“Why do you want to know about the Court of Indulgence?” Rarisa said. “Have they enchanted a royalty?”

  “The exact detail is unclear,” Centurion said. “They are one of the many suspects.”

  “Why me?”

  Centurion tapped the coffee table. The teacups shook. “You may have interacted with some of their members.”

  “Are you ascertaining my relationship with The Court?”

  “Your profile unfortunately fits the characteristics of their associates.”

  Smiling, Rarisa turned to Xiaotan, who rigidly listened to the conversation. Xiaotan blinked and cleared her throat. That pair of curious eyes unsettled her; they stared into her soul’s windows, overlooking what she hid behind her reservation.

  “I believe The Court values your ability,” Xiaotan said. “Your beauty potions, for example, would fetch quite high prices for auctions.”

  “Maybe I’ve already cooperated with them.”

  “You wouldn’t have interacted with their members publicly.”

  “Are you implying that Lady Iris is a member of The Court?”

  Xiaotan drew in a deep breath. She looked at her father, who merely narrowed his eyes, and at Rarisa, who widened her smile. Her heart palpitated, stabbed by tiny needles. She resisted the urge to deny the statement.

  “Why do you think it’s her?”

  “She’s the prettiest. Don’t you agree?”

  “No comment. We’re only here to verify our speculation.”

  “That’s enough, Xiaotan,” Centurion said. “I’ll do the talking from now on.”

  Xiaotan reticently nodded. Her eyes remained fixed on Rarisa.

  “Indeed, Iris Goodwill is one of the suspects, but we lack sufficient evidence to confirm our suspicion.” Centurion lowered her voice. “Your testament will be valuable.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “Obstruction of justice is a ground for scrutiny.”

  “Is this how the Church of Knowledge operates?”

  “It’s my method.”

  “Your daughter is much lovelier than you.”

  Centurion laughed, then stopped smiling. “Lady Rarisa, although your medical license is valid, your clinical permit has some questionable aspects.”

  Centurion lay on the table a few documents detailing the procedure of granting Rarisa’s clinical permit, the committee involved, and the supervisors who approved the process. Next to their names, marked with red lines, were allegations of their unethical conduct. Though the allegations were minor, they could void Rarisa’s permit and open further investigation.

  She did not stop smiling. The tea fragrance diffused around her. She sipped the warm tea and exhaled, her demeanour relaxing. She straightened her back, looked around the empty room, and shielded her lips with her right hand.

  “Should we contest our means? Can you take my permit before I take yours?”

  Centurion was about to speak when he turned to his side and caught his daughter falling asleep. Her defenceless body leaned on his, burning up as if turning into ashes. The intensifying tea fragrance blanketed the room.

  While clenching his fists, Centurion glared at Rarisa. “What did you do?”

  “A special relaxing scent, prepared by the finest herbalist.” Rarisa looked at Centurion’s daughter. “I doubt she’d approve of your means.”

  “Mercy isn’t for criminals.”

  “Your bias will ruin your work.”

  “I know what I’m doing.”

  “Yet you keep doing it.”

  Rarisa walked to Xiaotan and touched her face. Under Centurion’s intense look, she felt the girl’s lips and slipped in a candy.

  “Worry not. Tarnishing the innocent isn’t my hobby.” Rarisa laughed. “What do you think The Court would’ve done to her?”

  “If you dare—”

  “I admire The Court for its resourcefulness, not its way of living. But I wouldn’t mind trying new things.” Rarisa snapped her fingers. The fragrance dispersed. “You should be more open-minded. Otherwise you run the risk of being an outcast.”

  “I prefer it that way.”

  “Does your daughter? Your wife? What if they become—”

  Centurion slammed his hand on the table and sprang up. “Enough. If you aren’t going to talk, we’ll leave.”

  He held his sleeping daughter in his arms and walked to the exit. His eyes strayed toward Rarisa, who was still sitting and sipping tea.

  “Your daughter has a great taste in perfume,” Rarisa said.

