It was the most romantic night Princess Velnia ever had.

Arms in arms, Orwell took her on tour to meet with many nobles she never met. Most held astronomically high position in the Seven Continental Alliance. Some held special positions in the Isle of Knowledge. Albert Starling could not contain his excitement. The young tutor believed that his popular phase finally arrived. The night was his stairway to fame, and he rocked it like a concert.

“Lord Mehest, is this wine from Elypt?” Albert said, downing an entire wine-glass.

Orwell smiled back at the young minister and poured Albert another glass.

“Yes, you have quite an excellent tongue, lord Starling,” Orwell Mehest complimented. “This is quite a rare wine. Elypt’s climate make it impossible to mass-produce this quality of beverage. However, my mother always said we can replace treasures, but not friendship. I believe this drink is quite a great token to celebrate the bond between the House of Mehest and Starland.”

“You are too humble, lord Mehest!”

Starling laughed. Orwell kept smiling as he walked to the Princess. The young maiden gazed from the floating island, suspended in the air with the wide landscape of Venistalis spread out beneath her. The young girl absorbed the sight of those beautiful lights glittering inside the darkened city. Tonight, the city shone like pearls beneath the black ocean.

“It is beautiful,” Velnia said, taking Orwell’s hand and holding it close.

“Yes, it is quite a breathtaking sight, isn’t it?” Orwell said. “All those lights is like candles guarded by the nobility. I normally come here when in doubt, and whenever I see the glorious images, my hesitation disappears.”

Princess Velnia turned to look at the princely young man.

“Lord Orwell, is my forgiveness is wrong?”

Orwell perked up.

“Hal Jordan’s words still troubled you, my dear Princess?”

Velnia nodded.

Orwell wrapped his arms around the Princess and let her leaned into his shoulder. He sang the sweet words, sinking the Princess into the comfort his shoulder provided.

“Forgiveness is only wrong when you forgive people who don’t deserve it,” Orwell said. “Princess, your view that everyone can live together is a grand ambition, but in this world, there are some people who cannot be forgiven. Peace is only possible when no debt remained — only a clean slate will heal the world.”

The Princess looked into Orwell’s eyes. They were warm and sincere. The girl reflected at Rem’s lecture. He exposed the flaw in her ideology. People couldn’t forgive each other easily. Orwell was correct to tell her paradise was impossible to realize without a clean slate.

“No need to get discouraged, Velnia,” Orwell comforted her doubt. “I will help bring the clean-slate to the world. I promise I will bring your paradise to reality.”

“Really?” Velnia whispered, wrapping herself around Orwell’s arms.

“Yes,” Orwell said. “I promise with my title as a gentleman.”

Velia closed her eyes and dreamily cuddled the man she trusted.

Albert cheered from inside his heart, and the peeping Mercia clenched her fist triumphantly.

...

Hikma De Darwin was busily trying to save Venistalis.

As one of the two Earthling in Horizon Dawn, he had been typing on Za Wa for a furious hour. They narrowed the suspect down — way down. However, the data was still too wide. He once dismissed that crazy idea. But the more he dug into the case, the more Rem’s suggestion looked like their only hope. But how would they summoned the greatest and most apathic detective on Earth to this case

The main problem was that they got a bunch of data-points and no context. Za Wa already pinpointed all the murders in Venistalis, but it was too large of a focus group. To make the matter worse, Hikma was never a good detective, and Rem sucked at data-analysis.

The young French-Arab boys sorted through the file of the murder victims Shyme sent them—the people they couldn’t save. Two more already joined the list today. Hikma wanted to blast the wall to piece. He wondered what did that beast-girl thought when she assembled these papers? Did Shyme Enma believed these names of forever lost men and women was only a statistic points?

Hikma was a Christian like his father, but he wasn’t that religious. However, tonight, in the modified, steel-plated hangout, he sent a silent prayer for hope. Hikma wanted power—the power to reduce the pages. Even a single paper would be enough. He didn’t want to see people die like his father.

Suddenly, he heard rustling papers.

“Is this the newest victim?” Rem whispered. The boy returned to work from the party without bothering to change. His suit hung loose, the tie tossed like it worth nothing, and his shirt unbuttoned, revealing a body sweating from running back at full-speed.

“Yeah,” Hikma said. “Don’t go into the detail. It will only depress you.”

Rem skimmed through the note.

He closed it.

“Hikma,” Rem said. “It is time to summon the World Greatest Detective.”

Hikma perked up.

“But you said they won’t take the case? Those guys are not a private army, and they are assholes.”

Rem showed him the file.

“Not this one,” Rem tapped the image of a cat-girl on the front-page. “Our enemy just go too far. They will mobilize with her as a spearhead. We only needed to supply the information, and given the connection I make tonight, we might lay the foundation for our investigation work for years to come.”

