Chapter 59: The Memory Egg

On the open sea.

Aside from the roaring engines, a heavy silence hung inside the speedboat.

Molay dialed Gin’s number. "...The mission failed."

"You didn't find it?"

Molay paused. "No, I found it."

"Give me an explanation."

So Molay recounted what had happened on the island. Gin gave no immediate response, instructing Molay instead to head straight to a hospital designated by the Organization upon his return.

One of the underlings, who had suffered the lightest injuries during the fight because he hadn't rushed into the fray, took out his phone. He removed the storage card from the miniature camera pinned to his chest and inserted it into the device. Molay noticed this, but chose not to intervene.

After a while, Gin called back.

"What are your thoughts on that organization?"

"I don't know, but I know the legend of the Holy Grail."

Molay recalled, "According to legend, it was the cup used by Jesus at the Last Supper, later brought to Britain by Joseph of Arimathea, becoming a symbol of the divine."

"It once appeared and vanished in King Arthur's court, sparking quests from many knights. In the end, the pure Galahad attained the Grail and his soul ascended to heaven."

"Holding the Grail, chasing eternity..." Gin frowned on the other end of the line.

"However, there is another phrase I don't quite understand," Molay continued. "*Per perfectionem astra et sublimationem humanam, catena invisibilis ordinem regit*."

"In the legend of the Holy Grail, it is divinity that guides the pure to ascension, which doesn't align with this sentence..."

"Wait." Gin interrupted Molay. "That phrase... what does it mean?"

"..."

Almost forgot, Latin isn't as popular nowadays as it used to be.

"Guiding human sublimation through the perfection of the stars, the invisible chain governs order." Molay had no choice but to translate it. Silence fell over the line once more; even with Gin's formidable deductive skills, he couldn't quite fathom what this sentence implied.

Yet, based on the current information, a few points could be deduced.

First, that man called himself "Gawain." Coupled with the mention of the "Holy Grail," the opposing party was very likely an organization whose codenames were derived from the Knights of the Round Table.

Second, the enemy possessed unknown technology. Putting aside that intimidating suit of armor, the sheer deflection of bullet trajectories deeply puzzled Gin. He had already sent the footage to the Organization's research institute, hoping they could glean something from it.

Although the Organization's technological level was far from low, its focus lay primarily in software development and biopharmaceuticals. In Gin's view, the opposition was likely employing the latest cutting-edge techniques from Europe or America. Connected as it was to the Holy Grail and Arthurian legend, the adversaries probably originated from Europe.

Yet the Organization's main stronghold was in Japan, and its grip on Europe was exceedingly tenuous...

Gin pondered for a moment and decided to dump this problem onto Rum—as a field operations commander, why should he bother with these headaches?

Third, the individual combat prowess of the enemy was formidable. Gin had witnessed Cognac's hand-to-hand combat abilities; the car chase on that bridge had left a deep impression on him. Yet that Gawain had beaten Cognac to the point of vomiting blood, and still appeared to be holding back...

Perhaps it was due to that suit of armor he wore? Gin noticed that before Gawain and Cognac clashed, the pipelines on the armor had visibly lit up, dimming again only after the fight concluded.

If the opportunity arose, he should send someone to infiltrate the cutting-edge research institutes in Europe and steal some data...

Still, too little information had been revealed thus far. He hung up the phone and reported the incident to Rum.

Once Molay landed, the Organization's reception crew transported him and his subordinates to separate hospitals, where Organization-affiliated doctors would examine and treat them.

Naturally, he wasn't actually injured; his body was in peak condition. Yet he had unmistakably "vomited blood" earlier, putting on the exact performance of someone suffering from severe internal trauma.

Therefore, he needed to make his body "remember" an injury it had once sustained.

Inside the Organization's vehicle, a few subtle "crack" sounds emanated from within Molay's body, completely swallowed by the ambient noise of the moving car.

The injury he simulated was the one dealt by Sherlock Holmes using baritsu during their battle at the Reichenbach Falls. He recalled that clash, letting his body automatically simulate the physical fallout of taking that beating.

I must say, a youthful body is truly wonderful. Back then he had been beaten to the brink of death, and now it was just a minor rib fracture... Still, it was more than enough to pass an inspection.

He closed his eyes and mapped out his subsequent plans.

...

Mikaha General Hospital.

The medical results naturally showed no major issues—just a need for quiet recuperation. Regrettably, however, the tissue samples of Molay collected by the Organization had mysteriously vanished. Both the Organization and Molay maintained a tacit understanding, neither bringing the matter up.

