Seemingly unable to discern anything, the man instead inquired, "What happened? Is it related to this box? Where did you get it?"

Asher was taken aback. How could the detective not know? He had assumed the ring was one of his possessions.

"You see, Detective, I was sent to the storage room by Henry earlier for some matters. While I was there, I came across this box. Inside, I found a ring. When I touched it, it felt colder than a pole in winter. My skin immediately froze over, and I had the sense to retract my hand. When I did, I noticed some blood left on the ring from the injury. Strangely, the blood seemed to disappear from the surface of the ring, almost as if it drank it. I know this sounds ridiculous, but I assure you, I have better jokes to tell."

Mr. Bolard didn’t appear even slightly taken aback by his story. Instead, he glanced at Asher’s left hand for a moment, then let out a long sigh.

"Where is that ring now?"

Asher was a bit confused; hadn’t the detective just been inspecting it?

"It’s on my left hand. I’ve been wearing it since the incident occurred. However, much to my dismay, I’ve belatedly learned that I cannot take it off."

He twisted and pulled at it; soap and water did nothing. It wasn’t even a supremely tight fit. Upon realizing this, he knew he had to inform Mr. Bolard. "I’m no thief, Mr. Bolard."

Mr. Bolard seemed to understand something. He rummaged through his desk and produced a bottle of whiskey. After pouring two glasses, he sipped silently before lighting up a half-smoked cigarette from his ashtray. Pushing a glass of whiskey across the desk, he offered a sympathetic gaze.

"I see; that is indeed quite distressing. I applaud your diligence. Tell me, Asher, is there anything special about that ring? Anything that stands out?"

Asher glanced at the whiskey, contemplated for a moment, and then downed the entire glass.

Ugh, absolutely miserable stuff. How do people enjoy this?

"There is an inlay on the ring—a masterfully cut opal in the shape of a crescent moon. There’s also an inscription, but it’s in a language I’ve never seen before, even in my historical research."

Producing a pen, Mr. Bolard slid a notepad across the desk.

"Write it down for me."

Asher quickly obliged, grateful he hadn’t been dismissed and sent to the local sanitarium. He jotted down the words, "Somnus Aeternus."

Mr. Bolard looked at the notepad, thinking quietly. He opened a drawer and sifted through documents until he found the storage inventory from December.

After flipping through it for a while, he reached the end of the pages, sipped his whiskey, and closed his eyes, lost in thought.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

"If I'm not mistaken, that ring is likely a relic from Urbs Stellarum's distant antiquity. That in and of itself isn’t too strange. They do come around from time to time—maybe once a decade, you can find one through one of the lesser-known auction houses. Typically, they fetch astronomical sums. The kind of money that you and I wouldn’t dare to imagine. The last one auctioned in Menthil was seven years ago. It sold for thirty million pounds."

"It was a mask Jester's Guise, it resembles a court jester makeup attire. That being said, obvious or not, we do not have the capabilities to acquire such a lavish item."

"There is no ring by your description within the storage room. All that standing, frankly, this issue somewhat escapes my capabilities. There are some people I can reach out to, but I doubt they would be better equipped to address this."

"Asher, you’re a clever kid. You must have wondered why we hired you, right? We brought you on for situations like this, hoping you could supplement our historical knowledge. Given that you were doing something similar for Hearth University, I thought you’d suit the role."

"In general, there are no experts on most of the historical records from this period. As for experts on Urbs Stellarum relics? Well, they simply don’t exist. They are suspected to have been owned by the former Knights Stella, who ruled much of the continent from 1300 to 1500. Their throne resided in Urbs Stellarum. They were fierce and clever. If not for internal strife, most would agree we would still be under their foot today."

Asher struggled to comprehend Mr. Bolard’s words.

"This ring is 300 years old and was formerly owned by royalty?"

"I see. So that’s why they hired me. It still begs the question, though: where and how are they acquiring ancient historical records?"

"Very well. At least I don’t think the relic is currently causing harm to me or others. I must ask you, Detective: do you frequently encounter similar articles like this ring?"

Mr. Bolard poured Asher another cup of whiskey and extinguished his cigarette.

"Indeed, we often do. Our clients frequently have strange requests. Of those, roughly 40% are related to ancient ruins in some manner."

Asher calmed down after finishing the first glass. He mimicked the relaxed pace Mr. Bolard enjoyed with his liquor.

"Bloody hell, that’s dreadful."

Mr. Bolard pretended not to notice Asher’s grimace, then remarked, "There is no ring in the storage room by your description, and therefore it would suggest you have not taken anything from the company. Asher, I must take this opportunity to remind you of the confidentiality clause as well as the non-disclosure agreement you signed regarding the company. Under no circumstances can you divulge your experience at the office today, at least outside of sanctioned channels."

"I will inquire on your behalf; still, I will do so without disclosing your circumstance."

Asher felt a wave of relief wash over him, glad to know he wouldn’t be held responsible.

He had no qualms regarding his freedom of speech on the matter.

Loose lips sink ships, after all.

However, upon hearing Mr. Bolard’s closing statement, he felt a sudden sense of alarm.

"Last one... seven years ago... thirty million... belonged to the Knights Stella..."

Asher quickly fixed his posture and shot a glance at Mr. Bolard.

"Actually, please do not inquire on my behalf in any capacity. While I may not know much, I do know some things. Any mention of even a hypothetical relic of this caliber will cause trouble—for you, the company, and myself. Instead, I will make efforts on my own to uncover their intricacies. Thank you, Detective; I think it’s best we never had this conversation."

Mr. Bolard seemed impressed by his new assistant.

"Indeed, your insight seems to ring true. Even though I trust the contacts I intended to send inquiries to, it could very well cause unforeseen consequences. If anything does happen, you can come to the office directly and consult with me or Henry. I will see you tomorrow morning after your sessions. Good day, Asher."

Asher placed his glass on the desk and picked up the box he had set there.

Afterwards, he covered the words he had written with ink and offered a sincere nod to the detective.

He half-turned around when he noticed a document detailing the Jester's Guise.

He couldn’t make out what was written from his angle, but he did see a picture.

It was of a woman—perhaps 24—with flaxen hair and gorgeous green eyes.

"Renee?"