Dubin and his colleagues were still unaware that the mastermind behind their transfer out of the Upper Seven District was none other than the “thick-browed, honest-looking” man standing before them.
Charlot reorganized the adventurers under the jurisdiction of the city patrol guards based on their ranks. There was no other option—Dubin and his team held relatively high positions, the lowest being fourth or fifth-class privates, with some even serving as corporals. In contrast, the adventurers were merely first- and second-class privates and could only serve under their command.
The military ranks of the Fars Empire followed this order from the bottom up: Private, Corporal, Sergeant, Gunnery Sergeant, and Master Gunnery Sergeant...
Each major rank was subdivided into five grades. The fifth grade of one rank overlapped with the first grade of the next rank. For instance, a fifth-class private and a first-class corporal both held the forty-ninth rank.
Similarly, a fifth-class clerk and a first-class chief clerk shared the thirty-seventh rank.
When Dubin and his men reported for duty, the adventurers were left utterly dumbfounded.
After being assigned to these real city patrol guards, something felt...off.
“Why does this feel like we’ve become actual city patrol guards?”
“Wasn’t this supposed to be a long-term small-sum payment contract?”
“And he’s not even called Kainan.”
“That liar!”
Charlot also received his salary today, and it was significantly higher than everyone else’s. The “wealthy and extravagant” chief of the city patrol guards immediately announced that they would host a welcome feast for their new comrades.
Dubin eagerly volunteered, taking seven or eight colleagues out to purchase supplies. They quickly returned with a heap of food and barrels of beer.
The Lukavaro District city patrol office was perhaps lively for the first time ever. Both the adventurers and the newly transferred city patrol guards were swept up in the atmosphere. After a few mugs of beer, everyone became more acquainted and cheerful.
Charlot wasn’t particularly fond of this kind of beer, but it was cheap, widely available, and easy to purchase in large quantities.
If they were to buy fruit wine instead, the price would be exorbitant. Moreover, outside of bustling areas like Elysian Boulevard, it was nearly impossible to procure enough for over two hundred people.
After downing a few cups, Charlot was planning his “early escape” to meet Annie and watch an opera when he suddenly felt a sharp twitch between his brows. His Eye of Insight activated instinctively, not only enveloping the entire office but also expanding outward. He spotted a man in hunting attire, unarmed but exuding a terrifying killing intent, striding purposefully into the city patrol guards’ territory.
“Aubrey Tildon Atwood!?”
Charlot currently had only two enemies: one was the former warden of Kilmainham Prison, Magru Trell, now locked up behind bars, and the other was the Fierce Horse Detective Agency. After all, he had killed eight of their detectives.
Since returning to Strasbourg, Charlot had gathered information about the Fierce Horse Detective Agency on several occasions. It seemed that the agency’s formidable leader, Aubrey Tildon Atwood, fit this exact description.
In an instant, Charlot made a quick and decisive choice. He abandoned both his Vampiric Axe and the Blood Rose. Although the Blood Rose granted him the swordsmanship of the Arsilo Family, he knew that as a fourth-tier Transcendent, he stood no chance against a higher-tier opponent. Instead, he opted for the signature product of the Firequell Workshop, one of the six major alchemical workshops of the Fars Empire—the Anti-Space Long-Range Rifle.
Charlot had no great talent for close combat, but he had achieved some proficiency in shooting. Dropping to one knee, he assumed the standard firing position, loaded the rifle, and chambered a round.
Dubin and the others had no idea why Charlot was suddenly so tense, but they quickly formed a protective circle. Facing danger, their first instinct was always self-preservation—an old tradition of the city patrol guards.
The man in hunting attire, radiating murderous intent, seemed to sense something. Just before stepping into the shooting range, he abruptly stopped, turned around, and left without hesitation.
A quarter of an hour later, Charlot finally put down the Anti-Space Long-Range Rifle, drenched in cold sweat. He couldn’t tell what might have happened if the man had stormed in.
Perhaps he could have shattered his opponent with an Anti-magic Armor-Piercing Round. Or perhaps the man would have dodged or resisted the shot. If a high-tier Transcendent closed the distance, Charlot knew he wouldn’t stand a chance.
“If only we were in Machubi!”
“Or if I could bring out Lord Leo. He could probably handle this guy. The only problem is, Lord Leo doesn’t listen to me!”
“Did he see through my identity? If he did, the next time we meet, he’ll definitely kill me.”
Charlot unloaded the bullet, slid the rifle back into his Battlefield Cane, and sighed. The Anti-magic Armor-Piercing Rounds were far too heavy; he usually carried only three. Given the speed of high-tier Transcendents, he would likely only get three shots, at best. Any more bullets wouldn’t matter.
He turned to Dubin and said, “You’ll be in charge of the daily operations of the Lukavaro District city patrol guards. I have some urgent business to attend to.”
Dubin had also sensed that something significant had nearly happened just moments ago. Though the situation had passed without incident, it was clear that Charlot had other pressing matters to handle.
Dubin couldn’t intervene in battles between Transcendents, but he was thrilled to assume responsibility for the city patrol guards. Dubin considered himself quite capable, though he had always been suppressed by incompetent superiors. With no one to hinder him now, he believed he could improve the district’s public order and allow its residents to live peacefully.
Charlot, his face grim, left the city patrol office.
While he had known that his feud with the Fierce Horse Detective Agency wasn’t over, he had believed that his status as a government official would deter further attacks.
However, the incident just now shattered that assumption and filled him with a deep sense of unease.
Activating his Eye of Insight again, Charlot remained cautious, but he didn’t detect any further threats along the way.
When he passed through the Picardy District, he didn’t return to 58 Elysée Avenue. Instead, he traversed the area and headed to the Cat Detective Agency at 22 Madil Street in the Alcatras District.
Only Transcendents could counter Transcendents. With Senior Menielman currently serving with a naval fleet, the only reliable help Charlot could find in the Transcendent world was the cat spirit detective, Venie Arsenault.
The Alcatras District was a classic residential area filled with elegant old houses that exuded timeless charm and careful design. The overall atmosphere was warm and inviting.
Strasbourg’s middle class resided here, and their high demand for security contrasted with the incompetence of the city patrol guards. As a result, this district had a thriving need for private detectives. Of the Seven Great Detective Agencies, three were based in Alcatras, alongside another twenty or thirty smaller agencies, making the area a haven for detectives.
The Cat Detective Agency at 22 Madil Street occupied a three-story building with a distinctive Sherlockian aesthetic. Each floor contained twenty to thirty rooms. Although the Cat Detective Agency, primarily run by women, was smaller than the Fierce Horse Detective Agency, Miss Arsenault still employed nearly a hundred people, including twenty to thirty formal detectives.