Backlund.
Back in the real world, Vincent thought it over at length and ultimately decided not to share what had just happened with Bernadette. It wasn't that he was keeping secrets from her — it was more that the gap in their information about Mr. Fool was simply too wide.
Vincent knew the truth: beneath all the grandeur, Klein Moretti was just a low-sequence nobody. The so-called "divine kingdom" above the Gray Fog wasn't fully under Klein's control. So Vincent lingering up there had most likely something to do with the Nation of Disorder — some unknown connection between their respective sources of power, perhaps.
But from Bernadette's vantage point, she'd almost certainly read it as another sign of a divine being's scheme. And honestly? Part of him was a little curious what conclusion she'd jump to. Hmm. If she happened to suddenly see through Mr. Fool's bluff from this... that might actually be interesting to watch.
He reined himself in. Klein had the Evernight Goddess's heavy investment backing him. Best not to play with fire.
The two of them had a brief debrief about the Tarot Club gathering — particularly Mr. Fool's apparent interest in the Lord of Chaos. Vincent feigned confusion and fumbled through the discussion, and naturally, no real conclusion was reached.
It was still early in the day, so Bernadette headed back to the Prosecution Office. The usual crowd of seasoned old-timers had clocked out early as always, leaving only Ellie sitting at her desk, a tall stack of case files on each side, flipping through them with practiced speed.
When she saw Bernadette walk in, her eyes lit up. "Vincent! I thought you'd left early too."
"I had something to sort out. I came back once it was done. What are you going through?"
She gestured at the two stacks. "These are all cases handed over to us last month. Every single one is in limbo — no decision to prosecute, no decision to drop. Just left sitting there indefinitely."
Ellie's face was tight with anger. "No wonder the East End has gotten worse every year."
"The Prosecution Office alone can't decide what happens in the East End," Bernadette said. "We can only work the cases that come to us. So much more never even makes it to the record. The higher-ups not caring, the police not acting, the gangs fighting for turf — it all feeds into each other. The Prosecution Office is just one small, mostly powerless piece of a very large machine."
"If your ideal is to change the status quo, being a lawyer or prosecutor won't get you there. Even if you have the energy to close several cases a day, the East End generates dozens or hundreds of new ones every single day. You can't outpace it."
Ellie's expression gradually dimmed. After a long pause, she said quietly, "Backlund wasn't always like this. The East End and the Docklands were rougher than the rest of the city, yes — but there used to be a clear trend of things getting better. Slowly, but surely."
She stared out the window, her gaze going hollow. "And then, about ten years ago... everything just changed. It became what it is now."
Something stirred in Bernadette's mind. Any perceptive person can see it — the chaos in certain districts of Backlund isn't negligence. It's permission. Usually, rapid urban growth brings shadows with it. Rather than let those shadows spread unchecked across the whole city, you corral them into a corner and deal with them all at once when the moment comes.
But what's happening in Backlund isn't passive permission. It looks deliberate. As if someone wanted these areas to descend into chaos.
If this all started ten years ago — what happened then that would have made Loen's upper echelons make a decision like this? And what is the goal?
She asked Ellie a few pointed follow-up questions, but Ellie had no answers to give.
A moment later, Ellie shook off her thoughts and smiled brightly again. "Changing the world — I never had dreams that grand or that impractical. I'll just do what's in front of me, and worry about the rest later."
She pulled a few files from the pile and passed them to Bernadette. "These cases have solid, complete evidence chains. I want to start with these. What do you think?"
"Fine by me." Bernadette had no objection.
Over the next two days, Bernadette and Ellie worked as a team, playing the part of prosecutors in the most ordinary sense: receiving cases, reviewing them, then facing off against defence attorneys in court — and winning every time.
The winning streak wasn't because these two newcomers were sharper than their seasoned colleagues. It was because these were all airtight, open-and-shut cases where the suspects were ordinary people with no supernatural backing. All they required was going through the proper procedural motions. In the past, the "old guard" at the office would have dealt with these cases themselves to demonstrate they were still doing something. Now that fresh blood had arrived, the old guard simply dumped everything on them.
And yet, with every win in court, the Prosecutor potion inside Bernadette digested a little further. The progress wasn't fast, but if this kept up, full digestion was only a matter of time.
"Based on what we've observed," the two of them concluded in a debrief, "the key elements for acting as a Prosecutor come down to three things. First — gathering sufficient evidence of the target's crime. Second — having an audience. Third — delivering a fitting punishment. All three work together."
"Next step is to test whether the potion can still digest normally if we take the second and third elements out of the courtroom entirely."
