Ava's Whereabouts!

The nobility; Leonard's understanding of them was vague at best. Whether from the fragmented memories of his previous life or the hazy knowledge of this one, the image was always the same: extravagance, excess, and arrogance. Tales of their gilded lives floated around like whispers in the wind, but the specifics were elusive.

Now, standing before Cyrus, Leonard felt a twinge of frustration. "I've told you everything I know!" Cyrus cried, his voice trembling, his desperation palpable.

Leonard stood slowly, his cold gaze fixed on the man. "Have you?" he asked, his tone so calm it was unnerving. "Because your answer doesn't match Zerom's. That makes you a liar."

"No! No, I'm not lying!" Cyrus protested, his voice cracking. His wide eyes darted around the room as if searching for an escape that didn't exist. "Wait—wait! I remember something!" he blurted, his voice rising with frantic urgency.

Leonard raised an eyebrow but said nothing, the silence pressuring Cyrus to continue.

"There was a man," Cyrus stammered, his breath ragged. "I… I noticed him. He got into a carriage. It had roses on it. A crest, the crest of Viscount Borrent. That's his emblem!"

Leonard's expression didn't change, but his hand moved in one swift motion, grabbing Cyrus's head. The man yelped as Leonard forced him still, pressing his face to the cold surface of the table. With his free hand, Leonard drew a knife, the blade catching the dim light of the room. He pressed it lightly against Cyrus's neck.

"Don't move," Leonard murmured, his voice chillingly soft. "It might hurt… but only for a moment."

Cyrus thrashed like a fish on dry land, his movements frantic but futile against Leonard's iron grip. The blade remained steady, the promise of pain implicit.

---

At the same time, Hamilton returned home, his arms laden with a large bag of medicine. He stepped into the dimly lit house, where Angelina sat slumped against the wall, her face pale, her eyes distant. She hadn't been the same since Ava was taken.

"You need to rest," Hamilton said gently, his voice heavy with concern.

Angelina barely moved, but her gaze shifted to him. Her lips trembled as she asked, "Did you… did you find anything?"

Hamilton sighed, setting the medicine down. From his waist, he pulled out a leather purse and emptied its contents onto the bed. A cascade of gold coins tumbled out, their gleam filling the room with a soft glow.

Angelina's eyes widened in shock. "Where… where did you get so much money?" she whispered, her voice tinged with fear and disbelief. "We couldn't earn this much in ten years, even if we starved ourselves!"

Hamilton sat beside her, his expression firm. "We're not poor anymore," he said simply. "This is ours now."

Angelina's hand gripped his wrist tightly. "Can we use this?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Can we pay to get Ava back? Surely, they'll take the money…"

Hamilton's face darkened, the words catching in his throat. Instead of answering, he changed the subject. "I saw Leonard today," he said, his tone lighter, though the weight of unspoken thoughts lingered.

Angelina's face brightened for a moment, a fragile spark of hope in her weary eyes. "Leonard?" she asked, trying to sit upright despite her weak body. "Where is he? Is he safe?"

Hamilton hesitated before responding. "He's… working on something. He'll come to see you soon." After a pause, he added, "He's strong now. Stronger than I ever was, stronger then anyone I've seen."

But Angelina's hope faltered. "I don't care if he's strong," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just want him safe."

Nearby, young James, who had been boiling water, perked up at the mention of his older brother. He grinned, his youthful optimism shining through. "I knew it!" he said, beaming. "Big brother's alive! He's the strongest person I know, except for Dad."

---

Meanwhile, Leonard followed the information given to him by Big Gold Teeth to a small island just outside Viscount Borrent's territory. Bangor Harbor loomed before him, a sprawling, thriving port city that owed its prosperity to the Borrent family. The harbor, once an unremarkable fishing village, had grown over generations, blossoming into a vital hub of trade and wealth.

The Borrent family's rise to power was well-documented. According to Big Gold Teeth, their ancestor had been a humble fisherman, blessed by the sea god himself or so the legend claimed. With this divine favor, the fisherman aided a prince in reclaiming lost southern territories. When the prince ascended to the throne, he rewarded the family with the title of Viscount and the fiefdom of Bangor Harbor.

But Big Gold Teeth had shared whispers that didn't make it into official accounts. The family's true strength, he said, came not from divine blessings but from a carefully guarded inheritance; a secret that ensured each generation produced a supernatural being like their legendary ancestor.

Leonard scoffed at the notion of sea-god blessings as he made his way through the harbor. To him, the rumors about their "inheritance" were far more credible. In his line of work, legends were often grounded in fragments of truth.

The port bustled with activity, its prosperity evident in the richly adorned buildings and the fleets of merchant ships crowding the docks. But Leonard wasn't here to admire the scenery. He moved with purpose, his mind focused on the next step in his mission. If Viscount Borrent was involved in Ava's abduction, he would uncover the truth and if necessary, dismantle the Borrent legacy brick by brick.

