Save Where You Should Save, Spend Where You Should Spend

Publicly funded XX.

Goethe was very familiar with the Garden Club.

He knew its depths and limits, understood when to advance and when to retreat.

So, he was well aware of what five gold crowns could get him there.

Entry fee: 1 silver sol.

Tea seat: 1 silver sol.

One dance: 1 silver sol.

Of course, if it was just dancing, five gold crowns would be more than enough to last until dawn. However, certain "special services" inside required significantly higher fees.

Five gold crowns?

Enough for about two.

But why had Morey sent him to the Garden Club?

Was it simply a better place for a conversation?

Or…

Could the so-called "Fog Killer" be hiding there?!

At that thought, Goethe's expression tensed.

It wasn't impossible. After all, the "friend" he had personally thrown off a building, Ander, was someone he had met at the Garden Club.

A sudden idea struck him.

"Could the Wayne family have been targeted because the previous 'Goethe' unintentionally offended the 'Fog Killer' at the Garden Club?"

His face darkened.

Damn it!

What a disaster!

Standing there, he sifted through 'Goethe's' past memories, searching for any clue.

But he found nothing.

Nineteen years of memories weren't too complicated, but locating an enemy that even 'Goethe' himself had no recollection of was no easy task.

Even narrowing it down to the Garden Club didn't help.

After a moment of thought and no answers, Goethe shook his head and turned to leave.

The Garden Club didn't open during the day; it only started business at 7 p.m.

And now, it was only 8 a.m.—a full eleven hours to go.

Goethe had no intention of wasting that time.

Raising his hand, he hailed another public carriage.

Half an hour later, he arrived at the entrance of "Ale Bar."

Without announcing himself, he pushed open the door.

"Sorry, we're closed."

"Come back in the evening if you need something."

The server, busy cleaning, didn't even lift his head as he spoke.

Goethe glanced at him, then at the drunkard slumped in a corner of the bar. He flicked a silver sol onto the counter.

"A 'Hunter,' please."

"Right away, sir."

The same server who had just declared the bar closed immediately sprang into action.

Less than three minutes later, a glass of whiskey mixed with honey and pomegranate juice was placed in front of him.

A deep crimson color, a sharp spiciness, yet tinged with a hint of sweetness.

As Goethe sipped the 'Hunter,' he could almost envision a hunter, enduring countless hardships and braving mortal danger, finally capturing his prey and savoring his victory.

"Good drink."

"I hope the rest doesn't disappoint me."

Goethe set down his glass.

"Of course!"

"As long as you have enough gold crowns, we have the best hunters in Lustre."

The server smiled.

Ale Bar was Lustre's famous 'hunter' tavern.

In the past, 'Goethe' had sought help here, only to be humiliated.

That humiliation had pushed him to recklessness.

To Goethe, aside from calling it "naïve," there was little else to say.

Expecting help without offering anything in return?

Such kindness didn't exist in this world.

Even so-called philanthropists had their own motives.

If not for profit, then for reputation.

Of course, true altruists weren't nonexistent.

They were just rare.

And the previous 'Goethe' had never met one.

But the current Goethe?

He had.

That was why he had chosen to retire back home.

Unfortunately, on the first day of retirement, he found himself in this hellhole just because he stopped for some grilled skewers by the roadside.

Hah.

Taking a deep breath, Goethe suppressed his frustrations and pulled out his wallet. Without concealment, he placed the highest denomination gold crown on the counter.

"Find the family members of 'Goethe Wayne.' Ten gold crowns for each person found, one gold crown for accurate information on their whereabouts."

"And…"

"If anyone knows what happened to the Wayne family, these hundred gold crowns are theirs."

Goethe stated his terms clearly.

He knew when to spend and when to save.

Though he liked money, he was no miser.

Especially when it came to spending where it mattered, he never hesitated.

Just like now.

Though Swart had promised to investigate 'Doctor Hode' for him, and Morey had agreed to a 'partnership,' Goethe knew that some matters still required his personal attention.

For instance: finding his family's whereabouts.

Even if he already knew they had been murdered.

Because the ones responsible and those around them. did not know that he knew.

And that worked in his favor.

It helped shape his persona.

Of course, it wasn't just an act.

