Eastern Coast of Pritt, Tivian.
During the day, in the outskirts of Tivian, there was a stretch of steep coastal cliffs. Below the cliffs lay jagged reefs, with wave after wave of turbulent sea surf crashing in from the ocean, relentlessly pounding against the solid rocks. The sound of the surf was constant.
Atop the cliff stood a large military fortress. The fortress faced the sea on two sides and featured tall walls, rows of watchtowers, and heavily fortified turrets filled with dense firing ports. Nurous soldiers in Prittish military uniforms patrolled ceaselessly along the high walls, while the flag of Pritt fluttered in the wind.
At first glance, this seaside fortress looked like a standard coastal defense installation. However, upon closer inspection, one would notice that its artillery wasn’t just aid at the sea—it also had many military installations pointed inland, which should have been its rear. Its defenses were strict in every direction, and its level of alertness far exceeded that of ordinary military facilities.
The na of this fortress was Cold Cliff Prison. As its na suggested, it was not truly a military fortress but a prison—and a very special one at that. The inmates held here were all tied to mystical cris. It was one of many specialized prisons set up by the Prittish governnt to contain “special criminals.”
These "special criminals" were those involved in mystical incidents. Most of the suspects captured by Pritt’s mystical police during investigations of mystic-related cases were detained in these specialized prisons. From low-ranking cult grunts to Black Earth–rank officers, all ordinary society mbers and low-rank Beyonders from the Tivian area were concentrated here. White Ash–rank senior officers, who were extrely rare, were held in even stricter, separate facilities.
Outside Cold Cliff Prison, in the sparsely wooded forest along the coast, two figures rode horseback along a narrow forest path. The lead rider was a woman dressed in tall boots, dark trousers, a black coat, and a low-brimd hat—an outfit marking the standard uniform of a Hunter. She was Misha Devonshire, Special Captain of the Tivian Serenity Bureau. Behind her followed another uniford Hunter on horseback—a young man nad Gregor.
On the slightly muddy trail, the two rode toward the distant fortress. Gregor looked up at the looming structure ahead and spoke.
“Lady Devonshire, we’re almost there.”
“Mm… The roads were rough today, slowed us down a bit.”
Misha replied calmly, and Gregor continued.
“Yeah… took longer than usual. But, Lady Devonshire… do we really need to co here again? That guy’s been interrogated several tis already, hasn’t everything that could be extracted been extracted?” he asked, sowhat doubtfully.
Misha replied with composure.
“While going through the clues again last night, I suddenly saw things from a new angle. If my reasoning is right, that guy might still be hiding sothing. I ca here today to make sure.”
“Oh…”
Gregor nodded thoughtfully, then said no more, quietly following behind Misha. After a while, Misha suddenly paused ahead, seeming to realize sothing. She checked herself and then frowned as she turned to Gregor behind her.
“Careless of … I seem to have lost my ID. I think I dropped it earlier at the checkpoint near the wooden fork. Mayschoss, could you head back there and help look for it?”
“The wooden fork? That’s a bit far… but understood. Please wait here, ma’am—I’ll be right back.”
Gregor tugged on his reins and turned his horse around, galloping back the way they had co. Misha sat silently on her horse, watching Gregor’s figure disappear into the distance.
Misha waited quietly in place, as though awaiting Gregor’s return. After so ti, she heard rustling from the forest beside her. Turning her head, she saw a mounted figure erge from the trees.
It was a black steed she didn’t recognize, slightly larger than hers or Gregor’s. Atop it rode a young man also dressed in Hunter uniform—yet his face was exactly identical to Gregor’s.
Before Misha stood a man with the sa appearance as Gregor. If not for the fact that his uniform looked more worn, his horse was different, and the faint, unsettling smile on his lips was sothing Gregor would never wear—along with the completely different air about him—Misha might have mistaken him for the real Gregor.
“Hello, Miss Misha. Pleased to et you.”
The man identical to Gregor smiled and tipped his hat in greeting. Misha, examining the familiar yet foreign face, spoke with curiosity.
“You’re… one of Rose Cross Order’s people?”
“Indeed. I used a few tricks to temporarily acquire a Blood Shade ability. Your subordinate sure left in a hurry—I almost didn’t have ti to observe him properly.”
The young man chuckled, and Misha asked again.
“What should I call you?”
“Hmm… My real na? For this mission, there’s no need for you to know it. Just keep calling Gregor for now.”
Shrugging, the young man responded. Misha glanced in the direction of where the real Gregor had ridden off.
“You’re not going to do anything to my subordinate, are you?”
“Of course not. At most, we’ll implant a few false mories so he can cooperate with our rhythm. Hm? You care quite a bit about the guy, huh? Don’t tell you—”
He teased with a grin, but Misha quickly cut him off.
“Don’t talk nonsense. I’m just a little concerned for my subordinates, nothing more. That kid’s reliable on missions and quite capable in the field. If sothing happened to him, it’d be a real sha. But back to the point—you people can implant false mories? How?”
Changing the topic, Misha asked. The “Gregor” responded.
“Just a little dream-based trick. It’s not my main ability and has lots of limitations. It only works under specific conditions.”
“Alright, enough idle talk. Let’s get down to business. Those guys have already started moving. We don’t have much ti—we need to act fast.”
“Gregor” looked toward the tall fortress prison in the distance. Misha nodded slightly at his words, then resud her ride toward the original destination, with “Gregor” following behind.
Now with a replacent subordinate, Misha continued on her way. Before long, she arrived at the fortress prison gates. At the outer checkpoint, she was stopped by the guards for inspection.
After dismounting, undergoing a full inspection, and presenting her complete credentials, Misha was allowed through. As she walked to the base of the towering fortress walls, a slightly chubby warden with a sycophantic smile erged from a side door and greeted her with a grin.
