My Bold Guess

"Extra! Extra!"

"Sheriff Swart Solved the Serial Robbery and Murder Case!"

"Extra! Extra!"

"Sheriff Swart Single-Handedly Battles Six Criminals!"

…

At dawn, the crisp voice of a newsboy echoed through the streets, but Goethe already had a freshly pressed newspaper in hand.

Swart had ironed it himself.

Not just one copy, he had ironed fifty, distributing them among the police station. If the newsboy had more, the sheriff would have ironed even more.

Clearly, last night's little mishap hadn't dampened Swart's enthusiasm in the slightest.

When it came to paying, he was equally generous.

He even brought Goethe breakfast—

Two ham and fried egg sandwiches, and a glass of apple juice.

According to Swart, this was the standard meal for the sheriff's dining hall, a step above what the regular officers got.

Next to the breakfast lay Goethe's wallet and dagger.

At the moment, his wallet contained one 100-crown note, one 50-crown note, five 10-crown notes, along with 3 silver sols and 17.5 copper cents.

As Goethe counted his money, the exchange system of Tessin's currency surfaced in his mind—

1 gold crown exchanged for 12 silver sols.

1 silver sol exchanged for 20 copper cents.

Copper cents were further divided into whole cents, half cents, and quarter cents.

Previously, he had bought a pound of black bread for roughly one and a quarter copper cents.

"Not a decimal system… That'll take some getting used to."

Goethe rubbed his temples but didn't let it stop him from carefully examining the coins.

The gold crown resembled banknotes from his homeland.

The silver sols and copper cents, on the other hand, were traditional coins.

On the obverse, a crowned man's portrait. On the reverse, a sheaf of wheat and the number "1."

The half-cent was a coin as well, half the size of a one-cent piece.

The quarter-cent was even smaller, only half the size of a half-cent.

"George I."

Looking at the man on the coin, Goethe's memory filled in the details.

He was the emperor who founded a great empire, surrounded by countless legends—"Son of the Dragon," "Blessed by the Fairies," "The Invincible Knight."

Yet, in the end, this emperor met a tragic fate—betrayed by his beloved woman and most trusted subordinate, he was stabbed through the heart with a sword.

Rumors claimed he never truly died, some said he was taken to the Fairy Lake to heal and would one day return. Others believed he was carried away by a dragon to the Isle of Dragons.

Despite a century passing, his legend remained well-known.

But Goethe had no interest in such stories, what mattered to him was the money in his hand.

"Ah, the scent of wealth!"

Goethe sighed in satisfaction. Even his exhaustion seemed to fade a little.

After all, the aftermath of last night's events had been handled entirely by Swart and his subordinates. Goethe had only given a brief statement before resting in Swart's office.

He could have gone to an inn, but for safety reasons, he had chosen to stay at the sheriff's office instead.

He had no desire to wake up with his throat slit.

Of course, this came at a cost—

A hard wooden chair was hardly suitable for Goethe's body. He had to half-lean in it, resting his legs on Swart's desk.

Naturally, such a posture didn't allow for proper rest.

In truth, even if he had slept in a proper bed, he wouldn't have slept well.

He had just transmigrated into this world, immediately thrown into danger and uncertainty even someone with nerves of steel wouldn't be completely at ease.

It wasn't until just before dawn that Goethe managed a short nap—

Only to be rudely awakened by an overexcited Swart.

If not for the fact that the sheriff had brought breakfast and that Goethe still needed his help, Swart would have learned the true meaning of morning grumpiness.

After double-checking his belongings, Goethe put away his wallet and picked up his breakfast.

The ham in the sandwich was firm and all-meat, with no added fillers. The fried egg was crisp on the outside and perfectly runny inside, pairing wonderfully with the fresh, crunchy lettuce.

One bite turned into another—

Then, a sip of apple juice.

Freshly squeezed sweet, tangy, and refreshing.

Three bites per sandwich.

Once he finished both, Goethe downed the rest of his apple juice in one go.

Then, he grabbed a fresh change of clothes from his belongings and changed from the inside out. Picking up his cane and top hat, he headed out of the police station.

It was still an hour before eight, but having never been to Black Sail Security Company, Goethe decided to set off early.

He raised a hand and flagged down a public carriage.

Public carriages had no designated stops—they charged by distance.

For up to 3 kilometers, the fare was half a copper cent.

Beyond 3 kilometers, it was one copper cent.

Every additional 3 kilometers cost another half-cent.

They only operated within the city—no trips to the outskirts.

Black Sail Security Company, located at 22 Sausage Street, was about 5 kilometers from the police station.