If members possessed the ability to voice their grievances, the Organization could occasionally respect those minor privacies.

"Then I'll leave things in your care for the time being, Dr. Eto." Molay nodded toward the physician.

The doctor nodded, pulled the door shut, and walked out.

Victory Eto, a surgeon at Mikaha General Hospital and a peripheral member of the Organization. He knew he was rendering services to some underground syndicate, but that was the extent of it, and he couldn't be bothered to pry. The Organization only occasionally sent injured operatives to him for secret treatment, accompanied by exorbitant payouts every time, so he was quite content to maintain the status quo. In his estimation, the Organization was probably some yakuza gang, frequently dumping battered foot soldiers from turf wars onto his doorstep.

Stepping out of the ward, he reverted to his sharp-tongued nature. Coincidentally running into his old classmate, Mitsuo Shirai, he sneered, "What's this, Shirai? Off to test experimental drugs on patients again?"

"Eto..." Mitsuo Shirai frowned. "There's a limit to defamation!"

"Tch, whatever, I have no reason to bicker with a loser who's about to be kicked out anyway. Hahaha—" Eto walked away laughing heartily. He lacked the spine to talk big in front of yakuza members, but bullying a competitor about to be edged out by him was something he dared to do.

Mitsuo Shirai's expression turned as gloomy as dripping water. His fists clenched and unclenched; taking a deep breath to reset his expression, he walked away as if nothing had happened.

Inside the room, Molay heard the conversation outside crystal clear. *But what does that have to do with me, an injured patient?*

He was currently communicating with Shunen via email. To prevent tracking by the Organization, he had instructed Shunen to pack the gold into his own suitcases while still at sea, dumping the Organization's crates into the ocean. Sure enough, the syndicate had hidden tracking devices inside those original boxes.

By now, the Black Organization's attention toward the Holy Grail faction had been thoroughly piqued, yet Molay couldn't afford to expose his bottom line. If he were to directly dump this batch of gold onto the black market, it wouldn't be good if the Organization followed the trail and unearthed his true identity.

Akai Shuichi was still loitering near his apartment, and his detective agency operated right under the Organization's nose—it wasn't safe anywhere. Consequently, this batch of gold was temporarily being kept in custody by Akako Koizumi.

Money left idle was nothing more than stagnant water; it had to circulate to multiply. Yet, given his current identity, he was completely unsuited to engage in investments. Slashing two billion yen into the market—given the Organization's resources—made it impossible for them to overlook such a sudden influx of capital. And once they traced the funds back to Molay, one could only imagine how the Organization would react.

That was the primary flaw of operating in Japan: try as you might, you could never escape the tentacles of the Organization. Investing abroad, on the other hand, plunged one into the dilemma of remote control, inevitably leaving room for subordinates to pull the wool over your eyes.

Ah, the long arms of the syndicate. Still, regarding how to seize power within the Organization, Molay already had a concrete preliminary vision.

The mere thought of inheriting a ready-made empire in the future brought a trace of solace to his heart. Of course, that was a matter for another day.

"How does it feel to play the role of Caesar, Mr. Roman?" Akako Koizumi sat on the windowsill, dangling her legs. A food container flew from her hand straight onto Molay's bedside table. "I specially brewed a nourishing thick soup. Drink it while it's hot."

"Is that even comparable? Caesar was backstabbed; my injury was entirely within the plan!" Molay cast a disapproving look. "And are you seriously telling me that nourishing soup shimmering with a rainbow oily film is potable? What ingredients went into making it?"

"Shed snake skin, a severed lizard tail, and octopus tentacles."

"Spare me..." Molay let out a long sigh. "Are you some sort of witch from the countryside?"

"I am a witch!" Akako Koizumi bristled, her brows arching. "Never mind the ingredients, just tell me whether it's nourishing or not! The symbolic significance of these three things—"

"Then please don't treat me like a test subject for your potion-brewing, nor name this concoction a nourishing soup..." Despite his words, out of sheer politeness, Molay took a sip—surprisingly, it wasn't nearly as foul as it sounded.

Seeing Molay drink the soup, Akako Koizumi nodded with satisfaction. "Since you've had the soup, out of reciprocity, shouldn't you temporarily lend that batch of gold to—"

Right then, she watched as the soup flew straight out of Molay's mouth, condensing into a sphere of water suspended in midair.

"Is that reaction really necessary?!" Akako Koizumi pressed a hand to her forehead.

