The past was built upon collecting unique characteristics.

Soon the wheels rolled over the cobblestones, carrying him out of the sleeping Fock Street.

About half an hour later, the carriage stopped on the quiet side of Slan Street.

He quickly paid the fare and got out of the car. He walked briskly to the front of the office, took out his key, inserted it into the lock, and opened the door with a "click".

The room was pitch black, with only a few specks of moonlight seeping in through the window.

Morian closed the door behind him, first fumbling to turn on the gas lamp in the center of the living room, letting the warm light illuminate the surroundings, then taking off his dark coat and top hat and hanging them on the coat rack next to the door.

Several basic manuscripts were temporarily placed on the desk, to be read later when there was time, while the precious seven-colored crystal was locked in the safe next to the bed.

Just as he finished doing all this and was about to pour himself a glass of water and rest for a while, a series of rapid sounds came from behind him.

knock!knock!knock!

A loud knocking sound suddenly rang out in the quiet night, echoing outside the office.

Why are people still here so late? Isn't there a "Closed for Business" sign hanging at the entrance?

Morian frowned slightly, put down his water glass, walked to the door, and turned the handle to open it.

In the past, there have been clients who came late at night seeking help because the situation was urgent.

But those were usually frantic and urgent knocks. This time, however, the sound was unhurried and even carried a certain deliberate restraint, and his intuition told him that something seemed different.

The person standing outside the door was quite a "fright" to him.

The cool moonlight streaming in from outside the door perfectly outlined the person's tall and slender figure.

The man was still wearing that well-tailored dark double-breasted suit, the gold embroidery on his epaulets gleaming coldly in the dim light, and a sword that was out of step with the mainstream of the times was at his waist.

It was him?! Morian quickly recalled the violent bolt of lightning that swept through the corridor.

The newcomer was none other than the Royal "Swordholder" whom they had met at the White Company before.

With a loud thud, Morian, without thinking, almost instinctively slammed the door he had just opened back shut.

I must have opened it wrong... or maybe I'm just hallucinating because I'm too tired tonight.

Why would the royal "Sword Bearer" appear at my doorstep at this time and in this way?

There was a two-second silence outside the door. Just as he was about to turn around and leave, he heard an unpleasant voice pierce through the door:

"...Open the door for me."

……

The voice wasn't loud, but it seemed to carry a commanding tone that was hard to resist. Helpless, Morian had no choice but to open the door again.

The handsome but always cold face outside the door seemed even more gloomy than before.

To be precise, his face turned black.

"That joke isn't funny." Looking at the black-haired detective scratching the back of his head, trying to force an awkward but polite smile, the man's tone carried a hint of displeasure at being offended.

His azure eyes, in the dim light, were as clear as a mirror, capable of seeing into people's hearts.

"Good evening, Mr. Morian Thias." He spoke again, his voice now calm as before, revealing no emotion, but making Morian uneasy.

As expected, the other party investigated! But they didn't immediately reveal what happened that night. Was it because they hadn't fully confirmed it yet, or were they testing the waters?

Could it be that they didn't recognize me?

Morian was thinking rapidly, but on the surface he tried to make his voice sound as normal as possible, even feigning doubt as he asked:

"Good evening, good evening, may I ask who you are...?"

"Ronan Astray, Royal Guard." The man gave a brief self-introduction and stated his name.

Knowing that any panic or evasion would only arouse suspicion, Morian continued in as calm a tone as possible:

"Good day, Your Excellency Ronan. Is there anything I can help you with this so late?"

After saying that, he stepped aside to make way for the entrance to the office: "Please come in."

"No need," Ronan coldly refused, his gaze sweeping across Morian's face and the living room behind him with an almost tangible intensity before getting straight to the point.

"A robbery and murder occurred in Bet City not long ago. Someone broke into the scene and had a brief conflict with our personnel. That night, an intruder named Randall managed to escape."

...What does your arrest of Randall have to do with me, Morian? I'm a law-abiding citizen.

Morian forced a professional, standard smile and quickly echoed:

"I've heard about this too; it seems to have been reported in the newspapers." "But you're looking for 'Randall,' aren't you? What does this have to do with my firm?"

"I heard you solved the White family case?" Ronan's lips curled into a slight smile, though the curve was somewhat cold.

"Yes, but that was just fulfilling my duties as a detective," Morian readily admitted, then firmly shook his head to disclaim any further accusations. "I'm just an ordinary detective, and I truly know nothing about the infiltration you mentioned."

"An 'ordinary detective' who can escape my pursuit?" Ronan's tone suddenly turned cold as he spoke without any attempt to hide his true feelings.

"Should I call you the extraordinary detective, or reporter Randall?"

This sentence instantly pierced through all the pretense and evasiveness, and the atmosphere at the scene plummeted to freezing point; even the night breeze seemed to stop.

Morian did not respond further, because his "danger premonition" had been triggered, and all his attention was focused on the "Swordholder," waiting for his next move and ready to react at any moment.

Ronan Astray placed his right hand on the scabbard at his waist. This action made the invisible pressure around him even sharper, and a faint golden electric light swirled around his fingertips, constantly emitting a dangerous "sizzling" sound.

If you were to clash with the Royal's "Sword Saint of the Sky," what are your chances of defeating him?

This was a question that Morian had once asked Charlotte on a whim.

Faced with this somewhat strange question, the girl simply tilted her head and thought for a moment before smiling and giving her answer.

"I'm probably about 90% sure," she said casually, without any burden. "It's about 90% chance."

Upon hearing this confident answer, Morian couldn't help but secretly marvel, "Wow, I never knew you were so confident in your abilities, Miss. You're truly a hidden talent."

But Charlotte's slow, deliberate addition instantly poured a bucket of cold water on his enthusiasm.

"Normally, it should be a 9:1 ratio for him."

At this moment, the "Swordholder," whom Charlotte described as having an absolute advantage in the "90/10" odds, stood straight at the entrance of the agency, with dangerous lightning crackling at his fingertips.