"An organization of 'Script-Decipherers?'"
"Yes," Edward replied. "They're one of the most clandestine and dangerous groups out there. Their main aim is to track down old manuscripts or ancient inscriptions."
Charles looked skeptical. "But if all they want is a bunch of texts from some bygone era, why are they so dangerous?"
Edward's face darkened. "If they simply searched peacefully, there'd be little problem. But these people will do whatever it takes—robbery, theft, even abduction—to get what they want. They don't care who gets hurt."
Charles frowned thoughtfully. "So Michael's disappearance might be linked to them…"
"That's correct," Edward said with a grim nod. "Though we're not yet certain what the Script-Decipherers want from Michael, we suspect that the brown leather bag he carried when he vanished contains something they're desperate to get. That's likely their target."
Charles mulled over it, nodding. "If they're that destructive, the authorities should have cracked down on them by now. Why haven't they been eradicated?"
In response, Edward merely lifted an eyebrow. "You remember what happened in that alley, right?"
Charles's gaze flicked back to the memory of his recent fight, the invisible force that knocked him out. "You mean that strange word they shouted, and how I got slammed by something I couldn't see?"
Edward gave a brisk nod. "That was magic—an ancient power. Extremely dangerous, and unbelievably potent. The Script-Decipherers are fixated on unearthing old knowledge. They already possess extensive lore about these spells. Worse yet, they—"
His sentence cut off. He signaled silently to Joseph, who let out a resigned sigh. His expression made it clear he'd rather not do what he was about to do. Nonetheless, Joseph approached Charles.
"Don't move," he commanded quietly, voice taut with purpose.
"What?" Charles asked warily, watching Joseph. To his confusion, Joseph continued:
"Try to stand up."
Though baffled, Charles did as instructed. He shifted his weight to push off the bed but discovered he couldn't move. It felt as though an immense invisible weight held him pinned, no matter how hard he struggled.
"Huh? What's going on?" Charles's voice rang with alarm.
"Stay calm," Joseph said, lifting one hand. "I simply told everyone here not to move."
As Joseph spoke those words, the unseen pressure vanished as abruptly as it had arrived, leaving Charles free to move again. He gasped, still reeling from whatever he had just experienced.
"This is… is this magic as well?" he asked in disbelief.
Edward shook his head. "It's something different from the magic you encountered in the alley. We refer to them collectively as 'powers'—abilities that override normal laws of nature. They can range from telepathy and illusions to direct mental commands. And yes, the Script-Decipherers boast a significant number of individuals who can wield them."
An uneasy quiver ran through Charles's chest. He had always believed in cause and effect, in logic and reason. Yet these unnatural "powers" defied everything he thought he knew. The realization that such abilities existed—lethal and mighty—shook him deeply.
But seeing it with his own eyes, he had no choice but to believe it, regardless of how much he wished not to. The foundation of rational thinking he had built his career upon now clashed violently with the supernatural reality revealed before him. The contrast between what he had always held true and what he was now witnessing left him profoundly disoriented.
He recalled the many cases he had handled as a detective. Had there ever been an instance involving such fantastical elements that he'd missed, or mistaken for mundane crime? Doubt crept in: might he have jailed the wrong person in a case influenced by these forces?
Edward watched Charles's face register fear and turmoil. "Don't worry yourself," he said, "If any of your past investigations had contained supernatural elements, they wouldn't have reached you in the first place. Our special unit would have intervened long before they landed on a regular detective's desk."
Though that answer steadied Charles somewhat, he still wasn't fully at ease. His head spun with questions.
"Anyway," Edward continued, "this is precisely why I'm inviting you to join our special unit. Your investigative talents could be invaluable. Besides…" His eyes hardened. "You share some responsibility for the Script-Decipherers still being at large."
"W–What?!" Charles stammered, reeling at the accusation.
Edward's expression darkened. "We planned a major raid on one of their hideouts two days ago—but an unexpected complication arose. The city guards went off to inspect an orphanage in that area, leading to the presence of extra patrols. That made the Script-Decipherers suspicious, and they fled before we could launch our assault. Our entire plan failed. We traced that slip back to you."
He paused. "Remember that case at the Stone Estate? The one involving the maid who tried to poison her employer and the visiting noble?"
Charles's face fell. That was the inquiry he had dug into, which led him to the Old Town orphanage. He'd been proud of exposing the truth—but apparently, it had also thrown a wrench in someone else's plans.
"That was you? You're the one who messed up our long-prepared operation!" one of the battered guards shouted from across the room, glaring at Charles.
"Hey, I was just doing my job!" Charles retorted indignantly. "It's not like I planned to ruin anyone's sting operation."
"That didn't stop you from destroying our operation, did it? Do you have any idea how many months we spent setting that up?" the same guard continued furiously.
"Couldn't you have coordinated with the city guards from the start?" Charles shot back, exasperated. They went on bickering, neither side willing to yield.
Joseph inserted himself between them, trying to calm the tension. "Enough! We're on the same side here—there's no point arguing!"
Gradually, the guard and Charles backed down, though both still wore stubborn scowls. Joseph exhaled, casting Edward a pleading glance.
Nodding at Joseph, Edward turned to Charles again. "If you help us successfully with this operation, you can claim the entire credit with your guild. You'll be paid your standard detective fee, or more."
Charles blinked, puzzled as to why Edward would give him credit for an official mission. "Why let me take the credit? Shouldn't it belong to you?"
"Because our work must stay secret," Edward said flatly. "If we let you take the spotlight, then we don't have to make up complex stories or excuses. It keeps us off the record."
Charles considered this for a long beat. "But—"
"If you refuse," Edward cut him off, "we have no choice but to keep you under close watch. For your own safety and ours."
"What? Why would you have to do that?" Charles asked, alarmed.
Edward's tone was resolute. "The Script-Decipherers have marked you. You're a target now. It's our duty to keep you safe, which means we need to keep you close. And we cannot simply let you go free with all you've learned."
Given few viable alternatives, Charles let out a tight sigh, resigned to accept Edward's half-invitation, half-demand. A small, satisfied smile curved on Edward's lips; that was clearly the outcome he had hoped for.
Joseph promptly volunteered. "I'll look after him. Help him learn what he needs to know. I know him best out of all of us."
Edward gave his immediate consent. So Joseph led Charles out into a corridor, carrying a lantern to light their way. Flickering shadows danced across worn stone walls, as both men remained silent. Charles was lost in thought, Joseph was pensive as he guided him through a flight of narrow stairs climbing steadily upward.
Upon reaching the top, Charles paused to glance back. The steps sank into darkness, melding seamlessly with the old walls and floors, as if no hidden passage had ever been there. Outside, he found only the crumbling husk of a decrepit building: sagging plaster, broken windows. At a glance, it seemed like nothing but a ruin.
In the moonlight, Charles surveyed their surroundings. A battered old coach waited nearby; Joseph steered him in that direction, helping him aboard with utmost care. The driver glanced curiously at Charles, eyebrows raised, but Joseph merely waved him off, muttering he'd explain later. Accepting that explanation was not forthcoming, the driver snapped the reins, and they rode off into the silent, moonlit streets.
Charles sat across from Joseph, the tension between them palpable. Charles eyed his friend warily; Joseph, for his part, refused to let Charles out of his sight for a single moment. The only sound was the steady clop-clop of the horse's hooves and the grind of wheels on the cobblestones in the hush of the night.