103: Chapter 41 Aftermath and Departure

After the ambush of Ince Zangwill concluded, Backlund, which had been bustling for so long, finally calmed down.

The peak of the spring tide that had ravaged the entire city quietly receded. Beneath the third berth of the Old Wharf, the churning Sea of Wraith slowly subsided, and the spiritual fluctuations that had been restless for days steadily fell back, no longer possessing that intimidating, chaotic aura.

Taking advantage of the post-battle lull, the Mandated Punishers of the Church of Storms completely cleared out all remaining strongholds and supplies left behind by the Aurora Order in the Old Industrial District.

Those remaining members who failed to evacuate were all arrested and handed over to the Church's tribunal for disposal, while the scattered fragments of backup runes found everywhere were also confiscated one by one, sealed, and archived.

Far away in the depths of the Fog Sea, the spiritual halo of the black sail ship from Storm Cape continued to dim. Its originally restless and terrifying power kept dissipating, and in the short term, it had completely lost the ability to launch cross-sea raids or stir up trouble again.

Leonard's first independent Red Gloves mission in Backlund had thus come to a successful conclusion.

He bent over his desk to write the final mission report, clearly and logically recording the entire sequence of the operation: from blocking the Aurora Order's mold markings and cutting off the enemy's supply lines, to the interception and blocking at the third underwater berth, every formal procedure and tactical deployment was detailed, complete, and watertight.

Only the two crucial and game-changing secret spiritual interferences during that dangerous ambush underwater were completely omitted by him, with not a single word mentioned.

As he finished writing, Pallez's lazy and casual voice sounded in his mind: "Some helpers who did not appear need not be put on paper, and there is even less need for the Church to know."

Leonard's fingertips paused slightly, deeply agreeing.

The day after the report was submitted, the new directive from the Red Gloves headquarters arrived on schedule: return to Tingen immediately, stand by, and prepare for the next phase of the cross-regional pursuit operation against the defector Ince Zangwill.

Before setting off to leave Backlund, Leonard carried his old suitcase and visited the detective agency on Mingde Street alone.

The room was quiet and peaceful. Sherlock was sitting upright at his desk, head lowered, organizing the mountain of commission files, with several recently written investigation reports stacked neatly on the corner of the desk.

His gaze swept across the top shelf of the bookcase, where that familiar enamel mug still stood quietly in its place. A crack on the mug's wall was clearly visible, with a circle of old tape stuck to the inside, barely holding together the broken cup body.

There was no tea left in the cup, only a thin layer of dust had accumulated, filled with the silence of time.

"I don't know when I'll be back in Backlund next time."

Leonard leaned against the doorframe, his posture relaxed, his tone carrying a touch of casual melancholy as his eyes swept over the familiar furnishings in the room.

Hearing this, Sherlock looked up, reached out to open the drawer, took out the Anthology of Modern Loen Poetry with its charred and curled cover, and gently pushed it over.

The edges of the pages still bore the scorching marks from the Tingen catastrophe, and most of the cover was damaged and blackened, but fortunately, the poetry inside was still complete and readable.

"Red Gloves missions are unpredictable, but you will always have a day to return. I have been keeping your things for you."

Leonard reached out to take the poetry collection, flipped through a couple of pages, and his fingertips rubbed the rough, charred paper. Then, he took out the paper figurine engraved with the heat insulation rune from his inner pocket and gently placed it on the wooden tabletop.

"Returning this to you. Thanks to it, the underwater battle went well, but it's a pity that it lasted too short a time and was ultimately limited."

After saying this, he said no more, picked up the suitcase by his feet, turned, and pushed open the wooden door of the agency.

Walking to the corner of the stairs, his footsteps paused slightly. Without turning back, he just raised his arm casually and waved gently.

His posture was relaxed and casual, just like the countless times he had finished patrol and left the Zoutland Street lounge in the past, so ordinary that it seemed like just a brief parting.

Sherlock watched quietly as that figure disappeared completely at the end of the corridor before raising his hand to put away the rune paper figurine from the table, placing it deep in the drawer, where it was stored side by side with the heat insulation rune fragment taken from the jiaowei sealed box.

He looked up at the top shelf of the bookcase, where Dunn's enamel mug stood quietly, silent and speechless.

After a brief silence, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes to rest for a moment, then opened his eyes, picked up his pen, and continued to transcribe the unfinished commission report, hiding all the emotions in his heart beneath a calm exterior.

The storm at the Old Wharf still left a lingering, gentle echo.

The day after the ambush ended, Old Kohler's little daughter picked up her charcoal pencil again and sketched a new drawing.

On the drawing, the Old Wharf pier extended toward the dark river surface. Beneath the water at the end of the pier, a translucent, eerie sailing ship was suspended. A blurry figure stood in the center of the ship, holding a flickering dark green spiritual light in their palm, mysterious and hazy.

