New Gear

The next evening, Solomon opened the box delivered by the skeleton hotelier, who had been trembling so hard his bones rattled. Inside lay the new equipment Maya had prepared for him.

The box contained a neatly folded coat, a one-piece tactical underlayer, and accessories that faintly pulsed with magical power, accompanied by a meticulously handwritten product description from Maya herself.

Hide!

Invisibility magic—the very flower of an assassin’s craft. It was the single ability Solomon had repeatedly insisted on including, no matter what.

Still…

One coat and one underlayer. There didn’t seem to be any obvious reason for the dead man to have been shaking so badly. Solomon turned his attention to the next items in the box.

So this was it.

Besides the terse line about its primary function, there was no further explanation. Yet the moment Solomon slipped the ghost shark bone necklace around his neck, he understood it instinctively.

He could feel it. Every nonexistent sense stretched and sharpened to an extreme degree, sweeping over the surroundings with predatory precision—like a shark gliding through the ocean, mapping its entire domain.

Not the five ordinary senses, but a predator’s instinct that read the very currents and flows of the sea itself.

Without needing explanation, the knowledge of how to use this ability imprinted itself on him with perfect clarity. It functioned like a passive skill, permanently enhancing his perception.

After the ghost whale, now a ghost shark.

From what he’d heard, neither creature was truly alive in the conventional sense. Like Ghosttown itself, they existed in the gray boundary between life and death. Even Solomon didn’t know the full details.

Equipment’s more or less sorted now.

Finish the request, earn money, buy better gear with that money. Repeat the cycle, steadily climbing to higher levels and greater strength, drawing closer to his goal. The process itself was ideal.

…Still so far away.

Even so, this wasn’t nearly enough to survive the life-threatening crisis coming his way soon. He couldn’t afford to stop here.

“Hide.”

Solomon finished dressing and tested the spell. The moment he uttered it, an exhausting sensation rose from his chest, as if something vital had been pulled out of him.

Using my own magical power…

Exactly as the description said. Even though it wasn’t a spell Solomon had learned himself, activating it still consumed his magical power—his spell slots.

He examined the drain with cold precision, calculating exactly how much remained.

One level-two slot left?!

Solomon was stunned. It had devoured one of his precious level-two slots. Then again, in a way, he supposed he should count himself lucky.

In truth, true invisibility was a fourth-tier, level-four spell. Even accounting for the reduced performance, the cost-cutting runes had brought it down to a single level-two slot. By the rules of the system and the sheer tactical value of true invisibility, the price was more than worth it. The effect ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠dwarfed anything a mundane hiding attempt could achieve.

Yeah. This is plenty.

Combined with the ghost shark bone necklace, he had no right to complain—he should be thanking Maya on his knees.

Still invisible, Solomon reached back into the box and pulled out the final accessory: the Black Bird Spirit Bracelet.

Caw!

One of the shadow crows burst from the bracelet in a flutter of wings, then perched on the curtain rod and stared down at him. Solomon looked back through its eyes, examining his own invisible form.

…!

Because of the active invisibility, his figure didn’t appear in the crow’s vision at all. The same held true for every shadow crow. Even the mirror in the room showed nothing. It was as if he had been completely erased from existence.

Can’t run an assassin build without invisibility. Simple as that.

He thought back to the infiltration hacking tool he’d bought the day before—the Ghost Unit, Syn-Probe. A device designed to blind security cameras, drones, and automated sentries so they could never detect him.

But now that he could turn invisible at will, hacking cameras had become largely pointless. The only real remaining use was hijacking drones or automated machines.

Still… exactly how is my life supposed to be threatened?

A curator from the Black Museum would be coming for him. The situation felt so hopeless that even the word “hopeless” seemed insufficient.

His mind was a mess. Yet there was nothing immediate he could do about it.

As a fixer at Hotel Snark, he couldn’t move without a request. At the same time, he couldn’t simply sit idle.

Guess I start by gathering information.

In the days that followed, Solomon trained himself in the use of the Black Bird Spirit Bracelet while occasionally venturing into the streets to dig up any scrap of information on the Black Museum.

Unfortunately, the results were almost nonexistent.

