The girl's voice had long since faded, yet her words seemed to linger in the air, echoing in everyone's ears.
Two thousand gold pounds. And a high-grade recovery potion.
Just how much was that, exactly?
The more they tried to calculate it, the more they felt their brains weren't enough.
They were agents of the Bureau, Beyonders responsible for hunting cultists and handling supernatural incidents. Their pay and benefits were already considered extremely high.
And yet, even so, the "humanitarian compensation" Miss Windsor casually offered still completely exceeded their understanding.
Even the captured black-robed man paused his struggle for a moment, subconsciously calculating his own worth.
He was part of the Empire's secret forces. Unknown in life, unmarked in death. The Empire would secretly take care of their families, yes.
But no matter how he calculated it, he couldn't convince himself that his life was worth two thousand gold pounds and a high-grade recovery potion.
No… if he kept thinking like this, even his unwavering faith might start to collapse.
With that thought, a wave of sorrow rose in his heart. He bit down on the poison capsule hidden in his molar.
Instant death.
With the black-robed man's death, the Beyonders present finally snapped back to their senses.
"Damn it, the tongue's dead!"
One of the trench-coated agents rushed forward, pried open the man's mouth, and cursed:
"Shit, poison hidden in the molars!"
Meanwhile, the other black-robed man who had been shot by Mozo glanced at the corpse, then looked at Miss Windsor and Mozo with a complicated expression.
He opened his mouth, hesitated for a long time, then suddenly pointed at his other arm and said to Mozo:
"How about… you shoot this arm too? Otherwise I won't feel right taking the money."
Mozo blinked, slightly stunned.
Then he raised his gun and fired, using up the last bullet.
The trench-coated man immediately jumped, clutching his arm.
"Damn it! You actually shot me?!"
Mozo froze again, clearly wanting to say, didn't you ask for it?
But before he could speak, Miss Windsor stepped forward, hands on her hips, glaring angrily:
"Wasn't it you who told Sir Knight to shoot?! If you're stupid, why are you shouting at him?! Someone like you is just awful!"
"Your two thousand gold pounds? I'm only willing to give you one thousand now!"
Laughter broke out among the others.
The man could only grimace and shut his mouth. But soon enough, his expression brightened again.
Even one thousand gold pounds was still a huge profit!
After that, things became much simpler.
The official Beyonders conducted a brief inquiry, then escorted Mozo and Miss Windsor to the surface. A carriage was arranged to take them to the Bureau in the New City.
Inside the Bureau, the two were separated midway.
Mozo didn't know where Miss Windsor was taken. He only knew he was led into a completely sealed room.
There were no torture devices inside. Just a table, two chairs, and a hanging lamp powered by some unknown source.
Sitting quietly in the room, Mozo understood one thing.
For him, tonight's real show was only just beginning.
Soon, a well-dressed man wearing gold-rimmed glasses entered, holding a file.
He sat down across from Mozo, opened the file, compared the photo with Mozo's face, and then said:
"You are neither Miss Windsor's guard nor her attendant. You also have no prior connection to her. And you are a resident of the New City."
"So why were you at that place?"
Mozo answered calmly:
"I decline to make any statement on that matter."
The man chuckled, adjusted his glasses, and tapped the file.
"You're a commoner. A top student at Cromwell University. I assume you're smart enough to understand your current situation."
"I suggest you cooperate. Considering you saved Miss Windsor, we can still offer you some leniency."
Mozo nodded slightly, then said something that clearly caught the man off guard:
"I understand. But I also believe Duke Windsor won't allow you to do anything to me."
"…Why would Duke Windsor help you?"
"Because I saved Miss Windsor."
"…"
The man fell silent.
From that stunned expression, Mozo knew he had been convinced.
Miss Windsor had been willing to pay two thousand gold pounds just to settle an accidental injury. That alone proved she genuinely appreciated what he had done.
Combined with what Mozo knew about Duke Windsor's character, his conclusion was simple.
After weighing everything, he decided to withhold part of the truth for now.
After all, he had gone to that place for advancement. And his pathway was an entirely new one. That was not something he could casually reveal.
Besides, why he was there wasn't the key issue.
What really mattered was how much he knew about the black-robed man, the statue, and the elven master craftsman.
That part, he had no intention of hiding.
At that moment, a chuckle sounded from behind him.
Then, a middle-aged man suddenly appeared out of thin air.
Clearly, he had been there the whole time, listening.
Seeing him, the interrogator immediately stood up and saluted.
"Captain."
The man waved him off, took his seat, and looked at Mozo with interest.
"You're right. Duke Windsor won't ignore you. And because of that, we really can't do anything excessive to you."
"But kid, if you make things easier for me, I can make things easier for you. A little cooperation goes a long way."
"After all, you should understand. With Duke Windsor's involvement and what happened tonight, you're bound to deal with us quite often in the future."
"And…"
He took out a gemstone emitting a faint blue glow.
"And you're a Beyonder too, aren't you?"
Looking at the gemstone, which was clearly meant to identify Beyonders, Mozo remained calm.
"I won't explain why I was there. But I will tell you about the black-robed man, the statue, and the elven master craftsman."
"That's more like it."
The man nodded with satisfaction, then suddenly froze.
"Wait. Did you just say… elven master craftsman?"
He stood up abruptly, leaning over the table in shock.
An elven master craftsman was no small matter.
That was equivalent to a high-ranking imperial noble, at least on the level of a count. And not some ceremonial figure, but one with real power.
Mozo nodded seriously.
"Yes. An elven master craftsman."
"And from one of the top-ranking families among them. The House of Daedalus."