Early the next morning.
Twenty nautical miles away, in Hastings Port.
The curtains of the penthouse suite at the Coast Hotel were only half-drawn.
The gray-white morning light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating a long table piled high with documents.
Cecil stood by the table, having just finished reading a night-shift report from the branch, when a knock sounded at the door.
She walked over and pulled the door open.
Standing outside was, as expected, her teacher, Roland T. Orphal.
The old man was wearing his slightly oversized arcane robe, his hair and beard a bit disheveled.
He looked as if he hadn’t slept all night.
Yet, his spirits seemed high.
“Guess what?”
Orphal stepped over the threshold.
“The first discussion has concluded.”
He walked into the living room and spun around to sit on the sofa.
His natural demeanor made it seem as if this wasn't a student's suite, but rather his own manor cottage back in Landon City.
“Faster than expected.”
Cecil followed him over.
“It’s not good news, is it?”
“It’s not good news.”
Orphal spread his hands.
“You’ve been clever since you were a child.”
“It’s a pity you always use that cleverness to guess bad news.”
The old man pulled a letter from his robe.
The envelope bore no confidential serial number from the Seventh Agency, nor did it have the spiritual seal of the Royal Arcane Advisory Office.
There was only a dark red wax seal pressed onto the closure.
The Royal Council Secretariat.
The touch of helplessness on Cecil’s face vanished instantly.
She took the envelope.
A name was written on the front.
Evelyn Beckett.
Deputy Secretary of the Royal Council.
Cecil had once worked with her in the General Bureau’s confidential records room.
Amidst the complex web of relationships in Landon City, Evelyn was one of the few friends Cecil could trust outside of the Seventh Agency’s internal channels.
Cecil broke the wax seal and unfolded the letter inside.
There were only a few lines on the paper.
Every sentence was written in great haste.
“The proposal to delay consideration was defeated by a margin of three votes.”
“The Maritime Advisory Board has accepted Wayland’s supplementary explanation, and the Storm Inquisition’s risk assessment has been permitted as official material.”
“The second hearing will be held in three days at the latest.”
“Whatever you can do, do it quickly.”
“Any later, and Thomas Wayland will be just one signature away from receiving firing clearance for the Octowin.”
The room fell silent.
Cecil reread the last sentence.
Three days.
Without evidence strong enough to overturn the existing materials, the second hearing would be nothing more than a routine argument before the final stamp of approval.
She folded the letter.
“He took the initiative to accept oversight?”
“He did.”
Orphal leaned back into the sofa, raising a hand to rub his brow.
“The boarding review, weapon deployment records, and post-war audit requested by the Maritime Advisory Board—he agreed to all of them.”
“No bargaining?”
“At least not on paper.”
“He also promised to cover all logistical costs during the Octowin’s deployment.”
As Orphal said this, a hint of irony touched the corners of his mouth.
“Coal, shells, crew subsidies, repairs.”
“As long as the Royal Navy is willing to sail the ship to his designated location, Wayland will foot the bill.”
Cecil did not speak immediately.
This was exactly what she had been most worried about.
Thomas Wayland wasn't reaching out to snatch power.
He was simply showing a willingness to take responsibility.
Accepting oversight.
Covering costs.
Protecting the port.
Taken individually, none of these terms could be faulted.
Put together, however, they were enough to drive the opposition into a corner.
“Now, if his opponents continue to block him, it will look as if they aren't willing to protect Hastings Port.”
Orphal curled his lip.
“People in the Council have already started saying that the dissenting faction would rather let the sea beasts strike again than let Wayland spend money to protect civilians.”
“Of course, those aren't Thomas’s words,” Cecil said coldly.
“But they are certainly the words he wants others to say.”
“Exactly.”
Orphal nodded.
“He’s only responsible for piling the wood.”
“As for who lights the fire, it doesn't matter.”
Cecil placed the envelope on the table, her fingertip tapping it twice.
Three votes.
