1-10

Panthonia walked over to Dennisen's side, tapping his knuckles on the desk. The office was shared by four other investigators, and this gesture indicated he wanted to speak privately. Dennisen stood up, and the two of them moved out into the corridor.

"I need you to assign some manpower to protect someone," Panthonia said.

"Who?" Dennisen asked.

"The singer we were investigating last time. Her real name is Hilsbeth."

"Oh! Right. Tell me what's going on."

"She disappeared briefly for a few days because Salvaney's people were lurking around the hotel. She's been scared ever since Aretta died."

"And did you find out anything from her?"

"She doesn't know much about the relationship between Aretta and the Salvaney family. She's just a singer trying to make a living, who happened to be friends with Aretta. If it weren't for that, she wouldn't have survived until now."

"So... you want me to assign people to protect her in Queens? Not to go against you, mate, but I feel like this is an unnecessary risk."

"No. She's not living in Queens anymore."

"What? Explain."

"Duke Koen has a son named Phipin, you know him, right?"

"Of course, I've bumped into him several times. Poor lad needs help even mounting a horse."

"It's Hilsbeth's stroke of luck. Phipin is infatuated with her, often attends her performances, and even gave her a diamond necklace. When Koen found out, he naturally didn't want his son wandering around Queens at night, so he asked me to come up with a solution. A few days ago, I took her out of Queens and went to talk to Koen. Finally, his family's priest, Herlan, offered a compromise: to arrange for her to join the church choir. This way, she can stay in a safe place as much as possible, and even if Phipin visits her every day, there won't be any rumors spreading."

"Being a father isn't easy. So, where is she living now?"

"Here's the address." Panthonia handed a small piece of paper to Dennisen. "What I want you to do is not surveillance or tight protection, just ensure that Salvaney's people won't find her in the near future. Given enough time, they'll lose interest in her."

"Salvaney is after her? Did you encounter any problems when you took her out?"

"Not really."

"Alright. I got it." Dennisen glanced at the paper, then said, "Helping out is only fair, after all, I was the one who asked you to find her in the first place. Can't help it, Panthonia, you're better with women. So..."

"Let's not leave a formal record of this matter. And don't tell your subordinates who they're protecting."

"Alright, I completely understand. Since it involves Koen, I know how it goes without thinking. I'll get it done."

Dennisen patted Panthonia's shoulder and returned to the office.

If it was no longer possible to completely hide Hilsbeth, then her existence should be made public as much as possible, to minimize suspicious trouble. Initially, Panthonia suggested that Koen could find a singing job for Hilsbeth in a hotel in the inner city, but Koen was not satisfied with it, so he brought Herlan and sought his opinion. Before this, Panthonia did not know that Koen also trusted Herlan so much in matters outside of religion. Anyway, Herlan did provide the most appropriate solution for now.

Although not explicitly stated, Panthonia could see that besides preventing his son from going to Queens, Koen evidently had other expectations. Phipin's infatuation with Hilsbeth was not just because of her, but also because it was an important way for him to rebel: the dangerous Queens, the hotels full of illegal transactions, the women from another class, and songs from a disappeared country. Now all of this turned into smooth and clean church walls, audiences praying silently, Hilsbeth wearing a choir uniform that concealed all feminine features, her unique voice blending into the uniform hymns. Even if this wasn't enough to gradually make Phipin lose interest, at the very least, he wouldn't be able to go backstage to give gifts under the gaze of a large group of church staff.

Panthonia could have arranged for his own men to protect her, but he had to show trust in Dennisen on this matter. Although this couldn't absolutely prevent him from becoming suspicious, it was much better than not involving him at all. If there was anything about his partner that satisfied Panthonia, it was that even though they had obvious ideological differences, Dennisen always tried to cooperate as much as possible, avoiding disputes.

A seemingly ordinary woman with little investigative value, Panthonia hoped that this would be the attitude he conveyed to Hilsbeth. As long as her life stabilized, she had no reason to divulge anything about him and Aretta to others, as it would only bring trouble upon herself again.

In the afternoon, Panthonia spent some time investigating the tax officer who died in Salvaney's hands that night. His family had reported him missing. Panthonia questioned the man's wife and daughter, but didn't get any useful information. They were concerned whether the head of the household had been hit by a carriage or fallen into the river while drunk, never suspecting he had become a pile of flesh in Queens, a sacrifice to the flaunting power of the gang. Panthonia naturally didn't intend to reveal the truth; after all, this "disappearance" wasn't his case to handle. If others wanted to uncover clues, they could do so.

Panthonia believed his judgment about the Salvaney organization splitting was correct; perhaps that was why the leader needed to demonstrate in an unusual manner. It could be foreseen that the crime rate would increase in the coming period—enough to catch Koen's attention. Solving his son's problem didn't equate to gaining his trust. It was imperative to eliminate Salvaney as soon as possible.

Thinking about these issues, he passed by Hilsbeth's new residence. Dennisen's men seemed not to have arrived in the vicinity yet.

He knocked on the door, and it opened a few seconds later. Hilsbeth stood by the door, showing no sign of alertness.

"You're here," Hilsbeth said.

"You opened the door without any precautions."

"There probably aren't many people who know I live here yet." She hesitated, then took a step back. "Oh, come in."

Panthonia had no intention of entering. He hadn't even planned to knock on the door earlier. But he entered the room anyway.

The room was small, a charitable residence built by the followers of the Holy Light, provided for those who worked for the church but couldn't afford housing. Usually, two to four people would share such a room, but under Herlan's care, Hilsbeth could temporarily live alone.

