After transferring from Exeter to an ancient branch line operated by a local railway company and enduring several hours of slow, bumpy travel, Lin Jie arrived at the small town of Chagford near the Dartmoor highlands.
This place differed greatly from bustling London or stately Exeter—the scenery of this small town seed to have stepped directly out of a dieval painting.
Narrow streets paved with rough cobblestones were flanked by ancient houses with whitewashed walls and dark exposed wooden beams, their roofs covered with thick thatch.
Most of the town's residents were dark-skinned, taciturn farrs and herdsn who watched Lin Jie—this well-dressed Eastern "outsider"—with wary and exclusionary eyes.
Lately, the townsfolk had been restless with anxiety. Terrifying rumors about the "Ghost Dog" spread privately in every tavern and bakery, and every stranger's arrival added uncertain shadows to this oppressive fear.
Ignoring the scrutinizing gazes, Lin Jie followed the address specified in the telegram and found an ancient inn called "Three Ravens" located at the edge of the town's central square.
This inn also served as a secret contact point for I.A.R.C. in the area.
He pushed open the heavy door that protested with a creak, and the warm scent of roasted at, ale, and damp wood rushed out, dispelling the deep autumn chill belonging to the moor outside.
The interior of the inn was dimly lit. It was afternoon, and only a few local farrs sat around the fireplace conversing in low voices.
Lin Jie's gaze instantly locked onto a secluded corner by the window in the deepest part of the inn.
Two n sat there.
One of them he knew all too well—Sergeant William remained as silent as a granite rock.
He wore heavily worn khaki hunting attire, with only a cup of long-cold ale before him.
No expression showed on his face, but Lin Jie detected weariness and deeply suppressed gloom in his gray eyes, which appeared darker than usual.
He was completely enveloped in shadows.
Sitting opposite William was a man whose temperant contrasted so sharply with his that they seed completely incompatible.
He was a young Englishman who appeared no older than twenty-five.
He had impeccably grood, brilliant short golden hair and eyes as blue as a clear sky, yet carrying a cold, aloof quality.
His handso features rivaled those of Apollo in ancient Greek sculptures, with sharply defined facial contours that showed not a single flaw.
His clothing stood out even more starkly against the rural town's environnt.
He wore expensive tweed hunting attire custom-tailored by a top-tier craftsman, its perfect cut accentuating his elegant yet explosively powerful, well-proportioned physique.
The polished high-grade cordovan leather riding boots on his feet, spotlessly clean, were probably valuable enough to purchase half the ownership of this inn.
Most striking were the weapons placed on the table before him—not the utilitarian-style Webleys or Winchesters commonly seen in the Association, but a pair of lavishly modified Colt "Peacemaker" revolvers.
Intricate and elegant patterns of roses and vines were engraved on the gun bodies, while the ivory grips were inlaid with mithril bearing a complex emblem representing an ancient noble family.
This was a man who exuded the inherent pride and superiority of high society and the elite class from head to toe.
Even sitting there without speaking a word, he naturally drew a class divide between himself and the rough country farrs around him.
As Lin Jie approached, the young aristocratic hunter noticed his arrival first.
His gaze swept over Lin Jie, examining, dissecting, evaluating.
It carried subtle arrogance and criticism toward a "competitor."
Only when William saw Lin Jie did a ripple finally stir in his stagnant, deathly still eyes.
He nodded at Lin Jie as a form of greeting.
William's voice was hoarse and low: "You're here."
Lin Jie sat down beside him, his gaze direct and composed as he t the young aristocrat's scrutiny: "I'm here. It seems I'm not the only one who received an 'invitation.'"
The young aristocrat finally spoke, his voice pleasant but carrying a condescending aloofness in its tone.
He neither stood up nor extended his hand, rely leaning back slightly in his chair and speaking in an academically observational tone: "Allow to introduce myself—Ethan Redgrave, I.A.R.C. Third-Class Investigator, ranked eighty-third on the 'Hunter Ranking.'"
"Pleased to et you, Mr. Lin. My friends in Paris ntioned so of your... 'amusing stories' to ."
He deliberately emphasized the word "amusing stories," the faint mockery hidden beneath elegant phrasing speaking volus without words.
Lin Jie understood clearly—Third-Class Investigator, a senior elite within the top hundred of the Hunter Ranking. This was undoubtedly core combat strength from the Underground City, existing on a completely different level from a novice like himself.
Ethan Redgrave's appearance alone indicated that the danger level of the "Dartmoor Black Dog" incident had received high-level confirmation from headquarters, and he was the "ace" sent by the Association.
Lin Jie responded calmly, ignoring the other's subtle provocation: "The Association places considerable importance on this mission."
A graceful smile curled at Ethan's lips: "No, you misunderstand. I didn't co here under the Association's 'assignnt.'"
"You should know that at my level, I have the authority to freely choose 'prey' that interests within certain paraters."
"And an ancient UMA that hasn't been truly 'conquered' for centuries represents a perfect trophy for —one that would add a dazzling piece to my collection room."
His words brimd with powerful confidence and the aristocratic composure of treating hunting as an art form.
He hadn't co here to resolve crises or save lives, but for conquest and collection—a "hunting philosophy" different from that of Lin Jie and William.
Ethan's gaze flickered toward the silent veteran beside them, carrying sothing resembling "pity" in his eyes: "As for Sergeant William, his current condition is no longer suitable for leading this operation alone."
"Therefore, I proactively applied to the Association and took over command authority for this mission."
Lin Jie's gaze sharpened. He turned sharply toward William. "William, tell exactly what happened? Your telegram..."
His worst fear had materialized.
William lifted his head, avoiding Lin Jie's concerned and probing gaze, instead looking at the cup of cold ale before him.
"Three days ago, I went alone deep into the moor to track traces of my missing old comrade. At a deserted crossroads, I found it..."
He paused, as if correcting his wording: "Or rather, it found ."
"It was about a hundred yards away from . Before I could even raise my binoculars, in just that instant..."
"I saw those burning eyes."
These words struck heavily at Lin Jie's heart.
He'd been branded with the "Mark of Death"!?
It carried subtle arrogance and condescension toward a "competitor."
He understood why Ethan looked at William with "sympathy." In the eyes of a senior elite hunter, an investigator branded with the "Mark of Death" was no different from a dead man.
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