Backlund, Bridge District, the Brave One's Tavern.
In the afternoon, the tavern wasn't particularly lively, just a few drunkards clustered together making a racket.
Silas appeared at the mouth of the street without a sound, still carrying the black cat Luna in his arms. She had misbehaved, dashing off to pounce on a bird, so he'd temporarily confined her.
After glancing over the situation inside the tavern, he stepped in.
Under the effect of "Psychological Concealment," everyone inside ignored his presence; not a single glance turned his way.
Silas had come looking for Sharron and Maric.
Now that he was back in Backlund, he needed to rebuild his social connections.
These two counted as friends of his, and they had an important relationship with the Rose School of Thought, so he had to see them.
He'd met the two of them here before. Coming here now was, naturally, in the hope that they'd still be around.
Fortunately, the moment he stepped through the door, he sensed two faint spiritual fluctuations.
The fluctuations resembled those of the Beyonders of the Rose School of Thought, yet lacked their usual flamboyance, appearing instead restrained and controlled.
That should be them...
Silas thought to himself, bypassing the front desk directly and heading for the card room where the fluctuations originated.
Knock knock.
Though he could have simply walked in, he still observed a bit of courtesy, curling his fingers and rapping on the door.
"...Who is it?"
The lounge beyond the door was unnaturally quiet. After a moment, a voice cold with suppressed malice rang out.
"It's me."
Silas said, restoring his original voice.
The lounge fell silent again immediately.
But before long, a surge of turbulent, cold wind swept through the corridor where Silas stood, and then a translucent, ghostly figure passed straight through the lounge door, appearing before him.
This person wore a small, delicate hat and a black court dress, her features exquisite, her bearing icy, like a doll devoid of feeling.
Sharron.
"...Kafka Anderson?"
The "Wraith" looked Silas up and down, a flicker of hesitation crossing her calm eyes. The name she called out was still the false one Silas had left behind before.
"It's me."
Silas wiped a hand across his face, restoring it to its original appearance. "It's been a while. I've come back to Backlund, so I thought I'd stop by and say hello... How have you two been?"
"Fine."
Sharron answered briefly, stepping aside to push open the lounge door.
Though she still spoke little, judging from her actions, it wasn't hard to tell she was welcoming Silas in to sit for a while.
Naturally, Silas didn't refuse, following her into the room.
It was an ordinary card room, a half-finished game of cards still scattered across the table, giving the place a somewhat cluttered look.
"Lord Blood Reverend, greetings."
Maric stood where he was, his manner somewhat reserved in Silas's presence.
So he recognized me? Not surprising, though...
Silas thought.
His wanted notices had long since spread across the northern and southern continents, and the resemblance in the photographs, combined with his use of Shepherd-related abilities, these two points together had quickly led the "Temperance" faction's pair to conclude that the "Blood Reverend," now the "Scarlet King," was none other than their acquaintance Kafka Anderson.
"Mm."
Silas nodded at him. He'd originally meant to find a chair to sit in, but caught a faint whiff of corpse odor from the chairs nearby, so he simply conjured a chair out of shadow and sat down in it.
"Your exploits at sea have already spread throughout Backlund."
Maric said excitedly, "Thank you so much for the blow you dealt the Rose School of Thought... When we heard that the 'Divine Abomination' Suah was gravely wounded, dying, beneath your flames, Sharron and I were overjoyed..."
Sharron, overjoyed?
Hearing this, Silas couldn't help but glance at the "Wraith" beside him. He truly couldn't picture this doll-like, expressionless lady having such an intense reaction.
"..."
Sharron showed no response whatsoever.
"Suah is a Sequence 1 Angel, his strength far surpasses mine."
Seeing this, Silas came back to himself and shook his head to explain, "That I managed to wound him was actually thanks to a great deal of outside help."
"Even so, judging by the outcome, it was still your side that won..."
Maric's pale face flushed with excitement.
"Well then. In any case, I wanted to let you both know that I'll likely be staying in Backlund for some time to come. If anything comes up, you can reach me."
Silas had no wish to explain further, so he set a slip of paper bearing his messenger contact details on the table. "That's about it."
He didn't mention outright that he was serving as a senior deacon at the Nighthowl Church; exposing himself that way would be far too foolish.
Having said his piece, Silas made to rise and leave.
"You've forgotten something."
Sharron said suddenly. "There's a batch of extraordinary items and characteristics you gave me to sell on your behalf."
Extraordinary characteristics and items... oh, right!
Silas recalled that Sharron must be referring to the items and characteristics left behind by the deceased intruders they'd recovered when the two of them explored Amon's Tomb together.
At the time, he'd been in a hurry to leave Backlund, so he'd entrusted it all to Sharron to sell on his behalf, with the two of them splitting the proceeds by an agreed ratio.
"A few of the items and characteristics still haven't sold, but the rest of the money is all here."
Sharron glanced at Maric, who produced a stack of ten-pound notes from somewhere and respectfully handed it over to Silas.
Silas didn't bother counting it; he simply picked it up, weighed its thickness with a glance, and tucked it into his pocket.
"Everything that hasn't sold is yours to keep."
Silas said. Sharron had always played by the rules, holding onto the money for him all this time and even bringing it up on her own when he himself had forgotten about it, so he wasn't going to quibble over the details.
"What about Sherlock?"
Sharron asked suddenly.
It wasn't just Silas she had ties with; she'd also been acquainted with Klein back when he was playing the great detective, and she knew of the connection between him and Silas.
"He's still out at sea."
Silas replied.
"Whoosh!"
He was just about to say something more when a great swath of gray mist suddenly billowed up before him.
Deep within the mist, [Justice] knelt on the ground, murmuring a prayer in a low voice. The mist amplified her voice, casting it directly into Silas's ear.
[Justice] spoke thus: "Honored Mr. Fool, please pass word to Mr. Temperance that the properties he gave me have all been sold off... However, I do have a few houses in the North District, mainly used for storing dresses. One of them had a leaky roof, but it's just been repaired, and it's sitting empty at the moment."
"If Mr. Temperance doesn't mind, I could offer that house to him."
Several properties... and what does she mean, a house for storing dresses?
Hearing this, Silas's expression turned rather odd. But in the end, he held himself back, not letting it show in front of the two members of the "Temperance" faction.
"Alright, that's all I wanted to say. Do keep in touch with me from now on."
He tossed out this parting line and hurried off. Only once he was alone did he respond to the Fool, asking him to convey his thanks to [Justice] for her generosity.