"I've arranged for colleagues to protect you. You can rest assured here," Panthonia said.

Hilsbeth didn't react much to this statement. "Hmm," she looked around, her right hand curled under her lips, her pinky touching the corner of her mouth, then she looked at Panthonia. "Since you're here, why not stay for dinner? I haven't properly thanked you yet."

"That's not necessary."

"Um, it just came to me suddenly... because if you were busy, you wouldn't have come here. Do you usually cook for yourself?"

This was the consequence of being open—she would ask you such commonplace questions. In the past, when Panthonia communicated with his women, it was usually under a veil of mystery and caution, and those women were very careful about what they said in front of him.

"Just stay," she said, "I'll be done soon."

"Fine."

This time, Panthonia told himself. Bringing her home for the night, arranging a new job and residence for her, plus the statement just now, "I've arranged for colleagues to protect you"—maintaining distance and a certain degree of indifference was the key to mentally controlling and restraining the other party. But this series of overly proactive actions broke the pattern he had always excelled in. Just this once, and then cut off contact with her—since things had developed to this point, Panthonia didn't intend to let the trouble escalate further.

Whether friends, colleagues, or lovers—all those who felt comfortable around him—were obstacles. Obstacles that couldn't simply be dealt with by a knife. As for family, he no longer needed to consider that concept. Killing soldiers, killing old people, such a simple life would never repeat itself.

"The church is quite boring," Hilsbeth said while setting the plates on the table. "I think I might try auditioning for the opera troupe."

"Just stick to this until the storm passes, don't think too much," Panthonia replied.

"I know. Just talking."

Optimistic to the point of foolishness, or simply unaware of contentment, Panthonia wasn't in the mood to ponder which category Hilsbeth belonged to. All she had was temporary protection. Deadline? Until Koen's son loses interest in her. His biggest mistake was ignoring Phipin's existence and making contact with her; therefore, when Phipin's influence ceased to exist, she would no longer pose any threat. Everything she currently possessed would disappear in an instant. And that was just a matter of time.

"How does it taste?" Hilsbeth asked shortly after they started eating. "I hope by the time I leave Lordaeron, I'll be a few years older, then maybe I'll remember some of the hometown recipes or something. Those years as a refugee probably ruined my palate completely. Since you've always lived in the inner city..."

"Living in the inner city is quite different from living within the original Stormwind Keep area."

"I suppose so. So, you won't have trouble eating this, will you? If you don't say anything, I'll assume so."

Panthonia remained silent. He didn't know what to say.

Eating was a vulnerable moment when humans satisfied their basic needs, making it difficult for Panthonia to naturally share a meal with others. When he had to do so, he usually prepared himself, such as minimizing the enjoyment of dining in front of colleagues, reducing it to a mundane refueling for work. And in front of women he was interested in or intended to use, he knew all the tricks: turning dining into a prolonged flirtation with eye contact and language. In summary, sharing a meal only existed in two situations for him: social necessity and the prelude to desire. He couldn't imagine sitting at the same table with the same woman every day, exposing his basic human weakness to her without reservation—such a significant aspect of marriage. How ridiculous it was for humans to enjoy food! Staring at the oil floating on the soup, sucking on their fingers, twisting their necks trying to bite down on a piece of meat too tough, sweating on their foreheads because the food was too hot, poking their tongues to dislodge food stuck between their teeth—he couldn't expose this appearance day after day to the same woman, nor could he understand why others were eager to do so.

Perhaps what Hilsbeth saw now was this version of him. Or rather, he imagined that Hilsbeth saw this version of him. The last time such a situation occurred was almost twenty years ago when he and the women beside him shared human flesh. But at that time, they were only seeking survival, so Panthonia could tolerate the ugliness at the time. But now, too many things had changed. Exposing weaknesses was the last thing he should avoid. He just wanted to get away from Hilsbeth as soon as possible, so just this once, just this once, just endure this once...

The answer came out. He figured out what was going on. He was afraid of this woman. She, under the guise of gratitude, wanted him to share a meal with her without any ulterior motives. He had no proper response to this, even though he understood that ordinary people in such situations should just go with the flow, without any need for thought. Hilsbeth's behavior was meant to disrupt his usual thought process, to turn him into an ordinary person, to make him appear comfortable in her presence. What he had pursued for twenty years was what everyone else feared, so the pursuit of others made him feel afraid.

"That's it. I haven't been a good host. If you have time next time... oh, forget it, I know you won't agree." After finishing the meal, Hilsbeth took the dishes to the sink and began washing them, facing away from Panthonia.

Hilsbeth hummed a tune while washing the dishes. She wasn't particularly happy; she just secretly thought that convincing this person to stay for dinner was quite an achievement. If Panthonia left without saying a word—quite likely—she would still be satisfied with the result. Facing away from him like this also helped alleviate some of the awkwardness in the room.

She put down the plates and turned around, only to unexpectedly find him standing very close to her.

"W-what... what's wrong?" She backed away from the sink.

"Who taught you that?"

"What?"

"The song you just sang. The one you just sang. Tell me quickly."

He subconsciously wanted to grab her neck, just as he had questioned countless others in the past, but his hand didn't move.

"S-sing it again," he said.

Hilsbeth knew the best course of action now was to comply. She hummed the melody of the song again, this time much softer.

Panthonia recognized the melody. It was once imprisoned in a music box, a melody that belonged to him alone.