Upon hearing this news, the atmosphere in the conference room underwent a subtle shift.
Several captains subconsciously exchanged glances.
If the Storm Inquisition had rushed over after the Council meeting had concluded, it would at most prove that they moved quickly.
But they had arrived last night.
This meant that even before the resolution allowing the risk assessment to be included in the official documents was passed, someone had already paved the way for them.
Breed did not comment further.
He closed the meeting minutes in front of him and looked up, scanning both sides of the long table.
“Ms. Cecil, Deputy Director Taylor, Sir Vere, you stay.”
“The rest of you are dismissed.”
The sound of chair legs scraping against the floor echoed in succession.
The captains of the communications, field, and pollution control teams packed up their documents one by one, underwent inspection at the door, and departed.
Who also didn't ask a single question.
The conference room quickly emptied out.
Cecil leaned back in her chair, remaining still.
Taylor slowly and methodically reorganized the documents on the table.
Sir Vere picked up his cold tea and took a sip, his brow not furrowing in the slightest.
All three of them knew exactly why they had been asked to stay.
A moment later, the door to the conference room opened once more.
Three individuals wearing dark gray judicial robes were led inside by investigators.
Leading them was a gray-haired old woman.
She was not tall, but her steps were steady.
Her dark gray robe hung down to her ankles, and a silver Storm Scales hung over her chest.
The scales swayed slightly on both sides but ultimately remained balanced.
Seven layered wave patterns were embroidered on the cuffs of her robe.
Breed's gaze lingered on the embroidery for a brief moment.
The hierarchy within the Storm Inquisition was highly straightforward.
The more waves there were, the more people they could overturn.
Seven waves were already enough to demand the utmost respect from the Hastings Port Branch.
The old woman walked to the table and proactively extended her hand.
“Hello, Director Breed.”
“I am Eldrid Kane.”
“Storm Grand Judge.”
“Welcome to Hastings Port.”
Breed shook her hand.
The touch of their hands was brief and fleeting—perfectly polite, but devoid of warmth.
The young woman following behind Eldrid immediately stepped forward.
She also wore the dark gray robe of a Storm Judge. Her hair was neatly tied back, and she clutched a leather case to her chest.
“Mireya.”
She introduced herself first, then added:
“Mireya Vaughan.”
“I am the on-site risk assessment officer for this operation.”
She shook hands with everyone in turn.
When it was Taylor's turn, the Deputy Director glanced at the leather case she had yet to set down.
“Do you need some help with that?”
“No, thank you.”
Mireya tightened her grip slightly.
“If anything in here breaks, the reimbursement process will be far more complicated than the risk assessment itself.”
Taylor immediately withdrew his hand.
“In that case, you should indeed keep a personal hold on it.”
After the brief introductions, both parties took their seats.
The third member of the Storm Inquisition sat beside Eldrid, not participating in the conversation and focusing solely on taking notes.
The scratching of the fountain pen against paper tightened the already formal atmosphere a fraction more.
Eldrid drew a temporary authorization from her robe and placed it flat in front of Breed.
The top of the paper was stamped with the emblem of the Royal Maritime Advisory Board.
The wax seal, serial number, and spiritual mark were all perfectly in place.
“We need to review all original files from the night of the sea beast invasion,” Eldrid said in a businesslike tone. “This includes dispatch records, spirit-measuring data, and the distribution of casualties.”
Cecil spoke up first after scanning the authorization document.
“Copies are fine.”
“The originals are out of the question.”
Eldrid turned to look at her.
“The authorization permits us to access all materials.”
“Access is not the same as taking them away.”
Cecil took out her portable evidence case and placed it gently on the table.
The sound of the case landing was soft.
But the intent was crystal clear.
“Some of the files currently involve internal cases of the Seventh Agency.”
“Until the investigation is complete, the originals cannot leave the evidence room.”
The gazes of the two women locked across the long table.
One was a special envoy from the Seventh Agency headquarters.
The other was a Grand Judge of the Storm Inquisition.
Neither raised their voice.
And neither backed down.
Even the scribe slowed down their writing, as if debating whether this heavy silence should be recorded in the official report.
“Uh...”
“Ladies.”
Taylor spoke up just in time to break the tension.
“I believe there is no need to waste time arguing over custody rights.”
He spun the authorization letter toward himself and quickly offered a compromise.
“The branch can produce spiritual duplicates on-site.”
“Each copy will be personally sealed by Special Envoy Cecil, and you may only view them within the branch's evidence reading room.”
“What was requested, how long it was viewed, and who handled it—everything will be recorded.”
“This way, the risk assessment will not be delayed, and the originals will never leave the Seventh Agency.”
Taylor offered a smile that was as neutral and diplomatic as possible.
“Does this arrangement work for everyone?”
“That works.”
Mireya was the first to agree.
“We only need the data. We have no interest in fighting the Seventh Agency for custody.”
Eldrid glanced sideways at her.
Mireya's expression remained perfectly calm.
She was only here to determine if Hastings Port was at risk of being overrun by sea beasts again; she had no intention of starting a turf war over filing cabinets.
After a few seconds, Eldrid nodded.
“Very well.”
