On the moon, Columbina rested her chin on her palm, her gaze through the diamond-shaped white eyepatch locked onto the images displayed on the mirror’s surface.
The Damselette hadn’t headed toward the bustling commercial or academic districts; instead, she had ducked into the industrial fringes where the buildings were low and the air was thick with coal soot.
The streets became increasingly cluttered, and the pedestrians were dressed in rags, their expressions either hurried or numb.
The roar of steam engines and the noise of cargo being loaded and unloaded drowned out all other sounds.
“This direction…
where is he going?”
Columbina muttered to herself, watching Sandrone skillfully avoid the sewage puddles and drunken workers on the road.
“What is he trying to do now?”
A bad premonition arose.
“It couldn’t be…
she’s looking for some new black market dealer to sell me again, is he?!”
Although the mirror was now bound by a contract and theoretically wouldn’t be so easy to get rid of, what if?
What if this world had some special means to sever the connection, or if Sandrone found a buyer who knew better what they were looking at?
She watched Sandrone walk into a narrow alley lined with discarded wooden crates on both sides.
The faint sound of noisy voices came from the end of the alley.
Sandrone pulled her hood tight, her heart beating fast with nervousness.
Her destination was a semi-public Mutual Aid Savings Association on the edge of the Dock District.
On the surface, it was run by a few retired dock foremen, but in reality, it handled short-term flows of grey funds and small-scale collateral loans.
She planned to deposit the four gold coins in batches, using the excuse of help from a distant relative.
Then, through a complex ‘borrowing-repayment’ process, she would have part of the funds return to her hands in fragments, making it look like he had gradually accumulated a little savings through small financial activities.
This was the relatively discreet method he could think of.
Just as he was about to reach the alley entrance and could already see the dilapidated storefront hanging a faded anchor sign, a sudden change occurred!
“Bang!”
A crisp gunshot suddenly rang out from a fork on the other side of the alley, followed by more shouting!
Sandrone froze in fear, instinctively pressing himself against the damp, cold brick wall and holding his breath.
Several figures dressed in a messy fashion but moving with extraordinary speed rushed from the fork into the alley where he was.
One of them seemed to be injured and stumbled.
Chasing them were three or four others wearing uniform deep blue uniforms.
They didn’t look like police, but they were aggressive.
What made Sandrone’s pupils shrink the most was that one of the pursuers raised a hand and fired.
The bullet shot out, but it seemed to hit an invisible barrier in mid-air, making a strange ‘thud’ sound.
It grazed the target’s shoulder and flew past, splashing gravel against the wall!
“Damn it!
They have a Twister!” one of the pursuers growled.
Among the escapees, the injured man suddenly turned around, her hands held as if gripping something invisible, and slapped the ground.
A patch of ground in front of him, along with several discarded wooden crates, was suddenly kneaded as if by a giant invisible hand.
It instantly distorted into a living wall covered in spikes, smashing toward the pursuers!
The pursuers scrambled to dodge.
Someone pulled out a small bag that seemed to be filled with silver powder and threw it.
The silver powder exploded, and upon contact with the distorted wall, it made a sizzling sound, finally slowing the wall’s writhing.
Sandrone covered his mouth tightly to keep from crying out in alarm.
Her eyes were wide, and his deep blue pupils reflected this combat scene that completely defied her understanding.
This was not something any of the knowledge she had learned could explain!
Just as his mind went blank and his body trembled slightly with fear, an even more soul-shattering scene appeared—the familiar figure in the black trench coat actually emerged from the other side of the alley entrance.
It was Senior Detective Ellen Joe!
She had clearly been attracted by the commotion here as well.
Holding her gun, she approached cautiously, reacting quickly to find cover and try to see the two sides engaged in combat clearly.
Sandrone wailed in her heart, feeling that she definitely hadn’t checked the fortune for her outing today.
The scene was extremely chaotic.
The distorted wall obstructed vision, silver powder filled the air, gunshots rang out again, and curses and cries of pain were mixed together.
Ellen Joe tried to shout to control the situation, but her voice was drowned out in the chaos.
Instead, it drew the wary gazes of both sides of the conflict.
A stray bullet flew past the wall above Sandrone’s head, shattering a corner of a brick.
Gravel rustled down, hitting his hood.
She jerked in fright, nearly collapsing.
In that moment of extreme chaos, she caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye.
As the initially injured escapee retreated in panic with the support of his companions, a palm-sized, flat little box with a dull metallic luster and a surface carved with strange, distorted patterns fell from his bosom.
It rolled to the edge of a sewage puddle not far from Sandrone’s hiding place.
Neither side of the battle seemed to notice this small interlude.
Ellen’s attention was drawn by a pursuer trying to flank from the side, and she fired a warning shot.
Her heart was pounding so hard it felt like it would explode.
An unspeakable impulse mixed with immense fear seized Sandrone.
