Chapter 203

Chapter 203: The Gathering (3)

“Any company executives among the people gathered here?”

“None that I could see.”

“Could there have been an information leak?”

At my speculation, Liam pressed his finger to his chin—a habit of his. Whenever he was deep in thought, he’d always press his index finger there. Then he spoke, a shadow briefly crossing his gray eyes.

“Or they knew about our movements and pulled out in advance. Everyone at the company knows Pierre Saint-Germain’s name and face.”

When I glanced at Saint-Germain, he just grinned. Even being at a cult gathering didn’t seem to worry him much. He looked as relaxed as someone watching a comedy show on TV at home—he actually seemed to be enjoying the situation.

“It’s so fun getting this kind of attention after so long.”

“Good grief.”

I couldn’t help but sigh deeply, which made Saint-Germain chuckle. Such childishness.

Saint-Germain put his arms around Liam’s and my shoulders. The height difference made it awkward for me, being relatively short….

“Perfect timing. Though it’s a shame we didn’t bring popcorn.”

Just as he casually spoke those words while pulling us back—

BOOM!

A tremendous noise suddenly rang out.

It seemed to be an explosion above ground. It was so powerful that even we in the basement could feel the vibration.

The floor shook, and dust or some kind of powder fell from the ceiling. The lights outside flickered on and off. The area grew chaotic as people awakened by the explosion’s impact tried to figure out what was happening.

This was definitely too large-scale to be fireworks. I grabbed Saint-Germain’s collar and demanded answers.

“You said fireworks!”

Saint-Germain smiled sweetly. His blue eyes were filled with such amusement, he looked like he was having the time of his life. He spoke slowly.

“Explosions are also a form of art…”

“Art my foot! We could have died too, old man!”

“Are you dead now?”

Well, no. The explosion had missed us, and we were perfectly fine. Whether Saint-Germain had calculated that when keeping us here, I wasn’t sure… but we hadn’t gotten so much as a scratch. Still, what a reckless action! Would it have killed him to warn us in advance? My heart nearly stopped.

Giving up on arguing further, I ground my teeth and carefully followed Liam and Saint-Germain out of the underground space. Fortunately, people had rushed to the explosion site, allowing us to escape without much danger. In the distance, we could faintly hear fire truck sirens. Someone in the neighborhood must have called it in.

When we reached the garden, we could see red flames consuming part of the second floor. I stared blankly at the scene with a pale face. The celebrities escaping the building wore the same expression. What on earth had this old man done?

Saint-Germain proudly squared his shoulders and said:

“I just tampered with the gas a bit.”

“Good Lord.”

I’m not even religious, but this made me invoke God. I sighed heavily.

But I was too exhausted to scold Saint-Germain any further. While completely different from the nightmare we’d experienced near Old Paradise, the mental drain was just as severe. Why did things never change?

Liam, Saint-Germain, and I slipped away from Westminster, blending into the crowd.

Unfortunately, the mansion was apparently known to the public as just some social club. Though there was an explosion, it was ruled as a gas facility issue with no criminal implications, so no one was arrested or investigated. London’s evening had been disrupted by an unexpected commotion, but that too would soon be resolved.

* * *

We had no choice but to completely revise our plans.

Using Saint-Germain would be dangerous. He was too well-known among people.

“As company president, you must have had to socialize with both financial and political higher-ups, whether you liked it or not?”

“Indeed. Can’t exactly avoid them after all.”

“You’d better stay in the background, old man.”

Moreover, one wrong move could impact the “company” as well. This was especially concerning since it was a cult that high-ranking people had joined to extend their lives. If they decided to go after not just Liam and me but also Saint-Germain and by extension his company, too many people would be caught in the crossfire. We needed to let the company continue existing simply as an organization protecting magic users.

“There’s another problem… us.”

That crazy cult group had already attacked Liam and me twice. It was evidence that they knew at least Liam’s face.

I’m a foreigner. Even though Westerners might not be good at distinguishing Asian faces, if I kept moving suspiciously, I’d inevitably draw attention. It wouldn’t be difficult for them to report a troublesome Asian woman as an illegal immigrant and have her deported.

Liam had the most freedom of movement, but even though he’d infiltrated the mansion disguised with blonde hair, someone might still vaguely remember his face. And for now, they were probably more interested in Liam—who’d taken on the coastal village case and had deep connections to the company—than in a foreign woman who’d only recently arrived in England.

“Hmm, maybe I should grow a beard.”

Liam said it like a joke. Though meant to lighten the mood, no one in the room reacted. Jonathan sighed.

Just as I had observed him through the photograph, he was likely watching us through something as well. Like holding opposite ends of a string telephone, he and we were performing this precarious balancing act from opposite sides.

The way to win here was simple. Find him first. Before he could fully extend his claws and squeeze Liam and me… yes, if possible, it would be best if we could find him first and… subdue or eliminate him.

It was a brutal thought, but that’s how it was. If he had enough intelligence capabilities to figure out which of Liam’s secret residences was real, he would easily know who I was, being close to Liam, and before long my family in Korea might be in danger too. They say family should be off-limits, but could you expect courtesy or common sense from deranged cultists?

‘I’d better not create situations that could endanger Mom and Dad.’

Things were different now. I had too much to protect. It wasn’t enough just to keep myself safe. So what would be the best way for me to move?

As these thoughts were complicating my mind, Liam, who had been silent, spoke up.

“We need something that will gather the company people together.”

At those words, Saint-Germain, who had been lounging on the sofa with his long legs crossed, raised his head. Resting his chin on the back of his hand, lost in thought, he asked:

“Just gathering them is enough?”

“Yes. To find the man Jane saw, we have no choice but to grab the end of the thread he threw at us and trace it back. But if we suddenly call all the executives together, they’ll realize we’ve noticed their plant in the company, so we need to create a natural occasion for everyone to gather.”

“Hmm.”

Saint-Germain hummed at this demanding request.

It was incredibly frustrating—we had an unidentifiable target involved who couldn’t be easily moved, and Liam and I had all sorts of restrictions plastered on our actions. At this point, I was actually starting to miss 19th century Misty London. At least back then, we had many people helping us.

What had started as a seemingly mysterious case had snowballed into this. For a moment, I wished we hadn’t gone there at all. If at least I hadn’t discovered that photograph, we would have been safe. If we had just concluded it was a tragedy caused by a small-scale cult in a rural village, none of this would have happened.

But I had found the photograph, and I had ended up making eye contact with him in it. As fate would have it, he was connected to the cult group Liam had been pursuing for a long time, and because of that, Liam had moved to chase them through Saint-Germain.

Just as Liam had noticed their existence and was monitoring them, they too had been vaguely aware of the “company’s” existence and were prepared to move immediately—our mistake was not realizing this. I still deeply regret that part.

While I was lamenting internally, Pierre Saint-Germain, seeming to have finished his thoughts, finally spoke.

“I have one excellent method.”

Somehow ominously, his eyes and mouth were curved in a broad smile that held traces of wicked mischief. I asked reluctantly:

“What is it?”

But sad premonitions never miss their mark, and his cheerful voice settled in everyone’s ears:

“Let’s hold a funeral.”

A funeral? As in, the funeral I’m thinking of?