Taylor let out a quiet sigh of relief.
At least the meeting hadn't devolved into a courtroom battle over the very first agenda item.
But Cecil did not let the tension dissipate entirely.
“I have another question that requires clarification from your side.”
Eldrid looked at her.
“Speak.”
“The Council only approved the inclusion of the Storm Inquisition's risk assessment into the official materials a few hours ago.”
Cecil tapped her finger lightly on the date of the authorization letter.
“So why did you arrive last night?”
“Because we were not consulted just last night.”
Eldrid's voice was flat.
“Two days ago, the Royal Maritime Advisory Board issued an urgent inquiry to the Inquisition.”
“What the Council decided was whether our conclusions would be accepted.”
“Not when we would begin our work.”
“In other words,” Cecil raised an eyebrow, “Thomas Wayland was already certain the Maritime Advisory Board would turn to you even before the initial discussion took place?”
“Mr. Wayland submitted a request for a risk assessment to the Maritime Advisory Board,” Eldrid corrected. “But the decision was made by a kingdom institution. The Inquisition merely accepted the commission of that kingdom institution. We do not endorse private corporations.”
“I certainly hope so.”
Cecil crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair.
She did not press any further.
Now that the cards were on the table, both sides knew exactly what the other suspected.
To push any deeper would turn this into a trial without a gavel.
Breed rang the call bell at the edge of the table.
The duplication work, which the branch had prepared in advance, commenced immediately.
The original files were escorted by two investigators.
Technicians used a spiritual imprinting station in the evidence room to duplicate the files page by page, which Cecil then sealed with her official stamp.
Before any document left the cabinets, its serial number had to be logged.
And once a document was delivered to the reading room, the person accessing it had to be recorded.
The entire process was agonizingly slow.
But having just discovered a mole hidden within the branch, no one dared to complain about the caution.
Half an hour later, the group moved to the evidence reading room.
The duplicated files were brought in one after another, quickly piling up across half of the long table.
Mireya finally set down her leather case.
The moment the brass latches popped open, a three-tiered mechanical bracket unfolded from within.
Spiritual wires, calculation dials, and several numbered spirit-measuring chips were neatly secured within velvet slots.
Taylor stood beside her and watched for a moment.
“I understand now why you didn't let me help.”
“It would be difficult to explain if any of these pieces broke.”
Mireya pulled on a pair of gloves.
“If I break the one on the top tier, I only have to write a report.”
“If I break the one on the bottom, I will have to resign.”
Taylor took half a step back.
It was the most basic level of respect one could show to delicate professional instruments.
Mireya inserted the spirit-measuring chips into the device one by one.
The fine gears began to spin.
A beam of deep blue light projected from the brass lens onto the wall, unfolding into a three-dimensional layout of Hastings Port and its surrounding waters.
The first chip glowed.
Several sea beast landing points were marked in dark red.
Once the second chip was inserted, the branch's defensive lines from that night transformed into bands of blue light.
The third chip projected the intensity of the spiritual reactions.
A massive, grayish-black shadow pressed from the open sea toward the harbor.
Meanwhile, the blue points of light representing the defensive forces were shattered and scattered.
The device in the reading room hummed with a continuous, low vibration.
Mireya adjusted the dials from time to time, occasionally noting down numbers.
She factored the dispatch delay times back into the model, then filtered out the segments already confirmed to be false alarms.
The red and blue projections on the wall shifted several times.
Ultimately, the red still overwhelmed the harbor's defensive lines.
“The current supernatural forces in Hastings Port are insufficient to independently withstand a second invasion of the same scale,” Mireya took off her gloves and delivered her conclusion.
Taylor stared at the red zone that almost entirely covered the East Bank.
“So the conclusion is that we need the Octowin?”
“We need naval support,” Mireya corrected. “Those two statements do not mean the same thing.”
Taylor looked at her.
Mireya pointed to the coastline on the map.
“Increasing the number of patrol ships, alchemical torpedo boats, and naval transcendents would all bolster the harbor's defenses. The Octowin can also provide support. But the existence of a risk does not mean we must clear its main cannons for fire.”
“The Inquisition can only prove the threat.”
She withdrew her hand, her tone clear.
“We cannot provide the legal justification to fire upon any set of coordinates.”
Cecil cast a glance at her.
For the first time today, she felt that the members of the Storm Inquisition were not as impossible to communicate with as she had imagined.
At least this risk assessment officer knew the difference between a threat and the barrel of a gun.
If sea beasts were coming, they indeed needed to call the Navy.
But when someone rolled out a main cannon capable of reshaping the entire coastline, one couldn't simply assume he intended to shoot at the monsters in the sea just because they were there.
Eldrid had not participated in this discussion at all.
She stood before the projection, her eyes fixed on the area of Moon Bay on the map.
That stretch of sea lay just outside Hastings Port.
The spiritual data in the projection grew sparse there, and several measurement lines even showed unnatural disruptions.
The old woman watched it for a long time.
Then, she turned around.
“This is not enough.”
“We need an older archive.”
Breed asked, “Which one?”
“BC 657.”
“The Moon Bay seal calibration records submitted by the Fortville family.”
Rate on N.U.
