The blinding, pure white light erupted without warning. It didn't originate from a single point, but burst simultaneously from every crack in the air, the water channel, and the sewer walls, instantly drowning everything in sight.
Yet, the expected shockwave, searing heat, or tearing pain never came. The white light was exactly that—pure light, aggressively erasing all visual information.
Claire and Jack had tensed their bodies the moment the light appeared, their defensive spells primed. However, aside from the vertigo of losing their sight and a faint sensation of weightlessness beneath their feet, they felt no physical impact. There was no roar of an explosion, no tug of a shockwave—only a deathly silent white.
After the intense stimulation, their vision felt like a film negative submerged in ink. As sight slowly began to return, they were first met with a thick darkness, followed closely by the distinct, sharp scent of metal.
"What on earth is this?"
Claire's voice rang out in the dark. The moment the question left her lips, she realized she could still speak, but neither Jack nor Vesper offered an immediate reply.
Seconds later, a rhythmic, subtle sound of metal scraping against metal began to echo. At first, it sounded like an illusion, but it rapidly grew clearer and more frequent. Only then did Claire realize the darkness came from a series of metal plates of unknown origin that had completely encased them.
Click, clack, snap...
The sound came from beneath their feet and all around them. The matte-black aluminum alloy panels that formed this enclosed "diorama" moved like living building blocks, or a card trick played in reverse. They collapsed rapidly toward their starting point: Vesper's feet.
As the metal plates retracted, the original sewer scenery rushed back into view. The dim yellow glow of the emergency lights became visible again, and the damp, chilly air touched their skin once more. All sensory input returned with a strange, heightened clarity.
The black briefcase sat quietly on the ground by Vesper's feet, its casing perfectly sealed as if it had never been opened.
Claire and Jack scanned their surroundings almost simultaneously, their bodies still taut and ready for an attack. However, the anticipated follow-up strike never came. The sewer was deathly silent. The residual mana that had lingered in the air from the magical skirmish was now so thin it was virtually undetectable.
It hadn't dissipated naturally; it looked as if it had been thoroughly "wiped" away by some force, leaving the area unnaturally clean.
On the ground and walls, a large portion of the frost and ice from the battle had vanished. They hadn't melted; rather, they seemed to have been crushed by an invisible hammer into microscopic ice crystals, most of which had been carried away by the restored flow of the water channel. Only a faint chill remained in the corners of the bricks and the edges of the grates, proving the clash of ice and mist hadn't been a dream.
In the water channel, the section previously choked with rubble and ice was now clear. The water flowed smoothly again, making a distinct splashing sound. The debris that had fallen from the stone walls remained at the bottom, but it no longer obstructed the flow.
Everything seemed to be rapidly returning to "normal"—the time-forgotten, deathly silence characteristic of London's ancient underground.
"Tch. Cautious bastard..."
Vesper's voice broke the silence. As he spoke, he reached down and picked up the black briefcase with a casual motion, like someone retrieving a dropped umbrella. His gaze swept over the excessively clean tunnel before landing on the few remaining deposits of rubble in the water.
"Mana traces wiped clean... That person managed to set up a 'cleanup' measure even in the middle of a fight?"
"It was likely a 'Sympathetic Detonation' spell, though probably not triggered by that nun directly," Vesper said, giving his briefcase a casual shake. "It likely used the stray mana and recent magical traces within range as fuel, then—fwoosh—burned it all away in an instant."
He gestured with the case. "Good thing I brought the 'Mobile Sanctuary' along specifically to transport the spiritual item. Otherwise, we'd probably be..."
Vesper let the sentence hang, then mimicked a small explosion sound.
"Boom. The perfect fuel for that white light? Or maybe... gunpowder?"
"Mobile Sanctuary?"
As a practitioner who also relied on tools, Claire was instantly captivated by the name. She repeated it instinctively, a flash of suspicion and surprise in her eyes. "Wasn't that destroyed during the civil wars of the seventeenth century?"
"A replica. Just a replica," Vesper waved it off dismissively, the black briefcase swinging slightly with his hand. "I heard too many exaggerated stories from those old fossils at the Sword Sanctuary, so I recalculated the parameters and designed a storage-type spiritual item myself. Essentially, it's just a high-end 'storage box' that can isolate internal and external magical reactions."
Jack didn't comment on Vesper's "Mobile Sanctuary." His focus was on the broader situation. His face was grim as he surveyed the unnaturally clean environment, muttering in an uneasy tone.
"A nun from the Russian Orthodox Church operating in the heart of London, with an accomplice capable of pulling off a cleanup measure of this scale..."
Jack's voice was low, laced with intense professional wariness. As a Necessarius elite, he had fought countless "evil magicians," so he understood better than anyone how dangerous a spell of that caliber was.
"This has gone far beyond a simple attempt to steal a spiritual item or cause a distraction. We have to report this immediately..."
Claire had fully regained her composure by now. The last trace of surprise from Vesper's "replica" comment vanished, replaced by the focus and calm of a field agent. She immediately pulled a small vial from a hidden pocket in her clutch; inside, a tiny golden cross was submerged in a thick, transparent liquid.
As she initiated contact, her expression shifted rapidly over the next dozen seconds. It went from the focus of an open channel to the confusion of receiving unexpected news, then to shock, and finally to a surging anger. Though she tried to suppress it, her tightly pressed lips and narrowed blue eyes betrayed her.
Jack and Vesper could tell it wasn't good news, but they remained silent, waiting for the verdict.
When the communication ended, Claire looked up at them. She took a deep breath before speaking in a voice stiff with suppressed rage.
"According to reports from our informants inside the auction house... the 'Target' was purchased privately. It happened while we were being held up here in the sewers."
