NOVEL NEXT Chapter 5: Many Developments
Quartier du Jardin Botanique, Trier
Having returned alone to the Fleuron Villa, one of many under the Secret Order's control, Jack paced toward his private office.
Passing through the vibrant garden entrance, lush with flourishing greenery and blossoms of every hue, he reached the office swiftly. Once inside, he shut the door and poured himself a glass of Aurmir wine from the well-stocked personal shelf in the corner.
This is exquisite wine. No wonder it's so coveted and expensive, Jack mused as he savored its flavor.
As he sipped, his thoughts wandered back to the earlier meeting. Who would have thought another transmigrator not only survived but also ascended to the rank of Angel? That's quite a twist—and potentially a significant advantage. Perhaps there are more of us than just me and Nivlek.
Still, shared origins don't equate to trust. Caution is necessary, but this could open doors to collaboration, provided I navigate it carefully.
Setting the glass down, Jack moved to the window and gazed out at the villa's stunning garden and the surrounding district. The serene beauty of the scene briefly stilled his mind, though he knew all too well how fragile such peace could be.
With a heavy sigh, Jack returned to planning his next moves.
Setting those matters aside, the rest of my operations are progressing smoothly. Phantom Spade's team has been deployed to the Raklev area of the former Highlands Kingdom to track and neutralize Oxyto. A second team is on standby as backup, and I've issued explicit orders to intervene personally if necessary.
Meanwhile, the Whispering Club has been dispatched to Lenburg to liaise with our contacts there. They'll secure information and resources while gauging the loyalty of certain "allies," like the Archivist.
Suddenly interrupting his thoughts, a series of knocks echoed from the door.
"You may enter," Jack said, his tone calm but commanding.
The door opened, revealing Marceline and Dorian. They stepped in with practiced courtesy, promptly delivering updates on their progress while returning Jack's artifacts: the Sightseeing Guide and a lustrous black brooch.
"As instructed, I've retrieved and converted the verl'dor from the bank into Loen Kingdom pounds," Marceline began, placing a leather bag on the table. "The total comes to 100,000 pounds, all in proper notes. Additionally, the fake IDs and documents you requested are included inside."
"Well done, Marceline." Jack replied, turning his attention to Dorian.
"After conducting preliminary research and surveillance, I've confirmed the situation regarding the Iron and Blood Cross Order," Dorian reported with precision. "Gardner Martin, leader of the Savoie Mob, is indeed a member of the Order. He has a mistress named Franca Roland. I also observed his brief interaction with Albus Medici during one of the Order's special meetings."
Jack smirked at the confirmation. "As anticipated. There's no need to act on them for now—others are already watching closely."
He leaned back slightly, before issuing further instructions. "We'll now shift our focus to the Southern Continent, beginning in the Highlands of Feynapotter. Marceline, Dorian, you will depart ahead of me to gather intelligence and assess the situation. I will join you shortly after completing the next stage of my potion's acting."
Jack's gaze sharpened as he addressed them individually. "Marceline, prioritize news related to Death, particularly anything concerning the Pale Empress. Securing her acquaintance sooner rather than later could prove invaluable. Dorian, your task is to uncover clues about the Rose School of Thought and its prominent members. Collect as much information as possible, always staying under the radar. Neither of you will act further until my arrival."
The duo nodded in unison. "Understood, milord. As you wish."
Jack's tone softened slightly as he added, "If any mishap or emergency arises, do not hesitate to call upon my name immediately."
Dorian, seeking clarification, asked, "Milord, is there anything specific you wish for us to locate before your arrival? Any vital clues we should prioritize?"
"Yes," Jack responded, his voice steady and deliberate. "Seek any information regarding the missing body parts of Reinette Tinekker, leader of the Temperance Faction. They will serve as valuable leverage and hinder her recovery.
"Marceline," he continued, "focus on finding assets that can bolster our negotiations with the Royal Faction. Additionally, search for a specific golden mask. It could prove to be a versatile tool for other plans I have in motion."
