Facing an Ancient God for a Year

Chapter 1301: Chapter 1299: The Fog

“How can you tell it’s still early? Just because you’ve just eaten?”

Unfortunately, Lord Reginald was visibly in a bad mood, and his response to Fu Qian’s greeting carried the air of someone overtaken by obsessive logic.

Of course, even so, Fu Qian could still somewhat deduce the underlying meaning.

First, the fact that the other had clearly been awake all night left no room for the notion of early rising.

Second, due to events he had set in motion, The Sect had evidently been quite animated on their end.

From the Hunters to them, though a small window of time had passed, the shifts in strategy this represented went far beyond the comprehension of the clueless participants caught in the middle.

This was, of course, from Lord Reginald’s perspective, one tainted by a lack of information, inevitably leading to somewhat one-sided judgments.

Strictly speaking on logic alone, he wasn’t exactly adept either.

“Maybe because none of you have eaten?”

Fu Qian blinked, giving an unreserved response.

“How do you know…”

Left without a retort, Reginald’s stony silence was met with a fleeting look of surprise from Amila.

“I simply figured you must not have much of an appetite. Seems I was right. If you do get the chance, I recommend giving Mrs. Harper’s cooking a try.”

Pointing in the direction they’d come from, Fu Qian offered unrestrained praise for his breakfast experience.

“…You, on the other hand, seem to have quite the appetite.”

Eyeing Fu Qian, Reginald finally spoke again.

“Of course. Unlike your confusion, my heart has never felt so calm and steadfast.”

Faced with a statement tinged with implicit menace, Fu Qian tapped his temple lightly.

“The pure guidance of moonlight leads me. I am certain I shall never lose my way again.”

This was the true charm of the fanatic.

Every action and word brimming with faith so fervent, it rendered Reginald speechless once more.

“Too bad, we really don’t have the time.”

On the side, Amila, sensing the deadlock in banter needed breaking, spoke up with a tone of regret and opened the carriage door.

“Actually, neither do you. We’d better hurry.”

“Alright.”

The moment the door swung open, Fu Qian found himself face-to-face with the carriage’s original occupant.

A hood obscuring all but a pair of eyes, a coat traced with silver filigree, the aura of a killing machine.

Clearly the quintessential image of a Hunter, and judging by the lack of reaction during the earlier conversation, utterly unflappable.

The cold gaze of those piercing eyes was now fixed squarely on him, unshaken.

…

“My apologies for the intrusion.”

Upholding the name of the Dark Moon and armed with his fanatic demeanor, Fu Qian offered an unfaltering smile and yet another greeting.

Predictably, no response came.

Without prompting from the others behind him, Fu Qian stepped forward the next instant, boarding the carriage and seating himself directly across from the unfamiliar Hunter.

Seeing his cooperation, Amila seemed somewhat relieved and followed in alongside Reginald.

The carriage was spacious enough, yet she chose to sit conspicuously close beside Fu Qian, rather than joining her two colleagues in their watchful scrutiny.

Fu Qian interpreted her choice as an attempt to prepare herself for the self-sabotaging risks his newfound style might invite at any moment.

In fact, during his earlier greeting to the Hunter, she had noticeably been on edge.

“This is Sir Simon. He’ll be accompanying us on this leg of the journey.”

The carriage set off almost immediately, and after a moment’s hesitation, Amila offered a brief introduction of sorts for Fu Qian.

From the vague phrasing alone, it was clear she wasn’t keen on Fu Qian knowing the true reason for the newcomer’s presence.

…

“Understood, shared transportation for saving resources it is.”

To their relief, Mr. Anke seemed disinclined to press further and nodded repeatedly in agreement.

“Last night’s discovery—any further revelations?”

Reginald apparently had no patience to linger, changing the subject directly.

“Yes.”

Knowing precisely what he meant, Fu Qian casually retrieved a pocket watch and opened it.

“What revelation?”

“That she’s a lady.”

…

The reactions from Reginald and Amila once again proved that the lettering engraved on the back of the pocket watch was no secret to them.

“Anything else?”

Adjusting his expression, Reginald asked one more question out of obligation.

“I know why she ended up like this.”

“What!”

In the calm confines of the carriage, Amila nearly jumped out of her seat.

As the plan’s skeptic, she clearly hadn’t anticipated that such a result could be achieved.

“Why did she end up like this?”

The contents engraved on the back of the watch were, of course, known to them, but it had been far from providing meaningful clarity.

Yet here he was, not only addressing the watch as “she” but even claiming to know her? Truly hard to believe.

“This artifact was originally a Holy Relic of the church, once imbued with the blood of the Dragon of Time before it was damaged. However, it was later stolen by a certain female thief… Lo and behold, the thief in question.”

Fu Qian deftly twirled the pocket watch between his fingers, the image of the Baroness’s ruthless visage flashing through his mind.

One wonders how she might feel about assuming this particular form.

“She stole and damaged the Holy Relic, and thus was cursed?”

Fu Qian, of course, was telling the truth, though Reginald naturally filled in gaps with his own assumptions.

“It does fit the mold of a fairly common story. Is there any way to substantiate this?”

Though even as he said this, his skepticism was evident.

“Certainly—take, for instance, the Reysen couple.”

Fu Qian’s rebuttal was seamless, his gaze locking onto Reginald’s abruptly frozen expression in the next moment.

“How about you tell me first, how did you come across this item?”

“…Why do you ask? Wasn’t this what you retrieved last night?”

Reginald instinctively replied, glancing at Amila, who, struck by shock herself, turned away without a word.

Her posture could hardly have been more transparent: whoever stirred this mess should clean it up.

“Given what we’re presently working on, I fail to see why your response has any merit.”

Fu Qian shook his head, making no effort to mask his disappointment.

“If that’s how you want to play it, this conversation need not continue.”

…

“Fine. I’ll admit it—I deliberately had you carry it away… This pocket watch is peculiar. More than one person who’s been to the same places as you has mentioned it.”

Eventually, Reginald chose honesty.

“We tracked it down by its described appearance, expending significant effort before locating it among someone’s private collection.”

“Unfortunately, due to the sheer volume of items, the collector clearly had no recollection of when it was damaged, let alone the significance of the engraving on the back.”

“So out of numerous items, only this one was found?”

Fu Qian feigned nonchalance.

“Correct. Nothing else matched the victim descriptions, which is why we’re even more curious about what makes it special.”

Reginald’s tone was resolute.

“Do you have any further insights about this ‘lady?ʼ”

“We’ve arrived.”

Unfortunately, just as he posed the question, the silent Hunter, Simon, abruptly interjected, bringing their discussion to a halt.

At his signal, the carriage came to a smooth stop, and the door was opened.

It really was thick mist out there.

Falling silent, Fu Qian took in the scene outside, his expression one of quiet satisfaction.

The view from the carriage’s direction revealed a boundless expanse of roiling gray-white, with desolation in every other direction.

The infamous outer-city mists.

Compared to being dragged to a church for brutal interrogation, The Sect had finally managed to add a touch of variety to their antics.