Was it simply because Baron hadn’t been prepared for his transmigration, and thus hadn’t noticed the clue?
That was why Baron had returned, risking the high probability of being discovered by the Law Enforcent Organization that was lying in wait for him.
Baron closed the door and locked it. Just as he was about to start searching, he noticed a few letters piled up under the door.
He picked them up. There were three.
One was a letter of termination from the Sheffield Industrial Bank, along with related employnt paperwork and a check for severance pay.
Baron glanced at the check. It was for over eight hundred British Pounds, equivalent to two months’ salary at his previous job. He quietly pocketed it.
Another, when opened, turned out to be the latest discount flyer from a nearby supermarket, detailing which new goods were in stock and what was on sale...
Baron opened the remaining envelope, and the sender’s na made his eyes widen in shock.
Frankendy,
Worlington,
Cheshire
November 13, 1987.
My dearest brother Baron,
Edward and I both miss you very much. We hope you can co ho for a visit soon.
Your loving sister,
Yelena
’Yelena...’
Strange fragnts flickered through Baron’s mind: an ancient castle, a night verging on sumr, leaves drifting gently down, a boy and a girl leaning on each other as they read at a desk. Outside the window, blue roses swayed, the moonlight on their petals like a layer of frost...
’They say seeing an object can make you think of a person. Is this triggering a walk down mory lane, back to the glorious days of old?’
’Go ho... But if I go back, won’t I just be putting you all in danger?’
He shook the strange mories from his head and stored the letter in his Gentiana Pattern Ring. Wasting no ti, he began a massive, top-to-bottom search of his predecessor’s room.
Soon, he found the oversized notebook his predecessor had used to log his work and daily life.
It was bound in black calfskin and tightly clasped shut.
Baron only gave the notebook’s contents a cursory glance before storing it in the Gentiana Pattern Ring. He couldn’t be sure if there was an ambush waiting at his predecessor’s ho. In this kind of situation, it was best to just take anything of value and get out.
The Battle Nuns had already discovered him the other day. The Inquisition now knew he was still alive, and information was flowing freely between the Law Enforcent Organizations.
He couldn’t say for sure whether that elusive group of Battle Nuns would suddenly show up. He had already tasted a siege by the Lion-eyed Knight and the Griffin Knights, and there was no need to even ntion the Demon Hunters.
The only ones he hadn’t yet crossed paths with were the Wizards from the London Tower and the mysterious Faith Knights.
Baron was well aware that the Holy Cross Association was another one of the Law Enforcent Organizations assigned to track him, but so far, he had yet to cross paths with them.
Considering the combat prowess of the Templar Knights, Baron figured the Faith Knights were probably just as sinister and troubleso.
They were probably planning to hit him with so nasty surprise down the line.
He pulled open one drawer after another, placing every docunt and book related to his predecessor that he could find into the ring. He didn’t even pass up the graduation certificate and photos from Worlington Middle School.
Then, in the corner of a bookshelf, his fingers brushed against a deep red, patent-leather notebook that looked a bit like the Silver Demon Hunters’ Book of Sin.
Curious, he opened the notebook. The first page held a single, strange sentence:
"Ten pence per sentence."
He turned to the next page, where there was another sentence:
"Ten pence to view a ssage."
Baron hesitated for a mont, then pulled a ten-pence coin from his pocket and placed it on the book.
A magical thing happened. The two pages of the book suddenly snapped shut, devouring the coin. Then, writing began to appear, forming a dense array of numbers.
Baron stared intently. It was a table of contents, organized by date!
He found the most recent date and pressed it.
Writing materialized.
"Ten pence to view a ssage."
’What a rip-off! This thing must be addicted to making money, charging per view! At this rate, just reading the ssages would bankrupt a man.’
’And as for paying ten pence to write a single sentence? A million British Pounds wouldn’t be enough!’
’My predecessor was always broke. Could this notebook be the reason?’
Though annoyed, Baron placed another ten pence on the book.
The table of contents dissolved like scattering tadpoles, then reford into a line of text.
[2nd: Brother, do not believe any of my letters. Do not co back!]
Baron’s scalp prickled, and a chill shot through him!
Just then, there was a sudden knock on the door!
’The Law Enforcent Organization!’
His hair standing on end, his PTSD flaring, Baron slamd the book shut without a second thought. He threw open the window and scrambled out, hanging from the ledge just as he had in the Inner Side, making sure the curtains concealed his figure.
