Deep inside the underground alchemy workshop, the air was thick with the acrid scent of high-voltage electric arcs and the clean fragrance of anti-magic potions.
For forty-eight hours straight, Leila had worked practically without sleep. Her bloodshot eyes peered from beneath her protective goggles, yet the welding torch in her hand remained as steady as a rock. "Corvost, this is the absolute limit of what I can do." Exhausted, Leila set her tools down, her tone carrying a strange, excited undercurrent.
She stepped forward and expertly picked up the new prosthetic arm, attaching it to the socket of Corvost's severed shoulder. "To fix your terrible combat habits, I redesigned its structure from the ground up. Listen: aside from the original 'Demon-Bane Cannon,' I've added two new toys for you." She pointed to a concealed metal groove encircling the wrist of the prosthetic: "The 'Crow's Claw Hook.' It’s a grappling hook woven from high-strength magitech wire, with a range that lets you clear any narrow alley in London. As for this one—" Leila pressed a hidden trigger on the palm, and a pitch-black short blade with a faint, blood-red glow instantly slid from the outer magazine of the prosthetic, locking firmly between her knuckles. "The 'Crowstrike Short Blade'—this is my proudest invention." A cunning smile touched Leila's lips. "You've always worried about 'Magash' backlash, right? Well, you don't have to be afraid anymore.
This blade features an energy transfer circuit. The moment after you fire the Demon-Bane Cannon, it instantly drains the residual overload of Magash from your arm and converts it into a high-frequency vibrating energy blade.
In other words, after you fire that destructive blast, this blade becomes the reaper of your next wave of lives."
Corvost slowly stood up, testing out his brand-new limb. Every gear meshed with absolute precision, and the tactile feedback from the prosthetic was even sharper than his original flesh-and-blood hand.
He clenched his fist, and his fingertips emitted a crisp metallic friction, resembling a steel crow lurking in the deep night, ready at any moment to spread its wings and pounce. "Thank you, Leila." Corvost's voice was low and gravelly.
He gazed at the young woman who had practically exhausted herself for his sake.
As Leila wiped the engine grease from her forehead and met Corvost's deep, night-like gaze, an uncontrollable blush crept up the tips of her ears. She quickly looked away to mask that fleeting panic. Ding-dong— The crisp chime of the doorbell sounded jarringly abrupt in the stuffy workshop, like an alarm piercing through the peace.
Startled out of her daze, Leila hastily straightened her messy blonde hair and hurried toward the entrance. The door swung open, and Sirius came into view. He stood outside, his dark trench coat fluttering slightly in the damp, chilly London night wind.
Unlike the complex, cutting-edge alchemical devices inside the workshop, Sirius carried a chilling and dangerous sense of order. A signature gentle smile hung across his handsome face, his eyes narrowed into two slender slits like a hidden poison fox in the dark, making it impossible to read the light in his eyes.
Even just standing quietly, he projected the overwhelming pressure of someone ready to execute a fatal mission at any second. "Good evening, Mr. Sirius. It's so late, is there—" Leila's words cut off the moment she caught sight of those smiling, slit-like eyes.
Sirius didn't answer right away.
His narrowed eyes shifted slightly, his gaze piercing past Leila's shoulder through those thin crevices to land squarely on Corvost, who was testing his mechanical prosthetic in the back, before slowly moving back to Leila's face.
Maintaining near-flawless social etiquette, the corners of his mouth curved into a warm arc while his tone carried a bone-chilling coldness: "Is this really how your office receives guests?"
Corvost slowly walked over to the workbench, his cold, silvery-white mechanical prosthetic resting steadily in front of his abdomen, and bowed to the man who had just stepped inside. "Pardon me," Corvost's low voice echoed through the silent shop. "Generally speaking, business hours are over." He straightened up, fixing his gaze on the late-night unwelcome visitor, his tone carrying an extra layer of wariness and restrained respect: "But since it's Mr. Sirius... please, come in." Corvost glanced sideways, using his eyes to signal Leila. Understanding immediately, Leila quietly walked to the back to prepare tea, breaking the heavy stillness of the room.
...
Sirius leaned sideways against the high-backed chair, his fingertips casually tracing the rim of a celadon teacup. Steam drifted upward from the tea, sending a thin haze wafting between their lines of sight.
