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Chapter 19 : Gathering
On a rooftop at lower city of Igwynt.
A light breeze swept over the city during the day, carrying the acrid scent of distant black smoke. Carriages and pedestrians moved back and forth on the long streets, while several pairs of eyes surveyed them from above.
"Ugh... another one of these boring assignments," Gregor muttered, leaning against the rooftop wall. Clad in a black uniform, he sighed in frustration as he glanced at the squad members stationed around the rooftop, keeping watch.
"Keeping an eye on Grayhill’s gathering from a distance. One or two squads would’ve been enough for this. Why do we need to stand by for support? I really don’t get why so many of us are needed," Gregor complained.
Not far from him, Elena responded, "Given the current circumstances, with the Eucharist’s frequent activities, it’s normal for the director to be cautious and assign more people."
E n̄ ü m̀ а̀ .і̇ d
"The Eucharist... They must have someone at that gathering. But all we can do is monitor it remotely and be prepared for emergencies. We can’t go in, search, or arrest anyone. It’s so frustrating," Gregor grumbled further.
Elena sighed and explained, "We don’t have a choice. We have an agreement with 'Grayhill.' He’s willing to provide dangerous intel from his gatherings, but we can’t interfere openly. He doesn’t want anyone to think he’s a lackey of the authorities."
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"You know… if 'Grayhill’s' gatherings were to end, Igwynt would just be flooded with even more uncontrollable small groups. We’d lose a key point of surveillance over Igwynt’s underground world, and if 'Grayhill' gets angry, we’d also face equipment shortages."
Hearing Elena’s explanation, Gregor gave a bitter laugh. Lighting a cigarette, he took a deep drag and said, "Heh… what’s that saying? Never offend an 'artisan'..."
…
Darkwater Alley, lower city of Igwynt.
Ĕn̄ ů ma
Darkwater Alley was a remote, winding lane far removed from the bustling city streets. To reach it, one had to make numerous turns through smaller alleys—a hidden, forgotten corner of the city that outsiders would struggle to find.
In this shadowy, deserted alley, a figure in a gray cloak and hood moved quickly between the towering walls. The passageway, barely three meters wide, was flanked by crumbling, weathered walls. Clotheslines crisscrossed the narrow strip of sky above, while the dim light and damp air filled the space with a pervasive stench of sewage. The faint sound of running water echoed from beneath the cobblestones.
The gray-cloaked figure continued forward, stopping before a small, round wooden door. After a cautious glance around, the figure knocked: three times at the top, four at the bottom, paused, and then knocked twice more at the top.
The door creaked open, and the figure stepped inside. The door shut tightly behind them.
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Meanwhile, perched on a clothesline above the alley, a crow fixed its gaze on the door, silently observing everything.
"Three at the top, four at the bottom, pause, two at the top…"
Eñu m а̀
On a nearby rooftop, Dorothy, cloaked in black, murmured to herself, summarizing the information her crow marionette had relayed.
This was the seventh person she had observed entering the door. Their knocking patterns were identical.
"That should be enough to confirm the code…"
Muttering under her breath, Dorothy adjusted the black fabric covering her neck and pulled it over her face. She descended from the rooftop and soon appeared at the entrance of Darkwater Alley.
Wearing her cloak and mask, Dorothy walked directly into the alley. She proceeded to the wooden door, paused briefly, and knocked just as she had observed earlier: three at the top, four at the bottom, pause, two at the top.
Taking a step back, she held her breath. After a moment, the wooden door creaked open.
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Without hesitation, Dorothy stepped inside. A tall, masked doorman looked her over with a hint of surprise but said nothing as he shut the door behind her.
Inside, instead of a spacious room, a staircase led downward. Dorothy descended without hesitation, eventually arriving in a large underground chamber.
The dimly lit space was illuminated by a few gas lamps hanging from the ceiling. The rough stone walls were unadorned, and the room exuded an oppressive atmosphere.
At the center was a round table, surrounded by twenty or so individuals. Each wore similar attire—cloaks and masks—though in different colors. Some simply wore masks over ordinary clothes. It was clear that no one here wanted to reveal their identity.
Well, everyone’s fashion sense is pretty consistent. I blend in perfectly, Dorothy thought as she approached the table and took an empty seat. The people on either side of her gave her a brief glance but showed no further reaction.
This looks like a loosely organized gathering. No membership system—anyone who figures out the code can join. It’s not really an organization, more like a marketplace…
Ë_ň ûm̂ ӓ
Satisfied with her observations, Dorothy waited silently for the gathering to begin. The atmosphere around the round table was tense, with only a few whispered conversations between adjacent participants.
After some time, two or three more people joined, and the gathering showed signs of beginning.
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A door in the underground chamber opened with a creak, and four knights clad in full gray-white plate armor marched out. Helmets on, swords at their sides, they moved with synchronized precision. The rhythmic clanking of their armor reverberated through the confined space, creating a palpable sense of pressure.
The knights positioned themselves at the four cardinal points around the table, standing guard with their hands on their swords. Following them, a figure in a gray-white robe and a stone-carved mask entered. The figure walked slowly to a high-backed chair at the north end of the table and sat down.
As the figure took their seat, everyone around the table rose, placing their hands over their chests and bowing slightly.
"Sir Grayhill…"
Е́ ñ_u m.а. і̃ d̆
Seeing the others’ actions, Dorothy quickly stood and mimicked the gesture, thinking to herself, So this is Grayhill. Seems like even the Bureau has to show respect to him…
The masked figure surveyed the room, the expressionless stone mask giving away nothing. With a wave of their hand, they signaled for everyone to sit. A deep, resonant voice emerged from beneath the mask.
"Let’s begin."
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