As Jack spoke, he reached for the brooch in his right hand. Known as Frenzied Echoes, the artifact possessed three potent abilities: Bribe – Weaken, Distortion, and Frenzy. However, it came with significant drawbacks. The wearer would experience unpredictable bouts of mental frenzy, their thoughts and emotions thrown into disarray. When its powers were activated, random distortions would manifest upon the user, though a prior seal placed on the artifact minimized these effects. Instead of affecting the body, the distortions would subtly influence the wearer's thoughts, lasting for a period proportional to its active use.
Jack turned to Dorian, holding out the artifact. "Take this, Dorian. Use it for your mission if the need arises. It's not just for you but for Marceline as well. Although your objectives differ, you are working toward the same mission, and collaboration will be crucial."
Dorian accepted the brooch with both hands, bowing slightly. "Great gratitude, milord. Your benevolence will not be in vain!"
Marceline, ever composed, bowed gracefully. "Understood, milord. We will not let you down."
After dismissing his subordinates to their new assignments, Jack took the leather bag of money and carefully placed it inside his Traveler's Bag, a personal artifact crafted with the Staff of Stars.
With preparations complete, Jack gripped his cane tightly and stepped forward, entering the Spirit World. A myriad of shifting colors enveloped him, guiding his passage
...
Empress Borough, Backlund
"That will be all. Is there anything more I can assist you with, Sir Ethan?" the realtor inquired politely, his voice calm and measured. Dressed in a well-fitted black suit, he exuded professionalism befitting his role.
"No, this will suffice. I am quite satisfied with this manor and intend to put it to good use. Thank you," replied the aged man, his tone composed yet firm. His neatly groomed gray hair and the fine lines etched on his face lent him a dignified air. He was clad in a tailored dark gray suit, leaning lightly on a sleek bluish-black cane adorned with subtle silver accents. Gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose reflected the dim light in the room.
"Very well. I shall also ensure the arrangements for your staff proceed as specified in the sale of Foxglove Manor," the realtor responded earnestly before making his exit. Ethan watched him leave, then turned his attention to the gathering room.
The room was a testament to refined elegance. Dominating one wall was a grand fireplace carved from dark marble, its mantle adorned with intricate engravings of floral and vine patterns. Above it hung a gilded mirror, its frame shaped like twisting ivy leaves. Nearby, a pair of armchairs upholstered in deep burgundy velvet flanked a small mahogany table, upon which rested a crystal decanter and matching tumblers.
The central seating area was arranged around a plush Persian rug of deep blue and gold tones, with a low glass-topped coffee table reflecting the soft glow of a chandelier overhead. The chandelier itself was an ornate masterpiece, with cascading tiers of crystal droplets that shimmered like stars.
Against the far wall, a walnut cabinet with glass doors displayed an array of fine porcelain and decorative curios. A grand bookshelf, filled with leather-bound tomes and framed by carved wooden columns, stood opposite the window, completing the picture of scholarly luxury.
Ethan Carter, Jack mused, running a hand along the polished armrest of a high-back chair as he admired the room. Quite the name. I like it. He allowed himself a small smile as he reflected on the meticulous backstory Marceline had prepared.
As a banker, "Ethan Carter" enjoys a reputable and stable foundation. But his character is multifaceted—a philanthropist with a penchant for literature and history, often making generous contributions to charitable organizations he finds meaningful.
His thoughts deepened. His businesses in Trier have thrived, but he has chosen to relocate to Backlund to explore new ventures and forge influential connections. If anyone decides to dig into his past, they'll uncover whispers of clandestine black-market transactions, hinting at a shadowy side. Those probing even further will find traces of a retired military officer who faked his death post-war, leveraging old alliances to carve a new path.
Jack chuckled softly to himself. Hehe. The power of an organization specialized in information gathering and tampering, honed since the Fourth Epoch.
Rising from the chair, he made his way to his private office, tucked within the manor. The room mirrored the elegance of the gathering room, with its dark oak desk, a high-back leather chair, and an elaborate inkwell shaped like a phoenix. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, illuminating the room's many details, including a map of Backlund pinned to the wall and a set of antique globes in one corner.
Seating himself, Jack began drafting a letter with deliberate care. Once finished, he sealed it neatly, then exited the manor to summon his carriage.
"To North Borough, please," Jack instructed the driver as he settled into the plush interior of the four-person carriage.
