The eccentric doctor never makes a misdiagnosis!

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As the sounds of cutting and sewing leather gradually filled the air, Fran quickly tailored the nun's robe to conform to the aforementioned theory and dressed Heda in it.

"How does it feel?"

She slightly raised her eyebrows and looked at Haida.

Asking the wearer about their feelings after completing the piece is an indispensable part of being a tailor.

"very suitable."

Haida tentatively moved her legs, and the fact that the dragon tail was no longer tucked into her trousers greatly improved her comfort. However, one thing puzzled her slightly.

Fran had previously mentioned that the dragon's tail could be folded and concealed, like the Sphinx, hidden inside the body. But at present, she seems to have no intention of undergoing such surgery.

In fact, Haida had a vague idea of ​​the answer, but she had not received confirmation from him personally.

Of course, she didn't intend to ask.

For Fran, performing the interlocking and overlapping treatment on this blackened dragon tail posed no technical difficulty, but it was truly a pity that something so uniquely beautiful was simply hidden away… and that he would have to find a reasonable and respectable medical explanation if he wanted to reach out and touch it in the future.

Fortunately, Haida's funeral maid's armor robe had a wide back hem, so as long as it was intentionally concealed, it was not so easy for people to notice.

As the word "conceal" flashed through his mind, Fran inexplicably recalled the face of the chief hunter, Yaheng, perpetually shrouded in shadow. Then, a flash of inspiration struck him, and an idea that could balance aesthetics and practicality quietly emerged. Part Two

“Haidar, if you feel the dragon tail's concealment is still insufficient, I suggest you study some shadow manipulation techniques. Even the most basic third-class secret technique, [Dim Shadow Creation], should meet your needs.”

"Regarding the texts on this subject... Vivian has some rubbings I provided; I think she'd be happy to share them." (Part Three)

"Yes. I'll go to the Secret Court first after I return to the Order."

Hedaly landed and accepted the offer.

She had glimpsed that celestial-shaped, deep crimson eye when she left Norrington—vast, profound, and eerie. Therefore, she had always had a somewhat unpleasant impression of the Shadow Ritual originating from the Six-Eyed Raven, and had not yet delved into it deeply.

But since the doctor in front of her had made a recommendation, she was willing to give it a try.

Heda may not know much about this, but Fran knows very well that she is probably the most suitable individual, besides the chief hunter, to study the Shadow Ritual.

In the future, she will be favored by the Six-Eyed Raven, and now she has undergone Primarchization through the process of "Lord of the Dark Ravens" Corvacs Corax. Even without access to the genome related to that Primarch, her talents should be amplified to some extent.

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soup!

(Hehehe, Tsuruko's body is just too perfect)

Chapter Thirty-One: Bitter Mushroom Gong

Shaluo Tavern, back alley of Moonburton Street, North Norlington.

Norrington has not experienced the continuous rain of previous months.

The bright sunlight, appearing at dawn and setting at dusk, is no longer obscured by thick clouds. However, it is colder after midnight than in early autumn, as if the things hanging high in the sky have exhausted their light and heat during the day and are reluctant to return.

However, the tavern owner's heart was even colder than the weather.

"What the hell is all this rotten stuff..."

Old Henry kept flipping through the ledgers, sighing as he looked at the barely profitable income and expenses, his brows furrowing deeper and deeper.

Generally speaking, winter is the off-season for bars and similar social venues. After all, not everyone can brave the wind and snow to come to a bar just to get drunk... so it's normal for business to be slow.

Anyway, it's the same every year, there's nothing unacceptable about it. Even if my own tavern is bad, it's not to the point where I need to lose money to run it.

What really bothered him was something else.

Just last month, a horrific crime occurred on Moonburton Street, where the tavern is located. The details were simple: a factory worker named Dwyer and his brother were found dead in their home. According to a resident of the building who had been drinking, funeral attendants from the Order of the Mystics were apparently present at the time.

Residents of Norlington who live there year-round generally follow a set of three criteria for judging cases.

If only detectives from the city hall are involved, it can basically be classified as an ordinary case between people. In a few days, the full story will be published in the newspaper after being reviewed and edited. Although it is still unsettling, it can only be considered as something to talk about over tea.

However, if hunters are involved and there is no reporting of the entire incident, the danger level becomes questionable...

Unfortunately, the Dwyer case falls into this category.

While Moonburton Street isn't exactly in a state of panic, it does create a sense of insecurity, reducing pub patrons' willingness to venture out. Besides this, business owners are also understandably worried about their own safety.

But what can we do? Move away?

Without a doubt, this is putting the cart before the horse. As long as one doesn't break the hunter's code, there's almost no safer city than Norrington. Even disregarding one's financial situation, leaving rashly will only make one's personal safety even more precarious.

