They all call me Great Master

Longbain was a gentle gentleman.

Everyone who knew him evaluated him that way.

And every time he heard such an evaluation, Longbain would respond with a humble smile—precisely because of this, he grew to dislike his main job: the Intelligence Trafficker.

Although the 'Cloak Society' went by various names, its essence was still that of intelligence traffickers.

Longbain saw through this long ago.

As one of the earliest members of the 'Cloak Society,' Longbain had joined only to make a living, never imagining that it could flourish and grow—in his estimation, the 'Cloak Society' could last 3-4 months would have been a miracle.

Who would have thought it would last 14 years!

And the scope of its influence grew broader and broader.

But Longbain still wasn't optimistic about the 'Cloak Society'!

Because someone like him, with just a tiny bit of 'Talent,' yet full of fear and not daring to face the dangers and bizarre aspects of the 'Mystic Side,' was somehow considered an excellent information collector by the president and was appointed as the head of South Los' 'Cloak Society'—all for merely doing his job.

He was far from remarkable.

Just like now, having processed the images about the 'Spirit Medium,' 'Blood Descendants,' and the Grand Duke's advisor that came during the day, Longbain was ready to leave work.

From nine to five, with no weekends off, every single day.

"Keep an eye on this place. If anything happens, remember to notify me."

Longbain, openly an art enthusiast skilled in painting and sculpture, left the 94 Clara Street base and instructed his assistant—this assistant was recommended by one of the 'Cloak Society's' higher-ups, and he didn't refuse, nor did he want to.

Compared to the scum and villainy of the 'Cloak Society,' he preferred the sunlight, food, and rich and peaceful life of South Los.

If it weren't for this secret identity, he would have chosen to buy a moderately-sized farmhouse in the outskirts of South Los and retired by now.

And now?

Touching his balding head and putting on his hat, Longbain headed towards the seaside.

He wanted to listen to the sound of the sea.

After Longbain left, his assistant became increasingly reckless—when Longbain was around, he could still restrain himself from going overboard.

Once Longbain was gone, the assistant began to 'self-inspect' some valuable things.

This was naturally against the official rules.

But everyone did it in secret.

Otherwise, the salary handed out by the society wasn't nearly enough to maintain a decent lifestyle, let alone enter high-class clubs.

That little money was completely insufficient.

Especially since he recently wanted to get to know a lady at a high-class club and hoped to have deeper interactions with her, the necessary expenses made him even more impatient.

Too bad they were all trivial matters, which greatly irritated the assistant, especially when he thought of the lady's every smile and frown, and he could only watch, his anger grew.

Time passed second by second.

It quickly grew dark.

Then, the 'Messenger Stone' began to flicker again.

The images related to the 'Spirit Medium' and the 'Death Poetry Society. Thirty Choir' were transmitted back.

Seeing these images, the assistant's expression immediately lit up with excitement.

He knew his opportunity had arrived!

But...

Should he do it?

The risk was a bit high!

But thinking of that lady, the assistant gritted his teeth—he decided to go through with it!

Not just go through with it, but to do it thoroughly.

He planned to sell the information within the 'Messenger Stone' to the major forces he knew, and then, with money in hand, elope with that lady.

He couldn't stay in South Los.

But Inner Bay was another fine choice.

If the lady didn't want to go to Inner Bay, they could take to the seas!

Thinking of the beautiful days ahead with that lady, the assistant excitedly dashed out of 94 Clara Street.

...

"Mr. Garcia, I'm so sorry."

In the editor's office of the 'Horn Report,' Scott returned the manuscript to the sorrow-faced middle-aged man in front of him, Mr. Garcia, with a regretful expression.

Scott truly admired this gentleman from the bottom of his heart.

For ten years, the man had persisted in submitting manuscripts to the 'Horn Report,' but not a single one had been accepted.

It wasn't that his writing was poor, quite the contrary, his foundation was solid, and his logic was meticulous.

It was just...

That it was too absurd.

Not fanciful, but fake.

Each piece, after reading, evoked an unmistakable feeling from the bottom of one's heart that it was 'fake, just too fake.'

Scott felt the same after reading them.

After all, he could understand spies, but to complete spy work based solely on conjecture seemed impossible to the young reporter.

That's why this rejection occurred.

As he watched Garcia leave, the young reporter began to pack up, ready to leave work.

"Day without Arthur sure is leisurely," the young reporter whispered to himself.

Having discussed with the old sheriff the previous night, both confirmed that Arthur must be favored by the 'Grim Reaper,' otherwise how could there be so many cases happening continuously?

