Chapter 21
Chapter 21: The Debt Collector
Silver bells chimed gently.
In her daze, Funis seemed to recall that afternoon again.
A girl pure as a white lily had personally fastened the silver bell for her, the girl’s gentle smile in the faint light like a spring breeze brushing across her heart.
“Miss Crystal, my name is Moira…”
“Please remember…”
Funis woke from her dream with a start.
The silver bells were shaking violently.
Her head felt dizzy.
She usually removed the bell before sleeping. Having it jingle on one side of her head like this while she slept was unusual—Funis didn’t think she was that careless.
The sheets were damp.
The girl looked under the covers in confusion.
When she saw a certain dark-haired witch sitting on the edge of the bed wearing only a corset, reading through a stack of copper plates by the faint light filtering through the curtains, Funis finally remembered what had happened on this bed last night. Her snow-white face immediately burned bright red.
“Finally awake.” Cecia looked back with a mischievous smile. “Was last night enjoyable, my good girl?”
Seeing this, Funis immediately grabbed the blanket and wrapped her bare upper body tightly, shrinking against the corner of the bed frame while trembling all over, watching this dangerous witch warily.
“I wasn’t particularly excessive, was I? Just on the outside…” Cecia shrugged helplessly.
“But you were too skilled.” Funis was very serious. “I’m wondering just how many girls Witch Miss has corrupted before?”
“Are you bothered by that? Jealous? Or do you think it’s unfair?” Cecia rested her chin on her hand, watching the girl with interest. “But I’m a succubus who’s lived for nearly a thousand years~ You should be very clear about what a succubus’s favorite food is.”
Funis wavered somewhat.
She was also a succubus now. She knew that her usual eating behavior was only to satisfy her tongue’s cravings. Except for situations involving significant water loss requiring hydration, most material supplements were meaningless for succubi.
Succubi were a special type of lesser demon. They fed on others’ or their own dreams and emotions—fear, joy, emotion, hatred, any of these could be converted into the energy succubi relied on to survive.
But all of these were still too shallow, too bland. The energy converted remained limited.
Only in the most passionate moments of union, when emotions reached their peak like ocean tides, would the surging energy be intoxicating.
Succubi loved that moment most.
“Do I still suit your taste? Compared to them… compared to those girls…”
The silver-haired girl pulled up the blanket to cover half her face, looking away from the witch.
Funis didn’t know what she was competing over. She had no reason to care about the witch’s opinion of her. Between them, it was just mutual benefit, but the stubborn pride buried in her bones made Funis feel vaguely indignant.
Cecia chuckled, delighted by the girl’s adorable behavior.
“Your taste is like dessert after a meal—a little cake with butter and chocolate sauce. I can imagine how rich and fragrant it would be, but I never dare bite down too hard.” The witch said softly.
“Why?”
Funis didn’t quite understand the faint melancholy on Cecia’s face.
“Because those I can confidently and boldly take from completely are enemies. I eat them clean before they die, letting them leave this world in the most beautiful, most pleasurable moment of their lives.” Cecia lightly tapped the edge of the copper plate, the tapping sound echoing in the small room. “In other words, my little cake, those girls you’re jealous of are all dead—killed by my own hands.”
“What terrible taste…” Funis wasn’t happy at all. “And I’m also your enemy. You killed my family, I took your sister. We both have reason to hate each other.”
“The current you isn’t qualified yet—far from it.” Cecia casually tossed the copper plates in her hand toward Funis. “For that, you still need to work harder, put in more effort.”
Funis caught the stack of metal-gleaming plates. “What are these?”
“A schedule covering an entire week’s plans, dated this Monday, and today is Wednesday.” Cecia rose from the bed’s edge and walked gracefully in heels to the full-length mirror. “The owner of this schedule clearly has good planning habits—an essential quality for a competent manager.”
“Inspecting docked ships… cargo counting and verification… factory…” Funis quickly flipped through them. “The activity range is almost entirely concentrated in the Blackwater District. This person has considerable status in the Blackwater District, with nearby Blood Wine Society members all taking orders from him.”