If the proposal to delay had passed, they would have had at least one full round of investigation to work with.
Now that Thomas had secured those three votes in advance, she was left with only three days.
And the evidence Ophelia brought back hadn't been fully organized yet.
The investigation into the infiltration within Wayland had only yielded a few broken leads.
Everything was moving forward.
But Thomas was moving faster.
While the two were silent, the door was knocked upon again.
This time, the knocking was significantly more urgent.
Cecil didn't get up.
She raised her right hand and gave a casual wave.
A Mage’s Hand, composed of blue arcane energy, appeared out of thin air and flew to the door to pull it open.
A branch investigator was standing outside.
“Ma'am!”
As soon as he spoke, he saw Orphal sitting on the sofa.
The man instantly stood bolt upright.
“Lord Orphal!”
Orphal’s somewhat lazy posture changed immediately.
His back straightened.
His chin tilted slightly.
Just a moment ago, he had looked like an old man crashing on his student's sofa; in the blink of an eye, he had regained the dignity of a Royal Chartered Mystical Advisor.
“Yes,” he responded in a deep voice.
Cecil glanced at her teacher.
She resisted the urge to expose him.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Director Breed is convening all high-level staff.”
The investigator spoke quickly.
“An emergency meeting will be held at nine o’clock this morning in the branch’s Conference Room One.”
“What is the agenda?”
“It wasn't written in the notice.”
“It was only marked as highest priority.”
Cecil looked at the wall clock.
It was less than half an hour until nine.
“Understood.”
She nodded to the investigator.
“You may go now.”
“Yes, ma'am!”
The young man turned and left.
The blue Mage’s Hand grabbed the handle and closed the door.
Having completed its task, it dissolved into several wisps of blue light particles by the door.
Orphal leaned back into the sofa again.
His air of a great master lasted less than two seconds.
“It should be related to this matter.”
“Perhaps.”
Cecil stood up and tucked Evelyn’s letter into the inner pocket of her trench coat.
“But likely more than that.”
“The matter of the interference the branch suffered earlier should have yielded some clues by now.”
The spirit measurement alarm had been downgraded.
The tactical teams had been misdirected.
The orders from several departments seemed reasonable, yet they had caused the defensive line to be just one step too slow.
If Director Breed only wanted to relay news from the Council, he wouldn't need to convene all high-level staff.
In all probability, there was something else in this meeting.
“Let’s go, teacher.”
Cecil picked up her black trench coat from the back of the chair and draped it over her shoulders.
She buttoned it up, took her cane, and walked straight toward the door.
“We can head over now.”
Orphal stood in place, not following.
“The branch is only three streets away, teacher.”
Cecil stopped and turned back with some helplessness.
“And?”
“We’re walking.”
“Why must we waste time on the road?”
Orphal spoke with total conviction.
“Connect to the Origin Web.”
“Link to the Arcane Mark I left at the branch.”
“And we’re there.”
“Because not everything is worth wasting spirituality on,” Cecil advised patiently.
“Moreover, if we skip important steps in everything, we will inevitably overlook things we cannot otherwise perceive.”
“The people on the streets.”
“The activity around the branch.”
“And the current mood of this city.”
“None of these can be seen with a single step through the spirit world.”
Orphal opened his mouth.
He wanted to say that he could teleport there first and then look out from the branch window.
But meeting his student’s calm eyes, the old man knew that saying those words would only earn him a longer lecture.
“Fine!”
The first 'fine' was stiff.
“Fine?”
The second 'fine' carried a question.
“Fine.”
The third 'fine' was closer to self-persuasion.
“Walking is good for one's health.”
He muttered under his breath, hands behind his back.
“A mystic capable of spatial travel, and I actually have to rely on walking to observe the world.”
Cecil pushed open the door.
“I heard you, teacher.”
“I meant for you to hear me.”
Orphal followed her out without changing his expression.
The two left the Coast Hotel.
