“All right, Shali has the school office’s approval to walk out the front gate—so how am I supposed to get out?”

At the edge of the Academy, Muen eyed the patrolling teachers and golems, frowning in frustration.

Even without the second layer of the Grand Sealing Ritual in place, perhaps because of the increasingly tense situation lately, the Academy’s security had clearly been tightened.

Once night fell, the number of patrolling teachers multiplied.

At his current late–Second Rank—and, frankly, embarrassing—level, slipping past them was nearly impossible. Those teachers weren’t pushovers.

And there was no way he could openly go through the normal process; this trip was not for a casual stroll or gift shopping.

“Looks like I’ll have to use my trump card.”

With no way forward, Muen reached for the last-resort method he kept tucked away. Drawing in a deep breath, he stared at the approaching patrol, a certain fierce, determined glint in his eyes.

“Teacher Meladomir, help me!”

“...”

“Please? I’ll buy you your favorite candy later!”

“Get lost.”

From the void came an irritable shout, dripping with how did I end up with such a shamefully undignified disciple.

A small, delicate, pale foot emerged from nowhere and kicked Muen square in the rear.

Pain shot through him as his vision spun—like he’d been stuffed into a giant-cycle setting of a drum washing machine.

When he finally staggered upright, rubbing his backside, he found himself on the street outside the Academy.

Because it was a school day, the street—dependent on the Academy for its livelihood—was eerily quiet. Dim firelight seeped from the windows of closed shops, reflecting faintly on the spotless bluestone pavement.

Night had fallen. The street was empty.

Only a pitch-black carriage, without any markings, waited in silence.

Muen stepped inside.

The person within had been waiting.

“Young Master.”

Anne came forward, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“I’ve been waiting for you so long.”

“All right—save the clinginess for later.”

Breathing in that familiar fragrance, Muen rubbed her head.

“Business first.”

“Yes.”

Anne straightened, her posture ruler-perfect, her gaze shedding all trace of the earlier warmth and reverting to her usual formality.

Tap-tap.

The carriage began to move on its own, heading toward the Lower City.

“This is what you asked for.”

To the rhythm of hooves, Anne handed Muen a file.

He took it, flipped it open, and scanned through it quickly.

“So this is every major gang in the Lower City?”

“That’s right.”

Anne nodded lightly. “If it has a name and territory, it’s in there.”

“Fewer than I expected.”

“After all, only a few manage to claw their way out of the Lower City’s mire. Most are small, scattered groups surviving under the protection of bigger gangs. I doubt those will be of much use to you.

“And for the Lower City, what matters isn’t what’s below, but what’s above.”

“Above...”

Muen murmured.

“And the information on those above?”

“Anything I could verify is marked there. The rest... they’re cautious, hard to pin down.” She sounded faintly apologetic.

“It’s not your fault. If they were that easy to pin down, the royal family would have swept them all up ages ago. They wouldn’t be strutting around now.”

Muen sighed.

In his memory, even his cheap father had looked down on nobles who thought of nothing but money and desire—but there was one thing even he had admitted:

When it came to doing bad things, those people were clever. In the Lower City, who knew how many gangs were just layered fronts for them?

The profits from smuggling and contraband sales—no one knew how much of it ended up in those nobles’ pockets.

“But for now, the Lower City shouldn’t be feeling much pressure from above,” Anne suddenly said.

“Oh? What do you mean?”

“Most of the nobles in the Upper City have been summoned by His Majesty.”

“Summoned?”

Muen frowned.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because the Duke isn’t here, the Campbell family didn’t get the notice. But I visited several noble houses—most of their lords and able-bodied men are gone, leaving only the old, the weak, ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ and the women.

“From what I gathered, it was by royal summons. Apparently something big is about to happen.”

“Something big...”

Lately, the only major event on the horizon was—

So the Moon’s move was going to be bigger than he’d thought.

“And those nobles just... obey? When big things happen, shouldn’t their first instinct be to run?”

“I don’t know,” Anne said, touching her cheek with a troubled look.

“But usually, with a blade to your neck, people don’t lie.”

...Wait.

Anne?

Did I just hear something outrageous? Did you really go for a polite visit?

...Better to pretend I didn’t hear that.

“Also, according to the ducal house’s intelligence, Belrand has begun a major crackdown on smuggling. The city gates are sealed—basically, you can enter, but you can’t leave.”

“I think I know why those nobles are being so cooperative.”

The corner of Muen’s mouth twitched.

As expected of the emperor who’d bloodily purged Belrand’s underworld more than once—when he struck, he struck hard.

If the Moon really was going for a burn-the-ships maneuver, then right now the whole of Belrand was like grasshoppers tied to the same rope. Those people had no choice but to work hard.

“For me, that’s a good thing.”

Muen put the file away. “Without their masters’ leashes, those house dogs are worth even less than strays.”

“Oh, and the other item I asked for—do you have it?”

“Of course, Young Master.”

Anne took out a box and opened it, revealing a black formal suit and a finely crafted human-skin mask.

“The suit was made overnight with special fabric. It can resist most cuts, flames, blunt force, and even magic attacks below Third-Rank Ritual level. Most importantly, it’s incredibly light—only half the weight of ordinary clothes.

“And this mask, crafted by a master artisan, is virtually indistinguishable from real skin...”

“...”

Watching her matter-of-fact presentation, Muen felt a faint warmth in his chest.

He had only asked for something light and something that could disguise him.

But Anne always prepared everything perfectly—beyond expectations.

“Thank you, Anne.”

“Young Master, this is my duty.”

“Then help me put it on—like at home.”

“Yes.” A smile touched her lips.

“As you wish, Young Master.”

...

...

A few minutes later, when Muen stepped out of the carriage, his appearance had changed drastically.

His height and build had increased by a full size. A high-bridged nose and deep-set eyes lent him the cold, haughty air of a northern aristocrat.

The close-fitting black formal suit was like the shadow of a beast—noble, yet filled with a violent beauty. Golden dangling ornaments emphasized his wealth and status.

Golden short hair was tucked under a wide-brimmed hat. When he tilted the brim, every trace of emotion and expression was drowned in a chilling darkness.

“All right, gentlemen.”

Muen gripped his cane, gazing down the silent street of the Lower City.

“Let’s begin round two of the game.”