“The debt collector of the Blackwater District—this is his schedule.” She reached her conclusion. “How did you get this kind of thing?”
“Is this what you wanted, little cake?” Cecia teased Funis while dressing herself. “The academy sisters went to considerable trouble to search this out for you. Among them are quite a few clever girls skilled in difference engine technology. I’m often proud of them.”
Funis bit her lower lip, hesitating.
During her entire year of being forcibly brought to the Black Rose Academy, Funis hadn’t had much interaction with the girls under Cecia’s command—she still harbored reservations about the witch, even though she had now become a witch herself.
“I’ll go thank them when I have the chance.” Funis said quietly.
“Good, very good.” Cecia tied her ribbon. “A lady should understand courtesy.”
Funis spread the forms out in front of her, beginning to think about how to create an opportunity for one-on-one contact with this debt collector.
If she wanted to extract the location of the Blood Wine Society’s secret warehouse from the debt collector, the most direct method was threat—either finding leverage he couldn’t easily abandon, or directly endangering his life.
But regardless of which approach, Funis didn’t want outsiders interfering at the scene.
She had the schedule now and could find the debt collector at any point, but the only problem was she didn’t know if she was a match for this guy. Acting rashly and falling into disadvantage would be quite dangerous.
“Don’t catch cold—put your corset on properly.” Cecia picked up the snow-white corset from the floor and tossed it at the girl’s face.
Her upper body was indeed chilly.
When Funis had spread out the copper plates earlier, she had unconsciously pushed off the blanket wrapped around her. For a lady, such a scene wasn’t particularly elegant.
She took the corset off her face, but discovered a roughly pencil-drawn portrait sketch fluttering down—she guessed Cecia had thrown it over along with the corset.
The girl fastened the corset’s back straps while examining the lifelike portrait.
The man in the drawing had short, spiky hair, prominent cheekbones, a gaunt face with sharp features, and small but fierce, penetrating eyes. He clearly wasn’t a kind person.
“Encoded sketch automatic mechanical doll rendering.” Funis found the neat signature on the back of the oil paper. “This was also provided by the academy witches?”
Providing a string of difference engine codes would allow automatic mechanical dolls to render images based on the coding on site. Now in the information age, things that once seemed incredible were commonplace.
But the question was—how had the academy obtained portrait coding, this kind of private information used in formal clerical work?
“Gray Cloud Fortress has records of his information at the Temperance Institute branch in Georgetown District. Academy girls hacked into the Temperance Institute’s information database and thoroughly exposed this debt collector’s background.” Cecia smiled slightly.
“You even dare hack church institutions?” Funis was extremely surprised. “Wait, when did the Temperance Institute establish a branch in Gray Cloud Fortress?”
“What wouldn’t we dare? The girls working under me all need to be bold and careful.” Cecia looked quite proud. “As for the branch, it was established about seven or eight months ago. Several investigators and enforcement officers from the Kingdom of Coranzo reached some kind of agreement with Fortress Lord Joseph, who allocated them land in Georgetown District as their base.”
Funis rubbed her temples, feeling dizzy. “Thank you for the explanation, Witch Miss. I was making too big a fuss. I apologize.”
“Seeing you so energetic puts me at ease. I don’t think this battle will be easy—you need to keep your head clear.” Cecia tied the front ribbons into a beautiful bow, adjusting her skirt hem in the mirror to ensure everything was properly worn.
“Is this debt collector a transcendent?” Funis asked.
“Weiss Howard, 26 years old, formerly from Coranzo, fled to Gray Cloud Fortress as an adult to escape hometown debts. He lost half his right arm in a gambling match and has since replaced it with a steam-powered mechanical prosthetic. People in the Blackwater District call him ‘Iron-Finger.’”
Cecia produced more copper plates, their densely engraved text making Funis’s eyes blur.
Those markings coldly recorded a person’s life history.
“He is indeed a transcendent, and his sequence is above yours.”
The witch said flatly.
“Generosity Path Sequence 8, ‘Guardian.’”