Under Gauss's "escort," the tiefling boy made it safely into the general store.
Gauss watched him rummage through a pile of small trinkets and asked casually,
"What's your name?"
"Are you talking to me, sir?"
"Mmhmm."
"Dray. My name is Dray."
Dray snuck a few glances up at Gauss.
It was the first time someone of such high status had ever asked him his name, and for a moment he felt absurdly flattered.
"Not enough money?"
Gauss saw him picking through the cheapest pile of secondhand stuffed dolls, caught the way he hesitated, and spoke up.
One rabbit doll—pretty decent-looking—Gauss had watched him pick up and put down several times.
"I'll keep looking," Dray dodged the question.
"Just get this one."
Gauss reached out and picked up the pale pink doll.
"If you're short, I'll cover the difference."
He didn't say he'd pay for the whole gift. The money meant nothing to him, but since the boy was choosing a present for someone else, paying for everything would cheapen the meaning behind it—and that would be a shame.
The boy wrestled with himself for a moment.
In the end, he nodded.
Mostly because he genuinely thought his little sister would love that doll.
"Then… thank you, sir."
"Just don't call me an idiot next time."
Gauss waved it off.
At the counter, they had it wrapped and paid.
Gauss covered the last 14 copper coins Dray was missing.
Watching him clutch the wrapped gift like it might shatter, Gauss's lips curled slightly.
Nice.
Sometimes happiness really wasn't something you could measure with money.
A secondhand doll worth a few dozen coppers could bring just as much joy as some flashy trinket worth a hundred gold.
"Thank you. Really."
"If I ever get the chance, I'll pay you back."
"Could you tell me your name?"
"Gauss."
Dray bowed deeply.
"Go on. Get back."
"And watch out—don't let any shop owners spot you."
After that reminder, Dray didn't bother with manners anymore. He waved in a hurry and vanished down the street like a little fox, light on his feet.
Gauss watched him go, and the smile on his face faded almost instantly.
His gaze slid, subtle and cold, toward a spot on the street.
If he hadn't misread it, that uncomfortable stare from earlier had come from over there.
He'd looked like he was chatting with Dray, but the whole time he'd been keeping part of his attention on the street around them.
So it wasn't his imagination.
That prickling sense of being watched wasn't a mistake.
A shadow settled over his thoughts.
He hated this feeling—being observed from the dark.
"Is it you?"
His eyes locked onto a man walking away quickly with his back turned.
Plain linen clothes.
A stack of newspapers tucked under one arm.
Gauss moved.
Even with crowds thick on the street, his agility let him thread through people smoothly.
And once he fixed his attention on someone, it was hard to shake him—like he had an overhead view of the world.
The distance between him and the newsboy shrank rapidly.
"So you do have a guilty conscience."
Gauss could feel it: the man was clearly trying to evade him.
The moment he realized Gauss had noticed, he didn't even pretend anymore—he broke into a run.
"Don't shove!"
"Move, you're holding up our delivery!"
A wagon convoy blocked Gauss's path.
He vaulted—light as a swallow—tapping a foot on a stack of bundled goods and flipping over the cart in one clean motion.
His body flickered through the crowd like a mirage.
Within moments, he was right behind the suspect.
Gauss's hand rested lightly on the man's shoulder.
He was just about to speak—
when the man suddenly went limp.
His body folded forward.
Thud!
He hit the ground hard, and a thick stream of blood oozed from his mouth.
It quickly soaked into the street beside his cheek.
"AAAH!!!"
"Someone's dead!!!"
Panic exploded through the crowd.
That instinctive fear of death sent civilians scrambling away in every direction.
In seconds, a "vacuum" opened around the corpse.
Only Gauss remained inside it, still moving.
He crouched, placed a finger under the man's nose.
"He's dead."
Gauss shook his head.
Not long after, a patrol squad surrounded the scene.
"Drop your weapon! Submit to inspection!"
Gauss calmly raised both hands to show he wasn't holding anything.
Ironically, the soldiers encircling him—fully armed—were trembling like leaves.
"Did he kill him?"
"Why?"
"He's good-looking… probably not him, right?"
"That's where you're wrong. Pretty ones turn bad easier."
From a safe distance, the crowd started whispering again, making guesses.
"Back up! Everyone back up! Hold the scene!"
A steady, authoritative shout came from behind the soldiers.
The crowd split as a middle-aged officer strode in, wearing better chainmail and a captain's insignia.
Rugged face. Thick handlebar mustache. Sharp eyes that swept the scene in one pass:
the dead man, the blood, and Gauss in the center—hands raised, expression calm.
He gestured for the soldiers to lower their weapons slightly, though the ring stayed tight.
"I'm Alec, captain of the City Watch—South District Third Company, Second Patrol Squad."
"You're the first to find him? Or…"
His gaze moved between the corpse and Gauss.