There was also a real possibility…

That he might capture a big fish.

Perhaps, he might even gain [Bloody Honor].

That, however, would depend entirely on luck.

Let's see how much influence the 'Fog Killer' has over his subordinates and how many gold crowns it will take.

With that thought, Goethe placed a stack of 50-gold-crown notes on the bar counter.

A total of 150 gold crowns!

Seeing the gold crowns on the counter, the smiling bartender's grin widened even further.

150 gold crowns was no small sum, even in the Ale's Bar.

If the deal went through, he would receive a generous commission.

If it didn't?

The boss would still give him a bonus.

A win-win situation.

Thus, the bartender enthusiastically introduced the process to Goethe.

"The bounty will be posted tonight and will remain active for four weeks. If someone completes the task within this period, we will notify you. If the task is not completed, we will issue a full refund. Additionally, our boss will provide you with one complimentary service—within reasonable limits."

"If you agree, please sign here."

"This will serve as your receipt. Of course, you can burn it if you like, I'll remember you."

As he spoke, the bartender handed two slips of paper to Goethe.

Each slip was about three fingers wide and less than ten centimeters long. The front was blank, while the back had a raised number, clearly an anti-counterfeiting mark from the Ale's Bar.

Goethe signed both slips, returning one to the bartender while keeping the other.

After slipping the paper into his wallet, he downed the last of his 'Hunter' cocktail and turned to leave.

"Stay safe."

The bartender called out loudly.

He had already noticed the two drunken men in the corner waking up and following Goethe.

A warning was the most he could offer.

Help?

Not a chance.

He was just a bartender.

These things were for the bar's security staff to handle.

And security staff didn't work during the day.

"Hope he'll be fine."

The bartender muttered, half-joking, before returning to cleaning.

Mind your own business. Don't meddle. Inform the boss if anything happens, and let him handle it.

That was what the boss had told him on his first day.

The last bartender who ignored that rule? He got a bullet to the head.

Someone was tailing him.

Goethe noticed immediately.

He had expected it the moment he revealed his wallet so openly.

But he had done it anyway.

Was he asking for trouble?

No.

Goethe never sought trouble. He simply had a habit of 'borrowing' money from 'generous' individuals.

Especially right after spending a large sum.

Turning the corner, Goethe quickened his pace and dashed into a narrow alley.

The two men following him hurried to keep up.

But as soon as they entered, their vision was flooded with blinding white.

Then—

A searing pain!

Lime powder!

"Aaargh!—Ugh!"

Their screams were cut short as a sharp pain shot through their groins.

A low blow!

With practiced ease, Goethe delivered a swift kick to each man. As they doubled over clutching themselves, he swung the butt of his revolver down on the backs of their heads.

Thud! Thud!

Two muffled impacts, and they collapsed to the ground.

Goethe searched their bodies.

Total earnings: 1 gold crown, 10 silver sols, and 15 copper cents.

Two semi-used revolvers with ammunition, two daggers.

If he sold the revolvers with the bullets, they'd fetch around 2-4 gold crowns. The daggers wouldn't go for more than 2 silver sols.

"Broke bastards."

Goethe sneered.

Back home, 'generous big brothers' each contributed at least five-digit sums to him.

If he ran into someone in finance, the numbers started at six digits.

Never one to waste an opportunity, Goethe called the patrol officers.

"I'm a friend of Swart. These two tried to rob me, and I suspect they might be wanted criminals."

The young patrolman glanced at Goethe, completely unharmed, then at the unconscious men, his lips twitching.

The older patrolman, however, reacted swiftly.

"Understood. We'll take them to the station immediately. If they're wanted criminals, their bounty will be transferred to you right away."

"Thank you."

Goethe nodded, taking advantage of the situation to hitch a ride back to the station in the patrol wagon.

While patrol officers usually patrolled on foot, they were allowed to use wagons for arrests, prisoner transport, or emergencies.

Public transport was an option too, but saving even one and a half copper cents was still saving money.

Small savings added up, after all.

Back at Swart's office, Goethe had barely taken a seat when the police chief burst through the door, quickly shutting it behind him.

"Goethe!"

His face was grim as he leaned in, lowering his voice—

"Dr. Hode is dead!"