After a long moment, his expression shifted—recognition flickering in his eyes.

"Ah," he murmured, "there is one place that fits that description."

He turned, rummaging through a drawer before pulling out a worn map.

Unfolding it across the desk, he tapped a spot just beyond the main roads.

"Here. This place. There's a cathedral built before the founding of the Empire. Its angel statue collapsed decades ago." He glanced up at me. "The locals call it the 'Fallen Wings.'"

I leaned over to study the marked location.

The spot his finger indicated on the map wasn't just far—it was buried deep within Ambrosia, the most secluded district on the outskirts of the capital.

A place people avoided unless they had business they didn't want others to know about.

I studied the mark carefully, committing every curve of the path to memory.

Once I had it locked in my mind, I straightened.

"Now it's my turn," I said. "Dora. Tell me about her pendant."

I'd gotten what I wanted from him—if the information turned out to be garbage, I could always come back and shake the guild again. Preferably louder.

The Guild Master let out a slow breath, as if preparing himself.

"Do you know Baron Vermuth?"

"Of course. He's been climbing the political ladder like a man who glued himself to it. Why? What does that have to do with Dora?"

The guild master's brows furrowed deeply as if the pieces weren't quite fitting together in his head.

"Specifically," I added, "look into his second wife. The one he married recently. Look closely, and you'll find something."

"…"

Silence settled between us as he sank into heavy thought, eyes narrowing as though replaying rumors and reports he'd heard before.

While he was busy piecing things together, my eyes shifted to the box in his hands.

"…Our business seems concluded. How about handing that over now?"

He raised his gaze to mine, studying me one last time—almost like checking whether I was worth trusting.

"The information is reliable?"

"Of course," I replied without missing a beat. "I have no reason to lie, do I?"

A long exhale.

"…Then I'll trust you. This once."

He tossed the box to me.

The moment it hit my palm, I felt its weight—much heavier than I expected.

I flipped it open.

Inside lay a cloudy, teardrop-shaped gem.

Dim, almost dull… yet carrying a presence I could feel in my fingertips.

Cain's Tear.

I closed the box gently.

"Next time," the guild master said with a faint scowl, "instead of causing trouble, make a proper request through the receptionist."

"Hm. And what should I say?"

"Just tell them you're looking for Demian."

His voice softened—not in warmth, but in sincerity—as he met my hidden gaze beneath the hood.

"That's my name."

---

After securing everything I wanted, I stepped out of the information guild without looking back.

No lingering, no hesitation. The moment my boots hit the street, I slipped into the nearest alley and melted into the shadows.

A quiet breath.

Then—shrrrk.

My invisibility spell wrapped around me like a thin layer of glass.

My body blurred, then vanished entirely.

Perfect.

A few seconds later—

"What?! Where did they go?"

"They definitely came this way—keep searching!"

The alley erupted with voices.

The men who stormed in wore familiar faces—those same thugs who'd been glaring daggers at me when I'd stirred up trouble inside the guild.

Of course.

The second I turned my back, they tried to tail me.

Typical.

"I'll check over there! Spread out!"

They scattered, kicking aside crates, peering behind barrels, even poking their heads into trash piles like desperate raccoons.

All of it useless.

Even if they had ten more people, they wouldn't find me.

Once their footsteps faded into the distance, I finally lifted the invisibility spell. My body shimmered back into view.

"…This is exactly the problem with these back-alley types."

Clicking my tongue, I stepped out of the alley.

Information guilds were supposed to operate on trust.

Discretion.

Professionalism.

But these idiots?

They tried to tail a client the moment he walked out the door.

As expected, Demian must've ordered it. He wanted to scrape together anything he could about me—my identity, where I was headed, what I planned to do next.

Tch. If that was their idea of customer service…

"How am I supposed to trust them enough to do business again?"

Shaking my head, I tucked the box with Cain's Tear deeper into my cloak.

With annoyance still simmering, I turned my steps toward Ambrosia—the silent, shadowy district waiting at the outskirts of the capital.

If the guild wanted to know who I was, they wouldn't get their answer today.

But Ambrosia just might.

Following the map, I eventually found myself standing before an old cathedral tucked away in the loneliest corner of Ambrosia.

Calling it "abandoned" felt too generous—this place looked like it had given up on life decades ago.

