Arknight : The Rise of The Grand Detective

The aroma of sizzling woks and fragrant spices filled the air as Howard stepped into the bustling Chinese restaurant.

Outside, the city pulsed with life—crowds shuffled past neon-lit storefronts, the hum of conversation blending with the distant honk of traffic.

Inside, diners gathered around lacquered wooden tables, sharing meals and laughter under the soft glow of hanging lanterns.

At a window-side table, Ch'en was already seated, dressed in a casual blue shirt, a noticeable contrast to her usual uniform.

Howard approached with his usual measured stride, his overcoat draped over his shoulders like a cloak of nonchalance.

He slid into the seat opposite her just as a waiter arrived, setting down two steaming bowls of spicy hot noodles and broth.

Howard didn't hesitate. He picked up his chopsticks, swirling the noodles through the broth before taking a bite.

The heat hit instantly, a fiery rush of spice coating his tongue.

As he ate, he lifted his gaze toward Ch'en.

"To what do I owe the honor of this invitation?" he asked, the question casual yet calculated.

Ch'en studied him for a moment, fingers tapping against the ceramic of her bowl. Then, without preamble, she spoke.

"Why did you secretly free Xiaolan?"

Howard had expected this. It was inevitable.

Still, he feigned innocence with practiced ease, pausing briefly before giving a light shrug.

"I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about."

Ch'en's eyes narrowed slightly, but she remained composed.

"I went to check on her. She wasn't there. The warden claimed no prisoner was ever scheduled to be held, and the officers who supposedly transported her reported the same."

Howard let out a small hum, swirling his chopsticks through his noodles.

"Interesting. Sounds like an administrative error. Could have been anyone, really. As for me, I was just doing my job."

Ch'en exhaled through her nose, clearly unimpressed. She knew she wasn't going to get a straightforward answer.

Rather than press further, she shifted tactics.

"Why?" she asked.

Howard slurped down another mouthful, then carefully set his chopsticks aside.

He leaned back slightly, resting his elbows on the table as he regarded her with something akin to amusement.

"What is justice, Ch'en?" he asked, tilting his head.

Her brow furrowed slightly at the question, but before she could respond, Howard continued.

"People judge more by what they see than by what is real," he mused.

"Because appearances are easy to understand. The truth, however… the truth is known by only a few. And those few rarely challenge the majority."

His voice was steady, deliberate.

"Why? Because power belongs to the many, not the wise. Because the crowd dictates what is right, and those who go against it are crushed beneath the weight of public perception."

Ch'en remained silent, watching him intently.

Howard smiled, but there was no warmth in it. Only something distant, something unreadable.

"In the end, people judge a ruler by their success, not by the path they took to get there. If a leader maintains control, if they win, their actions—no matter how ruthless—will be justified. History will call them honorable, even if their hands are stained with blood."

His fingers tapped lightly against the table, the rhythm slow, methodical.

"Morality?" he scoffed lightly.

"Morality is a luxury for those who have never been forced to make impossible choices. Strength and strategy will always be valued over kindness in the game of power. Because power decides history, not righteousness."

He leaned forward then, his eyes sharp, the playful façade momentarily slipping to reveal something far more serious beneath.

"Justice, Ch'en, is not inherently good nor evil. It is simply a tool. A weapon, wielded by those who know how to use it."

The air between them grew heavier, the weight of his words settling between the untouched bowls of broth.

And then, a smirk ghosted across his lips as he asked.

"So tell me, Ch'en… what do you think justice is?"

Ch'en's lips parted slightly, but no words came. Silence stretched between them, the weight of Howard's statement pressing down like an unseen force.

For all her discipline, for all the unwavering conviction she carried in her duty, she found herself unable to answer him.

Howard merely leaned back in his chair, the scrape of wood against the floor a quiet punctuation to her silence.

He picked up his chopsticks once more, lifting a bundle of steaming noodles to his lips. He took a slow bite, savoring the spice, before continuing.

"Wei Yenwu is a highly respected figure in political circles," he said, his voice steady, almost casual.

"The one who holds Lungmen in the palm of his hand."

He twirled his chopsticks in the broth, watching the ripples spread across the surface.

"This city survives because of his unconventional diplomatic and commercial ties. Lungmen stands as one of the great powers on the world stage because of him. Yet…" he trailed off for a moment before his gaze flicked back to her.

"Yet his plans and ideals do not regard the innocent. If preserving Lungmen's image demands the death of thousands of the infected, he will do it without hesitation."

Ch'en's expression darkened.

"And what about those who die simply due to bad luck?"

Howard continued, his voice quieter now.

"Those who are caught in the crossfire of 'necessary sacrifices'? The weak suffer under the rule of the strong, and we—" he let out a quiet laugh, almost bitter,

"we act as the face of righteousness while turning a blind eye to the tragedies that keep this city standing."

Ch'en's jaw tightened, her hands clenching into fists beneath the table.

Howard exhaled through his nose, sensing the air had grown uncomfortably heavy.

Perhaps that was enough.

With a slight shift in tone, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

"But I doubt you called me here just to guess about how she disappeared or discuss philosophy over dinner," he said, smoothly steering the conversation away.

"What's this really about?"

Ch'en took a moment to collect herself before slipping back into her usual composed demeanor. Without a word, she reached into her pocket, retrieving a small USB drive. She placed it on the table between them.

"Varens' people may come looking for you," she said. "You're the reason he got arrested, after all."

Howard raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"This USB contains a list," she continued.

"Possible gangs and individuals who might come after you. You should consider requesting special security."

Howard picked up the USB, turning it over between his fingers. "Noted."

He glanced toward her bowl, still untouched. "Not hungry?"

Ch'en stood, lifting the bowl with her. "It's a takeaway," she said, her voice returning to its usual clipped tone.

"I already paid in advance."

Howard watched as she turned toward the exit, her steps as purposeful as ever.

He stood as well, tucking the USB into his coat pocket.

As he walked outside, his gaze flicked back to Ch'en.

Perhaps he had been too harsh.

After all, one of the greatest changes soon to come—one that would shake the very foundations of Lungmen—would be caused by none other than her.