He paid no mind to the fact that his back was to the main street; any pedestrian who happened to look up would see this British Spider-Man.
Unfortunately, the fifth floor was far too high. Baron estimated a jump would leave him crippled, if not dead. Otherwise, he would have already taken the leap.
Even with the combined Self-Healing Powers of a Dragon Knight and the Blood Faction, he couldn’t be sure he’d be able to escape an encirclent of Law Enforcers if he were also saddled with a crippling debuff like shattered bones.
The knocking continued, the visitor apparently growing impatient. Baron rapidly assessed the situation in his mind:
’The Inquisition? No, the Battle Nuns only ever drop in from the sky. Knocking doesn’t suit their aggressive, get-to-the-fight style.’
’The Templar Order? No, that’s not right either. The Griffin Knights are responsible for the Outer Side, and they would have spotted hanging outside the window by now.’
’Then there’s only one possibility left. It’s either soone from the London Tower or the Faith Knights of the Holy Cross Association!’
Then, Baron distinctly heard soone muttering outside the door. "Strange... The address for the flower delivery is definitely here... How can they not be ho..."
’Flower delivery?’ Before Baron could even process this, he heard footsteps descending the stairs. He waited on the ledge for another half a minute before climbing back into the room. He saw an envelope had been shoved through the crack under the door.
He picked up the envelope and tore it open. Inside was a short note. It was from a flower company regarding a delivery. A ssage from the delivery person stated that the flowers had been left by the door and that the signed receipt should be mailed back to the company.
Baron opened the door, and sure enough, there was a large bouquet outside—a veritable explosion of irises, lilies, roses, and baby’s breath. Tucked into the bouquet was a small card.
"To Mr. L, congratulations on your exoneration. As a token of my gratitude, please accept these flowers..."
His mind reeled.
...
Back in the room, Baron stared at the ssage on the card, deep in thought.
’Who in the world could possibly know about his identity as L?’
’Jack? Stella? The bank’s vice president?’
’No, the card wasn’t signed. The sender clearly didn’t want to reveal their identity. If it were Jack or the others, they’d have no reason to be so secretive.’
’A token of gratitude... Gratitude...’
A jolt went through Baron’s mind. He’d almost forgotten—his identity as L had more than one layer of aning!
The na L hadn’t originated at Westminster Cathedral. It had been born in...
"Prole," Baron murmured.
’Could it be that soone else in this world besides has been to Prole!?’
A chill crept into his heart, but he was forced to shove the thought aside by another knock at the door.
He went through the now-familiar routine: open the window, flip out, and hang from the ledge.
’Is the person from the flower company back?’
Baron wondered. But the knocking was different this ti, and it stopped quickly.
He heard two different voices whispering at the door, followed by the faint scratching of a lock being picked. The door opened.
Two sets of shuffling footsteps entered, and the door closed.
"Hurry, check if the money’s still there! If the cops find it, all our work will have been for nothing," one of them said.
"Relax, I’ve cased the joint. The owner of this apartnt is rarely ho. He doesn’t even know we’ve hollowed out a space under his carpet. Besides..."
"Besides what?"
"Haven’t you seen the news lately? The guy who lives here is apparently a murderer. Even if the cops do co sniffing around, they’re not going to suspect us, his upstairs neighbors!"
’Cops? Money? Hidden in my, the murderer’s, ho?’
The more Baron listened, the more sothing felt off. He carefully peeked through the curtains and saw the two n lift the corner of the rug, use so kind of tool to pry up a floorboard, and then sigh in unison.
One of them said, "One million British Pounds. Half a million each is more than enough to live on for the rest of our lives. Robbing that armored truck was worth it."
At these words, Baron understood everything.
’They were robbers. Bank robbers!’
The other man said, "The heat is on right now, so we can’t spend any of these serialized banknotes for a while. Once things die down, we can start spending it in small batches."
"How long will that take?"
"At least a year," the first man said, replacing the floorboard and the rug. "In a month or two, when the police searches die down, we’ll move the money to a different spot."
After the two robbers left, Baron furtively climbed back in through the window. He lifted the rug and the floorboard, then stared at the two sacks of banknotes, lost in thought.
Q: If you find one million British Pounds in your room, should you turn it in to the nice policeman?
A: Spend it wisely.
Baron’s Gentiana Pattern Ring flashed, and just like that, a young millionaire was born.
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