“Are you sure they will help us?”

“They will, if it is fun,” Rem walked toward Za Wa. “Now give me the keyboard. I must make the meme.”

Hikma stood up and watched Rem booted up an image-board. For many, it was the prison to contain Earth’s greatest extremist, but Rem called it home. It was the place holding the best and the worse of mankind. This one site alone achieved so many miracles in the past and right now the paladin of good throw their faith into the avatar of chaos.

They put their hope into the entity mightier than the CIA.

“Are you sure about this?”

“We are pulling down gods, Hikma,” Rem replied distressfully. “We need an army. Even if it not our personal one.”

That night—crossed the world—the thread depicting a gruesome murder of a young cat-girl in Venistalis went live. A reply came. It was a shitpost followed by a demand for vengeance. Rem responded with a meme and a data-drop. Perhaps it was the Center Force, perhaps something else, but the post soon get flooded. For the denizen of that site, it was the first information about Venistalis they received. That factor combined with the blatant oversight and the victim’s gender and species tuned the storm above eleven.

Operation: Pedo Hunt had begun.

…

Several mornings later

[Conceptual Seals] surrounding Hikma glowed as he unleashed a rampaging wave of flames and waters. Melody faced the attacks head-on and responded with a breath of fire. Luxinna leapt into the sky and flung a shard of electrically charged glasses at the two. The demoness roared, cracking the glasses with the thunderous sonic waves. Hikma conjured up the seal of sand and reduced the elf’s attack to ash.

The boy quickly fell from exhaustion a moment later.

“Good job, boy,” Scathach said. “Your stamina and the number of [Conceptual Seal] is progressing at an impressive rate. Melody, your respond was great as always. Great evasion coming from you Luxinna. All of you take a five-minutes break and start doing the warm-up set.”

Melody groaned.

“How come Rem and Cytortia got to skip the training!?”

“Cytortia needed to meet with Shyme and a certain hot-head bitch,” Scathach said. “And I won’t envy Rem if I were you. His job is immensely more difficult than warm up.”

“You know where Rem is going?” Hikma said.

Scathach shivered.

“He is pitching a start-up.”

…

Rem watched the tea pour down the cup of China. The Madam sat Infront of him, smiling chummily. The Madam knew what he was coming. Although Rem was privy to too much knowledge, most miracles still escape his comprehension. Namely, the fact the strawberry shortcake wasn’t crumbling under pressure.

“So young man,” the Madam said. “You want to pitch a business.”

“Yes, Madam Marmel,” Rem said.

“Good,” the Madam replied. “You have ambition, Mr. Jordan. Contrary to what your files said about you. Yes, I have a file on you, young man. Among all the people in the parties few nights ago, you are the one I am really interested in. Not the nobles. Not Orwell. Not the Heavenly Daughters. You.”

“I am nothing special, Madam.”

“Remus Breaker, born 3rd of March at New York Presbyterian Hospital—Columbia and Cornell,” the Madam recited from memory. “Homeschooled from the age of 3 to 9. Attend a prestigious private school at 10. Rumor said you apprenticed as an associate under the Argento Mafia at 13. At 14, you went to England for further study, severing all contact with your friends and families. Secretly, you work with Argento's influence in England, Liverpool. You dropped from the radar after the merge with Phantasia and reappeared again in Millian with Cytortia. And your cousin, Juliet Breaker, is a total moron.”

Rem needed to admit the Madam get him right down to the gang. “Your report is accurate down to the moron.”

The Madam frowned.

“Yes, I have to say your resume is impressive,” the Madam said. “But there are one thing I can’t unearth about you: your first kill.”

“You can’t find it because it don't exist,” Rem said. “I handled the laundering, smuggling, interrogation, spying, investigation, and diplomatic mission. But I and Antonio have an understanding about resorting to murder.”

“And drugs,” the Madam added. “You and Antonio Argento purged the narcotic trade from Argento's territories in one of the quietest gang wars I have ever seen. I admit how fascinating it is to see a hardened criminal care more about community than the police.”

The Madam laughed at Rem's alarmed expression.

“No need to fret. If I want to rat out you and your associate, I would have done it yesterday,” the Madam said. “We both understand getting rid of crime was impossible. The best way to minimize the syndicate violence is to repurpose it. Your gang is an excellent example. Although there are some underground dealing, the Argento grew more of its philanthropic branches. The testimony I read hardly support the image of a ruthless band of murderers.”

“That the funniest thing about the gang,” Rem replied. “Do you know the term Mafia is a slang for acting as protector against the arrogance and the powerful? That is part of the reason we don’t drink with cops—we can’t trust the government. I believe you appreciate the reason.”

