"Selling twenty rounds of special bullets with enhanced lethality. One hundred fifty pounds."
"Selling 'Witch' potion formula. Price negotiable."
Seeing the content of her submitted note appear on the gathering's blackboard, Angel felt somewhat anxious. She glanced toward Mr. A in his single-person sofa, but he seemed not to notice her, his face hidden beneath his hood as he appeared lost in thought.
Letting her guard down slightly, she unconsciously touched the small dog mask she had made herself, confirming that her true features were concealed beneath it.
Even without the mask, I still have the "Ring of Madness"—double insurance...
Angel mused, then turned her attention to the other items on the blackboard.
"The 'Sheriff' formula has been purchased? Or perhaps the seller discovered there were no buyers here and stopped attending the gathering. The request for mature widow spider silk glands is still posted—that must be quite rare. I wonder what it's used for..."
She browsed the listings while waiting. No one showed interest in the "Storm Gathering" bullets for sale, which disappointed the cash-strapped Angel.
After splitting the reward for selling the difference engine manuscript with Dominic, a full day had passed. The "Provoker" had apparently saved enough money and mentioned he was taking Sonia to leave the Northern Continent for Bayam in the Rorsted Archipelago, then disappeared.
"At least that fellow had some conscience. Before leaving, he told me about all the secret gatherings he knew of in Backlund. If no one at Mr. A's place wants to buy the bullets, I can try my luck elsewhere..."
After waiting several more minutes, people came and went in the hall, and several had already been called by servants to complete transactions in the adjacent study. Still, no one showed curiosity about the special bullets.
As for the bait about the "Witch" formula, she didn't expect results on the first day. It might take a week or two before someone from the "Witch Cult" noticed and approached her.
Sighing quietly to herself, Angel was about to get up and leave when she noticed a servant posting a new listing.
"Seeking Extraordinary capable of divination or finding people for cooperation."
This immediately piqued her interest.
The listing appeared to be seeking cooperation with an Extraordinary, but specifically required divination abilities. Clearly, they needed divination to find someone—precisely what a "Witch" could do. While the methods might not be as varied as a "Diviner's," the magic mirror divination method was no less effective than the pendulum or dream divination methods.
She waved over a servant and wrote a note requesting a detailed discussion. Soon after, Angel was led to the door of the adjacent study.
She checked once more that both the Ring of Madness and her small dog mask were in place, and pulled up her cloak's hood to conceal her hair before pushing open the door and entering.
Inside stood an unfamiliar figure whose back radiated an indescribable dignity, though their diminutive stature beneath the cloak diminished this impression. The cloak's hem nearly dragging on the ground even seemed somewhat comical.
Could this be that woman from last time who looked barely five feet tall?
Angel speculated silently, until the figure turned around. Beneath the hood that was far too large and concealed the upper half of their face, a pair of green eyes looked her way.
"Are you the Extraordinary with divination abilities?"
Indeed, a woman's voice. That tuft of blonde hair beneath the hood... It was definitely the short woman she had seen before. The tall woman who had appeared with her wasn't here this time?
It seems she doesn't want to reveal her identity, but last time when she wasn't disguised, I already memorized her appearance...
Angel pondered this, then nodded and replied:
"That's correct. You need divination to find someone?"
"Yes." Receiving confirmation seemed to relax the woman considerably. She handed over a note, saying, "The information is here. I hope to find her as soon as possible, or at least obtain some leads. Depending on the importance of the leads, you'll receive twenty to one hundred pounds. Two hundred pounds for directly locating her position."
Taking the information and reading it, Angel froze.
"Arrived in Backlund from Tingen City within the past two weeks. Female, approximately twenty to thirty years old, height between five foot seven and five foot eleven, long straight hair, very likely a mid-sequence Extraordinary of the 'Assassin' pathway."
"That's all?"
Angel turned the note over but found no additional information.
"Hundreds of people come from Tingen to Backlund every day. I can't perform divination based solely on age and gender. I need detailed physical descriptions, preferably a portrait, or items she's used for extended periods—even personal clothing. With only this information, divination has a very high probability of failure."