As the streets of Backlund passed by, Jack's sharp eyes scanned the bustling crowd. His gaze soon locked onto a man walking alone. Of average build and dressed in unremarkable clothes, the man blended easily into the surroundings, pacing toward home under the afternoon sun.
Bingo. That's my target. Jack smirked to himself, leaning forward slightly. As the carriage neared the end of the road, he tapped the wall to signal the driver. "You can let me off here."
...
Renar Calais hurried down the dimly lit streets, his footsteps brisk and purposeful as he made his way home. The weight of the day's stress bore heavily on his shoulders, a near-constant companion in recent months.
Reaching his modest, rented apartment, he unlocked the door with a mechanical familiarity born of routine. The room greeted him with the faint scent of wood polish and the lingering aroma of a hastily consumed breakfast. Setting his briefcase and coat on the dining table, he immediately sought solace in the bathroom.
Turning the faucet, he let the warm water cascade over him, washing away the grime and tension of the day. For a few moments, Renar closed his eyes, allowing the heat to soothe his frayed nerves.
As the manager of a sprawling railroad factory, the responsibility of overseeing production operations and managing the concerns of restless employees fell squarely on his shoulders. The ceaseless protests for better wages and working conditions had taken their toll, gnawing at his resolve.
If only I could get a break… just a few days would be enough, Renar mused, his thoughts weary as the steam rose around him.
Emerging from the bathroom refreshed but not revitalized, he dressed in his worn but comfortable home clothes. These were his usual sanctuary after long hours at work. Moving through the living room toward the kitchen, thoughts of a simple dinner and a quiet evening played faintly in his mind.
He froze mid-step.
Two unfamiliar men sat comfortably on his modest couch, their presence as unnerving as it was unexpected.
The first man, seated with casual authority, appeared to be in his forties. His gray hair was neatly combed, and his gold-rimmed glasses glinted under the dim light. Clad in a dark-gray suit tailored to perfection, he exuded a sense of quiet control.
Beside him sat an older gentleman, his snow-white hair thick and immaculate, a striking contrast to his piercing blue eyes. His demeanor was warm, almost inviting, yet underscored by an elegance that hinted at something far more calculated.
Renar's heart skipped a beat as he stared at the pair, his surprise quickly morphing into fear. Every instinct screamed at him to retreat, but his legs felt as though they were anchored in place.
Before he could speak or act, the gray-haired man raised his hand. A faint mist, shimmering with soft sparkles of light, drifted toward him. Renar's vision blurred as an overwhelming heaviness consumed him. His thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind, and in the next moment, his body crumpled to the floor, succumbing to an enchanted slumber.
"That's better. No issues," Jack murmured, watching the fallen man. A small flicker of flame danced in his palm, consuming a piece of paper. The faint trace of ash swirled in the air before vanishing. That should suffice—anti-tracking and anti-divination measures in place.
He gestured toward his companion, a Rambis marionette. The animated figure moved with uncanny precision, lifting Renar effortlessly and carrying him to his bedroom. Jack followed closely, surveying the modest furnishings with a detached curiosity.
The marionette laid Renar gently on the bed, arranging him as though he'd simply collapsed from exhaustion. Jack chuckled softly to himself, the edges of his lips curling into a wry smile. That slumber charm projection worked wonders. Now, time to plant the cue.
He approached the unconscious man, holding a carefully folded letter in one hand. With a subtle wave of his free hand, Jack directed the marionette to extend its influence into Renar's mind, threading the suggestion like a fine needle through fabric.
...
North Borough, Loen Charity Bursary Foundation
As the afternoon began to wane, just before the close of another workday, Audrey Hall sat in her office, diligently finishing the final documents that had been handed to her. The burdens of bureaucracy weighed on her, but she pressed on.
The door opened, and Lovesa stepped in. "Miss Audrey, there's one last guest waiting to meet you."
Audrey looked up and offered a polite smile. "Very well. Please, send him in so we can wrap up for the day."
Lovesa nodded and exited, returning shortly with the gentleman in tow.
"Good afternoon, Miss Hall. Pardon me for the late hour," the man greeted, stepping into the office and extending his hand with a pleasant smile.
"Good afternoon, sir. It's no trouble at all," Audrey responded warmly as she took his hand. "May I ask your name?"