"That's a billion yen we're talking about!" Molay glanced toward the door, asking cautiously, "I hardly think our relationship has reached that level of intimacy yet, has it?"

"I can't help it; among the people I know, you're the only one liquid enough to cough up that kind of cash." She sighed. "My cash flow is a bit tight right now; I can probably only scrape together two or three hundred million..."

To think this girl was also a wealthy heiress; fitting for a centuries-old lineage of sorcery...

"So what exactly are you planning to do?" Molay narrowed his eyes at her.

"You know about the Memory Egg discovered by the Suzuki conglomerate, right? That imperial treasure of the Russian Empire crafted by the last Tsar, Nicholas II."

"Memory Egg? Nicholas II?"

He did have a faint impression of Nicholas II. Back in the day, Alexander II's eldest son, Nicholas—the original heir designated as Nicholas II—had fallen from a horse and died—he had heard about that piece of news—prompting the second son, Alexander III, to ascend the throne. Word was that III had fathered another son and named him Nicholas as well; so that must have been the Nicholas II in question.

As for a Memory Egg? What on earth was that?

Molay shook his head slightly, prompting Akako Koizumi to explain.

The Memory Egg was an Easter egg crafted by Tsar Nicholas II for his family, totaling fifty in number. Recently, however, the Suzuki conglomerate announced they had discovered the fifty-first Memory Egg, declaring they would exhibit this treasure in Osaka the day after tomorrow. Kaito Kid had already issued a advance notice, swearing to make off with the egg on that very day.

"And how does that relate to you pooling cash?" Molay glanced at her sideways.

"I ran a prophecy." Akako Koizumi's expression turned grave. "Kaito Kid... he is going to die in this heist."

*"When the city plunges into darkness, silver wings hang high in the sky, the scorpion extends its lead-grey sting, and the dove plummets into the lightless sea."* That was what the crystal ball told me.

"So?"

"I want to put a stop to this exhibition, but the Suzuki conglomerate won't agree to it. Therefore, I intend to buy it out—at the very least, lease it for a period, and return it after the prophecy passes."

"Is that really necessary?"

"...To be honest, I don't know." Akako Koizumi frowned. "But I once swore that I would capture him with my own hands, or kill him myself. I won't let him die a meaningless death at the hands of some third-rate nobody."

You're invincible, planning to casually drop several hundred million yen just like that...

On second thought, however, if he himself could have spent ten thousand-odd pounds right at the start to permanently eliminate Sherlock Holmes, he'd gladly have done the exact same thing.

Then again, no—her goal was to spend a fortune protecting Kid simply to ensure that *she* and she alone got to finish him off... Though if it were Molay, he'd happily spend a few hundred pounds for a chance to beat the daylights out of Holmes, but he certainly wouldn't waste money shielding Holmes from someone else's blade.

Cold! Efficient! Merciless! Purely pragmatic! Fitting for yours truly.

However, the real question now was whether he should trust this witch's credit...

Waging a bet that she genuinely wouldn't misappropriate that batch of gold.

"Allow me to ask out of curiosity," Molay narrowed his eyes. "Why on earth do you insist on killing Kid with your own hands?"

"Because he is the sole person in this world impervious to my beauty... I mean, my beauty combined with magic," Akako Koizumi tossed her hair. "Well, excluding you, of course. I'm referring to ordinary mortals—though since your proficiency in magecraft is hardly low, high resistance is only natural."

*'If I had rashly slipped him a drug and gotten caught by him, it would've been game over...'* she added internally. *'So, I'll just rely on my own transcendent personal charm...!'*

"It's stage magic, not spellcraft!" Molay was entirely oblivious to Akako Koizumi's inner monologue.

"Oh, terminology details don't matter! If my face-tracking divination... er, spell hadn't glitched out recently, I wouldn't be resorting to such desperate measures." Returning to the point, Akako Koizumi sighed. "Remember when we met the second time? I was tracking Kid using facial recognition, and the crystal ball pointed straight to that high school detective named Shinichi Kudo, didn't it?"

Molay still retained a memory of that incident. He had just stepped out of the Shusuisha residence when he bumped into Akako Koizumi, and what she had said back then was...

*'Chasing that Kid fellow, only to discover it wasn't him, just some high school detective who happened to look remarkably similar...'*

Akako Koizumi was still grumbling.

"That kind of glitch happened repeatedly." She pulled out a crystal ball, held it up against the moonlight, scrutinized the projection on the wall for a moment, and put it away. "One time, the crystal ball pointed to a dark-skinned high schooler; I thought for sure it was Kid's disguise, but when I looked closer, it turned out to be someone else entirely."

