Chapter 111: The Tavern Rendezvous

Chapter 111: The Tavern Appointment

Lyman stood in Mr. Lutz's study—or more precisely, Lyman was controlling Mr. Lutz's corpse, standing in the dead man's home.

He claimed he needed to work through the night and asked Mrs. Lutz to bring dinner to the study. He had no desire to sit at the dining table with Mrs. Lutz and the two children. He might blow his cover.

Besides, Mrs. Lutz was so kind and amiable. Through the walls, Lyman could hear her calling the children to dinner, followed by their pre-meal prayers to the God of Dawn. She was a devout believer. Facing this woman who had no idea she was already a widow, Lyman couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt.

"Who would've thought this Mr. Lutz had so many sides to him?"

Lunast's lazy, teasing voice echoed in his mind.

"At home, he's a good husband and father—who'd have guessed he spent his days conducting human experiments in that tower? If that sweet wife ever learned the truth, she'd probably faint on the spot."

Lyman silently sympathized with Mrs. Lutz. But compared to "my husband is a cruel murderer," "my husband is dead" might hit her even harder. But there was no time to mourn Mr. Lutz. Next, Lyman had to figure out how to maximize the use of his identity.

As the head of the Research Department, he not only had access to secrets unknown to others, but could even infiltrate Tribunal meetings. Now he really had a mole inside the Church—except the mole was him.

"Spirit Domination" halted the corpse's decomposition. As long as he didn't release the spell, the body wouldn't rot. But the moment he dispelled his supernatural ability, all the changes that time should have caused to the corpse would occur in an instant. In other words, if he waited a year before releasing "Spirit Domination," Mr. Lutz would turn into a skeleton in the blink of an eye.

"Wow, this could be a murder mystery thriller! Don't you think it's a brilliant premise? Perfect for your Apostle who writes plays!" Lunast was totally thrilled. "In a sealed white tower, the head of the Research Department dies mysteriously, reduced to bones—how did the killer pull it off?"

"With supernatural ability," Lyman said coldly.

"Tsk, you have no imagination. Explaining every unknown phenomenon with supernatural ability is just a lazy cop-out. The audience would demand refunds."

"Not my problem—I'm not the one writing the script, after all. If they want to complain, they can go yell at Captain Dorian."

"...How can you throw your own Apostle under the bus!"

"Throw him under the bus for who? You're the one who made him write that script in the first place!"

Lyman locked the study door, sat down at the desk, and took the Spirit Sight Mirror from the Divine Casket, putting it on the bridge of his nose.

When he killed Mr. Lutz, his supernatural ability had merged with the Spirit Sight Mirror, giving this curious artifact a new power—an unexpected bonus. Now he was the only one in the Holy City who could see through other people's supernatural abilities. He could say whatever he wanted, and nobody could call him out on it!

However, impersonating Mr. Lutz wouldn't be easy. Never mind Lutz's wife and children—if Lyman acted even slightly out of character, his close colleagues and subordinates would figure out the head of the Research Department had been swapped out.

Of course, Lyman had a backup plan for that too.

He cut his finger with the Blade of Revelation, squeezed a drop of blood out of the corpse, and activated "Bloodline Recall."

Mr. Lutz's life unfolded before him like a scroll. This cold-hearted researcher was born into a devout family devoted to the God of Dawn. He was a top student from a young age, was recommended by his religious school, and went to Holy City University to study theology. It was during that time that he awakened his supernatural ability. As an extremely rare talent, the Tribunal recruited him, and he shot up the ranks at lightning speed, becoming head of the Research Department before he was even thirty. He met his wife through a blind date set up by relatives, but they genuinely loved each other and quickly had two kids. His life had been smooth sailing—the envy of everyone both at work and at home...

What struck Lyman as odd was that Mr. Lutz wasn't a sadist who enjoyed others' suffering. More than once, he had seriously warned his subordinates: they weren't deliberately torturing prisoners with supernatural abilities, but rather treating them as research material—sacrificing some lives for the advancement of scholarship was a fair trade. The scholar Nikola would probably be horrified if he ever met this guy.

Lyman quickly skimmed through Mr. Lutz's life, memorizing his habits and mannerisms. He also needed to get familiar with the faces and names of his colleagues. The more recent the memories, the more closely he examined them. If "Mr. Lutz" forgot stuff from long ago, he might get away with it—but forgetting recent stuff would definitely make his family and colleagues suspicious.

"Huh, Mr. Lutz has an appointment?"

In one corner of his memory, Mr. Lutz was reading a letter.

