Chapter Thirteen: Transference of Conflict

Pupils slightly unfocused, vision narrowing. Amy unconsciously took a step back, black hair falling naturally to conceal the subtle shift in his expression—but all this transpired within a breath or two. Two soft coughs masked his loss of composure as he hurriedly averted his gaze, bowing humbly.

“Good morning—Lord Paul.”

His lowered eyelids betrayed nothing of the turmoil within, and his apprehensive tone gave no hint of his true thoughts.

The giant, nearly three meters tall, remained silent, towering before the door like a mountain, no trace of joy or sorrow on his fierce face. Only those crimson eyes, as large as bronze bells, gazed at him without a word.

Sometimes silence itself is a form of power.

At least, in Amy’s eyes, Paul’s silence was enigmatic, almost unfathomable.

—What kind of joke is this? He’s supposed to be dead, dead beyond any hope, so why has he crawled out of his grave just to trouble me again!?

Astonishment gave way to a surge of anger at being deceived, but Amy controlled his emotions well, refusing to let his foul mood take hold—instead, he feigned weakness, casting furtive glances at the giant who exerted immense pressure simply by standing there. When their eyes met, he recoiled as if shocked, trembling uncontrollably.

“You… you… what brings you here?”

He asked cautiously, like a lamb crouched before a lion.

But there was no reply.

Paul stood silent, unmoving as marble, and just as mute.

Something was off. With Paul’s usual brash manner, it was hard to imagine him maintaining such prolonged silence. Which meant… was this some kind of illusion… or a disguise?

Amy, certain of Paul’s death, noticed the discrepancy. Yet now was not the time for analysis. Sensing imminent danger, he kept his thoughts tightly reined, carefully observing the two unexpected guests at the door. After a moment of hesitation, he flung the door fully open, blurting out in nervous haste, “Forgive my anxiety—please, come in, do come in!”

“Lord Ulysses,” the steward was first to step forward, his gaze lingering on Amy’s eyes with a faintly meaningful smile, “just now, when you said ‘impossible,’ what did you mean?”

“Ah—” Amy faltered, “that, it refers to… refers to…”

“What exactly?” Simon, the steward, looked at him with a half-smile, “If Lord Ulysses has heard any unpleasant rumors, do let us know in time.”

“Certainly, certainly.” Amy nodded vigorously, like a chick pecking at grain.

The steward in black did not press the topic nor spare another glance at the boy. Instead, he turned to the looming shadow behind him, bowing with a gracious gesture, “Lord Paul.”

The giant met his eyes for a moment, then strode forward.

—Too alike, simply too alike.

As the mountain-like figure approached, Amy lost himself for an instant—there was not a trace of disguise in this man known as the giant. If not for his absolute certainty regarding the man’s death, he would have doubted the news he’d heard. Speaking of the news, perhaps… Simon intended to use Paul’s “resurrection” as a test?

Indeed, he was under suspicion.

His eyes narrowed, and Amy composed himself.

“Lord Ulysses—” before he could probe further, the fox-like steward spoke first, “It seems things have been uneasy on your side lately…”

His gaze lingered meaningfully on the disordered garden.

“Yes…” Amy forced a faintly awkward smile, “Security has been terribly unstable lately. Every night, I live in constant fear. Fortunately…”

He paused, and his voice broke off abruptly as he met Paul’s gaze.

“Fortunately what?” the steward pressed.

“Fortunately, well, fortunately…” Amy shrank back, wanting to say something, but his tongue tangled with nervous hesitation, and for a moment he could not utter a word.

“If you have any concerns, please speak freely. In the lower district, there’s hardly anyone bold enough to offend His Majesty the Emperor.” Simon’s words, calm and mild, carried the unmistakable authority of Michelangelo, and this reassurance steadied the hesitant boy, making his speech flow more easily, “Well… I heard…”

Even so, he cast a wary glance at the giant, a living mountain of flesh, before continuing.

“Regarding Lord Paul, there are very troubling rumors circulating in the lower district…”

“For example?” The steward showed no surprise, his expression unnervingly composed.

“This… this…” Amy hesitated, but after a brief pause, he finally took the plunge, raising his head and answering loudly, “There’s a rumor that—Lord Paul is dead, that he died three days ago…”

“Oh, that news.” Simon’s face showed understanding, his placid eyes betraying no emotion. “Thank you for your help. It is indeed a valuable clue. But before we confirm it, I have another question for you, and I hope you won’t hesitate to answer.”

Has the dagger finally been revealed?

Amy thought silently, but answered aloud, “Ask away.”

“Where did you hear this news, Lord Ulysses?” The steward, sly as a fox, watched him with a meaningful gaze, speaking as if casually, “As far as I know, you’ve only been in the lower district three or five days. How is your information so well connected?”

“It’s precisely because my information was lacking that I suffered such a loss.” Amy put on a look of deep regret, shaking his head and sighing, “That information broker swindled five gold Torls from me. I thought it was important news, but he tricked me with falsehoods. Even now, when I recall it, my heart aches. Those weren’t tokens or silver Torls, but real gold Torls.”

“My condolences.” Five gold Torls was no small sum, even for Simon’s current status—it was a considerable fortune. Though he doubted the boy would truly spend so much for gossip that was already widespread, Simon nonetheless showed his attitude, “As Lord Paul’s steward, I cannot tolerate such malicious rumors. For such deceit, I am deeply indignant.”

“Of course.” Amy nodded fiercely in agreement.

“So, then,” the steward beamed, “you’ll surely cooperate with our investigation.”

“Hmm…” The boy hesitated, spreading his hands helplessly, “As long as it doesn’t interfere with my private life, I suppose there’s no problem.”

“I see,” Simon nodded, “then can you describe that information broker’s basic characteristics?”

“That fellow…” Amy didn’t pause long. “About thirty, a small moustache, easy to recognize—a traditional gentleman’s outfit, worn top hat, always in a black suit, carries an old cane, wears a monocle.”

“What do you call him?” The description was indeed uncommon. With it, Simon could easily sketch a vague portrait in his mind.

“Willy, the information broker Willy.” Amy spoke earnestly to his guests, “Though that’s what he calls himself, I don’t believe a word from that liar’s mouth.”

“A wise choice,” Simon praised, “for as far as I know, no active information broker in the lower district uses ‘Willy’ as an alias.”

“Then it’s a complete fabrication,” Amy showed no surprise, only gritted his teeth, “He took advantage of my unfamiliarity, fleeced me like a lamb—how vile! Mr. Simon, Lord Paul, you must seek justice for me!”

“Certainly, certainly.”

The seasoned steward replied perfunctorily. Whether the lead was true or not, it would likely end here. Though Amy’s description of Willy was vivid, easily lending itself to a classic character image, it was likely a deliberate trap. By creating a distinctive appearance, the target’s attention could be diverted, allowing his real features to remain hidden beneath the facade.

A veteran, indeed.

Simon mused: after the crime, all the broker needed was to discard the suit, remove the glasses, shave the moustache, and change clothes—he’d be a different man in the crowd.

But… was Amy telling the truth?

Though he had no evidence, Simon instinctively doubted. He felt as if he were an ox, led by the nose ring, being guided wherever his adversary wished.

A mere illusion, perhaps…

He could not be sure. After all, the boy before him was just a youth.

Simon let the matter rest. Besides Amy Ulysses, two other suspects remained: Hoover of the Tallinn Chamber of Commerce, and Virginia of the Fairy House—neither could be underestimated.

For now, let it end here.

He thought so, and as he turned away, failed to notice the subtle curve forming at the boy’s lips.