Shaking the note, Angel explained to this naive client. In truth, such divination was nearly impossible, but she was being considerate of the other party's feelings and didn't outright deny it.
The only truly useful information was the target's potion pathway—a mid-sequence "Assassin," which very likely meant "Witch" or even "Pleasure." And most such Extraordinaries belonged to the "Witch Cult."
In other words, such a target wasn't someone to be trifled with.
Hearing Angel's explanation, the woman—who clearly knew little about divination—couldn't hide her disappointment. She took back the note Angel returned to her, and just as Angel had turned to leave, called out to stop her.
"This is a long-term assignment. You can try searching, and if you find any leads, you're welcome to come claim the reward anytime."
Claim the reward? The last person who crossed the Witch Cult fled from Enmat Port to Backlund and is probably already on a ship leaving the Northern Continent...
Angel found this somewhat amusing and almost spoke up with a warning, but felt it would be too presumptuous given their shallow acquaintance. In the end, she said nothing.
Returning to the hall, the listing for selling bullets remained on the blackboard without being erased, but a mark had been drawn beside it.
This meant someone had requested a transaction. Her spirits lifted, and she returned to her seat. Before long, a servant led her to another room.
The trader inside was tall and wore an ostentatious golden mask that revealed his features and both sides of his cheeks. He had already counted out the money, and upon Angel's entrance, couldn't wait to begin the transaction.
After hearing Angel's introduction to the bullets' effects and receiving the wooden box containing the neatly arranged ammunition, he immediately extracted one round and examined it carefully against the gaslight on the wall.
"Excellent, just as I expected. Is this all you have?"
"Yes, my 'Artisan' only made these. If you need more, there should be new ones available in a week."
Angel pretended to reveal that she had an "Artisan" behind her who made the bullets, adding an air of mystery while also ensuring the other party wouldn't focus too much attention on her as merely the "seller."
And she was telling the truth. The "Storm Gathering" bullets were difficult to produce and required materials that were hard to obtain. Without the Nighthawks' supply of materials, producing twenty rounds per week was already the limit.
"Artisan? From the Storm Church?"
The other party's curiosity was indeed drawn to this nonexistent artisan, as he pressed for details.
"No. Why would you think that?"
"I thought only they could make bullets in this style... Hmm, the base of the cartridge has the Evernight holy symbol? That's strange..."
Seeing the masked man seemed inclined to investigate further, Angel coughed lightly to interrupt his muttering and said:
"If there's no problem with the bullets, I'll be leaving now. If you need more, you can post a transaction request in a week, or wait for my listing."
If she could establish a stable supply relationship, her financial crisis would be resolved. Bullets that cost about two pounds to produce could sell for seven pounds fifty—essentially an inexhaustible gold mine...
Happily contemplating her future life, Angel left the small room used for private transactions.
...
Angel made it back to the Backlund Bridge area before the steam subway stopped running. Carrying a substantial sum of money, she didn't choose to walk home but instead found a hired carriage. However, as she was boarding, a furtive figure behind her caught her attention.
"East Borough, Stoke Street."
Having changed her destination, Angel waited for the carriage to start moving before pulling back the window curtain and peeking behind.
Sure enough, a hired carriage was following. Though it had slowed down and wasn't following too closely—as if they just happened to be going the same way—when Angel had the driver change directions twice, it still managed to keep up.
"Stop here. I'm getting out."
At a crossroads in East Borough, Angel handed the driver two soli and jumped from the carriage, immediately running into another street. Behind her came the neighing of horses being reined in—the tracker had been caught off guard and lost ground.
Passing homeless people sitting or lying at the street corner, she ducked into a narrow alley. She then pulled out a handful of fish-scale powder from the pouch beneath her cloak and sprinkled it over herself. Her figure in the moonlight seemed to be covered by an invisible curtain, vanishing in an instant.
Rapid footsteps quickly approached. A man wearing a felt hat and light windbreaker rushed into the alley, looking around but unable to find the female figure that had just entered.
Instinctively continuing to run for some distance, the man finally stopped. He seemed to sense something was wrong and reached beneath his windbreaker.
"Don't move. Bring your hand out slowly."
The cold sensation at his neck froze his entire body, and he stopped moving.