This had been a setup. They were prepared. They’d positioned men ahead of time in the abandoned market, sealed lines of sight, set up a sniper nest… it was all meticulously planned.

  And this location… if not for this broker, using that Fifth-Rank Meditation Method as bait to guide her here step by step, she’d never have come.

  So…

  Pandora’s gaze slowly lowered, landing with a physical weight on the face of the blond young man walking toward her. It held no anger, no accusation. Just a rational, ice-cold suspicion.

  The broker’s heart clenched the moment her eyes met his. It was like being squeezed by an invisible hand. He understood the cold question beneath her calm immediately.

  If he couldn’t clear his own name, right now, completely…

  He’d probably be joining his two “comrades”—whose names were already gray in his Palmfiend—very soon.

  The thought drenched his back in a fresh wave of cold sweat.

  But he hadn’t clawed his way back in the Garden of Eden just on good looks and smooth talk. In a flash, he made a choice. He’d throw someone else to the wolves.

  “Baroness! I—I was sure I was dead!” He hurried forward, his face a mask of overblown relief, his voice shaking with just the right amount of lingering fear. “Thank the gods! Thank the gods you were here! You saved me! I owe you my life!”

  As he spoke, he watched Pandora’s face closely from the corner of his eye.

  Then, as if suddenly remembering, he let indignation and heartbroken betrayal twist his features.

  “That damn ‘Raelf Pence’!” He practically spat the name. “It was him! He proposed the deal, he insisted on this cursed meeting spot! This ambush… it has to be his trap! He wanted to kill us both here!”

  Raelf Pence?

  The name connected with the brief information Elsa had sent through their mental link about an anonymous contact. Pandora’s expression didn’t change, but she adjusted her demeanor slightly.

  The suspicion in her eyes slowly faded, replaced by an appropriate measure of curiosity. A hint of piqued interest.

  The broker caught that subtle shift—from suspicion to curiosity—and the boulder on his heart lowered an inch.

  He’d gambled right. He’d redirected her focus.

  He piled it on, his tone growing more righteous, painting himself as another victim of the plot. “That’s it! It has to be him! He kept dodging, refused to meet somewhere safe like Trolley Coffee inside Eden to finish the deal! Setting up a ‘contact,’ lying to me, leading us step by step out here to this gods-forsaken wasteland… Baroness, I’m convinced now it was all planned! He never meant to trade. He wanted to hurt you… and get rid of me too.”

  He poured on the passion, the full emotional performance. All while watching her.

  Pandora listened, then was silent for a moment. She gave a slight nod, as if partly convinced.

  “That person is indeed… suspicious,” she said.

  The broker let out a long, silent breath inside. The string pulled taut in his chest finally slackened a little.

  “So…” Pandora spoke again, her gaze direct and calm, locking onto him. “Do you have more information on him? Do you know where he is now?”

  This… The broker hesitated, but only for a second before deciding. “I do… know some basic things about him.” Then he told her everything he knew about Raelf Pence. He’d thought about mixing in lies or blurring details, but the way Pandora asked questions built an invisible pressure. She didn’t follow his rhythm. She’d interrupt with a seemingly unrelated follow-up about a tiny detail he’d mentioned earlier. Her steady gaze felt like it could see the smallest twitch in his heart.

  It scared him. He didn’t dare lie. He told everything, as completely and truthfully as he could.

  “But his exact location right now… I really don’t know,” he added, his tone sincere. On that, he wasn’t lying. Raelf Pence, while part of the plan to lure and kill the Baroness, wasn’t under his control. Raelf was a direct subordinate of that third-rank veteran apprentice. His connection to that powerful figure was closer than their cobbled-together kill team’s. So he didn’t know the man’s current location. Maybe that was also their patron’s usual method—breaking a job into pieces, keeping information separate between agents, leaving no trail to follow.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Whatever the reason, for Poxman right now, it was a good thing. If he could just survive this immediate crisis… the information he’d given up today could be used as bait in the next plan. As long as he lived, this wasn’t a total failure. And having seen the Baroness’s real strength and strange tricks firsthand, next time he could prepare something better. More lethal.

  The thought brought a shadow of dark optimism back to his despair. He seized the moment, his face breaking into his usual ingratiating, shrewd smile.

  “But, Baroness, don’t worry too much. Even if we can’t find him right now, I… I can tap my whole network next, do whatever it takes to track this ‘Raelf Pence’ down! If he’s still active near Eden, I swear I can—”

  Pandora’s voice cut in, flat and cold, stopping him dead.

  “Who said… we can’t find him?”

  Pandora looked at him, the corner of her mouth lifting in a faint, almost mocking curve.