"He wasn't killed by me. I was chasing him, but when I caught up, he happened to die right then."
"If I'm not mistaken, he took poison."
"It happened fast, but someone may have seen it—at least the part where he ran and I chased."
Gauss explained in an orderly way.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the crow that had been following him was gone—
probably off to report what happened.
Captain Alec signaled a nearby soldier, who hurried to the shaken crowd and started questioning witnesses.
Alec himself crouched down, put on gloves, and examined the body.
He pulled back the eyelid, checked the blown pupils, then leaned in to smell the blood around the mouth and nose. His brows snapped together.
"Poison in the mouth."
"There's a false tooth with a poison capsule inside."
He stood, dusted his hands, and looked at Gauss with less open hostility—but more scrutiny.
"Fast-acting. The kind used for… silencing, when a job fails or capture is imminent."
He paused, then asked, "Who are you? Why were you chasing him?"
"Gauss. Just an Adventurer."
"I chased him because I believed he was tailing me—watching me."
"When he realized I'd noticed, he ran. And then… this."
Gauss's posture looked relaxed, but he stayed guarded.
Then one of the soldiers examining the body called for Alec.
"Captain. Look at this."
Gauss and Alec both turned.
The soldier had pulled the man's shirt open.
Near the chest was a black tattoo—an abstract dragon coiled into itself. Minimal lines, but it radiated a wrongness.
"Dragon Cult," Alec said, his face hardening.
A notorious group.
Not only because they'd orchestrated major incidents across nations over the past millennium, but because their influence still wormed into daily life.
They disguised themselves as "tax officials," "lord's troops," "merchant caravans" to loot settlements.
They trafficked slaves, kidnapped civilians.
They conducted forbidden rituals—defiling the dead, reshaping the living—creating horrors like liches.
Their doctrine: the world's "proper form" was submission to a Dragon Empress. Humans weren't rulers—just property, servants, or food.
Any sane person hated them.
Yet they persisted—because they used wealth, sex, and desire to rot nobles, soldiers, even clergy from the inside.
Alec lowered his voice, issuing orders.
"Bag the body properly. Seal all belongings."
"Send this straight to Special Investigations."
Then he looked at Gauss again.
"Gauss… I don't know why, but it looks like the Dragon Cult had eyes on you."
Gauss only felt a quiet weight settle in his chest.
He didn't argue. It made grim sense.
Even setting aside his own strange connection to draconic power—Hephaestus alone was enough to draw cultists like flies.
And if they'd been watching him before Longflute… this wasn't a random, one-off tail.
"Gauss, you'll need to come with us for a full statement."
"Fine," Gauss said.
A soldier brought a horse; Gauss mounted and followed them to the watch post.
…
After the report was taken, the clerk shook his hand solemnly.
"You're free to go."
Gauss stepped outside—
and found someone waiting by the wall.
A hooded figure in gray.
Even hidden like that, Gauss recognized him immediately.
"Sir Playaos. Why are you here?"
"Shh."
Playaos signaled him to keep quiet.
Gauss realized then—no one else passing by seemed to notice Playaos at all.
Gauss followed him into a side room.
"I came to apologize," Playaos said.
"For what?"
Playaos looked grim.
"I thought contacting you through the Golden Eagle office was discreet enough."
"But it seems it still leaked."
"Our current information suggests the tiefling disappearances are connected to the Dragon Cult."
"No direct proof yet, but…"
"After I met you, they likely learned of it."
"That tail you chased today—he wasn't just watching you. He was reacting to me reaching out."
Gauss didn't interrupt.
Playaos continued, voice low.
"If you need it, I can arrange for you to leave the city safely. If you're gone, they may lose interest."
Gauss gave a faint, tired smile.
"Dragon Cult eyes on me… probably isn't because of yesterday."
He couldn't say the real reason outright.
But leaving the city wouldn't fix the core problem.
Still, Playaos's concern wasn't fake—and that mattered.
Then Gauss said, evenly, "That commission you mentioned yesterday—I'll take it."
Playaos blinked, then exhaled slowly.
"…Then I'll support you, as far as I'm able. At least within Longflute."
He produced a gold bracelet and handed it over.
"A locator. Wear it. If you're in danger, feed it mana. I'll come."
Gauss accepted it, quietly ran an identification spell, and slipped it on.
"I have to go," Playaos said. "I'll send details through Golden Eagle channels."
And he left.
Outside the watch post, Albena, Shadow, and Serandur were already waiting—summoned by the crows Gauss had left behind.
"Captain, are you alright?"
"Another minute and I was going in with my axe," Albena muttered, not joking at all.
Shadow didn't speak, but her eyes never left Gauss's face.
"I'm fine," Gauss said. "Let's talk while we move."
And as they walked away from the watch post, Gauss's thoughts hardened into something colder and sharper:
If the Dragon Cult wanted to stare at him from the dark—
then he'd drag them into the light.