  Centurion missed his rhythm by a heartbeat, but he recovered without staggering.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Outside, a man was standing in front of the policemen, who unwillingly stepped away from the clinic’s entrance. Persil retracted his right hand and dusted off its sleeve before he focused on Centurion, on Xiaotan in his arms.

  “Centurion, your fame precedes you,” Persil said. “What brings you and your daughter to my humble clinic?”

  Centurion examined Persil’s hands. “Why are you intimidating my people?”

  “They blocked me from entering my clinic. I thought they were abusing their authority to extort me.”

  “No such things happen here.”

  “You might have to discuss that with my lawyers and the witnesses.”

  The policemen couldn’t look into their superior’s eyes. They gritted their teeth and kept their heads lowered. Although the man before them was acting brazenly, his high-quality suit worried them.

  “I apologise for my men’s carelessness, but I must go now.” Centurion walked past Persil. “Rest assured that I won’t be visiting again.”

  Persil tripped his hat. “Farewell and good luck.”

  After the carriage left the clinic, Persil went back to the clinic. He turned the doorknob and, frowning, tensed his right hand as he silently opened the door.

  A group of hooded ladies stood behind Rarisa, looking down at her restful figure, staring at the hypnotic bubbling tea. They snapped their eyes to the newcomer, but Rarisa lightly coughed, grabbing back their attention.

  “Why did you come back?” Rarisa said.

  “I heard Centurion visited.”

  “Today’s my lucky day.”

  “Meeting him as a suspect?”

  “His daughter carries a familiar scent.” Rarisa clicked her tongue. “The Court’s perfume has always been faint but unique.”

  “It seems she’s high maintenance.”

  “Her father wouldn’t let her. And she wouldn’t have the opportunity to buy it.” Rarisa tilted her head up to look at the hooded ladies behind her. “Is she one of your targets?”

  The hooded ladies looked at each other before they shook their heads. They examined Persil, whispered among themselves, and finally sat opposite Rarisa.

  “We’ve been tasked to watch over Centurion and his team,” one of the ladies said. “Why did you betray us?”

  “She doesn’t know about this, does she?”

  “Don’t change the topic.”

  “Changing the topic?”

  Rarisa stood up. She took out a vial and crushed it in her hand. A spray of sparkling pink liquid covered her surroundings. The Monster Girls jumped away from the tea table, but their clothes caught the vapours. The fabric melted and unravelled into wet papers, and their fake human skin dissolved, revealing their colourful, alluring appearances.

  The Monster Girls covered themselves while glaring at Rarisa. “What’s the meaning of this!”

  Rarisa took out another vial and crushed it. The sizzling liquid dripped from her palm to her teacup. The ceramic cup violently trembled, cracks forming on its pale surface. It shattered with a bang once brushed by her finger.

  The Monster Girls forced their anger down their chests. They carefully inched closer and surveyed the reception room. Persil was blocking their exit, although he only silently observed them.

  “I’m teaching you for your mistress,” Rarisa said. “You would’ve lost more than mere clothes if I were a little more heartless.”

  “But you exposed us,” one of the ladies said. “You endanger our mistress.”

  “Is The Court so powerless that a few hints could bring down your beloved mistress?”

  “Are you testing us?”

  Rarisa gestured at Persil to bring some clothes for the naked girls. “I’m helping your mistress, and I’m testing The Court.”

  The girls finished dressing up in colourful nurse uniforms; they wanted to ask for more choices of clothing, but Persil’s apathetic expression dissuaded them. They peeped at each other then returned to the smiling Rarisa.

  “For an effective cooperation, I should know the extent of your capability, shouldn’t I?”

  “We … apologise for our hasty words. Unfortunately, we must return to report on today’s incident. We hope you won’t mind us telling the truth.”

  “I accept all punishment your mistress decides.”

  The girls’ eyes lit up. They nodded and, after re-disguising themselves, vanished into the shadow. Their suppressed smiles persisted after their disappearances, hovering in Rarisa’s mind like an omen.

  Her eyes narrowed, Rarisa looked at Persil. “Did I just get tricked?”

