Ch.185The Fifth Entanglement – Vampire Waltz (5)

The magic of reading thoughts was more addictive than drugs. The sensation of being able to know anything while reading minds, of having the upper hand over anyone, tended to eat away at people.

When Mircala first learned this magic, she would go outside even when afraid of the silence felt while sleeping, reading people’s minds while emitting the ozone smell of mana reacting with air.

She had to endure it. Addiction wasn’t an option. She had merely strayed from the path and needed to return. Painfully, Mircala swallowed the silence. Consuming time where she could read nothing, she took several sleeping pills before falling asleep.

Since she had handed the detective a list of twenty names, she would have at least a month. Even that detective couldn’t possibly check all twenty people on the list.

“Right, right. It’ll be fine. It’s only been a week. If someone could reach a conclusion this quickly, they wouldn’t have hired me to gather information in the first place. Yes, let’s think of it that way…”

There might be experts who could perfectly track someone’s schedule and acquaintances after just a week of surveillance… No, she decided to believe there weren’t any. Mircala was a fearful person.

She was so afraid of draining her lover completely by drinking their blood that her lover had to comfort her, and she was so timid with others that she would circle around people and observe them before approaching.

For such a person, revenge might be too difficult. When using others, she feared being used in return, and when deceiving, she only feared being caught.

But revenge was necessary. She had to avenge being betrayed by the father she had trusted and followed. This was justified. Mircala steeled herself.

Besides, she had obsession and patience. If she had those two qualities and could maintain them until the end, she could succeed.

Did she want to kill her father? Not exactly. She just… wanted to hear the reason. After that, she would decide what to do. However, people don’t always have justifiable reasons for killing others.

She didn’t even know if she could kill her father in the first place. Her father had… lived for an extremely long time. All Mircala knew was that it had been an extremely long time.

She greeted the morning with a head that felt like it would split from sleeping pill overuse. Mircala had heard about the Followers of the Forest’s Firstborn while reading the detective’s thoughts. She could also recall the name of the journalist who had hired the detective.

Had that detective formed even a slight personal relationship with the journalist? Had he revealed anything that Mircala wanted to know to the journalist? The only way to find out was to visit.

“Alright, I just need to learn something. Then I can make a deal. If they want such a big revenge, saying I’ll keep quiet if they help me this once won’t sound like an excuse…”

Anyway, using mind-reading magic would make it easy to convince the journalist that she had a story they would want. A small glimmer flashed outside the window, but Mircala didn’t notice.

Besides, the journalist was an elf. Their sense of smell would quickly be numbed by perfume. Mircala left the house. It was a home meant for two people. Too spacious for one person… but that issue was being resolved.

People don’t suspect what looks pleasing to the eye. A vampire who evoked the word “night” wearing something white and sparkling while walking down the street only made people admire, not suspect.

Still, this time she dressed somewhat modestly. Though she sprayed perfume heavily as if to reveal who she was, she dressed like any other woman passing by on the street. It would attract interest.

Finding the address alone had been arduous. Since the journalist was openly at odds with the Followers of the Forest’s Firstborn, she had to approach the followers to find out.

Even though the Forest’s Firstborn had died and their influence had weakened, they were still an organization with many mages.

Even Mircala, who wasn’t an exceptional mage except for her mind-reading ability, had burned the roof of her mouth more than once when accidentally making mistakes while extracting mana through breathing.

If even mana mixed with breath could do that much damage, a proper mana bullet formed and thrown by a mage would burn bones and melt flesh. Just thinking about it made her palms sweat.

Mircala was utterly incompetent when it came to fighting. Since resolving to take revenge, she had carried a gun, but she had never even fired it properly.

At least she knew how to drive. Mircala drove directly to journalist Rose Leafman’s house.

An inexplicable sense of foreboding kept leaving an unpleasant sensation on the nape of her neck, making her consciously glance at the rearview mirror, but there didn’t seem to be any car following her. Probably.

For a journalist who had published such articles, the house was quite secluded. Having come early in the morning, the journalist likely hadn’t left for work yet.

After checking the clock that indicated it was almost 8 o’clock, she knocked on the door at the address she had found in the thoughts of the Followers of the Forest’s Firstborn. Fortunately, the elf’s voice from inside was kind.