"Later, I optimized the spell so the crystal ball could parse color, and it pointed me toward a high school kendo practitioner rumored to be a descendant of Soji Okita, named Soji Okita the Sixth."

"I have to admit they really do look quite alike... Suspecting my facial recognition parameter was corrupted, I secretly swiped a strand of hair dropped by Kid and recalibrated it for ancestral bloodline tracking."

"And the result? This time it pinned the target directly onto some elementary school brat..."

She propped herself up with both hands, sitting back on the window sill. "That guy is someone you have to trap, not chase. You can never catch him by chasing alone. Without prophecy and tracking magic, I simply can't locate him."

"Ah, what a tragedy," Molay said with absolute zero emotion.

"But you know how to do that sort of thing, right? Finding people and all that?" Akako Koizumi hopped over to the edge of Molay's bed and poked his cheek. "A spell-type that a 'countryside witch' (heavy emphasis) like me botched should be a walk in the park for you, shouldn't it?"

She was still holding onto a grudge from way back then... Molay forced a dry laugh. "I have no idea what you're talking about; I only know reinforcement, suggestion, and resonance. Anything else..."

"Stop playing dumb!" Akako Koizumi's brows shot up. "I saw it! That sapphire amulet in the monk's possession—he said you gave it to him! Those were clearly runic characters inscribed inside; I saw them as plain as day!"

Tch.

"And your point is?" Molay's expression reverted to calm as he swatted away the finger Akako Koizumi was using to poke his ribs. "You want me to handle it? What's in it for me?"

"A chance to ask a question, how about that?" Akako Koizumi pushed the window open and drew back the curtains. Dark clouds blotted out the moonlight, casting a dim gloom over the room. Glancing back, she said, "An opportunity to pose a question to Lucifer."

Meeting Molay's dubious and startled gaze, she offered a proud smirk. "That's right, none other than the Lord of Hell, the Morningstar himself."

"Wait, if you can do that, why don't you just ask him yourself?" Molay raised an objection. "If you can consult him, wouldn't his location and the identity of his ambusher become glaringly obvious?"

"Regrettably, he only possesses knowledge of the past—to be precise, events that occurred up to 18 years ago. Anything past that threshold is virtually a total blind spot to him. Let alone the future; even for matters on the verge of transpiring, he remains utterly clueless."

Akako Koizumi twirled a lock of hair around her finger. "He mumbled something about timeline anomalies, but anyway, his predictive foresight regarding the future has become completely obsolete."

"Hang on, are we talking about *Lucifer* here? The Lord of Hell, the Fallen Morningstar, the Son of the Morning? How on earth did you establish a connection with him?!" Disregarding the cryptic timeline remarks, Molay reacted intensely to the name alone.

"Who else but me could be the sole human in centuries to dial his number—or rather, perform the ritual? I even pay for his three streaming services' annual VIP subscriptions. Look, are we making a deal or not?"

Akako Koizumi crossed her arms. "Though I should warn you in advance, each person is restricted to asking a mere three questions in a lifetime, and once you witness his presence, you'll never be granted another audience. So you'd better think carefully about what you want to ask."

"No, hold on a second here. You mean once you see him you can never see him again, meaning you've summoned Lucifer and yet never asked him a single thing?!" Molay's bewilderment threatened to pierce the heavens.

"Well, no, but the TV remote is in my hands. He can only watch television through the mirror, and if he refuses to show up, I switch the channel from his morning romance drama to home-shopping networks."

Molay drew in a sharp breath. What a vicious tactic!

"...Actually, it's mostly because I'm his contracted summoner, so those restrictions are somewhat relaxed on me," Akako Koizumi sighed. "Ever since who-knows-how-many generations of great-grandmothers ago, our family's souls were destined to belong to him upon death. But the channel-switching part is entirely true, though."

"Still, his capabilities might not be as grand as you imagine, so you should probably prepare yourself mentally..."

Akako Koizumi was, after all, still a simple-hearted high schooler. Driven by a shred of goodwill and the lingering guilt that she might be "dragging someone down a pit," she offered a subtle caution.

Yet Molay... completely missed the warning.

*Lucifer! The Fallen Morningstar! The Lightbringer! The Sovereign of Hell!*

No matter how far short of imagination his abilities fell, they ought to still span across astronomical scales, right?

To be frank, the reward of three questions left him deeply tempted. Information was precisely what he lacked most at present; with an abundance of intelligence, countless blueprints could finally be set into motion.

Deal!