Year 1456 of the Fifth Era, 15th of September. The Divine Construct, North Continent.

Lanstier Empire, Silver Wheel Province, Schwerdt Town.

The scorching summer sun had departed from the Lanstier Empire’s sky, leaving behind the cool days of autumn, the prevailing theme across the North Continent. Travelers on the road discreetly donned thicker clothes, each one bundled up like a winter hamster – because this coolness was unusual, clearly still early autumn, yet the air temperature was already chillingly like winter.

This year’s weather had been exceptionally strange. Even with every farmer diligently working, and affordable alchemical fertilizers generously nourishing the land and harvest, the crops’ growth was lackluster. It was safe to say that the harvest this year wouldn’t be good.

For a small frontier town like this, this year could almost be considered a disaster.

Even though the harvest season hadn’t arrived yet, and the final death sentence had not been pronounced, a suffocating atmosphere of oppression had already enveloped the town. The people on the streets wore expressions of gloom, causing the sunlight and the town’s relatively new buildings, constructed only a decade ago, to also become somber.

A passerby with hurried footsteps glanced up at the sky for a moment, his breath forming a puff of white mist in the air. He saw the gentle sunlight falling from the horizon, casting a touch of warmth on him.

But this warmth didn't manage to dispel the current eerie low temperature, and he immediately recoiled with a shiver, burying his head and quickening his pace towards another building in the street.

It was a building of about two stories, its lack of ornamentation and the plain brick walls being its most defining feature. The gaps between the bricks exposed different shades under the sunlight, making the entire building appear in only two shades of white and black.

These unique characteristics suggested that it was similar to other new buildings in the town – constructed after the “Arorne Black Sun” event, a time when the Lanstier Empire widely promoted new architecture.

He stood at the entrance, his eyes scanning the surroundings. He saw the house number: “Hedel Street, 15”. There was also a small plaque on the door. He leaned in slightly, straining to discern the writing on it.

“ Lady Nitya's Detective Office.”

He read it out, letter by letter. When his eyes landed on the character “Nitya”, he carefully examined them for a long time, finally confirming their accuracy with a sigh of relief before looking further below.

"Also conveniently undertakes fortune telling, escorting, tracking and other commissions. If you've lost a cat or a dog, you can come to me. Can go through the Adventurer's Guild. Personally adhere to strict confidentiality. Prices are reasonable, no cheating young or old."

He stared at the words for a long time, confirming that they had nothing to do with him, then knocked once and patiently waited.

After a few minutes, the door shuddered slightly, then slowly creaked open. Behind the door, a hallway lined with dozens of framed photographs, large and small, interspersed with pearl-studded lamps, came into view. The ornate decorations and expensive ornaments made him think of a noble’s residence, not a detective’s office in a small frontier town.

He stopped in surprise, momentarily speechless, and looked around. He couldn't see anyone who had opened the door, which added to his apprehension about this detective’s office.

A two-story building right on the street, perhaps even with a basement, was undoubtedly expensive and, in fact, could be a lifelong goal for ordinary people. However, such a residence could only attract ordinary people. More prosperous merchants would choose a luxurious residence on Vimos Street in the north of town. Those grand, opulent rooms, constructed with arched structures, high ceilings, and elaborate eaves, exuded an aristocratic aura, making them the first choice for the wealthy.

As for noble residences... Schwerdt Town was a frontier town. No noble would deign to come here and experience the frigid winds of the Loki Mountains.

Theoretically, the “Lady Nitya” who lived here and worked as a detective wouldn’t be wealthy, at least not as rich as those factory-owning masters. However, this hallway shattered the judgments he had made based on common sense and experience. Even if the paintings on both sides of the hallway were all imitations, those dazzling pearls were still worth a considerable amount. Just one of them could buy a house on Vimos Street.

And the door opening on its own meant the owner was either a magician themselves, or had hired a magician to inscribe a magic spell on the door. Considering the noble status and reluctance of most magicians to serve ordinary people, regardless of which it was, this person shouldn’t be here.

A magician on the run from the law… a secret underground organization member… a heretic who mocks the fourteen archangels… a demon in disguise…

He flashed through a string of possibilities in a moment, his mind spiraling further and further into frightening hypotheticals. He hesitated for a long time, but ultimately bit his lip and stepped inside.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Regardless of what strange and bizarre identities Lady Nitya held, or how different her tastes were from ordinary people, it had nothing to do with him. He was only here to commission a task, and from this perspective, the greater her ability, the better for him! Even if the commission’s price was his life and soul, it wouldn’t matter!

With a "nothing left to lose" attitude, he passed through the hallway, which for some reason, felt like the docks where he used to work. A faint sound of waves seemed to echo from the oil paintings lining the walls, swirling around his ears. The familiar sound brought him back to his old dock, the smell of grime and oil lingering faintly in his nostrils.

To the upper class, the docks were romantic. Sailors, all in unison, sang songs of praise, riding the waves on the ocean's sonata, braving treacherous waters with courage and faith. They charted unknown routes, pursued the truth of life, spread civilization, and brought back wealth… They were the symbol of spirit and courage of those who lived on the Divine Construct, heroes who seemed to have stepped out of a painting.

