Chapter 04
Evelyn leaned back, crossing her arms as she fell deep into thought, but no matter how much she pondered, the puzzle pieces refused to fit.
“Forget it,” she muttered to herself.
This wasn’t the priority right now. She could investigate her grandfather’s true identity slowly over time. For now, saving Grand Duke Gracias came first.
The first solution that came to Evelyn’s mind was a letter.
In this era, there was a system known as anonymous mail, where an item would be delivered as long as a stamp was affixed to the envelope. She could have written her name, but doing so felt inherently risky. The Grand Duke’s reputation was simply too terrifying.
A warning letter about an impending danger from a complete stranger? If she were in his shoes, she would instantly hunt that person down to cross-examine them.
Though she had heard her grandfather shared a past connection with the Grand Duke, she possessed absolutely nothing to prove it. If she played her cards wrong, she might be captured and wind up with broken bones like his other unfortunate victims.
‘Besides, I don’t even know which military unit Grandfather served in.’
She had asked out of curiosity before, but her grandfather had always been tight-lipped about the details. It was likely because the war he endured was too horrific, a memory he desperately wished to bury. Respecting that, she hadn’t pressed further. Consequently, she had no way to verify the facts. She certainly couldn’t claim she had foreseen the future in a dream, either. Whether he believed her or not, it was a dangerous gamble.
‘Still, I don’t have any other choice.’
An anonymous letter could still work if handled properly, couldn’t it? Evelyn penned the letter in a handwriting entirely different from her own and dropped it into a postbox in a remote district far from her house. She had even put on a light disguise, terrified of catching anyone’s eye.
Despite sending the letter, days bled into one another, and absolutely nothing changed.
“Why?”
The Emperor’s birthday gala was drawing closer by the day, yet the dream of the Grand Duke being ambushed remained unaltered. Had the letter even reached his hands? Or had it perhaps been lost along the way?
She had heard that because the capital handled such an overwhelming volume of mail, items frequently went missing. Just in case, she dispatched a few more letters, but the grim future stubbornly refused to budge.
It was then that the realization finally struck Evelyn.
‘I’m lacking information.’
As someone who had only recently arrived from the provinces, there were things she simply could not know. She needed someone who possessed that insider knowledge. At this rate, she would do nothing but waste time sending useless letters until it was too late.
‘Fortunately, I do know of an information broker.’
To be precise, it was a contact her grandfather used to know. She had no idea if the man was still active, but she had nothing to lose. Deciding to go see for herself if the shop was still open, she boldly stepped out of the house.
It was a shame she couldn’t fully enjoy the thrill given the dire circumstances, but the opportunity to experience the mysterious world of information brokers—something she had long been curious about—had finally come!
With that, Evelyn left her home and headed straight toward the capital’s gritty back alleys.
The back alleys were a frequent fixture in novels and the stories her grandfather used to tell. Because of this, Evelyn knew well that the slums were where countless histories blossomed and withered away. And within those histories, a specific cast of characters always made an appearance.
Thugs. The kind of crowd that would loiter around, sauntering up to extort property from anyone who looked like an easy target. Sometimes they drove people to absolute despair, and sometimes they fell into despair themselves. In doing so, they often served as stepping stones for the growth of great historical figures.
“Well, well, look here, young lady. You look like you’re carrying some decent coin.”
Thus, when a thug materialized before her, Evelyn wasn’t the least bit surprised. Of course one had to show up here. Nodding calmly, Evelyn reached her hand into the satchel slung across her shoulder and drew a gun.
While the current era still favored cold steel and blades, weapons were bound to evolve. The firearm was the fruit of that progress. Naturally, it wasn’t an easy weapon to handle. The bluntly shaped pistol came with a laundry list of tedious conditions.
It couldn’t hold more than six bullets at a time, and the trigger required a noticeable delay before the round would actually fire. If those constraints weren’t troublesome enough, there was a final, absolute catch.
The user had to be capable of channeling mana (magic energy). From the moment one gripped the weapon to the split-second reduction of the firing delay, one had to continuously infuse mana into the mechanism to execute an attack. Because the creators of firearms were alchemists and mages, this requirement had become mandatory.
