After the Attendants had also left, Baron continued on his way in silence.
A mont later, Jack rejoined him from a short distance behind.
When the incident occurred, Jack had bought a leather hat nearby and ducked into hiding. His brawny figure already stuck out like a sore thumb in the small city; combined with his shock of blond hair, he would have easily drawn suspicion.
The two approached each other, pretending to be strangers.
Jack whispered, "The Constantine Family is held in high esteem in this town. All the residents hold them in awe."
"I can see that," Baron said.
Jack added, "While you were clashing with that Soron, I found out the whereabouts of the Dwarf from Plains who forged your Mistletoe Staff."
’That efficient?’
Baron quickly asked for details. Jack said, "His na is Zophie. He’s the most famous Alchemy Master of this generation in Plains and was once the exclusive Alchemist for the Constantine Family.
After the previous Patriarch, Fran Constantin, died, he left his position and opened a Dwarf Alchemy Workshop. I’ve already found its location.
Follow , but keep your distance. Don’t get too close."
With that, Jack plunged ahead into the crowd, and Baron watched him go.
He bought a local copy of the *Golden Clyde Report* from a Dwarf child on the roadside for one pound, then quietly followed.
’Co to think of it... if I rember correctly, the na Zophie is also an Ultraman, isn’t it?’
...
After winding through the streets of Plains for a while, the two finally arrived at the Dwarf Workshop.
Baron watched Jack enter the Dwarf Workshop and then opened the newspaper he had bought earlier.
Unlike the *rcury Tis*, which chronicled events across the entire Inner Side of the United Kingdom, the *Golden Clyde*—nad after the River Clyde, Scotland’s third-longest but most famous river—primarily published news from within Scotland.
Baron flipped through the paper and found that the news in the *Golden Clyde* mostly covered Edinburgh and other important northern cities.
The remaining focus was either on exchanges between northern and southern Wizards—tales of Scottish Wizards thrashing English Knights and the like—or on the Inner Side of Scotland’s application for an independence referendum, demanding...
Baron searched the local column for a while before finding a few news items related to Plains and the western Scottish Highlands where it was located:
"Flying Dragon Descendants Gather on ’Ben Mountain’; Preliminarily Identified as Seventh-Generation ’Welsh Little Flying Dragon,’ Egg-Laying Suspected..."
"Britain’s Wizard Football Match will be held as scheduled on the day before Christmas... Tournant Chairman and Headmaster of Edinburgh’s Wizarding University, Carl Marin, has stated that to ensure player safety and promote North-South exchange, Forbidden Magic Pillars and a Stop Killing Stele will be erected at the venue..."
"An Elder of the Constantine Clan in Plains has issued a statent: Baron Constantin was expelled from the Inner Side six years ago..."
’No wonder the Constantine Family has so little presence in London,’ Baron thought as he closed the newspaper. ’I can’t believe they even have to add the prefix "of Plains..." to their statents.’
Usually, when he read in the papers that Lancelot’s Family and the Hestia Family had issued a joint statent to kill him, it never specified *which* Lancelot or Hestia family. It was as if all the Inner Old Race and Bloodless were just expected to know who these two great families were.
As for Baron Constantin, the one they wanted to kill, his na was always followed by a lengthy "identity profile" and a "public denunciation."
He looked at the sky for a mont. The sun was setting, and he had no idea when Jack would co out.
Bored with waiting, Baron took the "Greed Notes"—which he had found in his old room—from his ring. He pulled out a pen and looked at the ssage labeled No. 2, which he suspected was from his sister, Yelena. He wanted to write sothing in response.
But after a mont’s hesitation, his Gentiana Pattern Ring flickered, and he took out the Dice of Fate.
’Odds, I write. Evens, I don’t.’
With that thought, he threw the die.
The die spun on the ground. Baron stared. *Spin, stare, spin, stare, spin...*
’Sothing’s not right,’ Baron thought. ’This is supposed to be a die, not a spinning top, right?’
’How can it spin for so long? This isn’t Inception.’
The mont that thought appeared, the die stopped. Just as Baron saw the dot representing a "1," the die shattered into a pile of ash... No, it rapidly weathered into a pile of ash.
It was as if ti had suddenly been accelerated for the die.
Baron silently stared at the dust on the ground that marked where the Taboo Item had once been. He rubbed his nose and, in the end, decided to respect the choice the Dice of Fate had made for him.
