C158: Mr.Kind Neighbor
The middle-aged man saw Jack's brows twitching involuntarily. The young man's hand trembled, and beads of sweat had begun to form profusely along his hairline, glistening against his pale skin.
This kind of subtle reaction did not go unnoticed by Mr. K.
"Are you alright? Your face has gone uncommonly pale. You do not look well at all," he asked, genuine concern coloring his voice as he stepped closer.
But the young man immediately shook his head in dismissal.
"It is nothing out of sorts, sir. The heat in here is rather overwhelming, so I have grown somewhat lightheaded," Jack replied, brushing the back of his hand across his forehead to wipe away the sweat near his brows.
It was not a lie. The ruined church was still hot, filled with smoke, ash, and the damp smell of water poured over burned wood.
"Oh dear." The middle-aged man eyed Jack with a look of concern, one of his hands slipping behind his back in a casual gesture. "How about you come round to my house for a brief rest? I can offer you some tea and a cool cloth."
"You yourself are obviously more fatigued than I. I could not possibly trouble you with such an imposition, sir."
Jack offered a dry smile, his feet beginning to carry him slowly backward toward the doorway. His perpetually narrowed eyes were too small for the middle-aged man to know what he was truly thinking.
"I must take my leave. There is still some work awaiting me at home. Thank you kindly for your concern, sir." The young man bowed his head respectfully, turned, and walked out of the ruined church calmly.
The middle-aged man's gaze followed Jack's retreating form until the silhouette disappeared entirely beyond the ruined doorway.
"What a shame."
As soon as the young man was out of sight, the tender warmth drained from Mr. Kind's eyes, replaced by the cold judgment of a merchant weighing a suspicious coin upon his scale.
"He does not seem to recognize me, despite my being the one who hired him for Miss Miller. Has he truly forgotten?" Mr. K monologued out loud, his fingers drumming thoughtfully against his watch.
"That should not be possible. I saw him flinch when he heard my name, so he must recognize me on some level. Yet his behavior does not suggest dishonesty. He did not appear to be lying."
The man tilted his head to one side, his brow furrowed in puzzlement. This was the first time he encountered this situation. This village was not exactly safe for him to say any careless words.
"Is it an unconscious reaction? When someone whose memory has been tampered with encounters something that should jolt the lost memory back to the surface? I have read of such phenomena in the medical records. Is that what I am witnessing here?"
He turned and directed his gaze downward at the scorched floor where Jack had been standing.
“He took the ring. He even knew where it dropped. He must have been nearby to watch the battle. But I didn’t sense the presence of any observer watching the fight.” He placed a hand over his heart. “I can’t read his emotions, and my ability doesn’t work on him either. It is as though I am attempting to converse with a blank-state puppet devoid of any inner life."
He crouched down amid the ash and charred debris, his fingers closing around an almost burned brass cross that had partially survived the flames.
"His situation is similar to that of the villagers. Does he integrate with the village? Or with that thing?" He held it up to the dim light, murmuring softly to himself.
"I have not heard from that old friend of mine for quite a while now. The last time we spoke, he mentioned that his creation could command living beings to its will. Now it can also manipulate the memories of men? What Path has it taken?"
He smiled pleasantly at a passing villager who glanced in his direction, rose to his feet, and walked naturally past the others, depositing the damaged cross onto the stack of salvaged items as natural as possible.
“The Inspectors attacked the church in broad daylight. Perhaps I should adjust my plan. The situation has grown more dangerous than I had anticipated."
He walked away, his hand rising to stroke his chin as he thought seriously.
—
‘Shit, shit, shit, shit!’
Jack walked calmly along the road, his eyes still narrowed into thin slits and his smile warm as he nodded at the villagers passing by. Outwardly, he looked perfectly composed, just another young man leaving the ruined church after lending a hand.
However, inside his mind, Izzy’s heart did not cease its vicious pounding against her ribs. It drummed inside her chest like thunder, each beat reverberating through her frame, while cold sweat continued to bead profusely along her forehead.
She did not know where Jack's feet were taking him. She simply made him keep walking and walking, heading east, toward the direction of the mansion.
"Why the hell did that man have to appear!"
Izzy stood on her seat and screamed loudly. The shout was so loud that it even jolted Isa, who was not anywhere close to her but somehow still heard her frightened voice echo across the mindscape.
“Izzy?”
It was too sudden. At first, Izzy had assumed that the middle-aged man was just another common man they could meet anywhere on the street. There had been nothing especially strange about him, except perhaps the neat clothing.