[Dear Mr. Lutz: You don't know me, but I've heard from a mutual friend that you like collecting books that "don't align with the Church's mainstream views" for academic discussion. I'd like to cut a deal with you. I've got info you want, and you've got something I want. I'm sure we can work together profitably. Three days from now, when the evening bell rings, meet me at the Green Dragon Tavern.]

The letter had no signature and was dated yesterday. As soon as Mr. Lutz finished reading it, he tossed it into the brazier and watched until the paper turned to ash, then looked away. He pulled a black-covered notebook out of the laboratory's combination safe, but didn't open it—just ran his fingers over the cover before locking it back in the safe.

From Mr. Lutz's memories, Lyman located the Green Dragon Tavern. It was in the garden district of the Holy City, surrounded by churches—a classy place with great privacy, the perfect spot for respectable merchants to do business.

Mr. Lutz was a regular there. Despite being a member of the Church's holy order, he frequently bought books on heretical doctrines (what the letter called "views that don't align with the Church's mainstream") from out-of-town merchants, as well as relics or odd artifacts with strange effects. The Research Department had a special budget for this. And the transactions often took place at the Green Dragon Tavern.

Mr. Lutz publicly claimed he bought those books to understand his enemies so he could destroy them better. It was a decent excuse, but his interest in heretical ideas ran so deep that "tactical necessity" didn't really cover it.

"What exactly was he researching...?"

"Bloodline Recall" couldn't show all memories, and it couldn't read a person's thoughts either. All Lyman could see was that Lutz seemed to be investigating something.

Mysterious.

Well, since Lyman was now controlling Mr. Lutz's corpse, he might as well go to the meeting. He was curious to see what the head of the Research Department was up to in secret.

If the letter-writer tried to hurt him, he could just release "Spirit Domination" and run, conveniently pinning Mr. Lutz's murder on this anonymous writer.

"Dear, may I come in?" Mrs. Lutz's voice suddenly came from outside the door.

Lyman quickly took off the Spirit Sight Mirror, thought for a moment, then put it back on. He pulled a big theology book from the bookshelf, opened it on the desk, and pretended to be deep in research.

"Come in."

Mrs. Lutz pushed the door open. She looked at Lyman in surprise and asked, "Since when did you start wearing glasses?"

"I've been having trouble seeing lately. Must be getting old." Lyman replied casually. He'd need to wear the Spirit Sight Mirror all the time from now on, so he might as well start the "presbyopia" act early.

Mrs. Lutz set the dinner beside him, looking worried. "If you ask me, you read too much—that's why your eyes are going bad."

Lyman recalled how Mr. Lutz interacted with his wife as he activated "Masterful Acting."

"If you ask me, there's a plus side to wearing glasses, dear—I can see your beauty even more clearly."

"Oh, stop it, you!" Mrs. Lutz blushed and playfully swatted Lyman's shoulder. She told him not to stay up too late, then glided out of the study.

The second the door closed, Lunast mimicked Lyman in a shrill, squeaky voice: "Dear, I can see your beauty even more clearly~"

"Your tone is gross."

Lunast let out a few cold chuckles, then went back to his usual tone: "What if that beautiful wife wants to get intimate? Don't tell me you're planning to go along with that..."

"What?" Lyman's jaw dropped in shock. "I would never! Don't you dare question my virtue! That thought never even occurred to me!"

His face got hot. This was a blind spot for him—having no experience in such matters, it just never occurred to him. How could he not have realized that pretending to be Mr. Lutz might lead to that kind of situation?

"Hmph, hmph hmph. You'd better not. Otherwise, I swear I will..."

"Really will what?"

Lunast was silent for a moment, then said viciously: "Really will pity Mrs. Lutz!"

Lyman tried to protest: "I have no interest in that! Besides, this is a corpse—it doesn't even work down there!"

"That's what you're focusing on?!"

"I'm just stating the facts!"

For the next full hour, Lunast ranted nonstop in Lyman's ear, quoting wisdom from ancient and modern times, trying to elevate Lyman's moral standing—as if he'd become the embodiment of suppressing human desires. Lyman had to put up with the buzzing in his ears while going to ask Mrs. Lutz for a blanket, explaining he'd be sleeping in the study tonight. Though a bit puzzled, Mrs. Lutz went along with it.

Sleeping in the study for a few days was fine, but if it went on, Mrs. Lutz would definitely get suspicious. What was he supposed to do then?

Lyman wrapped himself in the small blanket, feeling like he'd never been in such a tight spot before.

