Three days after the secret meeting with Gertrude, a wax-sealed letter was silently delivered to the back door of the Workers' Party headquarters by a messenger disguised as a gardener.
Lacey broke the seal; inside were several sheets of paper covered in writing.
He read quickly, his finger tracing lightly over several locations on the map marked as mines and factories.
"Miss Gertrude is very efficient," Lacey said, handing the papers to Serafina and Taylor, who had gathered close. "The intelligence is quite detailed. It seems we won't need to wait for our people to make a move."
The letter not only contained Cole Strollo's detailed itinerary for the next few days but even included the name, background, and guard rotation schedule of the captain of the escort dispatched by the Elector.
More importantly, the letter mentioned a key figure—a member of the Witch King's remnants code-named the 'Scrivener'.
This person was the second-in-command of the Witch King's remnant forces in Wischeim, responsible for monitoring and liaising with Cole to ensure the future puppet count would not slip from their control.
"This Cole character, he goes to the 'Voice of the Tower' auction house every Wednesday afternoon, without fail."
Taylor the blacksmith's thick finger pointed at the paper as he read aloud, his tone full of confusion.
"Spending a fortune on useless pots and pans? What in the world goes on inside the heads of these noble lords?"
"That is precisely our opportunity," Lacey said, his eyes lighting up.
"He isn't a complete fool," Lacey asserted. "A true prodigal son would only chase wine and women, with no interest in things that require quiet appreciation."
"Cole's obsession with antiques shows that he has his own inner world and desperately craves recognition in some field to compensate for his incompetence in reality."
Serafina immediately understood Lacey's intent. "You plan to exploit this?"
"Someone who craves recognition is the easiest to guide," Lacey said, the corner of his mouth curling into a smile.
"He will walk willingly into the trap we've prepared for him."
"We need an appraiser who appears more knowledgeable about antiques than Cole, and we also need an artifact of sufficient weight—a treasure that will make Cole desperate to acquire it."
Taylor furrowed his brow. "But… where are we going to find such a person and such an item?"
"The person, we have," Lacey said, looking out the window at the bustling slums. "This place is full of hidden talents."
"I remember among the party members we recruited, there's one named Rio. Before joining the Workers' Party, he was the lead actor of a traveling troupe, best at playing nobles and scholars."
"As for the item…" Lacey's gaze shifted toward the count's manor. "Our ally, Count Leinia, surely has no shortage of such things in her collection."
"And I'm sure she'd be more than happy to do us this little favor."
Serafina's heart tightened.
She spoke softly, "Lacey, is there really… no other way?"
"There is," Lacey replied, turning to look at her seriously. "We could spend ten, even twenty years, developing slowly in Wischeim, fighting a guerrilla war against the Witch King's remnants, and wait for Cole to die of old age or make a mistake."
"But Serafina, we can't afford to wait. The workers coughing up blood in the mines can't wait, and the children who don't have enough to eat can't wait either."
He reached out and gently patted Serafina's shoulder.
Taylor stood by in silence. The simple blacksmith didn't understand such grand principles, but he trusted Lacey.
He said in a gruff voice, "Boss, just tell us what to do, and we'll do it! I'll go find that Rio fellow right now!"
Serafina did not try to stop him again.
...
Two days later, Count Leinia's butler personally delivered a wooden box to the Workers' Party headquarters.
Inside the box was a silver goblet from the Gallic era, its body engraved with an intricate hunting scene. And within a hidden compartment in the base, a meticulously modified miniature Originium bomb lay waiting.
Its explosive yield wasn't large—not enough to level a street, but more than sufficient to blow a carriage, along with its occupants, to smithereens.
Meanwhile, Action Team leader Taylor had found the down-on-his-luck actor named Rio.
When Rio learned that he too could contribute to the party, he was exceptionally excited.
Facing a mirror, he took only one afternoon to transform himself from a timid pauper back into the man he once was on stage.
...
Wednesday, Wischeim.
Inside the "Voice of the Tower" auction house, the air was filled with fragrant perfumes and the shadows of elegant attire, buzzing with the voices of the crowd.
As usual, Cole Strollo sat in the front row, basking in the subtle flattery and awe from those around him.
He tossed his meticulously styled, silver-gray curls and listlessly flipped through the auction catalog until a figure sat down beside him.
It was a well-dressed, middle-aged man wearing a monocle. He exuded a scholarly air, yet it was tinged with a perfectly measured touch of arrogance.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Strollo," the man began, his voice gentle.
"My name is Rio, a humble antiques dealer. I have long heard of your connoisseurship in the field of classical art and have come especially to pay my respects."
Cole was taken aback for a moment, then a wave of vanity washed over him.