“Well, well, I was wondering who it was—turns out it’s Lady Devonshire… It’s been a long ti. Apologies for not greeting you earlier.”
Looking at the warden before her, whose face was plastered with flattery, Misha calmly folded her hands behind her back and said quietly.
“Long ti no see, Warden Morris. I’m here for the usual reason.”
“The usual, huh? Ah… I see. Then may I ask which prisoner you intend to interrogate this ti, Lady Devonshire? I’ll arrange it right away.”
Misha replied.
“This ti, I want to question inmates 0155 and 0078… those few.”
“1142, 0078… those ones, huh? You’ve interrogated them quite a few tis already last year and early this year. Seems like you’ve made so new progress.”
“That’s not your concern. Just take there. No need to prep a special interrogation room—I’ll question them directly in their cells and leave after that.”
“Of course, of course. Right this way.”
With that, the warden led Misha and “Gregor” into the tightly guarded prison fortress. They walked down long, damp stone corridors, passing through layers of security until they reached the cell blocks. The long hallway was lined with tightly shut iron-barred doors. The warden fetched a large ring of keys to begin unlocking them.
“Oh, right. I might interrogate so other inmates beyond the original plan—it could take a while. Hand the keys to my subordinate here; we’ll handle it ourselves. You can go take care of your own business.”
“Er… alright.”
The warden hesitated slightly at Misha’s request but eventually handed the keys to “Gregor.” With that, he and Misha began moving freely through the cell block, unlocking doors at will. Misha entered so of the cells, questioned a few unexpected inmates briefly about relevant cases, then exited and locked the cells again.
After several interrogations, Misha led “Gregor” deeper into the prison. Descending a staircase into the cold, underground levels of the dungeon, Misha, under the dim light of torches, walked down a corridor filled with distant, eerie howling. At the end, they stopped before a thick, reinforced iron door.
Misha gave “Gregor” a slight glance. He imdiately pulled several matching keys from the heavy keyring and inserted them into the locks one by one. After turning all of them, he slowly pushed open the door to reveal a narrow, dimly lit cell.
Inside, a gaunt male prisoner in a prison uniform sat on the cold floor. His skin was yellowed with hunger, his head bald, his wrists and ankles chained with heavy iron links embedded into the wall, worn raw and bloodied. As the door opened, the prisoner slowly raised his head to look at Misha and “Gregor,” who had stepped inside.
“Hello, Vehan Calder… or rather, Mr. Northbone. Long ti no see.”
With her hands still behind her back, Misha addressed him condescendingly from above. Hearing her voice, the man called Northbone hesitated, then replied.
“It’s you… from the Black Dog Bureau… What do you want now?”
“The sa as always—to ask you a few questions.”
“Questions? Hah… I’ve already told you everything I can. I’m just a minor cog in the organization, a tiny strand in the Web of the Spider Queen. I have no more useful information for you. Keep pressing all you want—you’ll get nothing more…”
Northbone’s words revealed his identity: he was a mber of the Eight-Spired Nest, one of the captured Eight-Spider operatives, and a particularly special one. This text is hosted at novel·fire·net
He hadn’t been arrested during the recent Serenity Bureau raids, but much earlier—caught after being discovered as an undercover Eight-Spired Nest spy.
At the end of last year, Director Harold of the Serenity Bureau, desperate to resolve increasingly severe information leaks, planned to form a counterintelligence team composed solely of mbers from regional branches. Unfortunately, the Eight-Spired Nest caught wind of this. Two of the officers summoned from local divisions to HQ were ambushed. One was a Hunter from South Lyshire nad Vehan—killed and replaced by a mber of the Nest. That spy was Northbone.
Later, with intel from the Rose Cross Order, Misha discovered Vehan’s true identity and captured the imposter, Northbone, in secret. After forcing him to drop his disguise, they subjected him to round after round of interrogation. But unfortunately, Northbone genuinely didn’t know much, and they gained little of value.
“Does Tivian still have other hidden safehouses? Are there more spies being deployed after you? Answer clearly!”
“Tch, give it up, you black bitch. I don’t know any of that. Even if you cracked open my skull, you wouldn’t find anything. Don’t waste your ti…”
Despite her harsh questioning, Misha couldn’t get any new intel from Northbone. His answers were vague or empty, and her frustration began to show.
“Listen to , you filthy spider freak. You’d best answer properly, or—hng!”
Suddenly, Misha’s mouth fell silent. Her eyes widened, and an uncontrollable wave of drowsiness swept across her face. Then, under Northbone’s shocked gaze, her body went limp, collapsing to the floor, unconscious.
“…What the…”
Stunned, Northbone stared wide-eyed, unsure what had just happened to Misha. At that mont, a voice echoed in the cell, drawing his attention.
“Heh… The drug worked. One trigger and she’s down. Instant effect.”
Standing beside the fallen Misha, “Gregor” held a small wooden stick and smiled. Then he turned to Northbone, whose eyes widened in disbelief.
“You… you’re—”
“I’m here to rescue you, comrade. You’ve suffered enough these past months. The Spider Queen won’t forget your sacrifice. Now… let bring you back—into the Deep Web.”
The fake Gregor smiled warmly at Northbone, then glanced down at Misha’s unconscious form and added.
“We don’t have much ti. Her identity will let you pass through all the security checks. Let’s begin.”
…
At the sa ti that Gregor and Misha had entered Cold Cliff Prison, across the vast wilderness outside the fortress, countless hidden figures were moving rapidly, converging on a single location.
Mysterious individuals were gathering at concealed sites outside the prison. And within its walls—so were already prepared.
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