The middle-aged man finally looked away from the stack of papers he was pretending not to obsess over and muttered my full name.
"Feron Mornez."
"Yes," I replied.
I could feel cold sweat dripping down my spine, but I kept my face blank. Not neutral—blank. Like I was born to nod politely while my nervous system buzzed like a beehive on fire.
Church of the Saltmother… of course they'd dig up everything. Every embarrassing detail, every unpaid bill, every so-called "coincidence" I pretended was just a coincidence and not something more. They would've known I was once a Enigma hunter. Even if I had walked in wearing a disguise, they'd know. From birth to now, my whole life fit into that estimate he was holding like a grim little folder of fate.
He adjusted his glasses—nervously, I think, though I might've been projecting—and squinted at me again like I'd just spit in his morning tea. His voice had the same tone as wet dirt.
"With what we know about your life and property," he grunted, "it's… nearly impossible for you to become extraordinary. So can you explain it, Feron Mornez? Mister."
Right. Because people like me don't just become anything.
So in their eyes, I was a statistical error. A little hiccup in the big neat plan. A dirt-poor nobody who had no business being anything other than desperate and ordinary. I suppose it makes perfect sense that they saw the 'mystery hunter' role as some kind of charity job for the hopeless.
But if you think I'm the type who'll just take that lying down, then I'm very sorry for you.
No—I'm not.
I dropped the polite smile. The one I'd practiced in mirrors and back alleys, the one that meant "I'm harmless, please don't look too closely." I looked him in the eye, and for once in my life, let my words walk without a leash.
"Careful with your words, dear and honorable gentleman. I, Feron Mornez—yes, penniless, thank you for the reminder—am still a citizen. A decent, law-abiding one. And you're talking to me like I'm some common prisoner."
I paused.
Felt a rush of ease like air after drowning.
Felt stupid for enjoying it.
His face darkened. I mean really darkened. Like a storm cloud trying to figure out how lightning worked again. Muscles tensed under that civil servant's coat like he could barely hold back the impulse to knock me into next week.
But I didn't budge.
I've got nothing left to lose.
(That's a lie.)
He tried to swallow his own temper and failed a little. Then he managed to grit something out through clenched teeth.
"You're… very courageous."
Uh huh.
"If the Church of the Saltmother assigns angry men like you to handle outreach, then maybe we're done here." I stood. "I'll be on my way, and I hope your day improves."
I was halfway turned toward the door when he barked:
"Wait!"
I stopped.
Turned back slowly. Calm again. Or… well, pretending.
He took a breath—big one—like he was swallowing down a meal he hated.
"My tone was wrong. I apologize. Sincerely. Mr. Mornez… Can we continue?"
A real apology? That surprised me more than the rudeness.
Still. I said nothing and sat again.
Church of Saltmother Veriditas huh? Always so eager to show they're in control—even when they're not.
Jaden had warned me about this guy before I came to the Salt Tarvan. Told me he was someone to keep a careful eye on. Said his name was Maud Georgen. Used to be a priest. Supposedly.
Just from this short meeting, I could already tell what kind of man Madu was.
Impulsive. Bitter. Coarse like sandpaper.
Johnny didn't have the full details, but he mentioned some tragedy back in April. Something about a dangerous criminal who ended up in Hodu. Maud and his team walked into a trap, ignored warnings, got every last one of them killed except himself.
Now he's here. Paperwork duty. Surrounded by dust and disappointment.
And me.
For what it's worth, I hated him immediately. That gut-level kind of dislike that doesn't ask permission. I'm the kind who listens to instincts, even when they're wrong.
"Please show your extraordinary ability," he said, clearly hoping to speed-run our little chat to its inevitable end.
I said nothing. Just sighed, pulled out the knife. Hated what I had to do.
Cut my finger. Not too deep.
Blood came slow. Then thick.
Held it up.
One second… two… the bleeding stopped.
Five more, and it was gone. Skin whole again. No scar. Like nothing ever happened.
Self-healing.
I dried my hand, folded the blade back into my coat, didn't say a word.
Maud scratched something down with hands like cinderblocks.
"Superior self-healing ability," he said without looking at me, beard muffling every syllable. "Anything else?"
I paused. Licked my lips.
"No. That's all."
That was a lie. I kept my other ability to myself. The hardening, the Golden Black Rebis beneath the skin—no one needed to know about that. Especially not him.
If no one ever sees the black mist on me… then maybe, just maybe, I can wear it when I need to and still walk through the light unnoticed.
Madu grunted.
"Feron Mornez. We're done. The Church's external task list will be open to you. Ask Miles—the bartender."
He breathed like it hurt him to do so. "You may go."
I stood. Looked at him one last time.
Didn't bother to nod.
The Church of the Saltmother Veriditas "external task list"… funny name for bait.
It's their little trick: dangle work with rewards, make use of rogue Beyonders, and pretend it's charity. Unaffiliated folks like me do the dirty jobs. Some win favor. A few get a potion formula if they're lucky.
And the Church? They collect info. Names. Patterns. Control.
The moment I stepped out, she was there. The woman in the green dress.
"Apologies for Madu" she said with a gentle smile.
Polite. Elegant. Disarming. She even used his first name.
Which meant, in my head, one thing: she was the real one in charge.
She knew everything.
And she was here to warn me.
I smiled back.
"No trouble at all," I lied. "Can I take a look at the task list now?"
"Of course," she said. "Follow me."
I didn't bother asking the bartender. Not when the queen herself was leading the way.
We walked into a quieter room. Bookcases wall-to-wall. She sat behind the desk like she'd always belonged there. Took out thirteen brown envelopes. Neat. Clean. Labeled.
"Hudew doesn't have many Beyonders," she said. "Fewer still under the Saltmother's embrace. These are the cases available."
I took them.
Sat down.
Opened the first.
Theft. September 12th. It was the 18th now. Jewelry shop. Ginko Street.
Noble district.
I knew the place. Couldn't afford to breathe there, but I knew it.
Fifteen pieces gone. No sign of damage. No clue how.
Value: 300 Sterling.
Reward: 20 Sterling.
Tempting.
(Too tempting.)
I moved on.
Murder. Missing girl. A few "mysterious" commissions. Another theft.
And then—
What?
I stopped.
A serial murder case?
That's… not normal. Not something you put on the public list.
Unless you're desperate.
Which means they are.
Details were ugly.
Classic serial pattern: spaced killings, no clear suspect, victims with weird overlaps, psychological chaos wrapped in spiritual fog. All the horror hits.
I felt a chill behind my eyes. Like my brain trying to crawl out of my skull.
I took a deep breath. Then another.
Okay.
Not this one.
Not first.
I grabbed the dossier about investigating "mysterious phenomena."
Small. Manageable. Still a job.
My first step.
Still breathing.
Barely.