The man's eyes widened in surprise before a sheepish smile appeared on his face. "Ah, how careless of me! I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Ethan Carter. I've come from Trier, seeking to make a new life here in Backlund. I'd like to make a donation to your organization to support the less fortunate, as a gesture to begin my new life here."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Carter," Audrey replied with a smile that softened her otherwise professional demeanor. "I'll just need you to sign a few papers first. It's a simple formality."
"Of course, I'm happy to oblige," Ethan said, eager to proceed.
As Audrey arranged the documents for signing, she glanced up at Ethan with curiosity. "Is there any particular reason for this donation, Mr. Carter?"
Ethan hesitated for a moment before replying, his voice laced with a hint of unease. "Lately, I've been facing some personal struggles—feeling distressed, worried, sometimes even bordering on dissociation. I thought starting fresh in a new place and doing good deeds might help. But, truth be told, I'm still uncertain."
Audrey listened intently, her eyes softening with sympathy as she sensed the depth of his inner turmoil. Offering him a small, reassuring smile, she subtly used her Placate ability to ease the weight on his shoulders. "There are many ways to cope with internal struggles, Mr. Carter. I can tell yours run deep. If you ever find yourself at the Foundation, we could have a chat over tea. It might help."
A sense of calm seemed to settle over Ethan as the tension melted away. He smiled, his expression lighter. "I would love that. I'm truly grateful for your kindness, Miss Hall."
As Audrey finished the paperwork, Ethan spoke again, his gaze meeting hers with an intensity that bordered on mesmerizing. "Because of my business in Trier and the ongoing process of moving here, I won't be able to visit as often. But I'll make an effort when I can."
Audrey nodded, understanding. "I completely understand. And I deeply appreciate your generous contribution to the Foundation. The 60,000 pounds will be put to good use."
Both stood, ready to part ways. Ethan extended his hand, his smile warm. "Thank you for your time, Miss Hall. I look forward to more opportunities like this in the future."
Audrey returned the gesture, bowing slightly, her hands gracefully adjusting the hem of her green-and-yellow dress. "Should fate cross our paths again, Mr. Carter."
As Ethan left, Audrey watched him for a moment, deep in thought. There's something more to him than meets the eye. The Placate had some resistance, suggesting he holds a significant status—one that's shrouded in mystery...
But I sensed no malice, and there's no immediate danger. It's always wise to keep an eye on those who might prove useful or reppresent potential danger. There's no harm in having him under my wing for now.
Afterwards, Audrey methodically completed the last of her responsibilities, ensuring that each document was filed correctly and that any loose ends were tied up. The office, once filled with the usual hustle of work, grew quieter with each passing minute as the day's business came to an end. She took a moment to gather her thoughts, organizing her desk with a practiced hand before standing up. After locking the office door behind her, she left the building, the weight of the day gradually lifting from her shoulders as she walked home, the cool evening air refreshing her senses.
As she walked, her mind lingered on the meeting with Mr. Carter. There were still questions left unanswered, yet she knew that all would reveal itself in time. Once home, she could finally unwind, perhaps with a cup of tea and some quiet moments to reflect.
...
As Xio Derecha stepped out of the Headquarters of MI9, the weight of her position as both Colonel and Deputy Director bore heavily on her. Though her role as a Chaos Hunter had taught her how to manage pressure, there was still the mental exhaustion that came with overseeing so much. It was something she usually let go of once she was home, retreating into the solace of her personal space.
Just as she was about to leave, a low-ranking soldier approached, holding a letter with an urgency in his demeanor.
"Colonel, pardon the interruption, but a letter has arrived for you," the soldier said, his voice respectful but laced with tension.
Xio barely glanced at him. "Leave it on my desk. I'll look at it in the morning."
The soldier hesitated, his nervousness palpable. "B-but Colonel, the man who delivered it... he was insistent. Said it was an urgent matter."
Xio's expression sharpened as she lifted an eyebrow. "If it's that urgent, then give it to me."
With a quick, nervous motion, the soldier handed her the letter. Xio tore it open, reading its contents. Her eyes widened with surprise, and the calmness in her demeanor shifted to one of focused intensity.
She looked up sharply. "Who delivered this letter? What is his name?"
