(Dis)Engagement [5]

Sneaking out was easy since my room was only on the second floor. Unsurprisingly, the city was even more gloomy in the middle of the night.

'If I'm not wrong, that place is still in Rheria street.'

And it was. I stood before a tavern— well, people in the city called it a "pub" now. Anyways, its name still hadn't changed.

'Enadell Pub.'

Despite being a place for overworked middle-aged men to wind down after a hard day, it was only a front for the real business: Information broking.

My hands unwittingly tightened into fists. I could still remember the days I snuck around like a little rat, trying to find the smallest snippet of information to sell to this organization.

'Right, calm down now, I'm here as a customer.'

It wasn't as if Enadell Pub mistreated me or anything—quite the opposite. They paid me appropriately for my information, and sometimes even bought dinner for me.

It was just that…I didn't exactly have the happiest of memories associated with this place.

Slapping my own cheeks to wake myself up from the bad memories, I grabbed the door handle and twisted it.

Unlike the cold blue streetlights outside, the light inside the pub was a warm orange. The pub-goers all halted their pub-activities and pub-looked at me with weird gazes. Pub-gazes.

They weren't lecherously looking at me or anything. Instead, they were probably confused as to what a little girl was doing here in the middle of the night.

"Hey, are you lost?" One of them called out to me.

But I ignored him and made my way to the counter, where a barista was cleaning an empty wine glass. I sat down on the chair before the counter (with much difficulty since it was high), and ordered,

"A beer, p—"

"Here's your milk."

Wow, did he just automatically assume that I wanted milk just because I was a little girl? BUT, since it was already here, it would be a waste to not drink it.

So, with that weak excuse in mind, I started drinking the milk in small gulps. Well, I had an irresistible urge to drink it with my tongue like a little cat—or a fox, and I gave in to that urge. It just felt much better than drinking it normally.

The men behind me laughed for a bit before the pub returned to its lively self.

'Finally, no one's finding me weird anymore.'

After finishing the glass of milk, I wiped my mouth and beckoned the barista to come.

"Another milk?"

"No," I said with a grin. "I'm here to watch the worm squirm under your feet."

"Uhhh…okay?"

Then, the barista got me another glass of milk. I drank it like before and waited, and waited, and waited, but nothing ever came of it.

As I was about to just ask the barista what was wrong, the man sitting beside me laughed.

"Little lass, I don't know where you got that code, but it's already outdated by ten years."

I snapped my head to the side and looked at the man with widened eyes. A bird tattoo on the neck, and a lame eye—this man…I knew him.

More specifically, I knew him in my past life.

'The old barista?'

He was the one that took the information I delivered and paid me. He was also the same man that retired as soon as I left the Capital. As I was still processing this information, the old barista called the new barista over and said,

"Give me your best Italian cuisine. Pasta and all. Only bottled ketchup, though."

After speaking those inexplicable (and somehow, disgusting) words, something about the new barista changed. With sharp eyes, he whispered,

"Please follow me."

That whisper was obviously meant for the old barista, but I could hear it very well with my ears.

The old barista simply gulped down his drink and pointed at me.

"Let her in. I'm just enjoying my wine."

The new barista nodded and ushered me to follow him, which I did. Before I went into the backdoor, I didn't forget to stop and thank the old barista.

"Thank you."

"Ah, no problem. It's just that you remind me of someone. Say, what's your name, lass?"

"Nova," I replied without any hesitation. It was a common enough name.

"Hmmm…what a coincidence. Well, off you go."

.

.

.

.

The basement of the club was as I remembered—pristine and mysterious. I was led to what looked like a confession booth. In fact, I was sure that it was a confession booth; just repurposed for the sake of buying information.

I sat down in the booth and faced the curtain in front of me. I could see the silhouette of a man on the other side. Despite that being all I could see, I knew his identity all too well.

"Smith Faraday."

Instantly, an overpowering aura exploded from the man—Smith. However, I wasn't too concerned. After all, knowing the real name of the main Information broker of a branch meant that I was a VIP.