But the instant she heard his name, her entire disposition toward him shifted one hundred and eighty degrees.
It was not entirely her fault. The blame lay partially because his name was simply too weird, weird enough that it somehow frightened her.
And the damning coincidence that this encounter came immediately after Davis had briefed her on the inner hierarchy of the Golden Land!
Her memory of the conversation with Davis was still fresh in her mind.
[“The title ‘Golden Trader’ is actually the common name for their rank-and-file agents. They are a shrewd sort, and they hold their covenants in high regard.”
“Once an individual ascends to a certain level of authority within their organization, they receive their own specific designation.”
“The high-ranking employ a single character for their title. For example, Mr. C, Mr. E, or Mr. R. Thus, should ya encounter one who styles himself Mr. R, it is quite possible ya are dealing with a figure of considerable authority within their hierarchy.”]
'Did I just encounter a high-ranking Golden Trader operating under the designation Mr. K?' Izzy thought, her mind working frantically.
She still remembered what Davis had said about the Golden Trader residing in this village.
[“As of now, a Golden Trader resides in this village. He is no high-ranking one, junior, but a common trader.”]
'A common trader? But his title indicates otherwise.' Izzy pressed her palm hard against her forehead, a wave of throbbing headache blooming behind her eyes. ‘Did I make a mistake? Did that man simply adopt the alias K as a convenient shorthand for Kind Neighbor?'
But then again, no one introduced themselves as “Kind Neighbor” in lieu of a proper name. Unless that was genuinely his real name, but Izzy doubted it.
‘His name reminds me of someone…’ Izzy thought back carefully, searching through her memory, but she could not recall the face of the man her instincts insisted she should remember.
Why was Mr. K here?
‘Golden Land. Silver Land. The Demon of Dispute Order. The vampires. The church. How many parties are going to surface next?'
It was as if they were all competing for something in this exact place.
Izzy understood the objectives of some of these factions. The church wanted Lady Amelia returned safely. The vampires sought to complete the false rite and channel the Monarch's power to their lord. The Demon of Dispute Order wanted Isidora herself, the living Curse they had somehow marked for acquisition.
But what about those two?
She assumed the Golden Trader had come seeking the profit that the rite promised: free child slaves, and the deal struck with both the vampires and the Demon of Dispute Order.
But was that really important enough for one of the big executives to appear here personally?
And what was the true objective of the Silver Land in this entire tapestry?
‘Right, now that I think about it.’
Izzy remembered that Jack and Glen had conversed about a Trader in the past.
[“Are you out of your damn mind? He’s our customer. You want to deal with the Trader’s wrath if they find out?”]
That was what they had said. At the time, Izzy did not know the Trader, so she did not pay much attention to their conversation.
‘Then does that mean…’ Izzy’s heart skipped a beat, and her hand trembled slightly against the armrest of her velvet chair. ‘That Mr. K must know about Jack!’
‘They know Jack, but they willingly let him go. What do they want? Are they keeping him alive to extract further information?’ Izzy’s thoughts raced rapidly. ‘The Trader had a deal with Benjamin. There is no way he doesn’t recognize Jack. I should make Jack retreat back to the mansion and use him as little as possible.’
‘Arnold was also part of Glen’s band, so if that Mr. K is from the Golden Land, he must also remember Arnold’s face.’ Izzy tapped her chin in thought, her expression tightening. ‘Fortunately, Arnold’s face is burned and wrapped in bandages, so I don’t need to worry too much. But I must still tread with extreme caution, lest I expose myself before Mr. K prematurely. The only vessel entirely unknown to him is Arriet.'
‘Erin came with Glen’s band. She should know whether this Mr. K is from the Golden Trader or not. I should ask her when I have the time.’
Did this village somehow involve an even larger vortex of conspiracy than she had imagined?
Mounting an assault upon a Monarch was already a matter of considerable gravity. Yet her intuition told her there had to be something even more important here than the Rite and a Monarch being attacked.
‘So ridiculous…’ Izzy sighed, slumping back against the plush cushion of her chair. ‘I only wished to gather loot. Why did I suddenly stumble headlong into him?'
It was as though she had inadvertently triggered a hidden boss encounter while scrounging for treasure.
It was fortunate that the man had chosen not to pursue the matter further. Otherwise, she would have had to abandon Jack entirely.
Izzy returned to Jack’s perspective and carefully moved him toward the meeting point of her marionettes.
At the same time, she returned to Arnold’s perspective, and began to move him out of the pub.