Chương 76: 31-2. City of Angels

When we returned to the front, Olivia had already stepped down. Still in dark, deliberately unremarkable clothes, cloak drawn close, hair tied simply. Even so, that quality she carried—this person doesn't belong here—was difficult to fully suppress. So she stepped back into shadow almost immediately. And began to look. Not performative assessment. Actual calculation of whether a place could keep us alive. Door, walls, windows.

She crouched and ran fingers along the dust at the threshold, checked footprints and wheel ruts. I stood nearby watching her examine this ruin with the focused attention of someone selecting furniture, and found the situation faintly absurd. We were in Angel's Gate, in front of a building where someone had probably died recently. But she was so methodical about it that I half-believed we were just choosing an ordinary inn before the capital.... Actually, that was fine. Someone had to sort the chaos back into order.

She completed a full circuit, stood, and brushed dust from her hands.

"We can use it." I exhaled, then asked anyway:"Reasons?" Olivia looked at me with the expression of someone who'd expected the question.

"First: sufficiently old and ugly," she said without embellishment.

"Which means no perceived value. Anyone hunting targets won't choose this first."

"That sounds like praising a broken plank."

"Right now that's a virtue." She continued.

"Second: narrow front, open rear—wagons can be half-concealed, second exit if things go wrong. Third: off the main road, so not visible to crowds at a glance, but not so isolated no one would hear trouble. Fourth—" She indicated the half-collapsed trough beside the building.

"Water collection infrastructure. This building had independent plumbing once. Even if mostly dead now, better than no water access at all." Matthews made a low sound of agreement. I stared at the broken trough I hadn't given a thought to. Right. That was the difference between us. I looked for where to cut people. She looked for where we could cut people and still have water the next morning.

"One more point," she added.

"Go ahead."

"The new window frame isn't a problem," she said.

"Someone repaired it—means this isn't a dead structure. Dead structures are most dangerous because anyone can enter. Occasional use means it still falls under informal territory."

"Assuming the user isn't trouble," Alvira said flatly.

"Exactly." Olivia nodded.

"Which is why we don't all move in together." I raised an eyebrow.

"How do we split it?" She answered without pause.

"Wagons and most supplies to the rear courtyard. Matthews and you stay front—door watch and street presence. Alvira takes second floor, establish sightlines. Lucas and Erina stay interior, out of sight. Jessi—" She looked at Jessi. Jessi raised one hand with a bright, entirely unrepentant smile.

"I know. I look exactly like the kind of person you'd send to make friends with local crime syndicates."

"Because you are," I said.

"Ouch. Right in the feelings." Olivia ignored us entirely, her tone remaining perfectly level.

"Go confirm who currently controls this territory. If someone uses this building occasionally, we need to know who they are before they come looking for us." Jessi blinked once, her smile deepening.

"My lady, the way you deploy people is genuinely terrifying."

"Is there a problem?"

"Not at all." She rolled her wrist.

"I just suddenly feel a little sorry for Cedric."

"What exactly are you pitying me for?"

"For the fact that you're probably never going to be allowed to live a disorganized life ever again." I didn't bother responding. Embarrassingly, my first reaction wasn't to argue. It was to glance at Olivia's expression to see how she'd take it. She appeared to have entirely missed the barb Jessi had deliberately tucked into that sentence. She simply turned to me and asked, with perfect composure: Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

"Lord Cedric, does this arrangement work for you?" A perfectly normal question. Normal in the sense that she was handing the final decision back to me. But it caught me anyway. Because I was very aware that since entering this city, most of our decisions had already been following her line of thinking. Not because she'd seized control, and not because I'd surrendered it—she just kept arriving one step ahead at every detail I'd been too lazy to think through but that turned out to matter enormously.

And I was getting increasingly comfortable with that. I pulled my gaze from her face, looked at the building—ugly in a way that felt almost reassuring—and nodded.

"We do it your way." Olivia nodded as though that settled it, and moved immediately to the next problem.

"Clear the space first. Wagons to the rear courtyard. Don't close the doors completely—leave a gap. Looking like someone's deliberately hiding draws more attention than looking occupied. Lady Erina stays in the wagon for now. Mr. Lucas—when you step down, please move slowly. Your current complexion is perfect as it is." From inside the wagon came Lucas's faint, slightly wounded acknowledgment. My mouth twitched. This woman had surgical precision when it came to practical details. And she was always right.

Over the next quarter hour, our convoy—which had entered the city looking like a walking advertisement for robbery—systematically shed every vulnerability that made it worth targeting, one layer at a time, under her quietly delivered instructions.

I stood at the entrance watching Matthews guide the wagons toward the rear courtyard, watched Jessi slip back into the alley like an eel returning to murky water, and found myself thinking that the people with visible knives weren't the only ones in Angel's Gate worth being wary of. Some people didn't need to draw a blade to take complete control of a situation. Worse, I was starting to think that was actually convenient. The interior was dark.

The old magic lamp overhead was clearly approaching its final death throes, flickering neurotically at irregular intervals—flaring to corpse-pale brightness, then dimming like something about to expire completely. Moldering sacks, split crates, and bottles that hadn't been cleared since the previous century cluttered the corners.