Vincent laughed. "Look at that — after all this going around in circles, we're right back where we started. We still need to go out and catch someone to put on trial. And the East End and the Docklands are teeming with candidates. The open sea even more so."
"We'll target pirates first," Bernadette said. "A pirate-hunter with a particular... method appearing out at sea won't raise any eyebrows. But if we do this frequently and visibly in a city, we're bound to attract the wrong kind of attention."
"Fair enough."
As they talked, Ellie came over carrying a thick folder of documents, her expression caught somewhere between excitement and confusion. She sat down in silence, flipping through the papers — frowning one moment, deep in thought the next.
Noticing her preoccupied look, Bernadette asked, "What's the matter, Ellie?"
"Oh — it's nothing," Ellie said quickly, shaking her head. "It's just... something I've been following for a very long time suddenly had an unexpected development."
"Isn't that a good thing?"
"It is. It's just... hard to believe."
She took a deep breath. "Before I came to the Prosecution Office, I worked as a lawyer for a while. Last week..."
Ellie went on to describe the Conris warehouse explosion case from some time ago. "I never dropped the investigation, even after I switched careers. I'd found some people through a contact — alternative channels, via the Brave Ones tavern — to help look into it."
"But I didn't expect results this fast. Just a few days and there's already an answer. And the evidence is solid. The explosion wasn't caused by worker negligence. The owner of Conris deliberately refused to repair and replace malfunctioning equipment just to save money."
Vincent was genuinely astonished. He had immense respect for whoever had conducted that investigation. The explosion had happened months ago — surely all the evidence had been buried by now. How had they managed to find it?
"With all this evidence, can we move straight to prosecuting Conris?"
"Unfortunately, as a prosecutor, I can't file the suit directly." Ellie thought for a moment. "I'll go find a friend of mine and ask her to arrange a lawyer to file on our behalf."
With that, she gathered the documents and hurried out.
Vincent clicked his tongue. "Something about this feels almost... too smooth."
"It does," Bernadette agreed. "Based on what we know about 'Conris,' they should never have left a trail this obvious."
"Either way, it's not really our concern."
"Come on, let's go test our theory."
Bernadette's form grew hazy and indistinct. The world around her filled with deep, saturated colour. Without a sound, she slipped into the spirit world and, in a series of effortless leaps, crossed a thousand miles in moments.
Bayam.
As the capital of the Roselle Archipelago, Bayam was known as the "City of Generosity" — its abundant resources and mineral wealth had made it a prize for the first wave of colonial settlers, and they had never let go. A century of colonial rule had bled the land dry. The colonisers had taken untold wealth and left the indigenous people nothing but pain, suffering, and a sea full of pirates.
Bernadette had taken the form of a well-dressed young gentleman with the unmistakable look of old money, and she walked into a raucous bar.
The moment she stepped through the door, multiple pairs of eyes locked onto her. Not a word was said, but the intent was clear — she'd been marked as easy prey.
She ordered a glass of Sunia Blood Wine and leaned back against the bar, surveying the room. One look at the clothing and demeanour of the crowd was enough to tell her that at least half of them were pirates.
Her Prosecutor's perception cut through everything clearly: murder, arson, pillaging, rape, defilement of holy things. If she wanted, she could recite their crimes in the Words of Order right now and wipe out the entire room on the spot.
But she wasn't here to massacre pirates and play vigilante — she was here to digest a potion. And she was a pirate queen herself.
Wiping them all out would be easy. Controlling that many people at once to extract evidence, though, would be a nightmare. Better to leave them for later.
So after finishing her wine, she walked out. The group that had marked her huddled together, made a decision, and sent five men out after her. An easy slaughter, they thought.
A few minutes later, Bernadette found herself backed into an alley, all five of them closing in. The two biggest stepped forward with wide grins. "Know the rules in Bayam?"
"I don't."
"Ha! And you come wandering around without knowing the rules? Hand over everything you've got. And—"
"The clothes too. Take them off yourself."
Bernadette didn't bother with words. She was about to make her move when a figure stepped out from the side.
"Excuse me, gentlemen. This lamb is already spoken for."
The newcomer was a man in a black cloak, somewhere around thirty, eyebrows the colour of charred straw, eyes a vivid dark blue and sharp as lit torches. He stood with his arms crossed, utterly without concern for anyone present.
The big one at the front yanked out a pistol and levelled it. "Who the hell do you think you are?!"
The man shrugged off the black cloak, revealing hair the same burnt yellow as his brows. "Who do I think I am? Take a good look."
The pirates stared. Then the swagger drained right out of their faces, replaced by something much more like fear. "Bl... Blazing Danitz?"
To be continued…
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