The building where Houseman lived had already been cordoned off by church personnel in black robes.
A sedan pulled up not far away, and Harold stepped out in a hurry.
On site he could still see Klan standing by the gate; when Klan spotted Harold he took the initiative to call out, "Harold, you're here."
"Lord Klan, how is it—have you found any clues?" Harold asked, looking at Klan as though he were deeply concerned about Houseman.
Klan simply shook his head. "Apart from the security guard mentioning that Houseman's nephew Qiao had also been here, there's nothing. Right now we can't find Qiao either."
He glanced at Harold with an odd tone. "Harold, no need for 'Lord'—just call me Klan. After all, you're an Archpriest too. Now that something's happened to Houseman, I expect the Intelligence Bureau will be under your temporary charge."
If he didn't know Harold was an ordinary person, Harold would look like a beneficiary and therefore a suspect in Houseman's incident.
Of course, there are far too many suspects; Houseman's status is special, and plenty of people want him dead. Among that crowd Harold is actually the least likely culprit.
"Alas, I'd much rather spend my days sipping tea and reading the paper, but with Archpriest Houseman gone I have no choice but to take over his duties and seriously lead the Intelligence Bureau." Listening to Klan, Harold voiced regret—yet his mouth curled into a grin that he kept suppressing, only for it to reappear again and again.
Seeing this, Klan was speechless. "Harold, there are people everywhere—rein it in."
Still, he understood it was only human; a man who used to be a mere bench-warmer suddenly gets to command the entire Intelligence Institute—if he were in Harold's shoes he couldn't stay calm either.
The whole Intelligence Institute doesn't just cover Hoburn City; every branch within Patriarch Malo's domain falls under its authority—its real power is enormous.
"Yes, yes—Archpriest Houseman's affair truly grieves me." Harold forced the smile down, sighing with emotion.
Right then another sedan arrived behind them, and Oliver stepped out.
At the sight of Oliver everyone around immediately bowed respectfully. "Lord Oliver!"
Oliver merely nodded; spotting Harold, he walked over. "Harold."
"Lord Oliver, I'm here!" Harold quickly stepped forward respectfully.
Oliver sized Harold up; the middle-aged man seemed to carry a peculiar kind of luck.
In his youth he'd survived courting Duke Lin Qi's daughter; in middle age he'd twice braved the perilous City of Mist and lived; and now, only days after becoming head of the Intelligence Institute, the previous Archpriest in charge had an accident.
'Could this guy be under the eternal goddess's protection? His luck's too ridiculous.' Oliver's head spun.
He told Harold, "I've heard about Houseman. The Intelligence Institute is in your hands now—do a good job. If you bungle it the old man will send someone else to take over, and you'll be back to your tea and newspapers."
Harold hastily replied, "Rest assured, Lord Oliver, I'll do my utmost and live up to your expectations!"
"Good. I'll wait for you to settle into the post." Oliver patted Harold's shoulder and walked into the building.
Houseman's status was so special that even he, a Dominator, had to come and inspect the scene personally.
Reaching the first floor, another church member stood there; he nodded to Oliver and opened the elevator.
Oliver rode the lift straight to the floor where Houseman had stayed.
Ding!
As soon as the doors opened a dent was visible in the wall not far away.
Footsteps sounded inside; hearing the elevator, a black-clad youth stepped out.
Seeing Oliver, he respectfully said, "Lord Oliver, you're here."
"Has your mentor found any clues?" Oliver asked the youth.
Before the youth could answer, Oliver strode into the room.
Inside, a white-haired old man in his seventies, wearing church robes, was scanning the place with a golden magnifying glass that emitted a faint golden light.
Noticing Oliver, the elder said, "Lord Oliver, you've arrived."
"Mr. Foster, any discoveries?" Oliver glanced around the room; something about it made him uneasy.
Foster shook his head and said, "We didn't find a single shard of Houseman's consciousness—he seems to have been erased outright. Whoever did this is either extraordinarily powerful or possesses a very unusual ability."
After hearing that, Oliver had no choice but to say, "Since there's no clue, call off the search. Looks like some bigshot we don't know about paid a visit."
As he spoke, Oliver glanced at the painting on the wall: a man who looked almost identical to Houseman and a blond woman lying on the floor, the whole piece exuding an eerie style.
"Houseman's taste is… hard to describe." With one look at the painting, Oliver turned and left.
Since Oliver had spoken, Foster followed him out.
Only the unsettling painting remained in the room.
They could never imagine the killer was right under their noses; in their minds, anything supernatural had to be a source artifact.
And a source artifact had to be carried by its owner to work, so no one present would connect the creepy painting to anything supernatural.
The crowd gathered downstairs dispersed as Oliver left.
Houseman's disappearance was ruled a death; with no culprit found, the case was shelved for now.
Back at the Intelligence Institute, Harold returned once more. When the staff saw him, their smiles became noticeably more sincere.
A brown-skinned young man stepped forward with a grin and flattered, "Congratulations, Archpriest Harold, on taking full control of the entire Intelligence Institute!"
He pulled a palm-sized gift box from his coat and said, "Archpriest Harold, this is a small token we all chipped in for. We hope you'll like it."
Harold smiled and accepted the box; he knew it was a gesture of ingratiation.
These people had previously worked under Houseman and listened to no one else. Now that Houseman was gone, they could only curry favor with the newly arrived Harold, lest they be shipped off to a branch office.
Harold opened the box in front of everyone. Inside lay an exquisitely crafted open-work wristwatch.
In this world, open-work timepieces had yet to be mass-produced; the craftsmanship required was extremely demanding, pushing the price above a million imperial marks.
A sum like that could buy several houses in the city center.
Harold strapped on the watch before them all, his kindly smile returning. "I appreciate your goodwill, and I understand what you want. As long as you work diligently, I won't make things difficult."
Everyone present—including the brown-skinned youth, Gibbon—breathed a silent sigh of relief; it meant Harold wouldn't transfer them away.
After all, headquarters offered far better conditions and much more safety than any branch.
Harold glanced at Gibbon and said with a smile, "Gibbon, come to my office."
"Yes, sir!" Gibbon nodded and followed Harold, who was already walking toward the office.
Once inside, Harold sat at his desk, his smile gone, his expression stern. "Gibbon, to be honest, I wanted to replace the lot of you."
"What!" Gibbon, who had just shut the door, paled.
Before Gibbon could think, Harold continued, "But I see you're ambitious, so I'll keep you at headquarters. The rest must go; later you can pick replacements from a nearby branch."
"Thank you for the chance, Archpriest Harold. I'll give it my all!" Gibbon beamed, relieved he wouldn't be banished to a branch.
At headquarters his salary was six thousand imperial marks a month—enough for him and his family to live comfortably in Hoburn City.
Had he gone to a branch, the pay would drop to two or three thousand, barely enough to get by.
"Go, and compile all critical intelligence for me." Harold leaned back in his chair and spoke.
"Right away, sir!" Gibbon nodded repeatedly and left the room; to avoid exile, he had to keep Harold satisfied.
Harold watched Gibbon depart, his gaze deep and unreadable.
Headquarters staff totaled fifty-six, most of them born to clergy families and placed here to idle away their days—hardly the sort Harold could truly control.
The real work was done by the branches; headquarters merely summarized the reports sent from below.