Above the sailing ship stood a tall, straight figure, the copper buckle on the backpack strap clearly visible, and the compass in their hand shining brightly, flowing with clear, shimmering light.

The little girl carefully wrapped the drawing in an old newspaper and quietly placed it at the entrance of Warehouse No. 4 in the Dock District.

The next morning, the drawing was gone, and in its place was a white loaf of bread, also wrapped in old newspaper. Tucked inside the bread was a small, narrow slip of paper with only five neat and concise words written on it: "Drawn very well."

She treated it like a treasure, carefully tucking the note into her treasured comic weekly, then lay back on the windowsill, her gaze fixed on the rushing Hoi River, her fingertips holding the pen, and she began to sketch the next picture.

Beneath the undercurrents of Backlund, there had never been true peace.

For days, Lu Li had been focused on organizing all the intelligence gathered from this ambush.

The remains of the rune fragments left behind by Ince Zangwill were properly sealed by him in a lead evidence bag.

The shell of the fragments was surrounded by an extremely subtle, almost imperceptible aura of corruption, which was exactly the trace of 0-08 left by Sefirah Castle, sufficient to serve as an excellent beacon for tracking Ince in the future.

With the help of the underground intelligence network spread by the Abraham family, the complete confessions of all the Aurora Order members remaining in Backlund were all gathered in his hands.

The information clearly confirmed that the spiritual power of the black sail ship in the Fog Sea was less than thirty percent of its peak period, and the wraith puppets that it relied on for combat had been exhausted long before the spring tide peak arrived, completely losing their combat effectiveness.

Lu Li screened, organized, and integrated the massive amount of information into a structured briefing.

All core content related to Ince's whereabouts that could be used as a reference for official pursuit was handed over to Old Eye to pass on to Leonard for archiving.

The remaining intelligence involving the layout of the Aurora Order and other secret organizations was entered into his private intelligence database as reserve resources for future planning.

At the same time, a messenger from Abraham brought a secret message: The Secret Order had formally passed a review vote, finalizing the conclusion to close the seal of the Antigonus Ruins.

All relevant investigation files and exploration records would be made public to all members, and non-classified basic materials had already been sent to the Old Book Exhibition Hall in the Dock District for public display.

Twilight fell, and the setting sun dyed the streets and alleys of Backlund.

Lu Li walked slowly to Water Pump Street.

Old Eye was squatting beside the bookshelf, using a feather duster to carefully clean the newly arrived old books. Hearing the footsteps, he just slightly raised his chin, which counted as a greeting.

He reached out and took a brand new Illustrated Handbook of Spirit World Plants in the Southern Continent from the counter drawer and placed it steadily on the counter.

"The offline network that the Aurora Order has operated in Backlund for many years has been completely uprooted."

Old Eye dusted off his fingertips and spoke of the latest situation in a flat tone, "In the short term, there will be no more secret construction of blood altars, nor will there be new backup runes. The underground market will be stable for a while."

As his voice fell, he took out an exquisite small copper box from the bottom of the counter and gently pushed it toward Lu Li. Inside the box lay several brand-new fragments of space perception charms, which were the supply specifically for him to replenish his stock.

At the same moment, at the detective agency on Mingde Street.

Sherlock spread open a new commission logbook and began to register a new commission.

The client was a manager of a freight company in the Dock District. While checking the cargo recently, he discovered that several batches of ore crates shipped across the sea from the Southern Continent had all been secretly rummaged through and inspected by someone.

The ore inside the boxes was intact, not a single bit missing, but the defensive rune tablets sealed outside each crate had all inexplicably failed, and their spiritual imprints had completely dissipated.

Sherlock's pen tip paused slightly, and he clearly annotated at the end of the record: The modus operandi and trace characteristics highly match the previous case of the stolen serpentine fragments investigated by the Secret Order. It is highly likely that it was committed by the same secret organization. It is recommended to contact the Secret Order immediately to verify and trace the source.

After finishing the annotation, he properly filed the commission dossier.

The evening breeze blew in through the window cracks, bringing the cool air from the riverside. Sherlock leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes to rest for a few seconds, then stood up, picked up the watering can, and carefully watered the ivy on the windowsill—that was a green plant gifted by the Landlady, with evergreen leaves and full of vitality.

He stepped forward, took down the enamel mug from the top shelf of the bookcase, carefully wiped away the thin dust accumulated on the rim with his sleeve, and then gently placed it back in its original place.

The twilight deepened, and the Hoi River flowed slowly outside the window, the water surface downstream reflecting the last wisp of lead-gray sky light on the horizon.

The spring tide that had swept through the entire city had completely receded, and the mist of the Sea of Wraith at the end of the Old Wharf pier had dispersed, and the eeriness had vanished.

Only on the stone piers that had been repeatedly washed by the tide for years remained layers of whitish salt stains, silently witnessing the conclusion of this turbulent storm.