“Just a moment, I’m coming!”

It didn’t take long for the door to open. Rose took a deep breath before opening the door. The perfume smell was strong enough to be noticed from beyond the doorway. She greeted her visitor with an awkward smile.

“I don’t know who you are, but for someone visiting an elf, you’ve… sprayed quite a lot of perfume. What brings you here?”

Mircala immediately activated her mind-reading magic. She began interpreting the electrical signals passing through the elf’s mind. The journalist was thinking about asking for additional coverage on the condition of the Industrial Spirit King.

Having read her mind, it was time to scatter words. Mircala’s thoroughness was a facade, but her outward thoroughness was never lacking.

“I should introduce myself first, right? I’m Mircala, an information broker working in Littlehold. You know how there are many skilled craftsmen among dwarves? Just recently, some of our informants brought information about the Industrial Spirit King, and this kind of information is best sold to the press. So, I came to sell the information. I make money from the newspaper’s funds, and you get a good story.”

The journalist wasn’t someone who needed mind-reading magic. Anyone who wasn’t blind could easily notice how her eyes lit up upon hearing those words.

However, she seemed curious about how Mircala knew she was looking to cover the Industrial Spirit King and had found her way here. She needed to preempt this.

“Ever since I saw you put the Forest’s Firstborn away, I thought, ‘This journalist can be trusted.’ After all, if I’m going to sell information anyway, it’s better to give it to a journalist I like, right?”

Mircala showed a friendly smile. Though her words were lies and even her thoughts were false, this smile alone was genuine to her.

Being large for a vampire, she even pretended to kiss the back of the much smaller elf’s hand. Seeing the journalist’s ear tips redden with embarrassment, she took control of the situation.

“So, may I come in? Ah, you might be a bit late for work, but this is definitely good information. I’ll tell you everything I’ve received.”

Judging by how naturally the journalist stepped aside to let her in, this gamble had succeeded. Just as Mircala was happily stepping into the house, a familiar voice came from behind.

Familiar and frightening. Though the voice was coming from behind, it was one she didn’t dare turn to face. She forcibly suppressed her trembling.

“I believe I asked you to help me build trust. Is visiting a journalist I’ve worked with, claiming information you haven’t received, your idea of helping? Keep going in.”

Rose was flustered by the presence of two unexpected visitors. Just as she thought a tall vampire with an unforgettable face had arrived, Michael followed behind, speaking in his usual manner.

Though she didn’t understand what was happening, it seemed better to intervene. Rose pulled Mircala into the house and stood between her and the detective.

“It’s been a while, Michael. And what do you mean? Information she hasn’t received?”

“Exactly what I said. No informant visited her house this morning. No, she doesn’t even have informants in Littlehold. How did you say you work as an information broker in Littlehold, Mircala?”

Mircala tried to read the detective’s mind with her magic. She needed to read his thoughts somehow to respond. If she answered here, she would be backed into a corner. She interpreted the electrical signals.

She wished she hadn’t. The detective was recalling a terrible scene.

A forest tinted entirely in gray appeared. It was impossible to tell whether what protruded from the overturned earth were tree roots or the limbs of fallen warriors. She saw the landscape the detective had witnessed. The trembling of hands and the smell of burning flesh surrounding them were felt all too vividly.

He was in pain. How had he endured it last time? The detective had decided to revisit his previous suspicion. This woman was using magic to read thoughts.

It was fortunate he had stayed up all night watching her house, suspicious of the information broker who hadn’t answered several calls the previous evening despite seeming suspicious.

All the vampire named Mircala had done after coming home late at night was take sleeping pills and fall asleep.

Her reaction had been read. Having read with this mind-reading magic what she shouldn’t have, Mircala began searching for an answer. She didn’t think the journalist in front of her would protect her.

In the end, she chose honesty. Mircala had no other immediate options, and at this rate, far from persuading the detective, she would end up at odds with him.

“Well… I said I took over the territory after the Littlehold information broker died. Yes, that was a lie. The Littlehold information broker is alive and well, and yes… no informants visited me this morning.”