Hastings Port in the early morning was already crowded with pedestrians.
Long queues formed in front of the post-disaster relief stations.
Dockworkers were hauling lumber.
Several municipal employees stood on ladders, repainting the lampposts that had been corroded by seawater.
Cracks from the sea-folk invasion still remained on both sides of the road.
Yet, vendors had already set up their stalls again.
The city was restoring order amidst the ruins.
This was also the perfect moment for Thomas to strike.
The people had just experienced a disaster.
They didn't care if the Council’s procedures were rigorous.
They only wanted to know who could stand in front of the port the next time a sea beast appeared.
Passing a street corner, Cecil stopped at a newsstand.
She bought a copy of the newly printed Hastings Port Daily.
The paper still smelled of ink.
The front page used a bold headline that took up nearly half the page.
“Wayland Shipping Proactively Accepts Kingdom Oversight; Octowin Defense Authorization Enters Technical Review”
Below the headline was a photo of the Wayland relief team distributing food to disaster victims.
A company representative in the photo was leaning over to hand bread to a child.
The ruins in the background were also perfectly captured in the frame.
Cecil read down the report.
The article described Wayland Shipping as a local enterprise willing to take responsibility.
Post-disaster donations.
Dock reconstruction.
Victim compensation.
Support for the Chamber of Commerce.
These originally unrelated matters were neatly arranged behind the issue of the Octowin’s authorization.
It read like a simple conclusion.
Wayland helped Hastings Port.
Therefore, Wayland’s desire to use the warship was also to help Hastings Port.
“It’s only been a few hours since the Council meeting ended.”
Cecil looked at the ink on the newspaper.
“The printing was remarkably fast.”
“It wasn't printed fast.”
Orphal’s voice came from beside her.
The old man had stopped at a bread stall at some point.
He paid a few coins and received a freshly baked baguette.
“The drafts were written long ago.”
Orphal took a bite.
The crispy crust made a light crunching sound.
“They just had to wait to fill in the result.”
Cecil glanced at him.
Orphal chewed the bread while pointing at the newspaper headline.
“If the proposal to delay had passed, they would have written that the Council was obstructing the port’s defense.”
“Since it didn't pass, they wrote that Wayland proactively accepted oversight.”
“The body text doesn't need to change.”
“Just swap a few words and it’s ready to print.”
They were thoroughly prepared.
They even had versions ready for failure.
Cecil continued to skim the report.
Naturally, it didn't mention that the proposal to delay was only three votes short.
Nor did it mention that the Maritime Advisory Board had only reviewed the procedures of the materials Wayland submitted.
As for whether the data regarding Moon Bay was true or false, no one had the time to verify it.
The Storm Inquisition was described as a fair third party proactively invited by Wayland.
As if the appearance of that name in the hearing materials was enough to prove that all risks were under control.
“Finally, someone is willing to use a warship to protect Hastings Port!”
A joyful exclamation suddenly came from the roadside.
A man in old work clothes held the same newspaper, showing the front page to his companion.
“Wayland is willing to pay, and the Kingdom provides the ship.”
“Isn't this a good thing?”
His companion nodded repeatedly.
The happiness on their faces was entirely genuine.
For those who had just survived the sea-folk attack, a warship meant cannons.
Cannons meant safety.
As for who decided where those cannons were aimed...
They had no time to think about that for now.
Cecil closed her eyes and raised a hand to her forehead.
Thomas had already won the most important step.
It wasn't the three votes in the Council.
It was making everyone accept his narrative in advance.
Now, anyone who blocked the Octowin from firing would become an enemy of Hastings Port.
She lowered her hand and turned to look beside her.
Orphal was still eating his bread.
His expression was calm.
He even deftly caught a few crumbs that almost fell into his beard.
“You still have the heart to eat breakfast...” Cecil said with a sigh.
Hearing this, Orphal looked down at the bread in his hand.
Then, he broke it in half.
“Want some?”
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