While it was the truth, saying it aloud would have been a little self-important — after all, everything right now was still just speculation.
But Emperor Roselle had said it himself: better safe than sorry.
There was no reason to let himself stumble into needless danger just to save a little money.
If Madam Natasha couldn't help either, his only option would be to turn to the Church — and at worst, that would mean the secret of him secretly drinking a potion and becoming a Beyonder would get out.
According to Mr. Hanged Man, the worst-case outcome was being forced to join the Church or one of the official Beyonder organisations — hm? Now that he thought about it, that actually sounded kind of interesting?
By this point, Vincent had also worked out the real reason Audrey had gathered everyone today. She wanted to use them to find herself a bodyguard. Honestly — all that going around in circles, all that effort, and in the end it still lands in my lap, doesn't it?
"You want to find a bodyguard?"
"That's right. Do any of you know a Beyonder capable of dealing with Mr. A?"
Forsi and Xio fell silent. By all accounts, Mr. A was Sequence 6, possibly even Sequence 5 — where would they ever find someone like that? Without a word between them, both pairs of eyes drifted toward Vincent.
After a moment of feigned contemplation, Vincent spoke: "I do happen to have a few connections."
Audrey immediately said, "Money is no object!"
"It's not about money."
He shook his head. "At that kind of Sequence, even if they're short on funds, they generally won't take work like bodyguarding — nobody wants to be ordered around."
"Of course, seeing as we're also friends..." He paused and looked at Audrey. "We are friends, aren't we, Miss Audrey?"
"Of course!"
"Alright then. I'll do my best to help you with this — but I'll also need a small favour from you, Miss Audrey. Just a small one."
"Please, go ahead."
"I have some... friends who were ruined by the passage of the Grain Act. They've recently pooled together some funds and want to get back into the business. They still have a few old connections, but — you know how it is. Out of sight, out of mind."
Vincent continued, "So, Audrey — could you do me a favour?"
Audrey blinked. "I... what could I possibly do?"
"It's simple. Just arrange a chance for them to sit down and meet with your brother, Hibbert. Whether they can actually win his support — or even investment — is entirely up to them. I only need the introduction."
Audrey thought it over for a moment, decided there was nothing in this that could reflect poorly on the Hall family, and gave a sincere nod. "I can try."
"Wonderful!"
Vincent extended his hand. "Then let me say in advance — it's a pleasure doing business."
"A pleasure doing business."
After leaving the Grenell family villa, Xio kept shooting Vincent strange looks the entire way, clearly wanting to say something but holding back.
Once they'd climbed into the hired carriage, Vincent leaned back with his arms folded and said flatly, "If you have something to say, just say it."
Xio furrowed her brow. "I just have this feeling... that what you're doing isn't nearly as simple as it looks on the surface."
Ha. You're overthinking it.
I'm simply adding weight to the scales — making use of every opportunity to bring about cooperation and transactions. Nothing more and nothing less.
But what he said aloud was: "It wasn't just me doing it. It was us."
"Was it also this kind of exchange of interests that you used to convince that powerful Beyonder to stop hunting me?"
"More or less."
Xio pressed her lips together. "To make someone even more powerful than Mr. A change their mind, what kind of price did you have to pay? I'm not sure whether to feel flattered that someone thinks I'm worth that much."
"As I told you, the reason she wanted to capture you was because you were acquiring Emperor Roselle's journal — that was always a misunderstanding. I simply cleared it up. I'm sorry to say... you really aren't worth as much as you think you are."
"..."
I really want to break your legs!
Forsi spoke up at that moment: "Now that I think about it — that Miss Audrey... wasn't she also acquiring Emperor Roselle's journal?"
Vincent raised an eyebrow. "Are you hoping I'll report her to that powerful Beyonder?"
"Ah?"
Forsi startled and shook her hands vigorously. "No, no, no — I just thought it was a funny coincidence."
A coincidence?
Not a word I'd call good luck.
He'd barely finished the thought when the carriage suddenly lurched violently, jolted to a sharp stop, and then swerved rapidly to one side.
Xio yanked out her triangular stiletto and shouted, "What's happening?!"
The coachman called back in a panic: "It's — it's the royal procession! We have to pull over and wait!"