The soldier, clearly rattled by her commanding presence, stammered, "H-he said his name was Renar Calais."
Xio's gaze darkened. Without another word, she dismissed the soldier. "You're dismissed."
Turning on her heel, Xio moved swiftly, her mind already calculating the next steps. The urgency in the letter had sparked something within her, and she had no intention of waiting to see where this lead would take her.
Being a seasoned Chaos Hunter, Xio Derecha had a knack for tracking down her targets quickly. Her trained instincts led her straight to Renar Calais's residence, and within moments, she was standing at his doorstep.
Without a second thought, Xio slammed her shoulder into the door, splintering the wood as it flew open. Inside, she found Renar sitting casually in his living room, sipping tea as if he hadn't a care in the world.
"Renar Calais," Xio's voice cut through the air like a blade, "I am Deputy Director of MI9, Colonel Xio Derecha. I demand you clarify the origins of this letter—and your allegiances."
Her gaze bore into him, a piercing intensity that felt as though it could strip away the very core of his being.
Renar's face contorted in agony, his body wracked with the pressure of her stare. His features shifted into a twisted grimace, as though the weight of her scrutiny was forcing him into some unbearable state of clarity. Then, slowly, the pain faded, and his expression returned to a neutral, almost unnervingly calm state. He straightened, took another sip of his tea, and regarded Xio with a cool gaze.
"I see that you really did read the letter," he said, his voice almost casual.
Xio's patience was wearing thin. "Answer my question," she demanded, her voice still sharp. "How do you know of these events?"
Renar's nonchalance seemed unshaken. "Oh, I have my means." He leaned back, eyes glimmering with quiet certainty. "The contents of that letter are true. There's a dark tree hidden deep beneath Trier, feeding on the residents' desires. And as the letter warned, you should be aware of the existence of Traitors among you. I suggest you contact the Temperance Faction about this. But be wary. For now, observe them from the shadows, and remain ready to strike when the time comes."
Xio's mind churned, her attention razor-focused as she absorbed the information. "And your allegiance?" she asked, her tone cold, unyielding. "Who are you really?"
Renar's expression softened into something almost sympathetic. "No need for concern, Colonel," he said, as if speaking to a trusted comrade. "I am an ally. More specifically, I follow the same Lord as you."
Xio's eyes narrowed. "Praise The Fool," Renar added, his voice now tinged with fervor.
The mention of The Fool caught Xio off guard, a flicker of surprise flashing across her features. But she quickly regained her composure. "If that's so," she began, her voice edged with suspicion, "why the roundabout way of communicating? You claim to be an ally, yet you're hiding in the shadows. That raises far more questions than answers."
Renar gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. "It's not the right time for a proper meeting," he explained, his tone placating. "There's still much to accomplish before we can meet openly. And given the current circumstances, it's impossible for me to be fully candid with you. For now, bear with me."
Xio didn't speak, but the sharpness in her gaze said everything.
Renar raised his hand in a gesture of finality. "Just know that my cooperation is guaranteed. This isn't the last you'll hear from me. Expect more hints and clues in the future."
Xio's frown deepened, her brows furrowing as she processed his words. "That remains to be seen, Renar," she said firmly, her voice now colder. "You're not acting as you please. You will be arrested."
Renar chuckled softly, almost as if she'd made a joke. "If only things were so simple," he replied, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "But heed my words, Colonel. For now, all you need to know is that you can call me... Mr. E."
As he spoke the name, a subtle shift seemed to take place in his demeanor. His previously calm expression shattered, and the earlier pain returned, his features twisting as though he were once again under the oppressive weight of Xio's Chaos Hunter gaze. The transformation was sudden, as though he'd switched between two entirely different people.
Xio's brow furrowed in confusion as she stared at the man before her. What had just happened? She had no time to analyze it. Her instincts kicked in, and she quickly restrained him.
"Renar Calais," she announced, her voice now stern and resolute, "you are under arrest for suspected terrorist activity."
...
In a luxurious cabin aboard a steel train, Jack sat leisurely in a neat black suit, a half-top hat perched atop his head. He gazed out the window at the passing horizon as the train continued its journey south. The clatter of the tracks beneath him provided a steady rhythm, but Jack's mind was elsewhere, already anticipating what lay ahead.