They took a carriage from the old clinic straight to Humphrey's house, keen to get clearer answers this time. Joseph stared out the window, brow furrowed with concern.
"If Humphrey knew about that potion formula from the start... why didn't he just tell us outright?" Joseph wondered aloud.
Charles flicked a glance his way. "I'm not sure either. Maybe he's hiding something—or afraid of the consequences."
The carriage gradually slowed to a halt in front of Humphrey's house—the same small, weathered one-story home that, despite its age, appeared well-maintained. They descended from the carriage and approached the door with cautious steps.
Charles rapped firmly on the door.
Silence.
He tried several more times, yet there was still no response. The house lay in suspicious silence. Charles and Joseph exchanged anxious glances, both sensing something amiss.
"Gone... or deliberately ignoring us?" Joseph mused, peering around.
Charles frowned. "I think we should try to get inside, but... breaking in isn't a good idea right now."
The neighbors weren't as quiet as the house itself. The residents had begun to notice their presence again. Curious eyes peered through windows, some barely hidden behind partially drawn curtains and half-closed shutters. A few had even stepped out to stand on their own doorsteps. The atmosphere grew increasingly tense. Declaring themselves as "special unit" investigators wouldn't help their case here either.
"We can't just force it open," Joseph whispered. "If the townsfolk call the city guard, we'll spend hours explaining ourselves."
Charles nodded. "Even with our guild detective credentials, we don't have the legal authority to break into his home."
They circled the house, checking for alternative entrances or open windows. Everything was locked tight. Some windows were drawn shut with curtains, preventing them from peeking inside.
"He's more cautious than I thought," Charles muttered, tugging at one window only to find it securely barred.
All doors and windows were sealed. Meanwhile, the surrounding residents grew increasingly aware of the two men skulking around. Several onlookers with expressions ranging from suspicion to curiosity had gathered outside. The atmosphere was turning distinctly hostile. Not wanting to escalate matters, they decided to withdraw.
"We shouldn't linger," Charles murmured. "This situation could spiral out of hand quickly."
Joseph agreed. "Let's call it for now."
They retreated back to the carriage, gleaning no new clues from Humphrey's empty house. Settling inside, Charles stared out at the modest dwelling, brow furrowed.
"Humphrey... is he deliberately avoiding us?" Charles mumbled.
Joseph let out a long sigh. "If that's the case, he's definitely hiding something."
Both sat in pensive silence as the carriage rumbled away, the rhythmic sound of wheels grinding against the gravel road filling the quiet.
"Let's not jump to conclusions," Charles finally said. 'Change the target to gathering information at the black market first, then come back. If he's truly gone, we might need to trace him elsewhere or find someone who knows where he went,' he thought to himself.
Charles began forming a new plan. He decided they should visit the guild to meet someone who might have information about the black market's location—Bartholomew, a bounty hunter well-versed in the criminal underworld.
"We'll see Bartholomew at the guild," Charles said, meeting Joseph's gaze. "If he knows where that hidden market is, we'll go straight there."
Joseph nodded. "Alright then."
The carriage continued steadily forward, the sound of hooves and wheels creating a consistent rhythm. When it eventually stopped in front of the guild's main building, Charles was the first to step down, stretching his stiff limbs as he gazed up at the impressive white-painted structure adorned with the guild's prominent insignia.
They walked straight into the wide hall, with its clean marble floors reflecting the subdued conversations of guild members throughout the space. The receptionist at the assignment desk smiled when she saw Charles, but he had no time for pleasantries. He headed past the mission board, scanning the crowd for a particular face.
Charles spotted a large man wearing a faded leather coat, leaning back comfortably in a wooden chair, casually sipping beer while conversing with another man. The large man was Bartholomew. Charles and Joseph approached carefully, with measured steps.
Sensing their presence, the burly bounty hunter lifted his gaze with a mixture of suspicion and interest. His companion, evidently another bounty hunter dressed in old, battle-worn attire, sat nearby, looking like someone accustomed to rough work.
Charles stopped at a respectful distance.
"Well, look who's here—our clever detective," Bartholomew drawled with a half-laugh.
Charles managed a polite smile and gave a small nod. "Sorry to interrupt, Bartholomew. We have something important to discuss with you—privately, if that's alright."
Bartholomew studied them with skeptical eyes, scrutinizing both Charles and Joseph in silence for a moment. He couldn't recall being particularly friendly with this detective; his earlier remark had been mere casual banter. Nevertheless, after a brief pause, he turned to his drinking companion.
"Give me a few minutes, pal," he said, lifting his beer in a casual gesture. His friend nodded in understanding and rose from his seat, leaving the three alone. Bartholomew took another swig, placing the mug on the wooden table with a gentle thud.
"What do you want from me, detective?" His rumbling voice carried a hint of suspicion but remained relaxed. "Need me to take someone out?"
"That would be illegal," Charles responded directly. "We only need information." He glanced around to ensure no one was eavesdropping before lowering his voice. "We're hunting for a black market. You might know where it is."
Bartholomew's expression hardened with sudden seriousness, though a faint smirk still played at the corner of his mouth. He leaned forward, giving Charles a shrewd, calculating stare.
"A black market, eh? Looking for contraband? Items you can't find in normal shops? Or perhaps a hitman?"
For a moment, tension seemed to heighten, the silence in their corner growing heavier. Bartholomew quickly noticed their discomfort.
Before the atmosphere could grow too ominous, the bounty hunter took another gulp of beer and set the mug down gently, relaxing his posture. "All right, all right—no need for that face. I'll tell you where it is... but nothing comes free in this world."
