"That first possibility," Joseph explained, "is if the Ascendant's spirit remains intact and fully aware after death. It's no normal ghost, but a powerful entity retaining all the abilities it possessed in life."
Charles swallowed hard, picturing a spirit with superhuman powers.
"When such a spirit appears, it might help people from time to time. But more often than not, it becomes a menace—especially if it died harboring hatred or leaving some unfinished purpose behind."
"Is there a way to get rid of spirits like that?" Charles asked, his voice quavering.
"There is," Joseph replied, "but it's complicated. They have no physical form, so purely physical measures don't do much good. Each one is tough to subdue. That's why it's such a nightmare."
He paused to gather his breath before continuing. "The second possibility is no less dangerous."
Charles leaned forward, eyes locked on Joseph.
"In that second case, the Ascendant's soul or power can attach itself to a nearby object. It could be anything—jewelry, a weapon, a book, or even a piece of the Ascendant's own remains. Once the power lodges itself there, the object becomes what we call a 'cursed artifact.'"
"These artifacts harbor supernatural power."
"And they usually grant special abilities to whoever possesses them, but…" Joseph's voice grew heavy, "…they come with a price."
"What kind of price?" Charles asked in a subdued tone.
"It differs from one artifact to another," Joseph said. "Some make the owner gradually lose their mind, some drain their life force and cause accelerated aging, others instill a hunger that can never be satisfied."
He pressed on. "And these artifacts often lure people, enticing them to want possession. Some individuals will kill one another for them, not realizing how dangerous they truly are."
"How do we handle cursed artifacts?" Charles asked.
"It's difficult," Joseph answered tersely. "Some can be destroyed with special rituals, but many can't be destroyed at all. We have to store those securely, far from the public. That's part of the Technology Division's job."
Charles lapsed into a thoughtful silence, simultaneously fascinated and terrified by it all.
"Remember, Charles," Joseph cautioned him. "If you ever come across an object that feels unnatural or gives you a strange sensation, don't touch it. Report it to us immediately. It could be a dangerous artifact."
Charles gave a firm nod, realizing how drastically his world had changed. Anything he saw might hide a lethal secret.
Joseph ended his explanation of the Ascendants with a soft sigh. He studied Charles, who sat there deep in thought.
"How are you feeling? Any more questions?" Joseph asked.
Charles shook his head slowly. "No more for now. I think I just need time to process all this."
"No problem," Joseph replied with an encouraging smile. "It's a lot to take in. If anything else comes up, ask me whenever."
Charles nodded, then ventured, "What about the black-market groups you mentioned? Is there more I should know?"
Joseph shook his head. "For now, it's enough to focus on the Script-Decipherers. There are plenty of other illegal organizations out there, but we'll cover those as we go along."
Charles nodded, curiosity still stirring within him, but he chose not to press further.
"In that case," Joseph said, rising to his feet, "let's use the rest of our time practicing. There's still a lot you need to learn—like the arcane language used in spells and how each bit works."
With that, Joseph began teaching Charles the basics of the arcane script: the vocabulary, how to pronounce the words, their alphabets, grammar, and the taboos surrounding them. He also shared some simple spells he used routinely.
For Charles, it felt like returning to those days two years ago when he had to relearn a new language from scratch under the Cavendish family's care. But this time, he realized he had to be even more careful—muddling a single syllable in the arcane tongue could have disastrous consequences.
And so, the intense training carried on. Charles slowly absorbed the fundamentals, guided closely by Joseph. Time slipped by unnoticed for both of them.
…
Late-afternoon sunlight filtered through the canopy of towering trees, stretching shadows across a winding forest road. Hoofbeats drummed a steady rhythm as an army column advanced down a long dirt track. Hundreds of infantry marched in orderly lines, with cavalry leading the way, banners snapping in the breeze. Beneath the bright afternoon sun, supply wagons laden with provisions and heavy arms rolled on behind the foot soldiers, their wheels grinding in tandem with the riders' calls.
In the heart of the formation rode a certain woman astride a fine horse. Her posture was poised and self-assured, suggesting some high rank within the army.
She guided her mount closer to a tall, imposing man clad in ornate armor—the lead general of this column. She greeted him respectfully, voice confident yet polite.
"General, I request permission to speak."
The general turned to her with a stern expression. "Yes, Brigadier. Speak."
"I'd like to separate from the main force for a short while to visit my family," she said carefully. "I haven't seen them in six years."
He considered her words, then nodded. "Very well. You deserve it after your valor in service of the kingdom. Go see them."
Her face lit with relief. "Thank you, General."
"But you must take two guards with you," he warned, "and rejoin the column before we reach the capital. We shall celebrate our victory together. Understood?"
She bowed gratefully at the permission. Quickly summoning two of her escorts, she ordered them to prepare. Soon, the small group peeled away from the main procession, riding off at speed.
…
A few hours later, while soft midday sunlight slanted through the windows of the Department of Supernatural Suppression and Protection, Charles and Joseph returned from lunch. They strolled side by side along a corridor leading toward the Investigation Division's meeting room. By now, Charles's leg wound had healed significantly, so he no longer needed the support of a cane.