In Wischeim, everyone knew him only as the count's son, the future heir, but no one had ever truly acknowledged his talents.
"Mr. Rio, you're too kind," Cole said with a reserved nod, though his body instinctively turned toward the man.
A carefully orchestrated conversation began.
Rio spoke of everything from Gallic carving styles to the glazing techniques of the Sargonian dynasties. His profound knowledge and unique insights captivated Cole, who began to regard him as the first true confidant he had ever met.
When the time was right, Rio let out a feigned, casual sigh. "It's a pity. The items at this auction are all rather… common."
"I was hoping to see the legendary 'Cup of the Hunt.' It seems it was not to be."
"The Cup of the Hunt?" Cole's curiosity was thoroughly piqued.
"You haven't heard of it? It's a secret treasure of the Gallic royal family. They say…" Rio lowered his voice and spun the well-prepared tale, describing the silver cup as a treasure without equal on heaven or earth.
Just then, the auctioneer announced in a loud voice that the next item, consigned at the last minute by an anonymous collector, was none other than the secret treasure of the Gallic royal family—the Cup of the Hunt!
Cole's breath hitched.
He turned to look at Rio and saw that the man's eyes were also filled with shock and fanaticism.
He didn't know that all of this, including the auctioneer's speech, was part of a pre-arranged script.
He knew even less that on the second floor of the auction house, in a hidden corner, the Witch King's remnant known as the 'Scrivener' was also frowning at the sudden appearance of this secret treasure.
"One hundred thousand gold coins!"
Cole Strollo's face flushed red as he raised his bidding paddle high.
His heart hammered in his chest, partly from excitement, and partly because he knew this amount was beyond the limit of what he could spend today.
"One hundred and ten thousand," a hoarse voice called from a private box on the second floor.
It was the Scrivener.
The Witch King's remnants had also taken an interest in the sudden appearance of this Gallic treasure; they were more concerned with the potential historical value and secrets it might hide.
Cole's expression instantly soured.
He glanced back at his 'confidant' Rio, who was watching him with a complex expression blending regret and encouragement.
"Mr. Strollo, this is the Cup of the Hunt! If you miss this chance, you may never see it again in your lifetime!" Rio's voice was like a devil's whisper.
Cole gritted his teeth. He felt the eyes of the entire room fixed upon him.
He couldn't lose, especially not to that skulking fellow!
This was his chance to prove he was better than his father, better than his shrewd sister!
"One hundred and fifty thousand!" He practically roared the number. It was the absolute limit of what he could embezzle from the family mine's revenue.
The second-floor box fell silent.
A moment later, the Scrivener gave up.
For them, the goblet's value was not yet great enough to warrant further exposure.
"One hundred and fifty thousand going once! Going twice! Three times! Sold!"
The auctioneer's gavel fell heavily.
Cole Strollo, amidst the gazes of envy and jealousy from the entire room, had won this "priceless treasure."
Like a triumphant general, he personally carried the exquisite wooden box and walked out of the auction house, surrounded by his guards, swelling with pride.
Rio stood where he was, adjusted his glasses, then turned and vanished into the crowd.
In the second-floor box, the Scrivener watched Cole's departing carriage and ordered his subordinate, "Send someone to follow him. Ensure he returns to Wischeim safely."
"Also, look into that antiques dealer named Rio. Find out where he came from."
He didn't doubt the goblet itself, but acted on the instinct of a spymaster to be wary of all coincidences.
On the main road from Salem back to Wischeim, Cole sat in his opulent carriage, stroking the silver cup over and over.
He couldn't wait to return to his castle and show off his prize to everyone.
The guard captain sat across from him, watching his young master's obsessed expression with a helpless shake of his head.
As the carriage passed through a narrow section of the road, disaster struck.
Without any warning, the silver cup in Cole's hands erupted in a blinding white light.
BOOM—!
With a deafening roar, the magnificent carriage was instantly consumed by a fireball and blown to pieces.
The massive shockwave threw several nearby guards through the air, sending a spray of wood splinters, metal shards, and severed limbs in all directions.
The Witch King's remnant spies following behind were stunned by the sudden scene.
Before they could react, several crossbow bolts, fired from ambush positions on both sides, whistled through the air and pierced their throats with precision.
Taylor emerged from an alley with a team from the Workers' Party Action Team. Their faces were expressionless as they expertly cleaned up the scene.
They placed an emblem representing the Witch King's forces on a charred plank from the carriage and stuffed a forged secret letter onto the body of one of the dead guards.
Having done all this, they quickly disappeared from the street.
Half an hour later, when Wischeim's city guard arrived, they found only a scene of utter devastation.
________________________________________
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