He lifted the teacup to his lips and took a slow sip. Then, the eternal slit-eyed smile on his face deepened slightly, and a biting cold glint faintly refracted through the mist, pinning itself heavily onto Leila's face. Behind that smile lay scrutiny, probing, and an inscrutable cruelty.
"Regarding your father's disappearance..." Sirius leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a low register that carried undeniable weight, "have you had any news?"
Taken aback, Leila opened her mouth to speak, but Corvost beat her to it, cutting in with barely concealed urgency: "Does Public Safety have news about my master?"
Sirius lowered his eyelids slightly, his fingertips gently tapping against the white porcelain teacup. Instead of answering immediately, he rolled the name over his tongue, weighing it carefully before uttering those words in a near-whisper: "Ouroboros..."
He took another sip of tea, the warm vapor blurring the flash of sharp insight in his eyes.
As he set the teacup down, his perpetually narrowed eyes swept coldly over the two anxious figures standing before him.
Time stretched infinitely.
After what felt like three agonizing seconds, Sirius's expression vanished, leaving only that harmless-looking, elegant smile. He spoke apathetically, his voice devoid of emotional fluctuation: "I regret to inform you that we have no news of him either."
The moment those words dropped, the workshop plunged into a stagnant silence, broken only by the occasional crackle of embers in the fireplace.
Corvost's mechanical prosthetic curled into a tight fist at his side, a faint click emitting from the meshing gears like a gasp holding back an overwhelming emotion.
He knew this man was lying—that face maintaining its perfect, slit-eyed smile was far too calm. It wasn't the calmness of someone returning empty-handed, but rather that of someone deliberately gift-wrapping a foreknown fact into a mystery.
Yet he could neither ask nor pursue it. Three years since his master's disappearance, Public Safety's registry still listed his name at the top of the dangerous persons list. Any excess questioning could result in both him and Leila being branded as accomplices.
"I see..." Corvost murmured quietly, the disappointment in his voice suppressed to a whisper. "Sorry to have troubled you, coming all this way for this." "Not at all," Sirius stood up, the porcelain making a sharp, grating clink against the tabletop as it shifted. The hem of his trench coat flared in an arc with his movement. Narrowing his eyes, he looked down at Corvost's new prosthetic, its cold metallic sheen gleaming as his gaze lingered for a long time with the focused intensity of someone appraising a target.
"A new arm?" The corners of his mouth twitched upward, his tone offhand. "Looks much more refined than that pile of junk your master left you."
Corvost's pupils constricted slightly.
The words drove effortlessly into his most sensitive wound—the old prosthesis left by his master had been blown to pieces by Amber during that harrowing battle he could still never forget. "Thanks to Miss Leila's skill," Corvost's voice remained steady, though the grip of his fist tightened further.
Seeming satisfied with that minor fracture in his composure, Sirius let the fox-like smile on his face deepen just a fraction, though he pressed no further.
He smoothly straightened his cuffs, his tone turning brisk once more: "London has been rather restless lately; a lot of unidentified monster disturbances have been popping up in the city. If your agency digs up any interesting clues, don't forget to report them to Public Safety—"
His slender, slit-like eyes swept across Corvost, then slowly shifted to Leila, who stood frozen with her tea tray. A more meaningful smile touched his lips. With that, he strode past the foyer and pushed the door open. The chilly night wind rushed in through the opening door, setting the alchemical apparatus hanging in the workshop to ringing.
The instant the bolt slid shut, Leila leaned against the wall like a snapped bowstring, the tea tray in her hands nearly slipping from her grasp. "Does he... does he actually know where my dad is?" Her voice trembled with the relief of surviving an ordeal, mixed with a thread of bitter frustration. "Corvost, you think he's lying too, right? That smiling expression of his—I've seen it way too many times..."
Corvost didn't answer immediately.
He walked over to the window and, through the mist-fogged glass, watched Sirius's tall yet chilling figure gradually melt into the damp London night. "He knows," Corvost said with unshakeable certainty. "And tonight, the only reason he came by personally... was probably not just to fish for information."
He tightened his grip on the newly assembled mechanical prosthetic. The tactical feedback at his fingertips was ice-cold and precise, yet it failed to warm the growing chill spreading deep within his heart.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnvWTeguLqM
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