The three of them exchanged a startled glance and pulled back the curtain to look outside. Several enormous and magnificently decorated carriages, each pulled by more than a dozen powerful horses, were rolling slowly past.
Soldiers clad in armour and carrying steam-powered rifles flanked the procession on both sides, the formation imposing and severe. One by one the carriages passed, and the pedestrians lining the street fell into a hush, watching the convoy roll by with mingled curiosity and awe.
Xio murmured very quietly: "That's... the Emperor of Leon's personal carriage."
Forsi whispered in surprise, "How do you know?"
"...I've heard about it."
She'd heard about it because her father had once served as both Commander of the Royal Guard and Chief Palace Chamberlain. If he hadn't been falsely accused of treason, the figure leading that procession should have been him.
The Emperor of Leon...
Vincent stared in silence at the heavily guarded carriages. The person sitting inside them was very likely his greatest enemy in the world of Lord of the Mysteries — aside from the Calamity of Destruction.
If he had any say in it, he'd really rather not cross paths with someone like that.
But the Emperor of Leon's ascension to godhood was bound up with Emperor Roselle's life and death. They had no choice in the matter.
Then —
Vincent felt a gaze fall upon him.
His scalp prickled instantly. His spirituality sent a sharp, urgent warning flooding through him — frantic, desperate — urging him to flee.
Not even the word urge quite covered it.
Just a warning.
Under the weight of that gaze, even his body's primal will to survive was rendered powerless to simply phase into the spirit realm and escape!
Vincent immediately grasped what was happening. Even as he worked to soothe the panic rising within him, he forced himself to stay calm and composed — to keep looking like any ordinary person, gazing out with curiosity and mild awe as the procession passed.
A moment later, the gaze lifted. The convoy moved on and disappeared from sight.
Vincent felt as though every ounce of strength had been wrung out of him. If his fingers hadn't been braced against the carriage wall, he might well have simply crumpled to the floor.
He let himself fall back against the seat and closed his eyes.
The carriage resumed its steady journey. Somewhere along the way Xio and Forsi disembarked. He wasn't sure how much time had passed before the carriage lurched to another sudden halt, accompanied by the startled whinny of the horses.
Then came the sound of the coachman jumping down, his voice tight with alarm: "Are — are you alright?"
"My leg — my leg really hurts — waaah..."
The voice was a child's — small and wracked with pain.
Someone's been hit?
Vincent pushed the door open and stepped out. The coachman was crouching in front of a boy who sat clutching his leg, blood seeping through his clothes, completely at a loss.
"My leg... it's broken."
"Broken — what do I do if it's broken?!"
Vincent walked over. "Get him to a hospital. Quickly."
"Right — yes! The hospital!"
The coachman snapped back to himself and carefully lifted the boy into his arms. "Sir — I — I need to take him to the hospital. Would you mind — would you please get out here?"
Vincent glanced at the boy's torn trouser leg and caught a glimpse of white bone through the wound. He shook his head. "I'll come with you. Someone needs to keep pressure on that wound, or he might not make it to the hospital."
"Thank you — thank you so much!"
They got the boy back into the carriage, and Vincent tore a strip of fabric from the window curtain and wound it firmly around the injury. Then he took off his outer coat, bundled it into a compress, and pressed it tight against the wound.
The heavy blood loss was making the boy's consciousness fade. His small face scrunched with pain, and short, strained groans escaped him at irregular intervals.
A little over ten minutes later, the carriage stopped in front of the hospital. The coachman threw open the door, scooped the boy into his arms, and rushed inside.
Vincent didn't follow. Helping keep pressure on the wound had been generous enough — the rest was the doctors' job. But just then the coachman came stumbling back out, nearly falling over himself: "Ma'am — please, please help — no, help that child—"
"..."
Vincent frowned. "You've brought him to the hospital. What more do you need from me?"
"I — I don't have enough money for the surgery."
The coachman's voice was frantic. "I'm not asking you to give it to me — please, just lend it to me, I'll come straight back with the money!"
Before Vincent could reply, a voice cut in from nearby: "If I were you, I wouldn't waste that money letting those quacks operate on the boy."
The speaker was a man of about thirty, round and pudgy in build. "Surgery might save his life, but from that point on he'll spend the rest of it as a cripple. Fifty pounds — and I guarantee his leg will be as good as new within a week."
To be continued…
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