Chapter Thirty-Six: Use Water with Caution

A long letter arrived from the Gear City branch.

In it, they spoke highly of the Creekwood Town station, praising them for their excellent completion of the commission.

However, the crucial latter half of the letter revealed that the Imperial United Reserve Bank took this case very seriously. They had engaged in communication and negotiation with the headquarters, and it was subtly implied that a high-ranking executive from the Rofick Consortium had attended the meeting. Given the unique nature of this cursed object—which contained sensitive internal banking data—the matter would henceforth be handled by the Imperial United Reserve.

Translated into plain terms: the people from the Rofick Consortium wanted to protect Marshall, and the case was to end right there. To persist in the investigation would be to slight everyone involved.

Marshall specifically emphasized to the two of them, "The ledger has already been handed over; it surely isn't in Creekwood Town anymore."

Even if these two investigators from the Containment Bureau were to kick up a fuss or try to use their authority to pressure him, it would be to no avail.

Ivy understood perfectly.

Marshall had reported the ledger to headquarters the moment he received it. That even a high-ranking executive from the Rofick Consortium had intervened could only mean one thing: Loxan was not an isolated case. They had already established a complete industrial chain across the border towns of the empire. In a sense, the residents of these small towns were no different from raw ore.

They mined the people, selected those with value, and then used a systematic process to burden their families with massive debts. Perhaps even the tutors assigned to those children were handpicked by the consortium.

The ledger was the key to unlocking the truth.

Ivy had no way of knowing why it had been cursed. Was it cursed by Loxan in his agony and despair, or had he, at the very end of his life, harbored a hope that someone would find it?

Regardless, it had slipped through her fingers right before her eyes.

The appearance of a high-ranking consortium member meant this matter was destined to stop here. Her family could tolerate her fleeing the imperial capital to come to a frontier city like Creekwood, and they could endure her persistent letters to the royal family and the Academy, spreading rumors that the Winter Witch was still alive. But they would never allow her to fall out with the Rofick Consortium over an irrelevant small-town resident.

Yet...

Ivy looked at Ethan, who was standing at the doorway, silent.

Loxan was his friend, and more importantly, a good man. It was foreseeable that many more victims like Loxan would appear in the future.

As Ethan’s superior, she felt she ought to do something.

Her brain whirred at top speed, and the golden hair atop her head twitched anxiously back and forth, faintly threatening to overheat and start smoking.

"Ms. Rose, since Mr. Marshall has said as much, I suppose our work here is successfully concluded," Ethan spoke up suddenly from behind her. "The branch is also very satisfied with our performance."

Hearing this, a victor’s smile appeared on Marshall’s face, and he became increasingly arrogant. "Getting to the bottom of things isn't a good habit these days. Some things are best left in the past."

He stood up, took a goblet from the liquor cabinet, and poured himself a glass of red wine right in front of them.

It was truly a day worth celebrating.

His laughing sickness was cured, the ledger had been properly disposed of, and when it all came down to it, this commission had nothing to do with any cursed object. He had merely hired a few people to treat his symptoms.

And that apartment—after a bit of tidying up, it would be time to sell it to someone else.

"You really should learn from him."

Marshall carried his glass, intending to see the two off to the stairwell himself.

As a victor.

"Young man, I have high hopes for you. If you ever abuse inhibitors and get reported, or if you ever need to pay an astronomical compensation fee, just come to me. I’ll tailor a loan plan just for you."

Ethan smiled at him, returning the courtesy. "You too."

"I have never abused inhibitors!"

Marshall’s hand shook, and the red wine in his glass splashed onto the floor.

As expected, this young man was even more annoying than Ivy, but fortunately, he would never have to deal with such bottom-feeding scum again.

He sipped his wine, watching their retreating figures as they walked down the stairs. Yes, while the winner savored the taste of victory, the losers should just tuck their tails and get out.

Ethan walked down the stairs, hearing the sound of mocking laughter from behind him.

But in reality, he had never had any interest in the ledger Loxan left behind, nor had he ever intended to follow the clues to the end. Whether this was Marshall’s idea or if he was merely a puppet placed in the spotlight by the Rofick Consortium, he was uninterested in all of it.

Ethan focused on what was right in front of him, and what he wanted to do had been decided from the start.

For instance, he had noticed Marshall’s hand shake just now, causing some wine to spill on the floor. He had also noted the recent sudden drop in temperature, signaling the onset of winter; in such weather, it was highly probable that a layer of ice would form on the surface of any liquid.

Given Marshall’s obese frame, should he accidentally lose his footing and tumble down the stairs, he would likely suffer severe injuries or even die on the spot.

He stepped onto the final stair.

Immediately, a cry of shock from the bank clerks rang out from above. They looked toward the sound, only to see Marshall’s heavy body thrown into the air. The goblet of the victor shattered against the ground, and the red wine bloomed like a blood-red lotus.

Amidst the cries, Marshall tumbled all the way down. The smile on his face transformed into terror, his left hand reaching forward as he fell, as if desperately trying to grasp at something.

Then came the sound of bones snapping.

Ethan saw Marshall’s broken neck. The great banker now lay at the edge of the stairs in a twisted position, his face bent at a right angle, staring directly at them.

Water, truly the most dangerous substance in the world.

Ethan locked eyes with Marshall until the last glimmer of light faded from the latter's eyes. At the very end of his life, Marshall had opened his mouth, as if wanting to say something.

Was he asking for help?

Or was he simply not ready to leave?

None of that mattered, for Marshall had now completely lost the ability to speak; he couldn't even produce a single syllable.

Even Ivy was stunned into silence by the sheer visual impact of the scene, a rare look of shock crossing her face.

Every staff member of the Imperial United Reserve seemed to have been frozen in place. They had all seen Marshall’s broken neck; clearly, there was no saving him.

Yet, no matter how hard they racked their brains, they could not imagine how the bank manager could have fallen to his death in such a bizarre manner.

Could it be...

Was this, too, a curse?

But to Ethan, such an outcome was not surprising. When a series of small coincidences are pieced together, they lead to an inevitable conclusion.

The great banker, Mr. Marshall, had slipped on the red wine on the floor, tumbled down the stairs, and ended his life.

A tragic, accidental death.

The staff at the Imperial United Reserve were all witnesses to this accident.

And Ethan was the first to rush forward to offer aid.

The wails from below snapped everyone back to reality. They saw the young investigator from the Containment Bureau sprinting toward Marshall.

"Old Marshall! Oh, Old Marshall—!"

The heart-wrenching cry echoed through the hall of the Imperial United Reserve for a long time. On this day shrouded in misfortune, they witnessed the most sincere of friendships.

This young investigator from the Containment Bureau seemed to have become the saddest person in the world.

The bank clerks who stepped forward to help were all moved.

The bond between this investigator and the manager must have been incredibly deep.