"Have you gotten the hang of the arcane script yet?" Joseph asked, glancing at Charles.
"I've just started, but I can recall those first three basic incantations," Charles said.
As they stepped into the meeting room, Charles let his gaze roam. A long wooden table occupied the center, and most of the chairs were filled. Some members eyed him with interest, some with appraisal, others whispered softly among themselves.
At the head of the table sat Edward, looking grim yet alert as he acknowledged Charles and Joseph. He nodded, beckoning them to join.
Charles took a seat beside Joseph and surveyed the others. Each had their own distinct look. One man in particular stood out—a tall figure with dark skin. At first, Charles thought he might be from some distant land, but on a closer glance, the man's features suggested a strong Hydelyn influence. It seemed more likely he was biracial than foreign-born. 'Half Afniker,' Charles thought to himself.
A discreet cough drew everyone's attention. Rising to his feet, Edward spoke. "First, I'd like to formally introduce our new member: Charles Ravencroft," he announced, gesturing toward Charles. He paused before adding, "He's a detective whose name some of you might already know."
A low murmur spread around the table. Charles noticed a few nods—apparently, some recognized his past exploits.
"He's also the one who inadvertently disrupted our plan to raid the Script-Decipherers not long ago," Edward continued.
That remark made a handful of faces tense up, a reminder of what had gone awry. Charles sensed their displeasure but held himself with composure, refusing to shrink under their scrutiny.
"But," Edward added more forcefully, "his investigations also exposed the child-trafficking ring hidden within that orphanage."
The mention of this brightened the mood slightly; the tension eased. Edward pressed on with the introductions:
"Viola Holbrook, our forensic analyst and physician." A blonde woman with shoulder-length hair, wearing a silver monocle, gave Charles a curt nod.
"Sebastian Morrow, our expert in spellcraft and rituals." A man with shoulder-length black hair and a slight beard raised a hand in friendly greeting.
"Abigail Huntington, our scholar of ancient languages and myths." A black-haired woman with vivid blue eyes offered Charles a warm smile.
"Amelia Hartley, our division coordinator and secretary." A slender, light-brown-haired woman waved cheerfully.
"And finally, Andrew Hope, our weapon specialist and combat veteran." The tall, dark-skinned man Charles had noticed earlier inclined his head, expression grave.
Edward paused. "The rest are currently out on other missions—including the two who tracked you yesterday. They're monitoring Michael Berg's family."
"Now," Edward said with renewed gravity, "we need a new plan since our previous raid fell through…"
At once, the tension ratcheted up again. Everyone straightened, bracing for critical updates. Charles's heartbeat quickened—he could sense the significance of this moment, aware that they were starting a real operation. He would have to be ready for anything, especially to rectify the mishap he had inadvertently caused.
The introductions done, Edward addressed Amelia. "Amelia, do we have any leads on the Script-Decipherers' new hideout?"
She shook her head, disappointed. "I'm sorry, sir. Nothing we can trace. They've gone completely silent since the city guard's sudden appearance in that area."
At her words, many faces turned momentarily toward Charles. He noticed the flicker of resentment lingering in their gaze. Still, he forced himself not to flinch, meeting those stares with steady resolve.
Edward took in the room's reaction and said, "There's no need to feel that guilty, Charles. You did nothing wrong—you did what was right and no one expected that orphanage to be involved in child-smuggling. It was just an unfortunate coincidence that impacted our plan.
Charles's chest loosened with relief. He gave Edward a grateful look, then cracked a half-joke, "Sir, I'd appreciate it if you didn't read my mind right now."
A ripple of low laughter spread across the table, tensions ebbing a bit more.
Edward nodded, moving on. "Anyway, let's brainstorm. How do we proceed from here? Ideas?"
Sebastian raised a hand. "We've tried tracking their supply chain before. They're good at hiding their movements, but they still need resources. Maybe we could try that again?"
Viola interjected, "But they'll be even more cautious this time, right? Last time, it took us ages to find them."
"Yes," Amelia admitted, "but we pulled it off once. Doing it again might work, and we'll be more efficient with the experience we gained."
"I think we should also investigate their finances," Andrew proposed. "If they're buying supplies, we can follow the money."
The debate continued intensely, each member contributing points. Finally, Edward raised a hand to settle the room.
"I agree with all your suggestions. We'll combine them," he said, then turned to Charles and Joseph. "I want you both to focus on locating Michael Berg. The rest of us will concentrate on figuring out where the Script-Decipherers went."
They all nodded in unison.
Before the meeting ended, Edward addressed Charles once more. "During your mission, I'd also like you to act as bait. If those watchers target you again, it might spur them into revealing themselves. But you won't need to do anything special—just be conspicuous while investigating."
Charles returned a firm nod, accepting the role. If those unknown pursuers made a move, they might leave clues behind.
With that decided, Charles and Joseph prepared to head out to Old Town, determined to track down any leads on Michael Berg. They climbed into a carriage and set off. Outside, droplets of rain began to fall, turning the dirt roads slick with mud. Lost in thought, Charles pored over every shred of evidence they had, forming multiple hypotheses. Once again, he felt the weight of a new mystery settling upon him, and all he could do was press on into the shadows of Old Town in hopes of finding answers.