For those reasons, it was a weapon of highly debatable cost-efficiency, but the thug seemed to view it differently. After all, one had to be reasonably skilled in martial arts to deflect a bullet.
“What the… is that a real gun?”
The thug stared at Evelyn, his expression hardening with tension. Since the vast majority of mana users in the world were aristocrats, his reaction was entirely natural.
“It is,” Evelyn confirmed with a nod.
Without missing a beat, she pointed the barrel toward the sky and fired a single shot. That alone proved more than enough to scatter the thug.
“Eek!”
She didn’t bother pursuing the fleeing criminal. Evelyn needed to vacate the area quickly herself. While the gunshot would make some run away, it would undoubtedly draw others toward the sound.
Recalling the stories her grandfather had shared years ago, Evelyn dashed through the twisting, labyrinthine alleys until she finally located her target: a dilapidated tavern.
At the entrance, a sign painted with a bizarre monster swayed precariously in the wind. Evelyn grabbed the half-broken doorknob and pushed. The door groaned on its hinges as it creaked open.
If the exterior was rundown, the interior was no better. Some of the chairs stood askew, looking as though they had been poorly repaired after being smashed, and a thick layer of dust coated the wall decorations. Yet, indicating that they were indeed open for business, a middle-aged man stood behind the bar.
Seeing him, Evelyn’s eyes sparkled. He looked exactly as her grandfather had described! The narrow eyes and the bulbous nose confirmed she had found the right place. She stepped up to him shyly and whispered under her breath.
“A glass of Dead Dragon, please.”
The man’s eyes, already narrow, squinted so hard they resembled horizontal needles.
“Don’t you mean a Red Dragon?”
The Red Dragon was a fairly famous, potent liquor, but it wasn’t what Evelyn was after. She bashfully raised three fingers and repeated herself. Her grandfather had explicitly instructed her: Say one glass at first, and when they question you, hold up three fingers and say this.
“No, a Dead Dragon. Two glasses.”
Though the man’s eyes remained steeped in deep suspicion, he didn’t ignore her. He pushed open a door situated behind the bar and gestured with his chin.
“Step inside.”
Evelyn followed the man down a long, narrow corridor. At the very end lay a small room, which, in stark contrast to the building’s shabby exterior, was impeccably clean. She tried her best to look unbothered, but her heart refused to stop hammering against her ribs.
An information broker, indeed! There really is a hidden space.
When all was said and done, she took after her grandfather in certain ways, finding herself thoroughly enjoying the novelty of the experience.
The man took a seat first in one of the room’s chairs, fixing Evelyn with a solemn, heavy gaze.
“Sit.”
As Evelyn took the seat opposite him, the man’s perpetually squinted eyes suddenly snapped wide open.
“So, what business brings you to my door?”
Evelyn replied with practiced composure. “I need information.”
“Hehehe, then you’ve certainly come to the right place.”
The man—the information broker—grinned broadly, rubbing his hands together like a fly. The grave, dignified aura he had worn just moments ago was instantly tossed out the window.
“What kind of information are you looking for? If you want, I can even find out the underwear preferences of the noble ladies!”
If he could dig up something as private as someone’s undergarments, gathering intel on the Grand Duke should be a walk in the park. At the broker’s boast, Evelyn’s face brightened up.
“I need information on Grand Duke Gracias.”
Evelyn delivered the request softly, causing the broker to blink, his smiling face freezing as he asked back, “Who?”
“Grand Duke Gracias.”
“…Who?”
“Gracia—”
Before she could even finish the word, the broker slapped his hands against his cheeks and let out a bloodcurdling shriek.
“Aaaaargh! Ack! Ack! I didn’t hear it! I didn’t hear a thing!”
He bolted upright, pacing and spinning around the room like a dying bug. He frantically checked if the door they had entered through was securely locked, then pressed his ear flat against the wall, listening intently to ensure no sounds were leaking from the outside.
‘What a peculiar man,’ Evelyn thought to herself.
Even as she watched in bewilderment, the broker didn’t stop. This time, he climbed onto a chair, peering up at the ceiling as his entire frame trembled violently. Left with nothing to do but blink in total confusion, Evelyn watched as the information broker took a long, ragged breath.
