Westminster Bank

’Fire... the Dragon Eater Association... silencing witnesses...’

A suspicion grew stronger in Baron’s mind. He continued to search, finally finding a group photo from London Wizard University in a seven-year-old newspaper.

Back then, Lankao had been a specially-appointed Alchemy professor there, with a boundless future ahead of him.

The photo showed him standing shoulder-to-shoulder with someone Baron recognized.

It was Elder Pence of the Hestia Clan. He was easy to recognize, as his appearance hadn’t changed much over the years.

’Elder Pence knew Lankao many years ago. According to Norton, there was something fishy going on between the Hestia Clan and the Dragon Eater Association. Bill Anthony’s corpse also bore the marks of fire. The only thing to figure out is whether the fire on his body is different from the fire used by the Dragon Devourer Cultists...’

’Freya also seems to have Dissociative Identity Disorder. There were burn marks near where Lankao died, too. Lankao had originally said that the Dragon Eater Association ordered Anthony’s death, and that the method involved a staff from the Canaan Tree and Mistletoe juice...’

’Mistletoe juice can only be obtained from the Forest Elf Race of the World Tree. But I’ve obviously had no dealings with the Forest Elf Race, so there’s no way I could have gotten that juice. And Master Zophie, who might have known the specifics, is dead too...’

In that moment, something clicked for Baron.

Still, he didn’t jump to conclusions. Instead, he went through all the remaining newspapers one by one. He worked until dawn broke and the thick fog began to lift, then ran upstairs to wake the still-sleeping Jack.

"We have a new mission."

"What mission?" Jack stretched languidly, as if he had just woken up.

"Infiltrate Buckingham Palace."

"You finally decided to go contain the Queen of England’s crown?"

Jack said, "It’s a nice thought, but unfortunately, that’s just a pricey collectible, not one of the Taboo Items... If you ask me, we’d be better off hitting the Louvre in France. There are a few things there that I’m interested in...

Their security isn’t even that great. We could wear masks and slip in through a window on the Seine River side at midnight..."

The more Baron listened, the weirder it sounded. He felt like he’d heard this criminal M.O. somewhere in his past life, but he couldn’t quite place it.

"It’s Lancelot’s Family."

"Holy shit, Brother, are you trying to get yourself killed? I’m not in on this one," Jack said. "We barely made it out last time. What are you going there for this time? You’re not actually planning to kidnap Freya, are you?"

"You never know," Baron said ambiguously. "But before that, I need to ask Master Bagins a question."

"What question?" The Dwarf Master was standing right in the hallway outside the door. Or rather, he had probably been there for quite some time.

"Master, do you know where I can buy Mistletoe juice?"

"In the world of Alchemy, Mistletoe juice is a forbidden substance..."

"This is an [Eternally Burning Matchstick]. I think you’ll like it, Master."

"I know of one," Master Bagins said, accepting the matchstick. "There’s only one Alchemy Pharmacy in London that sells this juice. It’s extremely well-hidden. You’d never find it without extensive research, and even if you did, the owner wouldn’t sell it to you without a specific code phrase."

"Which shop?"

"Cigarettes & Liquor... which is to say, right here," Master Bagins said, stroking his beard.

"These are all the receipts from the transactions back then. They’re all here..."

"This many?" Baron was astonished, looking at the stack of paper piled as high as the table. "Isn’t it a prohibited item?"

The Dwarf Master had, at some point, relit the Pipe that could make him breathe fire from his nostrils. A nostalgic look appeared on his rough, stone-like old face.

"It is prohibited, but it’s also a crucial component of a certain alchemical medicine. My shop is the only place in the entire Inner Side of Britain that carries it... And this juice itself was a token of affection given to me three hundred years ago by a Forest Elf Princess, back when I was a Druid."

"Master, what about your six brothers?" Jack suddenly interjected.

"..." Baron’s mouth twitched. Don Quixote’s mouth twitched. Only the sheepdog Sangji, held on its leash, remained lively, barking at Jack.

The Dwarf Master shot Jack a harsh glare, then added, "I was much thinner back then..."

