After a long mont, his expression shifted—recognition flickering in his eyes.
"Ah," he murmured, "there is one place that fits that description."
He turned, rummaging through a drawer before pulling out a worn map.
Unfolding it across the desk, he tapped a spot just beyond the main roads.
"Here. This place. There’s a cathedral built before the founding of the Empire. Its angel statue collapsed decades ago." He glanced up at . "The locals call it the ’Fallen Wings.’"
I leaned over to study the marked location.
The spot his finger indicated on the map wasn’t just far—it was buried deep within Ambrosia, the most secluded district on the outskirts of the capital.
A place people avoided unless they had business they didn’t want others to know about.
I studied the mark carefully, committing every curve of the path to mory.
Once I had it locked in my mind, I straightened.
"Now it’s my turn," I said. "Dora. Tell about her pendant."
I’d gotten what I wanted from him—if the information turned out to be garbage, I could always co back and shake the guild again. Preferably louder.
The Guild Master let out a slow breath, as if preparing himself.
"Do you know Baron Vermuth?"
"Of course. He’s been climbing the political ladder like a man who glued himself to it. Why? What does that have to do with Dora?"
The guild master’s brows furrowed deeply as if the pieces weren’t quite fitting together in his head.
"Specifically," I added, "look into his second wife. The one he married recently. Look closely, and you’ll find sothing."
"..."
Silence settled between us as he sank into heavy thought, eyes narrowing as though replaying rumors and reports he’d heard before.
While he was busy piecing things together, my eyes shifted to the box in his hands.
"...Our business seems concluded. How about handing that over now?"
He raised his gaze to mine, studying one last ti—almost like checking whether I was worth trusting.
"The information is reliable?"
"Of course," I replied without missing a beat. "I have no reason to lie, do I?"
A long exhale.
"...Then I’ll trust you. This once."
He tossed the box to .
The mont it hit my palm, I felt its weight—much heavier than I expected.
I flipped it open.
Inside lay a cloudy, teardrop-shaped gem.
Dim, almost dull... yet carrying a presence I could feel in my fingertips.
Cain’s Tear.
I closed the box gently.
"Next ti," the guild master said with a faint scowl, "instead of causing trouble, make a proper request through the receptionist."
"Hm. And what should I say?"
"Just tell them you’re looking for Demian."
His voice softened—not in warmth, but in sincerity—as he t my hidden gaze beneath the hood.
"That’s my na."
---
After securing everything I wanted, I stepped out of the information guild without looking back.
No lingering, no hesitation. The mont my boots hit the street, I slipped into the nearest alley and lted into the shadows.
A quiet breath.
Then—shrrrk.
My invisibility spell wrapped around like a thin layer of glass.
My body blurred, then vanished entirely.
Perfect.
A few seconds later—
"What?! Where did they go?"
"They definitely ca this way—keep searching!"
The alley erupted with voices.
The n who stord in wore familiar faces—those sa thugs who’d been glaring daggers at when I’d stirred up trouble inside the guild.
Of course.
The second I turned my back, they tried to tail .
Typical.
"I’ll check over there! Spread out!"
They scattered, kicking aside crates, peering behind barrels, even poking their heads into trash piles like desperate raccoons.
All of it useless.
Even if they had ten more people, they wouldn’t find .
Once their footsteps faded into the distance, I finally lifted the invisibility spell. My body shimred back into view.
"...This is exactly the problem with these back-alley types."
Clicking my tongue, I stepped out of the alley.
Information guilds were supposed to operate on trust.
Discretion.
Professionalism.
But these idiots?
They tried to tail a client the mont he walked out the door.
As expected, Demian must’ve ordered it. He wanted to scrape together anything he could about —my identity, where I was headed, what I planned to do next.
Tch. If that was their idea of custor service...
"How am I supposed to trust them enough to do business again?"
Shaking my head, I tucked the box with Cain’s Tear deeper into my cloak.
With annoyance still simring, I turned my steps toward Ambrosia—the silent, shadowy district waiting at the outskirts of the capital.
If the guild wanted to know who I was, they wouldn’t get their answer today.
But Ambrosia just might.
Following the map, I eventually found myself standing before an old cathedral tucked away in the loneliest corner of Ambrosia.
Calling it "abandoned" felt too generous—this place looked like it had given up on life decades ago.