However, as Arthur's friend, the young reporter thought it proper to consider Arthur's dignity.

So, on the days when Arthur was absent, the young reporter asked the old sheriff to join him for drinks at the club.

He heard there was a very nice lady there recently.

He wanted to meet, oh to meet.

The young reporter headed towards the Shire District Police Station, while Garcia, having left the 'Horn Report,' walked home with his manuscripts towards Clara Street.

"Ah!

I guess I'm just someone without any Talent!

I thought it would make a great story!"

Garcia's mouth was full of sighs.

What made him sigh even more was that he had to stop writing for a while.

He was out of money.

He had to do something else.

For example: selling intelligence.

He wasn't a professional intelligence trafficker, but he had been carefully observing after discovering some things at 94 Clara Street.

After that, he found some channels to supplement his finances.

As he was thinking about this, the assistant from 94 Clara Street appeared in front of him, blocking his path.

Garcia didn't like this assistant, not even a bit, even after glimpsing their second occupation through his Peeping.

Because, through Peeping, Garcia knew what kind of person they were.

Greedy, slothful, and quite nasty.

In short, Garcia could apply every negative adjective he could think of to them.

"What do you want?"

Garcia asked cautiously.

"News!

A very nice piece of news—at the cost of just a little money!"

The assistant, having already peddled the news around, was returning to 94 Clara Street to prepare for departure when he spotted Garcia on his way home.

Seeing Garcia, whom he had 'put on the path,' the assistant had an idea.

He planned to make an extra profit.

But Garcia was not buying it.

He walked around the assistant and headed home.

"Don't rush, take a look first!"

The assistant took out a 'Messenger Stone' and handed it to Garcia—who also had 'A Tiny Bit' of Talent and manipulated the 'Messenger Stone' with skill.

The assistant had taught him that, charging him ten Suo.

When Garcia saw part of the content inside the 'Messenger Stone,' he immediately widened his eyes.

Members of the Death Poetry Society were untouchables for Garcia.

As for the members of the higher-ranked 'Thirty Choir'?

He didn't even dare to think about it.

Let alone the 'Choir Quartet,' those high-ups.

"100 Suo, and this 'Messenger Stone' is yours.

I guarantee the content to follow is even more sensational."

The assistant said with a timed smile, preparing to abscond.

He was already planning his escape; though the 'Messenger Stone' was valuable, it likely carried the Cloak Society's Mark, which he dared not keep.

Better to give it to Garcia and divert attention elsewhere.

Garcia didn't respond, returning the 'Messenger Stone' to the assistant before turning to leave.

"50, 30…10 Suo!

10 Suo has to be okay, right?"

The assistant quickly dropped his price.

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He didn't want to leave empty-handed, not at this point.

A mosquito's leg, no matter how small, is still meat—it could at least earn him a horse-drawn carriage.

Garcia stopped in his tracks.

He actually had 10 Suo, which amounted to all his assets.

Though he was sure the assistant must have sold this news to many big shots already, no small fry would have it.

The blockade those big shots imposed on the likes of them was unimaginable.

If he were to sell it…

He could earn his living expenses!

He could continue his writing in seclusion!

Thinking this, Garcia nodded.

Then, the images of a battle between 'Spirit Medium' and 'Death Poetry Society.Thirty Choir' began to spread in a bizarre and extreme way.

In South Los' Mystic Side, quite a few upper-class individuals became aware.

In South Los' Mystic Side, quite a few lower-class individuals also became aware.

After that, the spread began.

It disseminated at an unparalleled speed.

At the moment, Wuni had just flown into 6 White Bird Street.@@novelbin@@

Marinda, who had been resting with her eyes narrowed, opened them the moment Wuni flew into 6 White Bird Street—the intensely distinct Aura of Death made the lady feel annoyed.

She saw it as a provocation from the Death Poetry Society.

Immediately, the lady decided to intensify her interrogation of Grover.

She wanted to get everything he knew out of him.

And then?

Naturally, it was to take fierce revenge on the Death Poetry Society!

However, when the lady pinpointed the Aura of Death, her face showed astonishment.

Although Wuni had undergone some changes due to the "Breath of Death," one could still recognize its basic form.

The lady recognized Wuni as one of the two Crows she had given to Arthur.

But at the same time, the lady was certain that Wuni shouldn't possess the Aura of Death.

And that speed—it was clearly the result of a Magical Creatures' Promotion.

Facing this scene, the lady immediately had a realization—

"So that's what it is!"