Chapter Thirty-One: Infiltration (Part One)

When the Raven stood before Warrenheit, the reformer had already been sent to the finest ward, doctors were deliberating ways to treat his wounds, and the nearest white magic healers had rushed to his side. The crowd still refused to disperse; in their eyes, Martin was a persecuted hero. Only when the government stepped forward to declare they would make every effort to save Martin’s life and guarantee his safety did the fury gradually subside. Yet people gathered again in the square, demanding the apprehension of the culprit, their anger now directed squarely at the Church.

“You did well. At least you helped me preserve Martin’s faith,” Warrenheit praised.

“I was simply doing my duty. But forgive my honesty—do you truly intend to challenge the Church? The Tribunal has appeared on their side. To be frank, I have no wish to face them head-on; those people are cold-blooded, and crossing them spells trouble.” The Raven spoke cautiously. He wasn’t afraid of the Third Enforcement Group itself, but that group stood for the entire Church, a far cry from the thugs Child sent before. The enforcement squad represented the Church’s dignity—even the cardinals tread carefully around them. It wasn’t impossible to oppose them, but Spielberg’s payment alone seemed insufficient.

“You’ve helped me enough; I won’t keep asking you to risk yourself. If needed, rest assured that I’ll reward you above and beyond what Mr. Spielberg offers, from my own personal funds. There are matters that demand someone of your ilk, for instance, protecting Martin. If I use my own power and the Church catches wind, it puts me in a disadvantageous position. Only a bounty hunter like you, who works for pay, leaves the Church powerless,” Warrenheit said.

“Do you need me to keep guarding Martin now?”

“No, no, that’s not necessary. My plan has proceeded smoothly; now it’s my turn to go on the offensive. As long as Martin survives, every word he utters will be a weapon for me, battering the Church into disarray. Of course, the premise is that I keep him alive. You know he’s still not out of danger, but that’s my headache. You’ve done well enough. Yet now there’s another task I need your help with,” Warrenheit said earnestly.

“Please, command me as you wish,” Raven replied.

The Prime Minister of Landia looked at Raven and said, “Here’s the situation. The Fishfolk have attacked Victoria Harbour of Golden Broom, and also our own Herdasine. Worse than Victoria Harbour, they have even occupied parts of Herdasine.”

“Why has this happened?” Raven frowned.

“Their young princess has vanished—rumored to have been abducted or enticed away by humans. In any case, they’re blaming all upright, land-dwelling races, and humanity in particular. So Warrenheit, Landia, and perhaps the equally unlucky Golden Broom must answer for this, whether or not we’re responsible. They demand we hand over Princess Helen and compensate them for their losses in this campaign,” Warrenheit recited this misfortune with resignation, though Raven sensed something odd. Despite the Prime Minister’s words, there seemed to be a hidden joy in his heart, as if this was his true feeling. Why could this be? Raven’s intuition suggested it might involve Golden Broom, but the bounty hunter wisely kept silent.

Warrenheit spread his hands. “So I’ve decided to negotiate. We’ll send Deputy Kyd to represent us—I can’t leave, I must deal with the Church. But I doubt Kyd alone can persuade those seafaring beastfolk. That’s why I wrote a letter, magically sealed, and ask you to deliver it in person to Prince Philip, who commands the occupation of Herdasine. Tell them that besides helping to search for Helen, I hope everyone will negotiate over the letter’s contents. Then, activate this communication crystal; through it, I’ll secretly speak with them for a few words.”

Warrenheit handed Raven a high-grade magic crystal and a letter sealed with forbidden magic. The forbidden spell, a third-level magic, specializes in securing correspondence—it seals the letter with magical power, allowing only one opening. Once opened, within five minutes the letter will self-destruct. If Raven were to sneak a peek en route, the letter could never be restored, a precaution devised by wizards who feared their servants might read or destroy their missives. If a servant destroyed a letter out of laziness and the intended recipient never received it, the wizard and his friend would confront the culprit, and the servant would be severely punished.

Raven accepted the crystal and letter, then suddenly recalled another matter. “What about the young princess? What’s her name? Do you need me to search for her?”

“She is Helen, young princess of the Siren tribe. Newly come of age, she can now transform her legs to walk on land. That is all we know so far.” At this, Warrenheit frowned—a search akin to finding a needle in the sea was no easy task, especially with time so tight. By the time Raven reached Herdasine and delivered the letter, there needed to be some preliminary result, or else it would be difficult to persuade Prince Philip to proceed as Warrenheit wished.

“Helen?” Raven was startled.

“What is it?”

“Oh, quite the coincidence. I happen to have a young woman named Helen with me, and she’s just arrived from the sea,” Raven replied with a wry smile.

－－－－

Finding Cecily was, in truth, a matter both difficult and easy—hard at the edges, simple in the middle. Entering the city was tough; as they approached, the guards’ vigilance was evidently heightened, and every person was searched. Anyone found carrying weapons was immediately pulled aside for strict interrogation. Judging by the soldiers’ reactions, the revolutionary group’s annihilation of the First Army’s Second Armored Regiment, Third Battalion, must have been exposed, hence the rigorous checks.

By contrast, once inside, sneaking into the governor’s mansion was much easier. Thanks to Wei Wuji’s Daoist art of invisibility, the pair slipped smoothly into the estate, hiding in a shadowy corner of a wall. With Wei Wuji’s mist spell, the patrolling guards saw nothing but a patch of darkness. Only the long-tongued hunting hounds would occasionally glance back at that strange spot, but after sniffing repeatedly, detected no unusual scent—at most, a faint trace of floral fragrance.

Once the patrol squad and hounds had moved on, the hardest challenge began: finding Cecily and rescuing her.