But all he could remember now were those noisy seagulls, their incessant cacophony grating on his nerves, each one resembling him, a dirty, grime-covered, sweat-soaked laborer, working on the filthy docks, selling his strength for a meager wage, facing the ominous red waters of the treacherous strait that swallowed dozens of unlucky souls every year…

A cold sensation spread across his face, jolting him back to the present.

He realized that he hadn’t actually taken a step forward, hadn’t returned to his workplace. He had simply stood there, frozen in place, after entering the doorway.

That cold sensation, however, came from behind him again, urging him to lift his feet and walk forward.

He took only a few dozen steps to traverse the hallway, and then turned into the reception hall. The person he was looking for was quietly waiting for him here.

She sat in an armchair that was slightly too large for her frame, a white fur rug draped across her legs. In her hand, she held a thick, heavy book, seemingly engrossed in reading.

Her head was lowered, but he could still see half of her face. A young woman, perhaps seventeen or eighteen years old, with a kind of beauty that made everyone who saw her involuntarily slow their breath. Her delicate and refined features evoked images of winter snow, as if the Primal God of Creation had intentionally gifted the world with a treasure. Her skin had no trace of blood, a pale almost translucent white, almost revealing her veins and arteries.

She wore a pure white nightgown, tightly enveloping her body and limbs. Her long, flowing black hair cascaded over her shoulders, reflecting the warm glow of the fireplace, momentarily blending into the rich brown hues of the surrounding warmth. The thick book in her lap was open, the firelight illuminating the writing, compelling her to remain still, focused on reading…

The visitor instinctively held his breath.

But the young woman had already heard his approach. The book closed with a thud, snapping the visitor out of his daze.

The soft feeling under his feet startled him. He looked down and realized it was a rug covering the entire reception area. This prompted him to open his mouth and ask…

But before he could open his mouth, the young woman’s clear voice cut him off. It was a beautiful voice, a match for her appearance, and unlike her frail, sickly exterior, her voice possessed the vitality of a girl her age.

“It's a pleasure to meet you. I am ‘Nitya.’ You can just call me that.” Her gaze scanned the visitor from head to toe, then she raised a corner of her lips, “Also, no need to take off your shoes.”

“A… A.”

The visitor, slightly tense and uncomfortable, sat across from her under her instruction, where a chair identical to the one she was sitting on awaited him. He sat down, his heart pounding, unnaturally twisting and turning his body, feeling the warmth of the precious fireplace, a welcome comfort in this strange weather.

“So, what brings you here?”

The young woman asked this, looking back at him, her pale blue eyes dancing with the flames reflecting from the fireplace.

The visitor nervously rubbed his hands together, then said,

“I came from Nymph Fu. Mr. James Vinylon recommended you to me. He said you are a trustworthy detective, able to solve any problem I may face…”

“It seems you’ve travelled a long way to reach this small town. I appreciate your trust and that of the gentleman, but ‘able to solve any problem’ is a bit of an exaggeration.” Nitya smiled, then recalled “James Vinylon” in her mind, successfully locating a man with a series of misfortunes: his wife had gone beyond the limit, his children were not his own, his business partner had fled, his bodyguard betrayed him, his identity was stolen… This gentleman had given her a lot of work and generously donated a hefty sum of money for her services, the equivalent of seven commissions.

Nitya’s smile deepened, then she said “Wait” and stood up, walking into the kitchen to brew two cups of red tea, placing them on a small table between the two of them.

A moment later, she sat back down, lifted her teacup and took a sip, then asked,

“So, what is your commission?”

“I want to find my son!” The gentleman’s emotions surged at the mention of his commission, his body even trembled a few times before he fumbled a crumpled drawing from his chest and handed it to Nitya.

She took it, a simple sketch. She glanced at the boy, compared him to the commissioner in front of her, noted the distinct resemblance, sighed with relief, and then asked:

“Name, clothing, last known location?”

“My name is Sam, no surname. My son was wearing brown clothes that day. His name is Reigns.” Sam, the dockworker, hastily answered. “An educated old gentleman gave him that name. He said my son had the blessing of the God of Wisdom, that he could become a scholar…”

Seeing him go off on a tangent, the young woman gently reminded him,

“Please focus. When did you last see him? Where was he last seen?”

Sam painfully recalled.

“It was about a month and a half ago. Nymph Fu was celebrating the tenth anniversary of the ‘Arorne Black Sun’ event, and there was a lot of work and good pay. I had a lot to do, so I came home late. When I got back, my wife and son were gone… I went crazy, searching the whole city. I finally found my wife, passed out on the side of the road. She didn't know what happened. Later I searched around Nymph Fu for a few days, and finally heard from someone that Reigns had been seen around Schwerdt Town…”

Nitya listened quietly to his disjointed account, piecing together the gist of the events.

A month and a half ago, Sam’s wife and son were kidnapped by someone. His wife was somehow abandoned halfway, and only his son, Reigns, was taken. He had nowhere to turn, so he placed his hopes on this detective recommended to him… Honestly, this case was a real headache, with almost no clues to go on.

“I understand the basics. I’ll find him.” Nitya’s voice was emotionless and monotonous. “If the target is deceased, I’ll try to find the body.”

Sam pressed his lips together, nodded, and said nothing. But the young woman's next words made his heart almost skip a beat.

“So, let’s talk about the fee.”