After paying ten pence, he wrote in the notebook: "Are you there?"
Just as he finished writing, Jack ca out of the Dwarf Workshop and said to him:
"They said Zophie hasn’t been back for many days. The last sighting was at the Black Forest Tavern on Night Street. Why don’t we go tomorrow..."
Baron put away the book, got up, and dusted off his pants. "Tomorrow? What’s wrong with right now?"
...
That evening, Baron and Jack arrived at the most famous Night Street in Plains City.
The sky had begun to dim. A few black shadows, so large and so small, occasionally flew beneath the clouds.
The large ones, Jack said, were wild Griffins.
The small ones, Jack said, were wild little Griffins.
Baron: "..."
Seeing Baron’s look, Jack shrugged. He explained that if a Griffin was in the sky, almost no other flying creature would dare to take flight, with the exception of Unicorns.
"Sotis I really think your logic is like a gorilla’s."
Baron sighed and stopped in front of a shop with a plaque that read "Black Forest," its entrance hazy with red light.
Faint laughter and singing drifted from inside. A Dwarf dressed as a Knight stood guard at the door with a Giant Axe. Seeing Baron and Jack approach, he spoke without even looking up:
"Ten pounds per person for entry. For company: ten pounds for a Bloodless girl, twenty for a half-Dwarf, fifty for a half-Elf."
Baron stroked his chin.
’Sothing seems off. Isn’t this supposed to be a tavern? Why do they offer paid company?’
’Is this a respectable tavern?’
"Two half-Elves!"
But this ti, before Baron could even think, Jack, in a rare show of extravagance, paid the money and pulled Baron into what was called the Black Forest Tavern...
Baron saw the front hall of the establishnt was filled with a large group of gaudily dressed won in heavy makeup and revealing clothes. Their necklines plunged nearly to their navels, and the slits in their robes ran all the way up to their thighs.
The interior decor also followed a debauched, hormone-fueled the. Gaudy, decadent neon lights flickered, giving Baron a sense of déjà vu, reminding him of a KTV in his hotown from his past life.
A stout, pot-bellied man with a fleshy face, who seed to struggle just to walk, paced with his hands behind his back, picking and choosing under the dim lights.
Once he chose a girl, he would stuff a wad of banknotes into her cleavage, wrap an arm around her slender waist while sticking out his big belly, and lead her into a corner of the first-floor hall.
In the center of the hall was a raised, cross-shaped stage. A pole stood in the middle of the stage, with a brown-skinned Dwarf woman dancing on it.
Whenever a banknote was thrown onto the stage, the woman would cast a flirtatious glance as she picked it up, flinging off an article of clothing at the sa ti.
In no ti, she had stripped down until she was like a pure white lamb, with only a thin piece of black fabric left to cover her body.
Baron silently completed the last word in his mind—brothel.
This was a brothel called the Black Forest Tavern.
Baron’s feelings were complicated. In his past life, he’d never even been to a foot massage parlor, yet here he was, starting with high-difficulty exotic charm...
No, it wasn’t just exotic. This was interspecies.
Baron reckoned that if he ever managed to clear his na, he’d write a book called "A Connoisseur’s Guide to Interspecies Courtesans."
As soon as they entered, a Dwarf Madam ca up to them. She acted with an easy familiarity, lighting a cigarette for Jack and asking about their price range.
Compared to Baron’s feigned composure, Jack seed much more at ho. He took the Dwarf Madam’s small hand, leaned on her shoulder with a lecherous look, and said:
"Miss, we’re here to find soone."
Although the Madam’s smile was charming, it didn’t reach her eyes. "We can’t disclose the privacy of any of our guests."
Jack stuffed a wad of banknotes into her bosom. The Madam accepted the money without a change in expression and said, "So you’re here looking for a friend, are you..."
’She gets it.’
Jack chuckled. "That’s right. His na is Zophie."
"Zophie..."
Baron saw the Madam’s pupils shrink before she imdiately put on her professional smile again. "Sir... your friend hasn’t been here for a while."
"Then tell who his regular girl is here."
Baron followed his example and stuffed two banknotes into the Madam’s cleavage.
’A millionaire can be short on anything but money.’
The Madam’s face instantly lit up in a wide smile. "Please, follow ."
The two were led into the main hall.
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