As Erwin walked through the bustling city streets, his journey to the Royal Library was a fundamentally different experience from Soma's. Where Soma had been overwhelmed by the novelty, Erwin was a cold, calculating engine of observation.
His mind, a fusion of two powerful analytical frameworks, processed the city on multiple levels. The Commander in him saw the strategic layout: the narrow streets that could become deadly chokepoints, the sturdy architecture of the bank that could serve as a defensible position, the open plazas that were kill-zones with no cover. He mentally mapped evacuation routes, supply lines, and sniper perches, a silent, instinctual preparation for a disaster that had not yet occurred.
Simultaneously, the Detective in him saw the people. The Conan Edogawa card had sharpened his perception to a razor's edge. He could see the subtle tells of everyday life: the way a merchant's eyes darted nervously suggested he was hiding untaxed goods; the worn-down heels of a Watchman's boots spoke of long, thankless patrols on the city's outer edge; the slight tremor in a noblewoman's hand as she clutched her purse revealed a deep-seated fear of the common crowd. Every person was a story, and he could read the first chapter in a single glance.
As he walked, his senses, now unnaturally keen, registered something else. A strange feeling in the sky above. It wasn't a sound or a shape, just a subtle, dissonant pressure, a feeling of being watched by something vast and impossibly distant. He scanned the blue expanse but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Erwin mentally cataloged the feeling, filed it away under "unexplained phenomena," and returned his focus to the mission at hand.
He needed to understand the source of this world's hatred for demons. If his analysis of human history was correct, the current narrative was almost certainly a fabrication. The victors of a war do not preserve the noble history of the vanquished; they erase it, alter it, and paint their enemies as monsters to justify their own actions. He just hoped they hadn't been so thorough that nothing was left to find.
Nearing the grand plaza of the library, Erwin ducked into a deserted side alley. He checked both ends to ensure he was alone, then activated the change. His tall, commanding form dissolved into a swirling vortex of blood, which then rapidly coalesced and reformed into the small, unassuming body of a seven-year-old child.
Now as Conan Edogawa, he walked out of the alley. The acting traits of the card settled over him like a second skin. He approached the Royal Library's massive front desk, his steps full of childish energy. He had to stand on his tiptoes to see over the tall marble counter.
"Excuse me, ma'am?" he said, his voice pitched perfectly to sound innocent and bright. "Can you help me find some books?"
The librarian, a kindly-looking woman with spectacles perched on her nose, leaned over the counter with a warm smile. "Ah, of course, little one. What kind of books do you need? We just got a new volume on the history of magitech golems. It has many wonderful pictures, and all the boys your age seem to love it."
Erwin shook his head, his expression one of pure, earnest innocence. "No, thank you. I got a school assignment, you see," he explained. "My teacher said to write about something unique. All my classmates are doing golems or famous knights, but I want to write about... demon history."
The librarian's warm smile faltered. She looked taken aback, a flicker of distaste crossing her features. "Oh, dear," she said, her voice taking on a patronizing tone. "You shouldn't be curious about those filthy kinds. They are a brutish, violent race. Most of them can't even read, you know."
Erwin looked up at her, his big glasses making his eyes seem even wider and more sincere. "Please? I just know if I write about something no one else picks, my teacher will give me the highest grade! I want to do a really good job."
The librarian sighed, torn between her prejudice and her professional duty. "Alright, boy," she said, unable to refuse the face of such scholarly enthusiasm. "As a keeper of knowledge, I cannot turn down a quest for it, no matter how... misguided." She beckoned for him to follow. "Come along. I will lead you to the section."
Erwin followed the kindly librarian as she led him deeper and deeper into the colossal library. They passed towering shelves that stretched up into the gloom, past sections dedicated to magical theory, ancient lineages, and the complete histories of the Great Houses—each section larger than an entire bookstore from his old world. The air grew cooler here, the scent of old paper more pronounced. It was clear they were heading toward the back, to the less-trafficked archives.
The librarian chuckled, looking down at the small child trying to keep pace with her long strides. "Are you okay walking this far, little one? It's quite a ways."
"I'm a strong boy, ma'am!" Erwin chirped, his voice full of a practiced, childish bravado that made the librarian smile.
She patted his head, a gesture that made Erwin's internal commander want to snap her wrist. She stopped before a small, dusty nook tucked away behind a towering shelf of agricultural records. She pointed to a single, short row of books crammed into the corner.
"Here we are," she said with a sigh. "Like I said, those Tainted-kind were not an intelligent race. This is all the literature we have on them, and most of it was written by our own scholars. A sad, brutish history." She gave him a pitying look. "Come back if you change your mind. I have a few suggestions on other topics that would be much more suitable for a bright young man like yourself."
Erwin put a small hand on his chest in a gesture of sincere gratitude, a perfect imitation of a polite child. "Thank you so much for your help, ma'am."
"What a polite kid," the librarian murmured to herself as she turned and left him alone in the dusty corner.
The moment she was out of earshot, Erwin's innocent expression vanished, replaced by a cold fury. 'Fucking bitch,' he thought, his mind seething. 'How dare she pat my head.' For a split second, a vivid, strategic image flashed through his mind: a full-scale military assault on the library, his troops securing every text before razing the prejudiced institution to the ground. He blinked. 'Oh shit, that's a bit extreme.' He reined in the commander's instincts. 'Whatever. Let's see what we have to work with.'
