Lord of Mysteries: The Assassin's Dark Path

Hearing her father's unusual request, Audrey tilted her head slightly. Her emerald-green eyes flickered as she pondered, a thoughtful expression crossing her delicate features.

She quickly broke into a radiant smile and asked, "Father, what kind of gift do you want?"

"A mirror," Earl Hall replied, his tone calm but firm. "An ancient copper mirror, one with intricate patterns and a crack on its surface."

"Oh, I remember that one," Audrey added with a mischievous grin. "You said it was a treasure of the Black Emperor from the ancient Solomon Empire."

The earl nodded. "Exactly. That's the one."

"No way!"

Audrey's smile bloomed even wider, like a golden chrysanthemum in full flourish. "I knew you were up to no good. Now it's clear—that copper mirror must truly be an extraordinary artifact!"

"No, no, and no! Anything else is fine, but not that mirror."

She paced the room excitedly, muttering to herself, already lost in the thrilling idea of unsealing the secrets of the copper mirror.

Earl Hall watched his lively and innocent daughter, a tinge of helplessness flashing across his face.

If he had a choice, he would never let her part with anything she treasured. But this time, he had no other option. The king himself had issued the order, demanding full cooperation from all parties, leaving him no room to refuse.

He sighed deeply, motioning for the servants to leave, then broke her reverie with a solemn tone:

"Audrey, I have to tell you the truth. That mirror is one of the items His Majesty the King has specifically requested. We have no choice in this matter."

"Really?" Audrey's thoughts were pulled back, her expression tinged with surprise. "But why? Why would His Majesty suddenly take an interest in one of my belongings?"

The earl gently patted her golden locks and spoke softly, "Why would I lie to you?"

"It's not that the king is targeting your possessions specifically; rather, he's searching for a particular kind of mirror."

"Not just us—every noble family in Backlund, large and small, has received orders to hand over any mirror-related mystical items they possess for inspection by MI9."

Audrey looked up at her father, her expression turning serious. "What happens afterward? Will they forcefully take it?"

"There weren't any details about that," the earl shook his head. "But His Majesty has guaranteed on the royal family's honor that unless they locate the specific mirror they're searching for, all items will be returned to their owners."

"What kind of mirror are they looking for?" she pressed.

"I don't know. Honestly, I suspect even His Majesty doesn't know. He's likely following some vague information, hoping to find something unique."

The earl stroked his meticulously groomed mustache, analyzing the situation. "Judging by the order, it doesn't seem like the king is confident they'll find it. It feels more like an obligation to try."

"Well, alright," Audrey said, her tone downcast. "I'll have Annie fetch the copper mirror later."

Having achieved his goal, the earl prepared to leave. Before departing, he softly murmured to Audrey, "I'm sorry."

---

Meanwhile, Kirk, the red-haired gangster, was feeling uneasy.

As more of his men returned with answers, he managed to piece together what had happened:

The mysterious intruder had likely been lurking outside the union's small building for quite some time. Around 9 o'clock, when the two part-time accountants stepped out, the intruder seized the opportunity to enter through a second-floor window.

From there, he retrieved a dagger from a storeroom, climbed out through a ventilation window near the staircase landing, and scaled the gas pipe to the balcony of the president's office. He then picked the lock and entered.

The intruder's target was clear—the important commission letter the boss had mentioned. While searching, he also helped himself to 80 pounds in cash.

Damn it!

The two returning accountants had almost caught him—just a hair's breadth away!

Finally, the intruder likely left after 10:30, shortly after the accountants returned.

Kirk began mentally reviewing his mistakes:

From the start to the finish, his men on watch had detected nothing but faint, suspicious sounds. Yet the two outsiders—those accountants—had nearly discovered the intruder.

That was the biggest failure.

Moreover, routine checks had proven utterly ineffective. How could no one notice such a glaring issue as an unlocked door?

Kirk felt his scalp tingle.

The more he analyzed the situation, the more he realized how sloppy his arrangements had been. On the surface, it seemed competent, but in reality, it was riddled with loopholes.

He jotted down some improvement measures before heading to report to the boss.

What he didn't expect was that after delivering his report, not only did he avoid further scolding or punishment, but the boss also patted his shoulder encouragingly.

The boss still trusts me!

Yes, that's it. He was just furious earlier this morning.

Feeling buoyed, Kirk gathered a few men and followed the boss to the Boiling Blood Tavern on Greenfield Road.

---

The Boiling Blood Tavern had a different layout from most places.

While its overall size rivaled that of the Workers' Alliance Pub, the actual drinking area was only as large as the Bravehearts Tavern. That was because half of its space was dedicated to a casino.

"Stick together, wait for me here. You can drink, but no gambling," the boss ordered before disappearing deeper into the bar.

Kirk led the group to a small table and kept a watchful eye on the tavern entrance.

The boss, meanwhile, proceeded to a counter where gambling chips were exchanged and muttered a code phrase:

"4 pence for 50 pints."

This came from a sign hanging near the entrance: Today's Special—Southern Wells Beer: 4 pence for 50 pints, first come, first served.

The bartender nodded and opened a "VIP Passage" door beside him.

Accepting the black cloak handed to him, the boss donned it and ascended a dim, narrow staircase, eventually arriving at the tavern's attic.

The so-called attic was more expansive and higher than typical attics. While its edges were too low to stand upright, the central space was larger than the bar below.

Apart from some wooden chairs cluttering the corners, the attic was nearly empty.

Within this vast space, only a dozen or so individuals cloaked in black like him were present. They each occupied a small area, some sitting, others standing, a few with peculiar objects placed before them.

Ignoring the others, the boss scanned the room and quickly identified his target—a seated man with a stack of papers on the chair beside him.

Approaching, he lowered his voice and demanded, "Your organization has a problem. My commission contract was stolen by the target!"

The seated figure chuckled softly. "Oh? Impossible."

"The contract being stolen is your problem, not ours. We recognize contracts, not people. Without the contract, how can you prove you're our client?"

The boss's face darkened at this response. He pressed, "What about my commission?!"

"Simple," the cloaked man said in an unhurried tone. "Unless someone cancels the contract, the agreement remains valid, and the task will proceed as planned."

Though he suggested the possibility that the boss wasn't the client, the cloaked man casually offered a resolution.

The boss's expression shifted again. "So, you're saying that whoever possesses the contract can come here to cancel the task?"

"Of course. That's a clause stated in the contract," the man explained smoothly. "After all, we value our reputation and wouldn't breach our agreements."

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