The Taste of Triumph

"Let's get you home to your family," Charles said firmly.

Roland shook his head. "I'm being hunted. If I return now... it would endanger both me and them."

Charles could guess who might be pursuing Roland, but he needed to be cautious. Revealing too much knowledge would arouse suspicion, so he steered the conversation to make Roland divulge the information himself.

"Who's after you?" Charles asked. "Tell me, so I can handle it before taking you back. I know skilled people in the guild who could help—if that's not enough, we can involve the city guards. If it's just some criminal gang or underground syndicate, the authorities can manage it."

He glanced at the Master. "Of course, assuming your group isn't part of that same trouble. I'm referring to other factions."

"You can't help," Roland shook his head. "Those hunting me... they're a secret organization."

"Which organization?"

"The Script-Decipherers."

'Got it,' Charles thought to himself, while maintaining a neutral expression. "The Script-Decipherers..." he pretended to recall something. "I remember now. That organization was destroyed, wasn't it?"

"What?" Roland exclaimed. "How?"

"I don't really know."

"Then how do you know they've been destroyed?"

"A colleague at the guild told me. He was drunk and rambling about it," Charles replied. "He works frequently in the underworld."

Roland fell silent, his expression tense, before turning to the Master. "Did you know about this?"

The Master slowly shook his head. "This is news to me as well."

"If that's true..." Roland turned back to Charles, his voice laden with concern. "What about Michael? Do you know anything about him?"

Charles furrowed his brow as if recollecting. "Michael... the other missing doctor, right? I saw his notice at the guild." He paused slightly. "How is he involved? Is he being hunted by them too?"

Roland nodded.

"Do you know where Michael is?" Charles pressed. "I could bring him back to his family as well."

Charles glanced at the watch on the table. No one was holding it now, which meant he could safely use his power. Earlier, he had avoided using it for fear that whoever held the watch might hear mental echoes and become suspicious. But now the watch lay unattended. Charles directed his power toward Roland, making him focus solely on Michael.

"Although I was the one who suggested Michael hide here..." Roland spoke as if under a spell. "In all the time I've been here, I've never actually seen him. I don't even know where he is."

Charles felt his power drain slightly more. He had experienced the same sensation when using his abilities on Bartholomew and Humphrey earlier, but during that life-or-death struggle in the underground chamber, he hadn't had the chance to notice how much energy it consumed.

Charles then addressed Roland again. "If that organization is gone, help me find Michael. I'll take you both back to your families."

But Roland shook his head in refusal. "It's not just them I'm running from..."

That statement heightened Charles's suspicions. What else had driven both Michael and Roland into hiding? He attempted to use his power again, trying to make Roland reveal more truth.

Just as words were about to escape Roland's lips, the door burst open. A man hurried in to report urgently to the Master.

"Master," he spoke hastily, "about the matter you sent me to investigate... He once came to Old Town and was taken away by two men. Then he reappeared later accompanied by a distinguished-looking man."

Charles realized immediately they were discussing him. 'Why are they so meticulous?' he cursed inwardly. 'They've been digging into my background all this time.'

The Master nodded as he absorbed the information, then turned to Charles with changed eyes.

"Mr. Ravencroft..." the Master spoke slowly. "It seems you know more than you're telling us."

"And it appears," Charles replied calmly, though internally on high alert, "you know me better than I expected."

"Seize him!" the Master shouted.

The burly man and the scarred man lunged at Charles simultaneously. Charles reacted instantly, unleashing his power on the large man, making him forget what he was doing mid-action. The man froze in confusion, suddenly disoriented.

The scarred man swung his fist at Charles, who sidestepped nimbly. At that moment, the thin man rushed in with a short knife. Charles used his power again, causing the man to focus excessively on his stabbing motion, throwing him off balance. Charles shoved him aside, sending him crashing into the still-confused burly man. Both tumbled to the ground.

"Impressive," the Master drew a short blade. "But I think you underestimate who you're dealing with."

He turned to the subordinate who had just delivered the report. "Go get more men. Lock down the building," then to the thin man who was regaining his footing, "Take Roland somewhere secure."

"But Master—" the thin man began to protest.