She didn’t know what that box was, but it was clearly related to these people who could use supernatural powers, and it looked like…
Maybe it was worth a lot of money?
This thought flashed through her mind like a phantom.
She didn’t know where she got the courage—or perhaps the stupidity—but taking advantage of everyone’s attention being drawn to Ellen, he lunged out from her hiding place like a startled but agile rabbit.
At the fastest speed of her life, she bent down to pick up the wet little box, stuffed it deep into her satchel without even looking, and then fled desperately in the direction he came from, scrambling and crawling without looking back.
She could even feel a gaze sweeping over her back, but fortunately, no one pursued—whether it was either side of the combatants or Ellen, none of them had time to worry about a civilian girl who just looked frightened out of her wits.
She didn’t know how long he ran or how many dirty alleys she crossed until her lungs burned like bellows and a bloody taste rose in her throat.
Her legs felt weak, and only then did she burst into a relatively clean street.
Seeing a cheap cafe with a sign that read ‘Lucky Bean,’ she pushed the door and stumbled in without a second thought.
The cafe was filled with the aroma of coffee and toasted bread.
A few scattered customers cast surprised glances.
Sandrone’s face was deathly pale, her forehead hair soaked with cold sweat.
She leaned against the doorframe gasping for a long while before she managed to walk to the corner-most seat and sit down.
She ordered a cup of the cheapest black coffee—he needed something hot to steady her heart, which had nearly stopped beating.
It wasn’t until the server brought the coffee and she cupped the coarse ceramic mug with trembling hands, feeling that bit of weak Warmth, that her reason slowly returned.
Following that was the lingering fear and the thought of checking for losses.
First, she carefully felt his satchel.
The hard outline of the mirror was still there, and the newly picked-up box was there too.
She breathed a slight sigh of relief.
Then, out of habit, he went to feel his inner pocket—where part of his assets, four shimmering gold coins, should have been.
Empty.
The inner pocket was completely empty.
Sandrone’s movements froze.
In disbelief, she felt it again, even turning the inner pocket inside out.
Only coarse fabric.
She remembered his frantic escape just now…
the gold coins most likely slipped out of the unfastened inner pocket then.
Four gold coins.
Gone.
A wave of icy coldness instantly submerged her.
It made her feel even colder than witnessing the supernatural battle with her own eyes earlier.
Her nose suddenly stung, and his eyes turned red in an instant, filling with tears.
She bit his lower lip hard, so hard she almost drew blood, just to keep that humiliating sob from escaping his throat.
Don’t cry, Sandrone.
You can’t cry here.
She told himself, but the tears still disobeyed, falling in large drops into the bitter black coffee.
She lowered her head, letting the shadow of her hood hide her miserable face.
Her shoulders trembled slightly, like a small animal that had lost all its stored food in a rainstorm.
At the scene of the alley fight.
As a silver bullet engraved with fine runes hit the Twister’s shoulder, the distorted wall finally collapsed completely.
Seeing things were going south, the escapees used their last bit of chaos-making ability to take the chance and flee in panic with the wounded, disappearing into the depths of the maze-like alleys.
The pursuers cursed a few times but didn’t give deep chase.
They quickly cleaned up the scene and also withdrew rapidly.
When the dust settled, only a mess remained on the ground.
Ellen stepped out from behind cover, her expression dreadfully solemn.
She carefully inspected the scene: bullet holes, distorted walls and wooden crates, and the traces of burned silver powder on the ground…
All of this was beyond the scope of her knowledge.
How could bullets turn corners?
How could walls move on their own?
What was that silver powder?
“Detective, this…” The patrolman who followed was also dumbfounded.
“Seal off the scene.
Notify the Forensics Department…
no, notify headquarters.”
Ellen rubbed her brow.
She remembered the vague notes and the ambiguous attitudes of her superiors in the files of several recent bizarre cases.
Perhaps some things had always existed, but ordinary Detectives just couldn’t access them.
While she was investigating, the sole of her foot stepped on something hard.
Looking down, she saw several gold coins stained with a bit of mud but still shining brightly.
She picked them up and wiped them clean.
Very ordinary standard gold coins, of good quality.
“Who dropped these?”
She looked around.
Besides the inhuman beings who had just been fighting, there seemed to be only some slum residents who had been scared away, and…
she remembered that brief glimpse of a petite figure in the chaos, wearing a dark dress with a hood covering her face.
Ellen pinched the gold coin.
With her position and salary, supporting herself was decent enough, but it was by no means affluent.
Gold coins were not a small amount.
She hesitated for a moment, looked around, and saw no one was paying attention.
Ultimately, she silently put the gold coins into her coat’s inner pocket.
“Let’s consider this today’s hazard pay, or…
evidence storage fee.”
She found an excuse for herself, even though this behavior deviated slightly from her usual principles.
In this era, it isn’t easy for anyone.
She cast her gaze in the direction Sandrone had fled, her eyes deep.