Chapter Thirty-Seven: "Human"

Mr. Marshall ultimately failed to survive the autumn. Withered leaves drifted from the branches outside the hospital ward and scattered across the ground as the doctors announced his death.

In truth, anyone with eyes could tell that he had already been thoroughly dead by the time he was brought to the hospital. Even so, the hospital mobilized every medical resource at its disposal. All the finest doctors gathered together, pooling their wisdom and racking their brains in an attempt to snatch this departed life back from the hands of Death.

The Imperial Federal Reserve had issued them a death order—the only hospital in Creekwood Town was, naturally, funded and built by the Lofik Consortium.

Although their efforts ultimately ended in failure, they had not been entirely fruitless.

At the very least, Mr. Marshall’s neck, which had been twisted at a perfect right angle, had been straightened. Unfortunately, he could only lie flat on his back. The moment his position changed, his head, deprived of the support of its cervical vertebrae, would droop at an uncanny angle.

Ethan had been pushed outside by the medical staff and had not even managed to see Mr. Marshall one last time.

He remained in the hospital corridor until evening. Only when the doctors announced the death did his anxious heart finally settle.

Whenever employees of the Imperial Federal Reserve passed him, they would gently pat him on the shoulder.

“Please accept my condolences.”

Everyone said the same thing to him.

In their eyes, Ethan was so overcome with grief that he had lost the ability to speak.

He was clearly so young, yet had been forced to watch his closest friend die horribly before his eyes. And he was an investigator for the Containment Bureau, no less. It was easy for them to imagine the profound helplessness he must be feeling.

Ethan’s eyes were indeed filled with sorrow.

The main reason was that, having nothing else to do in the corridor, he had silently begun studying ice magic and had been infected by the emotions of the elemental spirit.

In *The Arcana of Fireballs and Ice Arrows*, Mr. Anonymous had mentioned that ice corresponded to the lowest and most despondent of human emotions. After what had happened that day, Ethan had gained a deeper understanding of the book’s descriptions of “humanity.” He was also gradually beginning to understand why the author believed that ice arrows were better suited to resolving disputes between people.

Compared with fire, water and ice were more restrained and far more discreet.

To have written such words in a parchment book, Mr. Anonymous must surely have used ice magic to settle countless disputes between people.

Unfortunately, ice arrows were not omnipotent. They could not sever the countless chains of cause and effect spun from that single ledger. Ethan knew that, at that very moment, in some unknown corner of the world, another Mr. Roxan was entering the Imperial Federal Reserve with a nervous heart, taking out a huge loan beneath the employees’ smiles of concern.

All he could do was eliminate a particular person standing before him.

Dark creatures and followers of evil gods were not the only things in this world capable of harming others. He absolutely must not slacken in his cultivation. He had to catch up with Mr. Anonymous as quickly as possible.

Ethan made up his mind.

Of course, in the eyes of the Imperial Federal Reserve employees and the medical staff, the determination in Ethan’s gaze suggested an entirely different scene. After witnessing his friend’s tragic death with his own eyes, this young Containment Bureau investigator had resolved to devote himself even more fervently to his work, swearing to uncover the truth behind his friend’s death.

The good news was that Ethan had unexpectedly discovered a more suitable place to practice ice arrows.

Under the guidance of his excellent leader, Ivy, Fireplace Bay finally had a boat capable of carrying him. Beyond the pier stretched the boundless Black Sea. There, no one cared about anyone else’s identity, and naturally, no one would stop him from throwing ice arrows into the water.

Practicing ice arrows beside the Black Sea offered three benefits at once: accidents involving injured bystanders were unlikely, he did not have to worry about exposing his identity, and he could keep an eye on the shop while he was there.

At the same time…

He wanted more and more to learn teleportation magic.

Every night, he secretly slipped out of the apartment under cover of darkness, always with the guilty feeling of a thief. On top of that, an investigator’s working hours were irregular. What if Ivy came looking for him in the middle of the night because of some work-related matter and discovered that he was not home? Wouldn’t that cause trouble?