He turned his attention to the "demon section." It was pathetic. There were maybe fifty or sixty books in total. In the context of the Royal Library, which must have held millions of volumes, this wasn't just a small collection; it was a deliberate, insulting erasure. He scanned the titles: The Infernal Lineages: A Study in Tainted Blood, An Imperial Scholar's Treatise on the Demon Wars, Bestial Tongues and Crude Rituals. It was all just as he'd predicted: history written by the conquerors.
Erwin sighed, a quiet, weary sound in the dusty silence. He pulled out the most neutral-looking title he could find. "Let's see this, shall we?"
…
Meanwhile, back at Café LeBlanc, the atmosphere was considerably more cheerful.
Zero and Soma clapped their hands enthusiastically as Sebas concluded his demonstration. With a kettle in one hand, he had stood at the far end of the loft's living room and poured a perfect, unwavering stream of steaming hot tea into a tiny porcelain cup resting on the dining table on the other side of the room. The long, graceful arc of liquid landed dead center without spilling a single drop.
"Wooooo! Sebas, you're the best butler!" Soma whistled, thoroughly impressed. "With a skill like that, you could pour tea for customers from a fifth-floor window with ease!"
"Let's goooo, battle butler babyyy!" Zero added, pumping his fist.
Sebas, unperturbed by their rowdy praise, simply placed the kettle down and gave a calm, perfect bow from the waist.
Just then, a loud growl echoed in the quiet room. Zero looked down at his stomach, a sheepish look on his face. "Do you guys want to eat?"
Sure enough, a glance out the large windows confirmed their suspicion. The sky was already streaked with the deep orange and purple of sunset. "I guess experimenting with Sebas's skills made us forget the time again," Zero mused.
Soma stretched, already heading for the open kitchen in their living quarters. "Alright, dinner it is."
"I'll handle the drinks," Zero said, heading downstairs to the café floor to use his own station.
While Soma began pulling out ingredients and Zero's footsteps faded down the stairs, Sebas did not move to help either of them. Instead, he walked silently to the large loft window and stood, looking out at the darkening sky. His calm, placid expression shifted. He narrowed his eyes, his gaze fixed on a point high above the city's rooftops, as if trying to resolve an image that was just at the edge of his perception.
Soma, who was chopping vegetables with a rhythmic thump-thump-thump, noticed the butler's strange stillness. "What are you looking at, Sebas?" he asked, pausing his work.
Sebas turned from the window, his serene butler-mask instantly back in place. "Nothing of sort, Young Master Soma," he replied smoothly, his voice a respectful baritone. "Do you require assistance with the mise en place?"
"Oh, yes please," Soma said, momentarily distracted from his curiosity. "That would be appreciated."
…
As the last rays of sunlight faded from the sky, the head librarian began her closing rounds, her voice echoing in the vast, empty halls as she urged the few remaining patrons to depart. Erwin, still in his Conan form, dutifully returned the books to their dusty nook and allowed himself to be shooed out with the others.
Once outside, he found a dark, secluded alley and let the transformation take hold. The small body dissolved and reformed into his proper, commanding stature. As he stepped back onto the main thoroughfare, he was immediately struck by how much the city had changed in the few hours since he'd arrived.
It was becoming desolate. The vibrant, bustling energy of the afternoon had evaporated. Shopkeepers were rolling down heavy metal shutters over their windows, families were hurrying indoors, and the wide streets, once choked with carriages and crowds, were now eerily empty. This was wrong. A city analogous to New York, the city that never sleeps, should have been roaring to life as night fell, its magitech lights painting the sky. Instead, it was shutting down, cowering from the encroaching darkness.
Erwin quickened his pace, his senses on high alert. He looked up. As the sky bled from deep twilight into true night, the strange phenomenon he had sensed earlier became visible. It was a barrier. A vast, shimmering dome of faint, silvery light arched over the entire city, so high and transparent it was invisible during the day. It pulsed with a soft, rhythmic glow, like a sleeping heart, its latticework of energy creating a celestial net across the heavens. Erwin tried to see where it ended, but it stretched beyond the horizon in every direction, a cage of breathtaking scale.
He was so focused on the sky that he didn't notice the vehicle until it was almost on top of him. A heavy, armored Watcher's car, its rune-lights glowing a menacing red, screeched to a halt just inches from his boots.
A Watcher with a thick mustache rolled down the passenger-side window. "Hey!" he barked, his voice filled with impatience. "Get off the streets! Go back to your house! The mages will begin their sweep in twenty minutes!"
Erwin didn't understand the specifics, but he understood the urgency and the authority. He gave a sharp nod and immediately hurried down the street toward the café's alley.
The Watcher shook his head in exasperation as the car pulled away. "People these days," he grumbled to his partner. "Can't even be bothered to mark their calendar for the most important night of the month."
The other Watcher just chuckled and grabbed a crystal transmitter from the dashboard, its surface humming with static. "Detective Wolfe, you there?" he said into the device. "We're clearing the last of the stragglers now. Are the mages going to be on time tonight?"
A crackle of static answered, followed by a calm, serious voice. "We'll make sure they are. We can't afford another Tear."
**A/N**
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**A/N**