The detective took a step forward and closed the door. Without drawing his gun or uttering threats, he continued speaking.

“No, that’s not it. Are you using magic to read thoughts?”

Mircala nodded in confession.

“Yes, I am. Until now, it was worth what I paid to learn it, but now… I’m screwed. Yes, completely screwed.”

The detective didn’t respond. He seemed to be giving Mircala a chance to explain the situation. Perhaps it was thanks to the journalist who was still standing in front of Mircala, looking up at the detective.

“I needed someone to handle a dirty job, and you seemed perfect for it. But I didn’t think you’d take such a job no matter how much money I offered. I thought you caught Charles Clichy. The Forest’s Firstborn. How could someone who does such righteous work, no matter how skilled…”

The detective and journalist exchanged glances as if discussing who should chuckle first. Honestly, the detective barely believed her words.

“Don’t talk nonsense. Does it make sense for someone looking to hire a contractor for dirty work not to properly research what kind of work their potential contractor does?”

Mircala blurted out in confusion. She was just an ordinary person with strong obsession. Compared to the detective, or even the journalist, she had never set foot in the back alleys.

“W-what? I did verify in my own way! Verification with mind-reading magic is more reliable. And… honestly, I didn’t have time for more background checks. Look, you figured out I wasn’t genuine. Others would soon find out too. I found a decent contractor before that happened. I had no choice.”

Rose stepped forward to stand between them. One thing was clear… the two had made a deal, and this vampire who had come to find her had deceived the detective. The detective, as if it were natural, hadn’t been fooled.

Things were about to go wrong. It was better to prevent things from going wrong than to fix them after. Rose still held her palm out to the detective while looking at Mircala.

“Wait, wait a minute. You said your name was Mircala, right? First, you need to explain what job you were trying to assign. Saying you had no choice honestly means nothing. Anyone could say that. And it’s strange to deceive someone you’re trying to make a deal with. Please explain everything before it’s too late.”

The detective had calmed down somewhat. That is, if you can call being angry enough not to immediately draw a gun and shoot the vampire in front of him “calmed down.”

Since Mircala’s words would clearly provoke the detective further, the journalist moved to completely block her from the detective. No one would die in her house.

“Well, yes. Someone I loved died. Killed by none other than my father. I didn’t see it directly, but when I went to meet him, my lover was found dead with a hole in his head too large to be from a bullet. So…”

Mircala poured out her story. She explained that she was looking for a skilled contractor to take revenge on her father, the progenitor of vampires, but didn’t think the detective would accept the job. She had planned to read his thoughts to discover something he was hiding and use that to persuade him.

It was fortunate. It was incredibly fortunate that the detective had caught her on the day she came to extract information without having discovered anything. She could be thankful for that many times over.

If she had discovered even a little something, this vampire named Mircala probably wouldn’t have been as lucky as herself. The detective was quietly watching Mircala without showing his emotions.

The detective sighed. He sneered. Perhaps thinking that showing hostility would be tantamount to revealing the truth about the Argonne Invincibles, his voice was uncharacteristically gentle.

“All you need to hire me is $20 a day. I might charge extra for expenses, but that means you don’t need to go snooping around behind people’s backs. Understand?”

“Ah, I understand. I’m sorry… Then, does that mean you might help me get revenge on my father? Still just $20 a day… no, I can pay up to $30. I have quite a bit of money left. How about it?”

Negotiations are done with money. Now that she was trying to negotiate in a way that somewhat pleased the detective, he nodded.

Mircala, whom the detective had thought was an underworld information broker, had now set foot in such a place for the first time. Fortunately, she had a guide. Just as the detective had introduced the journalist to Madam Brünhild, the journalist introduced Mircala to the detective. She told her how to behave and what to observe.

After a brief silence to calm emotions, the detective spoke.

“I thought you were trying to eliminate the Littlehold information broker and take over their informants. If that’s not the case… before dealing with your father or whatever, we need to handle the dwarf who’s trying to kill you to steal your territory. You don’t need to do it yourself, but I’ll charge extra. Can you pay?”

What began at Bar Enoch had passed through Littlehold and reached a turning point at the journalist’s house. It was now heading back to Littlehold and would eventually return to Bar Enoch.