Even if I wasn't, and I somehow found out about the real names myself, it just meant that I was a force to be reckoned with—you know, just casually finding out the secrets of the biggest Information-broking organization in this world, nothing too special.

As I'd expected, Smith soon receded his aura and sighed.

"Would you like to invoke your VIP discount?"

Without any delay, I nodded.

"It's still twenty-five percent off, right?"

"Correct. Now, what do you want to know?"

"The whereabouts of the Hero, Eric Solstar."

I slid a Platinum over to his side as I said that.

Almost instantly, as if he'd said this a thousand times already, he replied,

"Unfortunately, we can't tell you that. You're not the first one to ask this question, and I'm afraid that the Hero himself paid us a hefty sum of money to never reveal the location of him and his comrades to anyone."

'T-This…!'

Eric, you bastard! Fucking hell, how insensitive was he?! Why could he not expect one of his dead comrades to reincarnate and try to find out where he was!?

Okay, it wasn't really his fault, but still, I was mad.

"Then, what can you tell me?"

"Since you're a VIP, I guess I can tell you this. The Hero—and all of his comrades, are cursed."

What?

"C-Cursed?"

"That's right. Only the upper echelons of this world know about this. Apparently, the Demon king cursed everyone in the Hero's party to different lands. Some in this very continent, some in bustling cities, and some even in the frozen tundra of the Northern continent." He then let out a small chuckle. "But the Demon king was merciful enough to let the Hero and the Saintess stay together."

"I-I see…"

So that was why Eric hadn't climbed the Tower yet. Everything made sense now. There was no way a 12-star like him wouldn't attempt the Tower to revive me and Ihwa. After all, he was a complete pushover.

"That's definitely good information. Thank you."

Then, I slid a Gold to him.

"Are there any nobles getting engaged soon?"

"Why do you care— you know what, I can't be bothered to ask. Anyways, there is one."

I gulped. This was it—the name of my sister's soon-to-be(-found-dead-in-a-ditch) fiance.

"W-Who is he?"

"Ojisa Asshol, son of Count Ntrit Asshol."

"What a weird name."

Despite being separated by a curtain, I could tell that Smith was raising an eyebrow at me.

"Is that your only reaction to his name?"

"Yes…? Is he supposed to be famous or something? Am I supposed to gasp?"

"I— nevermind. Now, do you have any more questions?"

"No."

Hearing this, Smith gave me a wave through the curtain before shoo'ing me out.

.

.

.

.

I left the basement after that. But as I opened the backdoor to enter the pub again—

-"AHH! YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

-"FUCK YOU!"

-"I'LL KILL YOU DEAD!"

—Pandemonium.

The pub-goers were tossing the tables and chairs around, punching each other. Some even tried to stab people with broken wine bottles.

…It looked a bit too intense for a pub fight.

As I dodged a knife thrown my way, I quickly scanned the room for any exit—and I did. The only problem was, it was blocked by the old barista and a man in cloaks fighting.

However, something about their fight was different. It seemed…less mad than the other fights.

I decided to help the old barista. After all, wearing a cloak automatically would automatically make you suspicious as fuck.

Since the old barista would recognize Aerin and Nira, I used a kitchen knife I found lying nearby.

"I'm here to help!"

The barista briefly glanced at me before shouting, "Get out of here! This is no place for children!"

I ignored him and dashed toward the cloaked man. One slash, two slashes, three slashes, it was apparent that the man was being overwhelmed by me alone.

'This guy…he's only a 1-star?'

His rank was no higher than mine, yet he somehow stood up to the old barista, who was a 3-star. Something was definitely amiss here…

"Watch out! Don't let his dagger hit you!"

The barista's warning made me realize something—the dagger the cloaked man was wielding wasn't normal; it was flashing red. The bad thing was that it wasn't the only thing the dagger was capable of doing.

'Isn't this…the Dagger that the Heavenly King of Madness always kept with him?

'Plague, and now Madness… What the fuck is going on…'