"Damn it, we were laughing at that 'Mandala' company in Sandrank just a few months ago, and now this has happened to us."

Old Henry grumbled, tossed aside the ledger with some irritation, and then placed his hands on the small wood-burning stove to warm them.

The warmth rising from his palms made the old man feel better. He then opened the metal cap of a bottle of whiskey, poured himself a small glass, and drank it all in one gulp.

"...Perhaps we should be content; at least it didn't happen in a tavern."

The reason he said that was largely because the case at the Mandala Tavern was far more serious and caused far greater losses. Even the culprit had been on the Hunter's Order's most wanted criminal list, only recently being removed.

It seems to be called something like "Nightmare Guest"?

According to several guests, the largest room in the Mandala Tavern was almost completely destroyed during the battle, with bullet holes, corpses and limbs scattered everywhere, and water from an unknown source... Even the concrete partition between the floors had a huge hole torn in it.

It's estimated that just repairing the building will cost a lot of money, not to mention the damaged decorations.

The strong liquor went down his throat, and the slight warmth made old Henry's thoughts a little unclear.

But there's no need to worry about it anymore; the Nightmare Hunter's bounty is destined to be irrelevant to him. Hunters never remove names from the list of most wanted criminals unless the individual has been pardoned through some extremely costly means, or has already been apprehended.

Of course, the most likely scenario is that the death has been confirmed.

"Hopefully business will be better next spring. Although Norlington has been a bit chaotic in the last two years, it's still much better than staying in Alamata."

The old man pursed his lips and didn't continue drinking. Instead, he leaned against the leather sofa in the small tavern room and closed his eyes for a short rest.

Henry was an immigrant from the shifting sands of Attilion who moved his family to Norrington before the Second War of Retti. Strictly speaking, the Salor pub is a branch, as its decor, entertainment, and drinks are all inherited from a more well-known pub.

Its name is "Bell Fork and Bone Cup".

……

The tavern lobby.

The Shaluo Tavern wasn't full at the moment, and the atmosphere wasn't as bustling and noisy as usual. But quite a few regulars still came in the evening, sitting in a circle around the wooden square table and small stove, boasting about their recent experiences and observations with exaggerated expressions.

For exhausted workers or low-level office workers who see no future, enjoying some spicy grilled meat and a few bottles of beer after a night shift is an almost irresistible temptation. The only obstacle is probably their thinning wallets.

Alcohol often brings a bitter taste to the taste buds, but the satisfaction of having one's nerves numbed can often give one an illusory sweetness.

This is exactly what drinkers need.

Most of the guests in the hall were already slightly tipsy, and no one noticed the arrival of a stranger.

The inchworm ordered a glass of absinthe on the rocks, then sat alone in a corner, seemingly waiting for someone.

Absinthe is a traditional spirit, and its preparation involves adding anise extract, giving it a peculiar herbal flavor, making it a relatively niche item at Salo Bar. However, he quite liked the taste.

The rich concentration of the liquor, the light taste, the stimulating aftertaste, and the rapid surge of intoxication... restrained yet indulgent, it is quite in line with the inchworm's own code of conduct.

"Hasn't he arrived yet?"

He raised his hand and glanced at the time on his wristwatch; the hour hand had just passed the 21 o'clock mark.

For those who have been busy all day, it's already quite late, and staying up any later might affect their energy levels the next day. But for another group of people who are used to being active at midnight, the night is just beginning.

A moment later, a figure wearing a leather travel robe pushed open the door and entered the tavern. He glanced around briefly, his gaze finally settling on the inchworm, before quickly taking a seat opposite it.

“Robbishau, I remember the agreed meeting time was nine o’clock.”

The inchworm pursed its lips and briefly complained about the other party's lack of punctuality.

"Sorry, things are a bit tense here, so I'm a few minutes late. As you know, the Hunters, like us, prefer to operate at night, and things haven't been simple on Moonburton Street lately. The Hunters are cracking down hard on underground transactions and gray-market activities."

As an intelligence dealer, relic middleman, and underground career consultant, Robbie Shaw, while explaining why he was late, threw out some recent intelligence as a pretext, hoping to pique the inchworm's interest.

The inchworm was clearly familiar with his tricks, and since both of them worshipped moths in the forest, they were, in a sense, quite familiar with each other.

"Oh?"

He seemed intrigued by this, but brought up something else entirely.

“Speaking of which, there’s something that bothers me. In my records, your meeting place for the past few years has always been Mandala. How come you suddenly changed it to the Saluo Tavern? If it weren’t for the ciphertext of the new address left there before, I wouldn’t even be able to find it.”

"There's nothing we can do about it..."

Upon hearing this, Robbie Shaw waved his hand, then familiarly called over the bartender, ordered a draft beer, and began to recount the events.