That morning, Goethe was the only passenger in the carriage.

The poor couldn't afford public transport.

The rich had private carriages.

Public carriages were for the middle class—those who couldn't buy a private carriage but still wanted to distance themselves from the poor.

Most of them held respectable, stable jobs and had no need to wake up early.

This allowed Goethe to enjoy both the spaciousness of the carriage and an unobstructed view of the city through the window.

At first, the streets were clean, lined with shops and fountains casting rainbows in the sunlight. Pairs of patrolling officers kept everything in perfect order.

But soon, the roads grew uneven.

Stone slabs mixed with patches of gravel.

People in coarse linen shirts, suspenders, and battered felt hats crowded the sidewalks, heading toward factories.

Among them were grown men and half-grown children.

The adults had dull eyes and weary faces.

The children were thin, frail, and malnourished.

Yet none of them stopped moving.

They had to work.

Only work brought money.

Only money meant survival.

It was the same for men—

It was the same for women.

Among the crowd, many women balanced large wooden basins on their heads, making their way toward the rivers in the outskirts.

The clothes in the basin didn't seem dirty at all, many were even adorned with lace, finely crafted and delicate.

Each woman lifted her wooden basin high, afraid that the muddy ground beneath them might stain the garments. Their own shoes and skirts, however, were already covered in filth.

Alongside the road, a jumble of stalls formed a bustling marketplace.

There were stands selling vegetables and fruits, as well as those offering cooked food.

Without permanent shops of their own, these vendors were all traveling merchants.

They shouted with enthusiasm:

"Fries! Fried fish!"

"Pancakes! Grilled sausages!"

The aroma of food mingled with the stench of the crowd, creating a scent unique to the mortal world.

Leaning against the carriage, Goethe breathed in this familiar mix of odors, silently observing the scene before him.

He was both an outsider and a part of it all.

Just like everyone else, struggling desperately to survive.

And him?

He was no exception.

Whether in his homeland or here…

It was the same.

Goethe withdrew his gaze, leaned back against the carriage wall, and smirked in self-mockery.

The wheels rumbled on, the coachman called out, and before long, the carriage came to a stop at 22 Sausage Street.

Through the window, Goethe could already see the sign of "Black Sail Security Company" hanging above a two-story building.

He fished out a copper coin to pay the fare, hopped off the carriage, and took a closer look around.

The security company occupied the second floor.

On the first floor, a sign read "Old Henry's Deli."

An elderly man tended the shop, carefully wiping down the sign and display window. When he noticed Goethe approaching, he greeted him with a friendly smile.

"Good day."

"Good day."

A polite but reserved exchange.

After a brief nod, Goethe made his way up the side staircase.

Halfway up, he noticed that the door to the "Black Sail Security Company" was already open.

Standing at the entrance, he didn't step in immediately. Instead, he knocked twice and took a quick look inside.

The room before him was roughly ten square meters. A desk stood near the entrance, with a registration book placed atop it. Further inside, a square tea table sat beside a long sofa.

Beyond that, there were two more doors—one further in, the other opposite the sofa.

Both were closed, leaving Goethe unable to see what lay beyond.

His first impression of the security company?

Utter simplicity.

As he took in his surroundings, the door across from the sofa swung open, and a young man slightly older than Goethe stepped out.

He wore a white shirt, a black vest, black trousers, and meticulously polished leather shoes. In one hand, he held a cup of coffee. Behind him, Goethe caught a glimpse of a room filled with kitchenware and ingredients.

"A kitchenette, perhaps?"

Goethe mused before offering the young man a polite smile.

"Hello, I'm—"

"Goethe."

"I know who you are."

"Mr. Morey has told me everything."

The young man cut him off coldly, emphasizing that he already knew everything—and he had no intention of introducing himself. Instead, he walked behind the registration desk, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to Goethe.

"Everything you need to know is in here."

"You can read, right?"

Goethe nodded.

"Good," the young man said. "Read it yourself."

With that, he shut the door in Goethe's face.

Goethe rubbed his nose, narrowly avoiding the impact, a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

There was no hostility.

But the distaste was unmistakable.

Clearly, his presence was unwelcome.

"Official supernatural organizations… seem even more troublesome than I expected."

That thought lingered in Goethe's mind as he stood at the door, tearing open the envelope.

Then, he froze.

Inside, there was no letter.

Instead, there was a provocative flyer featuring a sultry woman, with the words "Garden Club" encircled by rose petals prominently displayed.

Alongside it, a gold crown with a value of 5.

Seeing the two items together, a bold guess immediately popped into Goethe's mind.

And that was…