*

The next day, Lyman woke up on the sofa in the study. For Mr. Lutz, spending a night in such a place would certainly be uncomfortable, but Lyman, who was used to sleeping on the ground, hammocks, and haystacks, found it a rare luxury.

He wondered if he'd ever get used to the dark, damp cell once he was back in prison. It's hard to go from feast to famine!

After breakfast, he went to the "Sword of Justice" as usual, climbed the spiral staircase, and entered the laboratory of the research department.

Lyman's own body was lying bound on the experimental table. "Spirit Domination" allowed him to control both Mr. Lutz and his real body simultaneously. But coming face-to-face with himself—that was a strange feeling indeed.

He'd already figured out what to do with his real body. Mr. Lutz's research and experiments often left test subjects as drooling idiots, but the Church appreciated their "obedience" and often took them in as servants. Lyman just had to claim the experiment failed, and he could send his real body into the Church's inner circle. After all, his real body under "Spirit Domination" already looked pretty much like an idiot.

Humming Mr. Lutz's favorite tune, he opened the lab's combination safe and pulled out a black-covered notebook.

In Mr. Lutz's memories, this was one of his most prized possessions. He kept it locked away in the lab, which only he could enter.

"Let's see what secrets you're hiding."

Mr. Lutz's memories included the notebook, but not its contents. Lyman opened it, and the moment he saw what was written on the pages, he couldn't help but feel let down.

"Inquisition Tribunal

Karl Elhart, Chief Inquisitor (?)

Aether Orolan, Senior Inquisitor (×)

Nashir Solaris, Senior Inquisitor (×)

……

Gospel Missionary Order

Stefano, Preacher General (×)

Alessandro, Cardinal Bishop (?)

Fiore, Cardinal Bishop (√)

……

Dawnlight Knights

Antonella, Grand Master (?)

Nicolo, Polar Day Legion Commander (×)

Iannis, Colonial Legion Deputy Commander (×)

Peng Lun, Fortress Captain (×)

……"

He'd expected this to hold some earth-shattering Church secrets, but it turned out to be just a long list of names.

It listed nearly every big name in the Church's three major institutions. Each name had a symbol next to it. Some names were crossed out with black lines—Bishop Alessandro of the Missionary Order being one of them.

What did it all mean? And why did Mr. Lutz value this list so highly?

It couldn't be one of those magic notebooks where you write a name and the person dies, could it? So what did the × and √ marks mean? Allies or enemies? And the question marks—unknown stance?

Lyman stared at it for a long time and couldn't make heads or tails of it. Figuring enough time had passed, he tossed the notebook into the Divine Casket, untied his real body from the table, and headed out.

He called in his secretary and assistant.

"The experiment failed. But that one made it out alive." He gestured casually at his own dazed body sitting on the table. "The Church still need servants?"

"Last time His Excellency the Missionary came by asking if we had any obedient servants like that," the secretary said. "He also said he hoped you'd make more. These obedient servants are a bit dim, but their loyalty and silence alone put them way above most."

Lyman snorted. "He just wants to save money, since these failures don't need a salary. That greedy pig would even nickel-and-dime his servants' pay..."

Trash-talking the Missionary Order and mocking the Knights were the Tribunal's two favorite daily pastimes. The secretary chuckled in agreement and went to fetch the dazed "experimental subject."

The "subject" wore only a plain white linen robe that barely covered anything, head hanging, obediently trailing behind the secretary.

Mr. Lutz never gave a damn about the results of failed experiments. Lyman said, "It's all yours," and strolled into his office to start going through the day's paperwork.

After work, he didn't head home (he'd told Mrs. Lutz he'd be working late). After looping around the Holy City a few times to shake any tail, he made a beeline for the garden district and the Green Dragon Tavern.

The waitress led him straight to a quiet corner on the second floor, didn't even bother asking what he wanted, and just brought out potato-crusted fish and pale ale. A corpse didn't need to eat, so Lyman just listlessly poked at the fish's dead, staring eye with his fork.

The tavern was quiet today, hardly any customers. The plants and screens around his table gave them all the privacy they needed for a chat—and privacy was the Green Dragon Tavern's whole selling point.

The light slanting through the window grew dimmer, more amber. A flock of white pigeons swept over the city as the deep, resonant evening bell rang out. The rustling of wings momentarily drowned out the murmur of voices in the tavern.

Lyman instinctively looked out the window. When the pigeons flew away and he turned his gaze back inside, he found someone sitting across from him.

When the hell had he shown up? Lyman hadn't noticed a thing—like a ghost that moved without a sound.

"Good evening, Mr. Lutz."