He could claim that he had been working at Fireplace Bay to earn money, but that was hardly a long-term solution.

The occult bookshop carried only the most basic introductory spells. Advanced magic involving space, such as teleportation, naturally could not be found among its shelves.

Besides, even if someone were selling such high-level magic, Ethan’s savings of a little over twenty gold lions would never be enough to buy it.

Based on his observations of the merchants in Fireplace Bay, bargaining tactics such as “I’m an apprentice, so give me a cheaper price,” or “Twenty gold lions—let’s call it a friend’s price,” would almost certainly not work.

In the end, he still had to save money. He also needed to get his custom-order business up and running as soon as possible.

But before that…

Ethan took Miss Chloe outside the town.

It seemed no one had visited the place for quite some time. The earthen hill was exceptionally desolate. Carrying a hard loaf of bread in his hands, with a wreath balanced on her head, Miss Chloe followed him past one gravestone after another for a long while, until they finally stopped before a grave bearing the name Roxan.

Only three words had been carved simply into the gravestone. There was no epitaph, nor any other information.

Ethan bent down and brushed the dust and mud from the stone. He placed the hard bread upon the empty altar. Miss Chloe lowered her head in bewilderment and offered up the wreath as well.

He gazed at the gravestone for a long time.

“Goodbye, Roxan.”

…

When they returned to the apartment, Ivy saw that Ethan looked troubled and told him to get some proper sleep. She stayed behind in the apartment and sent the report on the Roxan case back to the Containment Bureau in Gear City by hawk.

Once again, Ethan had to marvel at his good fortune in having such an excellent leader. Had it been the Ethan of his previous life, the order he received would have been something like: “Finish the case summary as soon as possible and send it to me before seven.”

He began preparing dinner for Miss Chloe. He cooked a pot of tomato and potato soup with some pork belly mixed in. Watching Miss Chloe devour it, nearly burying her entire head in the bowl, eased his mood considerably.

He thought that Mr. Marshall’s family must also be preparing his funeral by now. His remains would be sent back to Gear City, where he would be surrounded by flowers and a priest’s eulogy.

Although Mr. Marshall had only provided one point of ice-arrow proficiency, like a dead fat pig, he had at least made a small contribution. Ethan now possessed a deeper understanding of the transformation between ice and water.

Ethan ladled the potato-and-pork soup into an earthenware pot and knocked on the door of the neighboring apartment.

Ivy looked utterly exhausted. Even the golden fur atop her head hung listlessly, and a sleepless night had left deep dark circles beneath her eyes.

“I made some meat soup. I used to cook it for the hunters back at the guild. It should taste all right.”

“Oh. Put it on the table.”

Ethan felt as though Ivy were floating as she walked. She seemed to have just sent out the case summary, for her quill and writing paper were still lying on the table.

Ivy leaned back in an oak chair. The fragrance of the soup spread throughout the room, loosening the nerves that had been taut for so long. She stared blankly at the soup. Gradually, her vision blurred, and the food before her doubled.

Just as her eyes were about to close, the golden fur atop her head slapped her on the forehead.

Ivy jolted. Her entire body snapped upright by reflex, looking exactly like a student who had fallen asleep in class and suddenly been called on by the teacher.

“The answer is C.”

After this completely disjointed remark, an awkward silence fell over the sitting room.

Ivy offered no explanation. Instead, she simply picked up the earthenware pot and, like Miss Chloe, nearly buried her face in it.

“Hmm. Not bad.”

A moment later, she gave her verdict.

“That’s good. I was worried it might not suit your taste.”

Ethan spoke while thinking of the fact that he had used only the cheapest ingredients. “It’s getting late. You’ve worked all day, so you should get some rest.”

“Ethan.”

He had taken only a few steps when Ivy suddenly called out to him.

“Hmm?”

“Nobles aren’t all like that.”

By the time she finished speaking, even Ivy herself seemed to lack confidence. Her voice was so faint that it was almost inaudible.

“At least… I’m not.”