Joseph interjected, "We'll pay a fair price, and we guarantee no one will know you were our source."
Bartholomew studied them for a moment, his cunning eyes clearly weighing the offer. His lips curled into a sly grin as he propped an elbow on the table and pointed a lazy finger at them.
"So, how much are you willing to pay?"
Joseph raised four fingers. "Forty crusédos. Is that sufficient?"
At that precise moment, Charles used his Ascendant ability, directing the bounty hunter's attention so that he momentarily forgot about haggling for a higher fee.
"That'll do," Bartholomew said slowly. "There's a hidden market in the Old Town. But accessing it isn't like walking into a grocery store. You'll need an introduction—and a password."
"A password?" Charles echoed, brow furrowing slightly.
Bartholomew chuckled low. "That's right. A passphrase."
"Do you know it?" Joseph pressed.
He leaned back in his chair again. "Of course I do."
Charles discreetly used his power again, making the bounty hunter focus solely on sharing the passphrase, forgetting whatever scheme he had been contemplating. The bounty hunter paused, creating a moment of tension, then murmured clearly:
"Dust fades after the rain."
Charles raised his eyebrows. "That's it?"
A quiet laugh rumbled in Bartholomew's throat. "Yeah. But you have to say it in the right place, at the right time. Someone will ask, 'What makes the rain fall?' You answer, 'Dust fades after the rain,' and they'll open the way for you."
Joseph considered that. "What if we get it wrong?"
Bartholomew's eyes narrowed, his smirk turning wry. "Then you'd better be prepared to deal with the gatekeepers. They don't take kindly to strangers—and they know how to make people disappear without anyone looking for them."
Charles nodded, carefully memorizing the passphrase and procedure. "We still need more than just a passphrase. Where exactly is this market located?"
Bartholomew gave another low, raspy laugh. "You two certainly cut to the chase. Alright. We've been getting along, so I'll tell you... But remember, if you mess up, nobody's going to save you."
Charles and Joseph exchanged glances. Bartholomew finished his beer with a final swig, setting it down with a soft thud. Leaning forward conspiratorially, he delivered the crucial information:
"The black market you're after... It's located in the drainage tunnels beneath the city."
He smiled faintly. "The entrance is hidden near an abandoned lumber yard."
"Once you get deep enough, you'll find the smugglers' assembly point. Use that passphrase with the gatekeepers, and they'll take you inside."
"And where does the path begin?" Charles pressed.
"A small tunnel near the old lumber yard, close to the Old Town's gate," Bartholomew explained. "Go deeper into the main drain. You'll come to multiple forks. Look for red 'X' marks on the walls—follow them until you meet the gatekeepers."
"And then?" Joseph asked.
Bartholomew shrugged. "That's up to you from there." He adjusted his position slightly. "The gatekeepers aren't people you want to have problems with. If you give the correct passphrase, everything will go smoothly. But if you get it wrong..." He paused ominously. "Be ready to run, because they show no mercy."
Charles memorized every word carefully. "Thanks for the information."
Another low chuckle escaped Bartholomew's throat. He lifted his empty mug in a mock toast. "Anytime. If it helps keep you alive."
Joseph placed a small pouch of money on the table. As soon as Bartholomew pocketed it, Charles and Joseph stood. They left the hall without looking back, weaving their way through the guild members. Halfway across, Charles gave Joseph a subtle nudge with his elbow, signaling him to quicken their pace.
Though somewhat confused, Joseph matched his stride, their footsteps barely audible on the polished floor as they swiftly exited into the street.
A moment later, Bartholomew's expression suddenly changed. "Hey! I forgot to negotiate for a better price!"
Charles and Joseph heard the exclamation from behind and hastened their steps as they climbed into the waiting carriage. Charles slammed the door shut. "Go—now!" he ordered the driver.
Inside the moving coach, with wheels rumbling over cobblestones, Joseph shot Charles a bemused look. "How did you know he would try to negotiate a higher fee?" Joseph asked with a mixture of suspicion and interest.
"Would this be mind-reading? That can't be how your power works at your current Ascendant level, right?"
Charles leaned back against the seat. "I've heard about Bartholomew from some people at the guild. He's known for maximizing his profit whenever possible."
Joseph raised an eyebrow. "So you guessed he'd do the same with us?"
"Precisely," Charles replied calmly. "Information about the black market is valuable. He wouldn't let it go cheaply. So I gave him a little mental nudge... made him forget to haggle until it was too late."
Joseph chuckled. "He must be furious now, realizing it only after we left."
Charles gave a small shrug. "He can be as angry as he wants. He missed his chance."
They exchanged knowing smiles and let the carriage continue in silence, each contemplating what lay ahead.
Upon arriving in the Old Town, an eerie stillness hung over the dilapidated district like a warning. The abandoned lumber yard stood amid piles of debris and refuse. Charles and Joseph moved carefully, searching for the hidden sewer entrance.
By now, they had changed into long cloaks to conceal their identities and avoid drawing unwanted attention.
"There," Joseph whispered, spotting the remains of a decrepit sawmill. Slipping beneath the rotted foundation, they discovered a narrow path leading underground.
Soon, they found a dark tunnel mouth. Charles took out one of the oil lanterns and lit it. By its flickering glow, they saw a faded red 'X' marked on the tunnel wall.
Together, they stepped into the darkness. The cramped corridor stretched into blackness, reminiscent of a labyrinth concealing hidden truths. Only the rhythmic drip of water and echo of their footsteps accompanied them. Up ahead, the heart of the black market awaited—along with potential answers to Michael Berg's disappearance.