’A Forest Elf Princess falling for the Dwarf Master Bagins and giving him Mistletoe juice as a token of her love. What kind of weird dream is this?’

Baron cleared his throat. "Master, the receipts are enough. Don’t you have some Alchemy to do? You should get to it."

The Dwarf Master opened his mouth, but in the end, just turned to his innocent young apprentice. "Don Quixote, didn’t I tell you not to let Sangji into my workshop area?"

"But Teacher, Sangji was just passing through the hallway, and this is still the second-floor living room," Don Quixote said.

"Don Quixote, come here for a moment."

Don Quixote walked over, leading his dog.

The next second, Master Bagins roared, "Don Quixote, didn’t I tell you not to let Sangji into my workshop area? As punishment, you’ll sleep in the cupboard tonight!"

Baron started going through the records of customers who had recently bought Mistletoe juice from Master Bagins, sorting them by date. He soon found a familiar and unexpected name on a purchase record from two years ago.

’How could it be him... Why... Come to think of it, my original self did have contact with him. The time of his death isn’t far off from when I was imprisoned... This is too much of a coincidence...’

A chill went down Baron’s spine... He felt like a fish caught in a net.

You never know when the net was cast.

After briefly scanning the remaining receipts, he said a quick word to Don Quixote, gave him two Gold Coin Chocolates, and left Master Bagins’s workshop.

On the way, he happened to buy the latest issue of the Mercury Times.

As expected, the paper was filled with reports about the Beowulf Family’s Dragon Hunting Ceremony and everything he had done in the Dracul Mountain Range. Although it was all text, the accounts were quite vivid, almost like a storyteller’s tale.

This time, however, the newspaper didn’t use phrases like "the vile Bloodless" or "the duplicitous escapee." Instead, it simply referred to him by the titles "Lawbreaker Baron" or "Dragon Knight Constantine."

And, to Baron’s surprise, apart from this change in nicknames, the paper only briefly mentioned his great battle against the Dragon Devourer Cultists and the Dragon Descendant in Dragon Spear Plaza. His killing of Roy from the Hestia Clan was glossed over completely.

Although, the Hestia Clan’s ten-thousand-pound bounty notice was printed right next to it.

Jack looked at a copy of the paper and clucked his tongue. "Tsk, tsk, tsk... Brother L, you’re really famous now... Some of the smaller papers are starting to re-examine your case... They’re saying there might be a hidden story or something suspicious about it... They’re trying to clear your name."

"What’s the use? If they want to talk, they should talk to the Prole Court. Let’s see if that Judge will go easy on me because of it."

"If you know they won’t show you any leniency, why are you still so obsessed with the truth?" Jack asked, a little confused. "Anyway, with your current identity and power, you could probably live your whole life under the alias ’L’ without any problem, right...?"

"Because I can’t let it go," Baron said. "All I ever wanted was to be a normal person. I couldn’t care less about the Inner Side, Dragon Knights, or the Bloodless. But they just wouldn’t let me live that quiet life."

"Since they chose to do this, they should be prepared for my revenge."

"So, where are we going now?" Jack said. "You said Buckingham Palace, but this isn’t the way."

"First, we’re taking a boat to the Outer Side. I need to verify something. If it checks out, then this whole frame-up, at least for me, can finally come to a close."

In the Outer Side, in Birmingham, on the well-known retirement community of Candle Street, stood a rather old, red-lacquered villa. It was a shared residence, home to a number of elderly people with no children to support them.

"This looks like a nursing home. Are you sure you’ve got the right place?" Jack asked.

He could only see a few elderly people sunbathing in the yard.

"I’m certain," Baron said flatly.

"Who are you looking for?" an old woman reading a book asked, eyeing Baron and Jack at the gate.

Baron offered her the business card from his time at Sheffield Industrial Bank and gave a warm smile.

"I’m looking for Mr. Pelton, Marlon Pelton. I was his loan guarantor."

Marlon Pelton.

A debtor his original self had guaranteed a loan for while working as a bank insurance salesman in the Outer Side.

He owed the bank two thousand British Pounds and had died of organ failure.