Weeds taller than my knees tangled around the stone steps. Cracked pillars leaned at suspicious angles, as if one wrong breeze might send the whole structure toppling. The roof sagged like it had grown tired of holding itself up.
’No wonder even the holess avoid this place.’
Even in Ambrosia—the city where people slept in alleys and ruins without complaint—this cathedral was treated like forbidden ground. Not because it was haunted or cursed... but because it was one strong exhale away from becoming rubble.
If soone slept here and the building collapsed mid-dream?
Instant, guaranteed funeral.
I climbed the creaking stairs and reached for the large wooden door, half expecting it to resist or groan ominously.
Instead—
Snap.
The handle broke off cleanly in my hand.
"...Seriously?"
I stared down at the rusted, brittle tal sitting in my palm, speechless.
It felt like the door disintegrated from the re idea of being touched.
Just how long had this place been left alone for sothing this simple to crumble?
I exhaled through my nose, set the broken handle aside, and pushed the door with nothing but my fingertips.
It swung inward imdiately, as if relieved soone else was finally taking responsibility for holding it up.
Creeeeak—
The door groaned as it swung open, the hinges protesting like they hadn’t been touched in decades.
A thick sheet of dust billowed outward, rising like smoke.
"—Cough, cough!"
I instinctively raised an arm over my face, fanning the air with my hand as the dry particles scraped my throat.
The dust hung stubbornly for a few seconds before slowly drifting back down.
When the air finally cleared, the inside of the cathedral ca into view.
And it was a ss.
Debris littered the floor—chunks of stone, shattered wood, broken ornants.
Several pillars were cracked, so leaning with ominous angles as if one stiff breeze might bring them down.
The walls weren’t faring much better, covered in long fissures like scars left behind by sothing violent.
My gaze moved deeper inside.
There, standing beneath the fractured stained-glass windows, was a massive angel statue.
Or rather... what remained of it.
Both of its wings lay broken on the ground, shattered into uneven pieces.
The statue stood alone, hands clasped together in a prayer-like pose, its expression solemn—almost mournful.
As if it, too, regretted whatever had happened here.
"At least one thing’s certain," I muttered.
Demian might be a man who would stab you in the back if it benefited him even slightly.
A man who always seed ready to pull strings in the dark.
Untrustworthy in almost everything.
But the one thing he never lied about was information.
And this place—this ruined cathedral—was exactly where he said it would be.
His intel was dead-on.
As expected.
But still.
"This... doesn’t look like a place where Lisa would be imprisoned."
The more I looked around, the more certain I beca.
There was nothing here—no cells, no restraints, not even a locked storage room.
At best, this abandoned chapel held a few dusty chambers where priests might’ve slept decades ago.
But there was nothing even remotely similar to the underground prison I saw in my dream.
Which ant only one possibility remained.
My eyes shifted.
The angel statue.
Just standing there in the center, staring down with clouded marble eyes—anyone would find it suspicious.
I approached it slowly.
Up close, the statue was even more elaborate than it looked from afar: wings carved so delicately they almost seed soft, flowing robes that looked like they would flutter if a breeze passed through. It had been sculpted from pure white marble, but ti had drained its brilliance, leaving it looking pale and lifeless.
Religion itself had beco the sa—once glorious, now faded, barely clinging to relevance.
I reached out and brushed my hand against the dust-covered surface.
The mont my skin made contact—
Rumble...
RUMBLE RUMBLE—!
"W-What the—?!"
A red glow burst from the scar on the back of my hand, bright enough to sting my eyes.
And then the angel statue moved.
Not just a slight shift—
It slid, slowly but powerfully, grinding against the stone floor with a deep, thunderous groan.
I staggered back, instinctively putting space between us, watching the impossible unfold.
The statue continued shifting sideways, as though guided by invisible gears.
Only after it slid far from its original position did it finally halt.
And where the statue once stood—
"...A hole?"
A pitch-black opening yawned before .
A ladder descended into it, swallowed by an endless darkness that even my eyes couldn’t pierce.
I stood on the edge, staring down.
Cold air drifted upward from the abyss, brushing against my skin like a warning.
For a mont, hesitation clung to .
Just a mont.
Then I placed my foot on the first rung of the ladder.
And slowly, carefully—
I began to descend into the darkness.
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