The Madam nodded. No matter which world they arrived from, the authority was slow and stubborn to the point of ritualism.

“Then explain to me how the protector against the powerful transform into killers.”

Rem laughed.

“Sin of history,” Rem explained nostalgically. “The Mafia are originally groups which form to protect themselves against invaders. The problem was we got the funding from protection money and the chaos around the area. Many slippery slopes later, the gang lost it moral down the line, resulting in the syndicate we see today.”

“You know a lot about your histories.”

“It is one of the first thing the boss taught me,” Rem said. “Portion of us, the boss for one, want to return to the old days. They might be ruthless men, but that didn’t mean they don’t have a heart.”

“I look at your report and it is strange,” the Madam commented. “You are sponsored directly by the boss of an international syndicate and taught every method under the book. You never kill, but the gang member seemed to respect you.”

“I excel at making people talk,” Rem said

The Madam nodded. The Mafia never officially inducted the boy, but given the task he handled, it was only because the gang worried about his age. While joining the Mafia during the teenage years was not unprecedented, Antonio Argentum worried too much about the boy to anoint him as a true criminal. More surprising was the unanimous agreement from the family’s core. They respected Rem, but they also felt apprehensive about him.

Now that Madam sat before the boy. She knew what the Mafia saw in him and fully agreed with their decision.

Rem lacked bloodlust or ambition. The only thing the Madam sensed from him was a pit of nihilism barely sealed by hope and moral. If the seal ever broke, a horrendous monster would emerge. It would be a monster that held nothing back until the world died in chaos and submitted into its twisted vision. Antonio must feel this alien hollowness too and did everything in his power to temper this immense darkness.

No, the Madam realized, it wasn’t darkness. It was light, but one too blinding. Flare so blinding it could wipe out the Earth.

The boy reminded Marmel of one particular girl. She only saw the vampire once. The face of a beautiful girl tainted with veins of blood. Unlike the boys, madness and rage drowned her, but upon reviewing the footage of that girl’s bloody massacre, the Madam perceived it was something different.

Despair.

It was an immense loss of hope that only motivated by rage and regret. That girl was also another time bomb that constantly leaking out radiation. If that rage were to mutate, the entire world would have to deal with a darkness that leaved swallowed everything.

The boy was an excess of white. The girl was a black maelstrom. The Madam foresaw that inevitable meeting between these two bombs. It was destiny. Fate already pitted the clash between endless Nihilism and Despair.

“You want to pitch an idea,” the Madam said. “What is your business proposal?”

“I have several actually,” Rem said, bringing out a stack of papers. “I can also answer you about the recent spike in crime rate. But first, I have to introduce someone.”

The door to the illustrious living room swung opened. A high-end leather soles struck the carpet and a middle-man ripped with muscle walked inside the room. He was clean-shaven, but sharply dressed in a black suit. The Madam noticed the scars on his hand. They were the battle-scars depicting many bloody fights he won.

“May I introduce you to a friend of mine who I ran into a week ago,” Rem said. “Aleksei Martynov, my friend from England. He is one of our quartermasters.”

“Oh, I have a lot about him; former secret service, thirty confirm kills. He helped you disguised the napalm you smuggled inside the narcotic truck during the Argentum War.”

Martynova and Rem looked surprised.

“Oh, don’t hunt down the survivor,” the Madam said. “Shamanic Ritual is an impressive magic to piece event together. I recommended your family to step up your game, dear. Phantasia is much more sinister than Earth.”

Martynova laughed.

“You arrange quite an interesting meeting, cugino,” Martynov said. “So, what is it this week? Did the young lady want more guns?”

Rem produced two folders.

“Not much good news,” Rem said, taking out two folders from his case. “And yes, we need guns and ammunition; an entire stock if possible.”

“An entire stock?” Martynov accepted the folder. “Who are you going to war against?”

“The detail is in the folder,” Rem briefed. “But to keep my answer short. An insane sorcerer, royal-mages, and the dead. I recommend both of you to pull out your investment and redoubled your liquid cash. The post-war development will be lucrative if the city survive.”

The Madam flipped to the paper and frowned.

“My god, this explain everything,” the Madam said. “But it couldn’t be that bad. Venistalis is not lacking S-classes to deal with this threat.”

“Yes,” Rem admitted. “But-”

Aleksei Martynov finished Rem’s sentence for him.

“But if scums poke their head into what is yours, either they are fools or they are prepared,” Martynov said as he skimmed the briefing sternly. “And I killed enough fools to recognize these people aren’t. Can you preemptively remove the threat, cugino?”

“I believe it involves a 33 Stars”

“*****,” Aleksi cursed depressively. “I have to call the boss. Only he can arrange such a transaction.”