"Purchased privately?"
"Yes. Even if we had made it into the auction on time, the target item—which was scheduled to be one of the finales—had already been swapped for something irrelevant."
Jack's reaction mirrored Claire's. His brow furrowed into a deep scowl. "Was it an accomplice of that nun? Or some liberal cabal taking advantage of the chaos..."
He trailed off because Claire was staring at him with eyes burning with blatant dissatisfaction. Her voice was cold and biting.
"It was the 'Knight Faction.' Our informants confirmed it. A collector with ties to the Knights bypassed the public bidding process and struck a deal with the seller and the auction house before the event even started. It was a 'private treaty sale.' We... no, likely all of Necessarius was kept in the dark from the very beginning."
"The Knight Faction?!"
Jack's voice rose, echoing slightly in the hollow sewer. His remaining rationality forced him to lower his volume, but his fury didn't dim. "What do those bucket-heads think they're doing?! I didn't receive a single notification saying those guys would be 'assisting' tonight, let alone that they'd hijack the item halfway through!"
"I'd love to know what they're thinking, too," Claire said, her frustration palpable. "But the fact is, we've been played. We were stalled here by some random nun while the Knights strolled in and plucked the prize. They might not even know what happened down here—or if they did, they were happy to let it happen. Either way, tonight was a total waste of time."
"Tch..."
Jack couldn't hold it in any longer and let out a loud, irritated click of his tongue. In the silence of the sewer, the sound was jarring. As an elite of the Church of Necessary Evil, he had survived countless dangerous missions and faced many cunning enemies, but being "stabbed in the back" by his own side like this was a first.
He raised his hand as if to punch the brick wall, but stopped himself at the last second, his knuckles white with tension.
Then, Vesper—who had been standing quietly to the side since explaining the Mobile Sanctuary, looking entirely detached—suddenly turned his head.
"Umm... just to confirm something."
His gaze bounced between the livid Jack and the fuming Claire.
"The item has already been bought privately by the Knight Faction, right? Which means, regardless of whether we met that nun or if we reached the auction house on time, the final result would have been exactly the same. We couldn't have completed the mission, and we couldn't have gotten that 'Target' item. Is that correct?"
The question was so blunt, almost "naive," that it stunned Jack in the middle of his anger. Jack whipped his head around to look at Vesper, his eyes practically spitting fire. The rage he had just barely managed to suppress seemed to be reignited by what sounded like a mocking summary.
Jack couldn't tell if Vesper was being sarcastic, asking a question he already knew the answer to, or if he truly didn't understand the gravity of the situation. But remembering Vesper's precise judgment and the capability he showed earlier—far exceeding a normal artisan—Jack took a few deep breaths. He forced his voice to be level as he replied.
"Yes. In terms of the result, that's right. Vesper... did you notice something else unusual?"
He guessed that maybe this sharp-eyed "contractor" had spotted another detail they had overlooked. The original plan was dead, but if they could salvage some intel or a new lead, the night wouldn't be a total loss.
Vesper tilted his head slightly, appearing to think it over seriously for a few seconds. Then, in a clear, calm, almost conversational tone, he asked the question that caused Jack's and Claire's brains to momentarily stall.
"Then... what about my commission fee?"
"..."
"..."
Jack was stunned. Claire was equally speechless. The expressions of anger, frustration, and urgency on their faces froze into a blank void. It took them a full two seconds to process the sheer bluntness of Vesper's words.
"We agreed on it beforehand," Vesper continued matter-of-factly, counting the points on his fingers even as he held the briefcase. "Assist with appraisal, perform on-site verification, and apply a temporary seal if necessary. Final payment upon successful recovery."
He paused, seemingly recalling specific clauses in a contract, then looked at Jack with serious black eyes.
"I still get my basic attendance fee and material costs, right? Since this failure is entirely due to a lack of internal coordination on your end, you wouldn't dock the hard-earned pay of an 'outsourced contractor,' would you?"
The expression on Jack's face hardened. The tiny bit of respect he had developed for Vesper—the "bad personality but high competence" sentiment—shattered like glass under a sledgehammer. He felt a vein in his temple throb and his lip twitch. Staring into Vesper's eyes, which were filled with nothing but a sincere interest in his paycheck, Jack felt a wave of nameless fury mixed with profound exhaustion rush to his head.
"Oh, right, and about the depths of the sewer..."
"NONE! OF! MY! DAMN! BUSINESS!"
Jack practically spat the words through grit teeth, each syllable hitting the floor like a lead weight. He spun around, refusing to look at Vesper, and began marching back toward the maintenance hatch. His steps were so heavy it sounded like he was trying to stomp through the metal grates.
"Claire! We're leaving! Get out of this hellhole! I still have to write a damn report about this! What a goddamn disaster of a night!!!!!"
Claire was also taken aback by Vesper's "divine" timing, but seeing Jack on the verge of an aneurysm, she felt her own bottled-up anger dissipate slightly. She almost wanted to laugh. She glanced at Vesper, who remained where he was, seemingly oblivious to Jack's meltdown and looking at her with a somewhat innocent expression. She simply shook her head in resignation and hurried after Jack.
The sounds of their footsteps and low-voiced grumbling quickly faded into the darkness of the maintenance tunnel.
Vesper stood alone. He looked in the direction they had gone, then down at the heavy black briefcase in his hand, and finally at the shadows deep within the sewer. He seemed like he wanted to say something else to the departing pair, but he eventually just shrugged and swallowed the words.
"Whatever..."
He lifted his case and turned, walking back the way he came at a leisurely pace.
The sewer was left with only the dim yellow lights, shining silently on the empty passage, the scarred stone walls, and the rubble-strewn water, quietly recording everything that had just transpired.
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