The air was a suffocating blend of damp dust, stagnant water, grease smoke, and that particular heavy musk that accumulates when reptiles inhabit a space for too long—thick and trapped, like a full night's unwashed sweat sealed inside and never released. Jessi had told Alvira and me to wait outside. She'd sauntered into the back alone, casually pushing the half-hinged door wider, with the energy of someone who didn't consider whatever was inside worth acknowledging. The shouting started quickly.

First, muffled curses too low to make out. Then a table going over, metal hitting the floor, the crack of a wooden crate being kicked apart—a chaotic symphony that sounded like someone had dragged a kitchen and a warehouse into simultaneous combat. Alvira and I exchanged a look and were about to move when Jessi emerged, dragging something behind her. Strictly speaking, it wasn't a person. It was a lizardman variant. Though for practical purposes, everyone just called them lizardmen.

At present, the creature was sprawled pathetically on the ground—a massive body covered in rough dark-green scales, spread out like a deflated sack that had been emptied with enthusiasm. Half its face was pressed into mud and grime, one eye open, one half-closed, consciousness clearly not fully returned. It could only stare blankly at a mud-stained coin purse nearby, gasping for air. Its chest heaved violently. The sound from its throat resembled a broken bellows. Alive, technically—but only in the technical sense.

I stood there, feeling my expression flatten.

"Jessi." I stared at her.

"I asked you to gather information. Not remodel the building."

"It's fine, he's an old friend." Jessi shook out her wrist with the relaxed air of someone who'd just finished light stretching.

"He owes me quite a few debts. Lucky timing." She punctuated this by driving her boot into the unfortunate creature's ribs.

"Isn't that right, Kuroga?" The lizardman arched his back, forcing out a strangled grunt.

"Boss... boss, mercy..."

"Mercy?" Jessi crouched slightly, still smiling. Her eyes had gone cold enough to make the smile irrelevant.

"You weren't this articulate when you were pushing me into that pit." Kuroga went pale—difficult to read on a reptilian face, but unmistakable in the way his entire posture tried to collapse inward.

"I—I was just—back then it was—" Jessi didn't let him finish. Her fist came down. This one landed solidly. Kuroga's head snapped sideways, teeth and blood spattering into the dark puddle already there. I frowned and stepped in.

"Enough." Jessi paused. I held her gaze, letting my voice cool.

"Business first. We're here for lodging, not to settle your personal accounts." She clicked her tongue but backed off, spreading her hands in theatrical innocence.

"As you wish, young master." Then she immediately turned back to Kuroga with a completely different expression.

"You heard him, you miserable lizard. My employer is in a generous mood and doesn't want your blood making this place smell worse. Show some gratitude." Kuroga lunged at the lifeline, scrambling forward until his forehead hit the floor in front of me with an audible crack.

"Young master! Young master, mercy! I'm worthless, I'm blind, I deserve death, I—""Stop." I raised my hand.

"Save the performance." He went silent instantly. Only his breathing continued to shake. I nodded toward Jessi.

"Ask him what we need to know." Jessi crouched down. A knife had materialized in her hand, now tracing conversational patterns along Kuroga's thick neck.

"Listen carefully, Kuroga," she said, smiling sweetly.

"My master is only asking once. Give me street-level garbage any child knows, and I'll spend today conducting biological research on whether lizardman tails actually grow back." Kuroga's face went several shades of wrong.

"I'll talk, I'll tell you everything—""Where can we actually sleep in this city?" I cut straight to it.

"Somewhere we wake up intact. Where women aren't harassed. Where belongings don't relocate themselves overnight. Money isn't the issue. Safety is." Kuroga answered reflexively:"Safest place is outside the city." I stared at him for one full second. Then: "We're already through the damn gates." Kuroga wilted visibly, his tail attempting to disappear.

"I'm not lying, young master... outside there's fodder depots, small oases, proper caravans stop there. Inside the city..." He gestured at the surrounding reality.

"You've seen it. Gangs hold territory, thugs patrol, constables play blind—where you sleep is mostly luck—""I could have reasoned that out myself." Jessi's blade tip lifted, touching his chin.

"Something useful." Kuroga's throat worked. Cold sweat ran freely. I watched his pathetic display and something occurred to me.

"Your name is Kuroga?"

"Y-yes..."

"Where do you sleep?" He blinked, not understanding the question.

"U-upstairs..."

"Alone?"

"Mostly... back window on the second floor opens to a ladder down to the rear alley. Even if the front door gets blocked, there's still a way out..." I nodded.

"Good." He looked confused. I looked at him and delivered the verdict calmly.

"Then we're staying here tonight."

"... Huh?" His head snapped up, reptilian features somehow managing an expression approaching tears. I didn't explain. I turned toward the entrance.

"Matthews. Bring the wagons in." The old soldier's acknowledgment came immediately, followed by the sound of wheels on broken stone. Kuroga made one last attempt.

"Y-young master, this isn't exactly proper—""Does this place have rules?" I looked at him. He opened his mouth.

"... No."

"Then we're settled." I walked past him and made a complete circuit of the building. Building was generous. It was more accurately a forgotten service annex. The front hall was small, floor cracked in several places, stagnant water pooled in corners. Rusty nails and dark stains marked where things had once hung on the walls. The counter had half-collapsed.

Empty barrels behind it leaked the combined scent of old alcohol and reptile habitation—a chemical assault that suggested prolonged exposure might dissolve stomach lining. But it had walls, stairs, a narrow front, an open rear, and doors that closed. In Angel's Gate, that qualified as luxury accommodation.