that’s how it is. So there are many!”

He didn’t seem to seriously believe it. There was such a story… that seemed to be the extent of it… quite conscious. Why he deliberately avoided affirming it was something Mircala couldn’t understand.

Nevertheless, the dwarf organized his thoughts. He was mentally sorting through the dwarves who came to America with him who knew how to use warlock magic. He couldn’t write them down. He had to remember them all.

Saying she needed to use the restroom, she briefly stepped out to organize the names she had learned in her notebook before returning. A mind-reader who drifted through the underworld had to be satisfied with just this level of work.

Fortunately, Mircala had no intention of drifting through the underworld for her entire life. She preferred the light to the shadows. She loved nothing more than walks around noon. So she had no plans to stay in this lifestyle.

Nevertheless, it didn’t seem like she could easily give up this life. It was a life vampires couldn’t get used to. She smoked more cigarettes to hide her use of magic, and walking as if fleeing became her daily routine.

At minimum, she needed cross-verification, so she caught different informants from different parts of Littlehold and naturally made them recall names. Nothing had changed from the first list she received.

The fee… even if she charged only $5 per name, it would exceed $100. Are there as many as twenty warlocks living there? Mircala was also an ordinary person who felt aversion to the name “warlock.”

Mircala sent the detective a list containing twenty-one names and an invoice for $100, charging $5 per name. It didn’t take long for the detective to receive the mail.

The contents couldn’t possibly be proper information. The detective thought. Littlehold’s information broker, whom this vampire had claimed was dead, was alive and well. They had even encountered each other in the red-light district.

For what it was, the contents were quite proper. The names didn’t seem randomly made up, and the addresses were systematically recorded. It made one wonder where she had obtained this information.

The detective could think of two or three possibilities. One, this woman was a subcontractor for the information broker. But if so, she wouldn’t have claimed the broker was dead and his connections were now hers.

Another, this woman is trying to swallow up Littlehold’s information broker. If she was providing information that informants frequently saw the light of warlock magic, perhaps she was like a dog trying to change its leash for a new one.

Dwarves viewed their warlock-soldiers the way others viewed the Argonne Invincibles. It was strange that they would readily hand over information about warlocks, but in such a situation, it could be explained.

If so, it made sense that rather than bowing her head to a father she had a bad relationship with, she would grab a detective to handle the matter. If the information was accurate, he could be quite certain.

Anyway, the Husband Detective Agency now had an “out of office” sign posted. He left home with binoculars and a duffel bag, heading for Littlehold.

Dwarves liked buildings. Rather than liking buildings, they disliked squares. In fact, they didn’t seem to dislike squares that much. Dwarves abhorred being someone who stood out from the crowd.

That’s why they often moved in groups. That’s why they were obsessed with norms and rules. That’s why they wanted someone to speak for them instead of expressing what they wanted themselves.

While abhorring standing out from the crowd, they desperately wanted someone who did stand out. They acted as if they were waiting for a messiah. The detective preferred the term “leader of the lemmings” to messiah.

The detective headed to the Heartland Hotel again. Fortunately, this time he came as a guest, not a detective. MacCullin Heartland began trembling as soon as he saw the detective. He murmured:

“Why, why have you come again? After you left, what happened to the hotel…”

“The guest in the second-floor suite wasn’t seen until check-out day. As it turns out, that ogre was found dead in the old American Club building. What, did you find any meat while searching through the luggage the ogre left behind for valuable items? You would have denied knowing anything and moved on anyway.”

Heartland couldn’t answer that. This dwarf was a hotelier to the bone. He would have gladly lied to protect this shabby hotel. The detective continued:

“Anyway, I’d like to rent a room on the 6th floor. Do you have any vacancies?”

Nevertheless, it was already in the past. MacCullin Heartland sighed again and nodded.

“The 6th floor is completely empty. Um, which room would you like? The stairs and elevator are at the left end of the corridor, and from the left, the rooms are numbered 601 to 604 in order. And, um, this might be useless to say… but being pressured by the police was much better than being threatened by you. I’ve decided to consider it as having paid my dues.”

The police at least had manners. Many people thought that cheap detectives would pull the trigger without any hesitation. That was generally true.

However, unless one was an orc, ogre, or lizardman, the police rarely pointed guns first. It wasn’t completely unheard of. Still, it happened less often than with cheap detectives.

Since room 604 was at the corner of the building facing the main street, he rented 604. It would be better to rent for a longer period since he needed to slowly verify each name over a week.

Although the furniture and wallpaper were all cheap, it wasn’t a bad hotel. It was well-maintained, and as long as one didn’t have to share a table with bugs, it ranked in the upper tier of downtown hotels.

Initially, half of the addresses listed could be observed from room 604 of this hotel. It could be resolved by drawing the curtains and observing the houses with binoculars. The rest wouldn’t require tailing either.

After a week of verification… fortunately, there didn’t seem to be any dwarf conspiracy in this city. Some had clearly visible warlock sigil scars on their bodies when changing clothes, but they were scars.

Warlock magic leaves wounds that don’t heal quickly. At least while the effects of the magic remained, the wounds didn’t disappear. The fact that the wounds had healed meant considerable time had passed since they gave up warlock magic.

Even if they didn’t cast spells on themselves, if they gathered together, that would require attention, but there wasn’t even that. They all seemed focused only on going about their daily lives.

Still, it wasn’t hard to understand why all those warlocks were related to such matters. Only four out of twenty had proper families, and three-quarters of the remaining sixteen were moving from one day job to another. Even if they weren’t using warlock magic right now, it was clear they would readily pick up a dagger to use warlock magic if someone promised them money.

They reflect each other to a disgusting degree. Though they were hated opponents, the detective decided to acknowledge what needed to be acknowledged and marked only the names of those with families.

Family makes a good excuse. I need to keep my hands clean for my family. I need to use warlock magic to earn money for my family… So, having a family was more dangerous.

The information provided by the vampire Mircala was accurate. All twenty had warlock sigils, and all twenty addresses didn’t deviate much from what she had written. It was now certain.

The information fee was $100, but she wouldn’t want money. It would be better to contact her. However, he had no intention of doing so in this hotel with walls as thin as paper. It was also check-out day.

“It was quite nice staying here. I almost wish I had come as a guest rather than a detective from the beginning.”

The detective said what MacCullin Heartland would have wanted to hear and left the hotel. Late summer had almost become autumn. Unlike the seasons, the detective’s work hadn’t changed much.