"The Secret Service has always known that the Misty Society is engaged in intelligence trading or privately reselling some shady items. As long as they don't go too far and are willing to provide detailed bills and pay the full amount of taxes, they won't interfere too much."

"So the connector never needs to be replaced."

"But something unpleasant happened at the Mandala Tavern before. As far as I know, the 'Star Chart Study Group' under the Star Abyss Society went crazy for some reason and actually attacked a high priest who was at least at the fourth rank."

As he spoke, he narrowed his eyes slightly, a hint of unease in his eyes, as if worried that this might happen to him.

"The result was that they were all wiped out overnight. There were no survivors, not even a complete corpse. Limbs, torn pieces, and internal organs were scattered all over the ground. The leader of the organization changed the meeting place the next day, fearing that it would affect us."

Just as Robbie Shaw finished speaking, the tavern waitress brought over a pitcher of draft beer. He immediately picked up the glass, tilted his head back, and took a large gulp without a care for his image, his mouth full of foam when he put the glass down.

"call."

He let out a long, satisfying sigh, and looked refreshed.

According to the usual practice in the intelligence-selling industry, the information just now was not something that could be heard for free. However, since the Inchworm came from the Obscure Society of Gormouth and held a higher rank within the organization, Robbieshaw could only recount what he knew.

"Look, I've told you what I know. Could you reveal some information about Mordwell's situation?"

Normally, Robbie Shaw wouldn't mind continuing to feign politeness with the person in front of him, but the upper echelons of the society are very concerned about the current situation of the Abyss Kingdom, so much so that he has been under considerable pressure to gather relevant intelligence recently.

And there happened to be a visitor named Foy in front of him, which made him almost unable to suppress his eagerness.

"If it's an exchange of intelligence, then what you're saying is completely insignificant."

The inchworm's expression remained unchanged, but its tone became somewhat stern.

He had only been in Norrington for a short time and spent most of his time teaching the young students in the Department of Political History, so he hadn't paid much attention to the title "Nightmare" on the wanted list of serious criminals.

Otherwise, he would probably be surprised that he not only met the culprit, but also witnessed his death in the fallen city.

In addition, Robbie Shaw's cognitive state also reveals another phenomenon.

He was unaware that he had betrayed the society and continued to treat himself as a chaplain of moths. His tone was cunning and mercenary, yet tinged with a hint of servility in the presence of those in high positions. The Norrington society, too, seemed to know very little about what was happening in Gormouth.

The inchworm lowered its gaze slightly, momentarily lost in thought.

Strange. Based on her conversation with the Hermit Lady, the Priestess in the Ochre-White Dress withdrew from the covert war midway through, so she should have survived. Didn't she provide any feedback to the higher levels of the Order afterward?

Or perhaps the Norrington Society had already figured out my situation and was just trying to set up a scam by taking advantage of my luck?

Given the appalling character and conduct of some of the Moth Disciples, this is not impossible.

“Alright, Inchworm Master, you’re right.”

Robbie Shaw looked somewhat disappointed, but he ultimately agreed with the other party's statement.

The case at the Mandala Tavern is at best a minor episode before the prologue, far too insignificant compared to the upheavals that are unfolding in Gormouth. Without some substantial "hard stuff," it seems impossible to exchange for the information one desires.

While one could try to contact their superior and have them put pressure on the inchworm… that would mean losing all the credit. Furthermore, it would directly alienate the person in front of them, making it somewhat of a loss from a personal perspective.

“Here’s the thing, I have the latest investigation report on the Dwyer case on Moonburton Street. It’s definitely not an ordinary murder or one or two evil offspring running around attacking citizens… but is related to a taboo involving a certain Class I relic.”

“This is exclusive intelligence; there will be no other way to obtain it except through me. Even the Ravens of the Secret Service cannot keep up with our progress in investigations before they have a clear understanding of the situation.”

"If the inchworm is interested, I will use it as a bargaining chip. Don't think about it for too long. You know, timeliness is the only indicator that determines the value of information... What you know and what I know are constantly depreciating."

Robbie Shaw chuckled softly and presented his proposal.

"can."

Surprisingly, the inchworm agreed quite readily.

As he spoke, he deftly took a report letter from his pocket, placed it flat on the table, and then pushed it to Robbie Shaw's side.

Inchworms are always accustomed to having two plans.

If the Obscure Society's Norrington faction has begun to doubt its stance and intends to resort to force, then what he needs to use is not this report with its key points revised in advance... but the standard-issue pistol hidden in his sleeve.

He didn't care whether doing so would escalate the conflict.

If they were in other regions, the Inchworm would be somewhat hesitant to purge the Misty Society, but this is Norrington.

First of all, I am a registered lecturer at Norlington Central College and legally enjoy the protection of the White Cup Church.

Secondly, you can call the police yourself.