Charles knew the situation was deteriorating rapidly. Roland still held a crucial secret—whatever had forced him and Michael to flee, even with the Script-Decipherers gone. Something still unrevealed. During the momentary confusion following the Master's orders, Charles lunged for Roland, using his power on the scarred man who tried to block his path.

"Don't move!" Charles shouted, grabbing Roland firmly. "Back away if you don't want him hurt!"

"He won't kill him!" the Master snarled at his men. "Take him down!"

The Master's mind worked rapidly. His underworld experience had taught him to read people accurately. The man standing before him had once been captured and released without a single mark—no bruises from beatings, no burns from torture, not even rope marks on his wrists.

In the underworld, interrogations never ended so cleanly. Whether street gangs, criminal syndicates, or secret organizations, all used brutal methods to extract information. Only official authorities would release captives unharmed, especially those who cooperated well.

And from this detective's behavior, both previously in the black market and now, it was clear he must be working with officials. If so, that meant Charles wouldn't dare harm a hostage—it would contradict official principles.

Seeing that the hostage tactic wouldn't work, Charles pushed Roland away from the exit, positioning himself between his opponents and the door.

The fight that followed was like an adult battling children. While Charles moved with full awareness and precise responses, his opponents fought in confusion, forgetting what they were doing, like drunkards punching at air.

The burly man charged forward, but Charles's power made him forget what he was doing, leaving him standing bewildered mid-stride. The scarred man swung a powerful punch, but his disrupted mind caused him to misjudge the distance completely, his fist missing by a wide margin.

The thin man tried to use his knife, but his confused thoughts made him nearly unable to hold it properly, sometimes forgetting he even had a weapon. They stumbled around like intoxicated men colliding with each other, while Charles moved fluidly and precisely, easily evading their unfocused attacks.

Charles handled them with remarkable ease, until everyone in the room lay sprawled on the floor. The commotion attracted guards from outside. When they opened the door and saw the scene, one rushed toward the alarm bell while another charged in to help his colleagues.

Charles knew he had to stop the man heading for the bell first. He immediately directed his power at him, making him forget his purpose. The man froze mid-stride, standing still as he struggled to recall his urgent mission.

The other guard proved no more difficult to handle than the rest. A surge of victory flooded through Charles. As far as he could remember since returning to the royal capital, he had rarely tasted victory.

During his final test sparring with Instructor Morgan, one small mistake had cost him the match. When mistakenly pursued in Old Town, he'd been knocked unconscious. When fighting Simon and Theodore in their hideout, he had sustained serious injuries. And during the confrontation with that slender member of the Script-Decipherers in the old Hamilton Mansion—if Joseph hadn't intervened, Charles would have become either a corpse or a cursed object in that mansion.

The confrontation with the Grand Vitalis Entity didn't even count—there had been no possibility of victory then, only a desperate escape from that house, barely surviving.

But now he had subdued everyone with astonishing ease—so easily it seemed unreal. If this had been the pre-Ascendant Charles, he might have managed to fight off two or three opponents at most.

After the charging guard fell, Charles ran to the confused guard still standing near the bell. He used his power once more, though making someone forget the same thing repeatedly in quick succession became increasingly difficult, with diminishing duration. Still, that brief moment was enough for Charles to neutralize the man.

With everyone subdued, his eyes swept across the room. Among the bodies scattered on the floor lay the Master himself. Charles spotted Roland trying to stand, his face a mixture of fear and amazement.

Charles quickly searched the man who had taken his possessions. His fingers found the objects in the unconscious man's coat pocket—retrieving his handkerchief and the glass vial of medicine. He examined it carefully under the dim lamplight.

A soft golden glow reflected through the clear glass, revealing the thick, golden-red liquid shimmering inside. There were no cracks or imperfections on the glass surface, despite the fighting. Charles couldn't help but admire the Department's attention to detail in choosing such high-quality materials for important equipment.

His eyes caught sight of a money pouch hanging from the burly man's waist. Hesitation rose within him—need versus morality. He decided to take the pouch; the weight of the coins inside felt heavy in his hand, but his guilt weighed even heavier. He returned a portion of the money, enough to ease his conscience.

With his valuables secured, he turned back to Roland, who still wore an expression of fear mixed with astonishment. The man's wide eyes stared at Charles as if he had just witnessed something miraculous.

"So we meet again," Charles said, stepping over a groaning guard.