Even Roche the pig claimed it was the first time he’d ever heard the name, and he didn’t seem to be lying. At least the broker was still alive and his pancreas looked perfectly healthy.

The only person who might have known something was Lord Bawry, but he had conveniently vanished as well. He wasn’t the sort of man Solomon could locate just by wanting to.

As for the real heavyweights like the Faceless One he had spoken with before, there was no avenue to approach them at all.

Fucking hell.

Several days passed in that stagnant frustration.

“Pardon me, Sir Solomon.”

Early one morning a knock sounded at his door. Solomon opened it without hesitation. A ghost hovered there, its lower legs missing, floating gently above the floor.

“What is it?”

“There is a guest in the tea lounge who wishes to meet with you, Sir Solomon.”

“Who?”

“My apologies. They declined to reveal their identity.”

Someone who wanted to see him. And not an acquaintance.

“It appears they have come with a request.”

“…I’ll head down now.”

From Solomon’s perspective, there was no reason to turn down a request that had finally arrived after so long.

The tea lounge felt unusually desolate that day. Amid the empty tables, a middle-aged man sat alone, sipping black tea. His neat black suit was embroidered with gold accents that spoke of both refinement and power.

The man radiated an aristocratic—or rather, bourgeois—dignity so overwhelming it seemed to dominate the very air around him. One glance was enough to feel the insurmountable gap in status.

“Ah, so you are Solomon.”

“You were looking for me?”

Streaks of white ran through his hair, and a cross-shaped scar sat above his right eye. He didn’t appear particularly elderly, yet the deep lines on his face spoke of a life filled with violent tempests.

“You may call me Lord Bernier.”

“…Lord Bernier.”

A coat rested across his shoulders like a cape, and a mahogany cane leaned beside him. The handle had been intricately carved into the shape of two eagle heads.

“I’ve heard quite a lot about you.”

“About me?”

“Indeed.”

“I’m not exactly famous enough for people to be talking about me.”

“Ah, humility is a fine virtue.”

“……”

“Yet sometimes humility is nothing more than a mask for ignorance.”

Solomon listened in silence as Lord Bernier continued.

“Whether you believe it or not, a considerable number of people have taken an interest in you.”

“Interest, huh.”

“To my eyes, you seem like a rather reliable cleaner.”

“So you’ve come to give me a job?”

“That is correct.”

The white-haired man reached into the cape draped over his shoulders and produced a thick stack of documents. A magical band sealed the bundle, stamped with the warning: City Council Class B Confidential.

“Please examine these.”

“City Council…”

At those words, Solomon swallowed hard.

The “City” naturally referred to Guild City. The City Council therefore represented the powerful guild leaders and bourgeois factions of Downtown—one of the two ruling powers that governed the city’s politics.

Uptown and Downtown. Nobles and bourgeoisie. Mages and magitech engineers. The old ways and the new.

Above the City Council sat the High Council, led by the five great families of Uptown—

That was a story from a world far ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠beyond Solomon’s current reach. At least for now.

Yet the question of whether he was in any position to get involved with the City Council at all was another matter entirely. The answer was still no.

“…Why would the City Council bother seeking out a first-floor guest?”

Solomon asked calmly, even as he held the bundle of documents clearly labeled as classified.

“An opportunity.”

Lord Bernier’s voice was ice-cold.

“We are granting you an opportunity.”

The words carried the condescending tone of a superior bestowing a favor upon an inferior.

“This city is overflowing with problems that must be resolved. You people erase those problems cleanly. The more skilled cleaners there are, the better.”

“……”

“Unless you plan to rot away at the bottom of this hotel like some third-rate nobody for the rest of your life, surely you wish to climb higher? Of course you do. Naturally.”

A higher place. The whisper that stoked ambition made Solomon pause for a brief moment.

“Do you possess the courage to read these classified documents and seize that opportunity?”

Lord Bernier extended the bundle marked City Council Class B Confidential. The “B” rank wasn’t the absolute highest classification, but it was the next level down. Solomon knew exactly what reading such information would mean. There would be no turning back.

“……”

The silence did not last long. Solomon carefully broke the magical seal and opened the first page.

“The target is Dr. O’Neil,” Lord Bernier said. “A mad life scientist known as ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a body splicer—or corpse fusionist.”