  “Do you think…

  “...everyone is as useless as you are?”

  The broker went silent. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. A fresh chill crawled up his spine.

  He still couldn’t believe it. Could she really find Raelf Pence right now? No way. Their connections were too secret, even he didn’t know… Unless…

  A cold thought hit him. Could it be her mysterious helper? The one who’d taken out Index Finger silently?

  Pandora wasn’t paying attention to the turmoil inside the man in front of her. The turbulent guesses churned beneath his outwardly calm face.

  Her focus was already somewhere else. She was contacting someone else through the Palmfiend resting on her shoulder—someone better at handling this kind of “professional intelligence analysis.”

  Soon, words of reply appeared on the creature’s smooth skin.

  Nicole had finished her own business. She’d sold the intel on Blighted Hand Wilbur to the best buyer, the one who’d pay the most. The deal went smoothly.

  In high spirits, she agreed to Pandora’s request for “on-site support” with unusual enthusiasm.

  Her price: three game discs for this “immediate, professional analysis.”

  Fair enough. Pandora agreed.

  She released the Palmfiend. The little hand-like creature nimbly crawled back onto her shoulder and went still.

  Then, Pandora pulled a thumb-sized, irregularly oval object from the small pack she always carried. It was an insect egg. Its shell was a deep, almost pure black, covered in fine, hard, overlapping patterns that felt rough. It had a strange, almost industrial feel.

  Pinching the egg, she carefully tore open a small gap along a nearly invisible, fragile vein.

  Sshht…

  A faint sound, like leather tearing.

  Thick, transparent fluid with a faint grassy, fishy smell oozed out. Sliding out with it was a curled-up, odd-looking creature.

  It looked like a wasp, but fleshier. Its chitin was a dull amber. Its wings were folded tight, soaked and wet.

  Pandora held it in her palm. It trembled slightly.

  Soon, the air dried the fluid on its surface.

  “Flesh Wasp”—that’s what Nicole called this modified locator-messenger. Simple, brutal, fitting.

  It stretched its curled limbs, and its semi-transparent wings suddenly vibrated.

  Vmmmmm—!

  A low, powerful buzz. Even thumb-sized, the sound was clear, penetrating.

  It took off from her palm, spiraling up fast. As it climbed, the buzz deepened, its frequency rising until it passed the range of clear hearing, blending into the high wind and the ruins’ background noise until it was gone.

  “Well then,” Pandora said, looking away from the sky, her tone calm. “Now we wait.”

  ………………

  About half an hour later, Nicole arrived.

  Long time no see, the blond infodealer hadn’t changed much. She still had that unique mix of lazy and sharp, caught between girl and young woman, her short hair a bit dazzling in the afternoon sun.

  She carried an overly large, bulky backpack, walking briskly through the chaotic, toppled shelves of the abandoned flower market until she reached Pandora.

  “Yo. Looks like you’ve had some excitement here too.”

  She glanced at the surrounding wreckage and the lingering smells of gunpowder and blood, raising an eyebrow. Her tone was casual, like she’d just shown up for a normal tea party.

  Pandora motioned for the broker to stay outside, then led Nicole into the abandoned shop where the fight had ended. The smell of blood still hung faintly in the air.

  Inside, the light was dim. Iron Hand’s long-dried, pale corpse was slumped against the wall, its twisted, stiff posture showing the struggle of its final moments.

  Nicole’s gaze landed on the corpse the moment she stepped in. She didn’t look surprised or uncomfortable. Instead, she walked over like it was an interesting specimen, inspecting it carefully. She even reached out, touching the ghastly wound on its chest and the surrounding pale bone scales that had lost their shine and turned brittle.

  As she looked, Pandora gave a concise, clear account of what happened: the ambush, the counter-kills on Iron Hand and the distant sniper. She left out specifics about Elsa and the crimson greatsword, just mentioning some “special means.”

  Nicole listened quietly. Her inspection didn’t stop, but her eyes grew sharper as Pandora spoke.

  The moment Pandora finished, Nicole stopped her examination and turned, her expression one of understanding.

  “Based on what you said, and this corpse…”

  Her tone turned professional, certain.

  “I’m pretty sure. They’re probably that somewhat infamous ‘Hunter’ team that’s been active near Eden these past few months. Three main members, all veteran second-rankers.”

  She pointed at the corpse on the wall. “This one’s ‘Iron Hand.’ Known for close-quarters brute strength. Had special tricks—probably this bone-scale armor.”

  She looked at Pandora. “That long-range sniper you mentioned, codename ‘Index Finger.’ Good shot. Specialized in ultra-long-range kills. Ruthless.”

  She paused there, her gaze holding a hint of a question but not pushing it.