  “Why did you antagonise them?”

  “They’re students rescued from Royal Magic Academy.”

  “Because they were na?ve? Arrogant?”

  “Because it would be interesting.” Rarisa chuckled. “Their mistress’s played me. Isn’t it right for me to retaliate?”

  Persil shook his head. “You might’ve disrupted her plan.”

  “I doubt this little ripple could ruin anything. She has always been meticulous.”

  …

  From the catwalk, Lorient observed groups of cultists hurrying in and out of the abandoned warehouse. They carried in bottles sealed with blood-written talismans and rusted chains and carried out small boxes wrapped in white drapes. Some also captured pirates and hooligans who stumbled upon this area; no victim ever left this place.

  Lorient unfurled a pocket map and marked her location. She had already marked a few locations, but this place was the biggest.

  A series of footsteps echoed around her. Cultist patrols strolled the catwalk opposite her, surveyed the outside, and checked the passing cultists’ identities. They looked at Lorient but did not react.

  A faint symbol, the insignia of a ghostly rose, flickered around Lorient. She disregarded these weak cultists; they had no valuable information about the mastermind.

  Capturing the mercenaries, interrogating the cultists, infiltrating the operations, Lorient had tried her hardest. Yet she failed to glean any hint of the nature of this operator, let alone the mastermind behind it.

  She sighed and put away her pocket map. The insignia blinked harshly. She covered her mouth and coughed, coughed, coughed out her lungs. Her face flushed as she forced out her breaths. Shreds of petals and leaves overflowed her hands, and she had to support herself against the railing to not fall on her knees.

  The cultists below her had a heavy gasp before they fell on the ground, unmoving. Blood leaked out of their face, their eyes turning pale white. An imperceptible mist of death swirled around the warehouse.

  In front of Lorient, a swarm of flies congregated. They blended into a pile of darkness, morphed into a slender silhouette, and dispersed as rotten stench. Left behind them was a man in a dreary-grey long coat, whose soulless eyes stayed fixated on Lorient.

  “Slippery little rat,” he said. “You can never escape.”

  Faint reflections of a green-robed man manifested around the sickly gentleman. They merged into the physical prophet. He held a crystal skull with his right hand and a staff with his left.

  “I thank The Court for letting me experience its power.”

  “Believer of Fate?” Lorient’s voice was hoarse. She struggled to look up, to glimpse at the faces of her enemies. “Stoop so low to cooperate with a lowly cultist?”

  “Lady Fate is indifferent,” the prophet said. “I’m merely purifying the world.”

  The plague doctor smiled. “Our lord wants your mistress, and you will bring her to us.”

  Lorient giggled then swallowed her bloodied vomit. The flowers on her arms and legs wilted, and the leaves along her body shrivelled. “We Monster Girls are slaves to none.”

  “I only need a corpse.”

  The plague doctor pushed forward. His hand ramped against Lorient’s neck. Centipedes and cockroaches crawled out of his sleeve and into Lorient’s clothes. She struggled to keep her mouth shut, but the sensations of countless tiny appendages stabbing her skin itched her. An urge to scratch popped into her mind.

  Lorient tensed up and closed her eyes. She silently, feverishly chanted the singular name. Her bracelet glowed. The arcane symbols etched on it flew out and rearranged into an intersecting array. A series of circles, each representing a cog in a grand machine, spread throughout the warehouse.

  The plague doctor let go of Lorient and vanished to stand beside the prophet, but his hand violently shattered into a fine mist, exposing his decayed bone. He shouted his spells, but no voice left him. The air, the atmosphere, the spacetime itself ceased to move.

  The prophet screamed soundlessly. His right eye, within which visions emerged and submerged, split open under a flaming streak. His crystal skull combusted, and he was knocked down by the weight of a volcanic mountain.

  Lorient heaved in and out. She excitedly forced herself to look up. A phantom of beauty stood tall, exposing her slim back to Lorient. She glanced at her little knight and smiled.

  “You’ve done too well, Dear,” Iris said.

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