Weeds taller than my knees tangled around the stone steps. Cracked pillars leaned at suspicious angles, as if one wrong breeze might send the whole structure toppling. The roof sagged like it had grown tired of holding itself up.

'No wonder even the homeless avoid this place.'

Even in Ambrosia—the city where people slept in alleys and ruins without complaint—this cathedral was treated like forbidden ground. Not because it was haunted or cursed… but because it was one strong exhale away from becoming rubble.

If someone slept here and the building collapsed mid-dream?

Instant, guaranteed funeral.

I climbed the creaking stairs and reached for the large wooden door, half expecting it to resist or groan ominously.

Instead—

Snap.

The handle broke off cleanly in my hand.

"…Seriously?"

I stared down at the rusted, brittle metal sitting in my palm, speechless.

It felt like the door disintegrated from the mere idea of being touched.

Just how long had this place been left alone for something this simple to crumble?

I exhaled through my nose, set the broken handle aside, and pushed the door with nothing but my fingertips.

It swung inward immediately, as if relieved someone else was finally taking responsibility for holding it up.

Creeeeak—

The door groaned as it swung open, the hinges protesting like they hadn't been touched in decades.

A thick sheet of dust billowed outward, rising like smoke.

"—Cough, cough!"

I instinctively raised an arm over my face, fanning the air with my hand as the dry particles scraped my throat.

The dust hung stubbornly for a few seconds before slowly drifting back down.

When the air finally cleared, the inside of the cathedral came into view.

And it was a mess.

Debris littered the floor—chunks of stone, shattered wood, broken ornaments.

Several pillars were cracked, some leaning with ominous angles as if one stiff breeze might bring them down.

The walls weren't faring much better, covered in long fissures like scars left behind by something violent.

My gaze moved deeper inside.

There, standing beneath the fractured stained-glass windows, was a massive angel statue.

Or rather… what remained of it.

Both of its wings lay broken on the ground, shattered into uneven pieces.

The statue stood alone, hands clasped together in a prayer-like pose, its expression solemn—almost mournful.

As if it, too, regretted whatever had happened here.

"At least one thing's certain," I muttered.

Demian might be a man who would stab you in the back if it benefited him even slightly.

A man who always seemed ready to pull strings in the dark.

Untrustworthy in almost everything.

But the one thing he never lied about was information.

And this place—this ruined cathedral—was exactly where he said it would be.

His intel was dead-on.

As expected.

But still.

"This… doesn't look like a place where Lisa would be imprisoned."

The more I looked around, the more certain I became.

There was nothing here—no cells, no restraints, not even a locked storage room.

At best, this abandoned chapel held a few dusty chambers where priests might've slept decades ago.

But there was nothing even remotely similar to the underground prison I saw in my dream.

Which meant only one possibility remained.

My eyes shifted.

The angel statue.

Just standing there in the center, staring down with clouded marble eyes—anyone would find it suspicious.

I approached it slowly.

Up close, the statue was even more elaborate than it looked from afar: wings carved so delicately they almost seemed soft, flowing robes that looked like they would flutter if a breeze passed through. It had been sculpted from pure white marble, but time had drained its brilliance, leaving it looking pale and lifeless.

Religion itself had become the same—once glorious, now faded, barely clinging to relevance.

I reached out and brushed my hand against the dust-covered surface.

The moment my skin made contact—

Rumble…

RUMBLE RUMBLE—!

"W-What the—?!"

A red glow burst from the scar on the back of my hand, bright enough to sting my eyes.

And then the angel statue moved.

Not just a slight shift—

It slid, slowly but powerfully, grinding against the stone floor with a deep, thunderous groan.

I staggered back, instinctively putting space between us, watching the impossible unfold.

The statue continued shifting sideways, as though guided by invisible gears.

Only after it slid far from its original position did it finally halt.

And where the statue once stood—

"…A hole?"

A pitch-black opening yawned before me.

A ladder descended into it, swallowed by an endless darkness that even my eyes couldn't pierce.

I stood on the edge, staring down.

Cold air drifted upward from the abyss, brushing against my skin like a warning.

For a moment, hesitation clung to me.

Just a moment.

Then I placed my foot on the first rung of the ladder.

And slowly, carefully—

I began to descend into the darkness.

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