The so-called Poseidon was nothing more than a fabrication, or worse, a cruel joke. Leonard had heard enough stories to doubt the sea god's supposed benevolence. Fishermen who drunkenly urinated on Poseidon's statue often returned home with overflowing nets of fish, while devout sailors who prayed at dawn and dusk drowned in unforgiving storms. If a Poseidon truly existed, Leonard mused darkly, he was likely an indifferent, if not outright malevolent, deity who delighted in chaos.

---

The Borrent family, one of Bangor Harbor's most influential, resided at the heart of the bustling port city. A grand canal sliced through the harbor, connecting its vibrant districts like veins feeding a body, and the Borrent estate sat prominently near the water, its location a statement of both prestige and practicality.

Leonard couldn't help but remain skeptical of the divine. He didn't outright deny the existence of gods, there were too many whispered legends to dismiss entirely; but blind faith wasn't something he possessed. Gods, if they existed, had never deigned to reveal themselves.

The churches scattered across the kingdom were more symbols of tradition than vessels of true power. Priests, garbed in their ceremonial robes, were merely ordinary men. Leonard recalled the priest from his own small town, a jovial drunk in his fifties who offered free prayers at funerals. One bitter winter night, the man had stumbled home, fallen in the snow, and frozen solid by morning. His funeral had been humble, attended by villagers who appreciated his kindness but were under no illusions about divine intervention.

It was said the kingdom subtly suppressed the influence of the church. Ancient history books, locked away from commoners like Leonard, likely held the truth. Perhaps if he could read those forbidden texts, he might unravel the tangled web of faith and power. But for now, such knowledge remained out of reach.

When Leonard had journeyed south with his master Alfonso, he had dreamed of grand adventures, of stumbling upon extraordinary powers hidden in plain sight. But reality had proven mundane. Apart from a peculiar incident in a mine, the extraordinary seemed elusive, almost mythical. Yet his master's words lingered: 'There is a deeper world, hidden beneath the surface of the ordinary.'

---

The Viscount's manor loomed ahead, a sprawling estate that resembled a luxurious seaside retreat rather than a fortress. Its design embraced the surrounding natural beauty, with manicured gardens, fountains, and statues scattered across the grounds. Tonight, the estate was alive with activity; lights blazed from every window, and the sound of music and laughter spilled into the night. A banquet was in full swing.

High walls, covered in thick thorns, encircled the property, but they posed no challenge for Leonard. The ground beneath him trembled slightly, the soil loosening as one of his iron earthworms burrowed upward. A large hole formed, wide enough for Leonard to slip through. The creature briefly surfaced, its metallic head glinting, before sinking back into the earth.

Leonard lowered himself into the tunnel and emerged on the other side, brushing dirt from his hands. The vast manor stretched before him, an intricate maze of paths, hedges, and grand buildings. Finding the clues he needed here would be no small task.

As he considered his next move, the sound of footsteps reached his ears. He darted into a nearby bush, crouching low. Peering through the foliage, he spotted a group of servants, their uniforms pristine and their heads bowed as they moved quickly through the gardens.

They walked in silence, their hurried pace leaving no room for idle chatter. Leonard frowned. "In every drama I watched in my last life," he muttered to himself, "servants always gossip and spill their master's secrets. This is disappointing."

Shrugging off his disappointment, Leonard began to creep closer to the manor's central building. He moved with practiced stealth, his senses alert for any signs of danger.

Suddenly, he froze. From the shadows ahead, the faint sound of a child's footsteps reached him. A young blonde girl, no older than thirteen or fourteen, stormed out of the manor's grand entrance. Her cheeks were flushed, her pout exaggerated, and her steps heavy with frustration.

Behind her, an older maid hurried after her, her expression frantic. "Miss! Miss, where are you going?" the maid called, her voice tinged with panic.

The girl spun around, her arms crossed defiantly. "Don't bother me! I don't want to marry that earl!" she snapped, her voice carrying through the still night air.

Leonard's ears perked up. 'Interesting.'

The girl continued, her tone growing more indignant. "He's practicality old; almost forty! That's the same age as Father! It's disgusting!"

The maid wrung her hands, her anxiety palpable. "Please, Miss. Your father only wants what's best for you."

"Best for me?" the girl retorted, her golden curls bouncing as she stamped her foot. "How is marrying someone with three daughters and four sons older than me 'best for me'? What am I supposed to do, play stepmother to a houseful of grown children?"

The maid's pleas faded into the background as Leonard observed the scene. This wasn't the clue he had been searching for, but it was a thread worth tugging. If this girl was connected to the Viscount, she might unknowingly reveal something useful.

Remaining hidden, Leonard prepared to follow her. 'Every locked door has a key,' he thought, a faint smile playing on his lips. 'And sometimes, the key is an angry little girl.'