As the Malice was deducted, a brand-new map—countless times more detailed than anything he'd seen before—unfurled inside Russell's mind.
This time it wasn't a flat blueprint. It was a complete 3D model that could be zoomed, rotated, even sliced open into cross-sections to reveal internal structure.
Russell sank into it—like an architect inspecting his own masterpiece.
A massive estate sat in the City of Westminster.
Its layout was labyrinthine, the grounds sprawling, its architecture classical and severe, symmetry everywhere—an austere, solemn kind of grandeur.
His consciousness drifted through it like a ghost, passing through walls at will, examining the floor plan of every room.
"Now this is a project," he muttered, impressed.
Main building. Side wings. Gardens. Stables. Every zone divided with meticulous order.
He could even "cut" the structure like a simulation game—studying the wall cavities, the direction of ventilation shafts, even the drainage network.
With this, he was practically untouchable.
Russell enlarged the map and focused on the main building's security system.
Number of guards. Patrol routes. Shift frequency—everything laid out in a clear, intuitive overlay.
The security was even tighter than he'd expected. A fortress.
But that was fine. Anything designed by humans had flaws.
He walked the 3D model patiently, hunting for the fleeting blind angles—tiny gaps in surveillance and patrol timing.
And yet, the deeper he explored, the more a strange familiarity crept up his spine.
He felt like he'd seen this place before.
At first he didn't care.
High society estates all looked alike, didn't they? Everyone chasing the same flavor of luxury and pageantry.
But when he pulled back the perspective and looked at the exterior environment, the familiarity sharpened into something uncomfortable.
A wide, tree-lined avenue. An enormous lawn clipped to perfection. And right in front—an absurdly recognizable monument topped by a gilded angel.
Russell's awareness hovered in midair, eyes locked on that monument.
The style… the statue… why did it look exactly like the scenery on postcards?
His heart lurched. A bad premonition surged through him like electricity.
Something was wrong.
Not just a little wrong—catastrophically wrong.
He yanked the viewpoint up to the highest zoom. A bird's-eye map of Westminster spread out like a scroll.
He saw the straight avenue leading to the estate. He saw St James's Park beside it. He saw, in the distance, the silhouette of Parliament.
Every coordinate. Every landmark.
All of it pointed to a single reality he didn't want to believe—and couldn't deny.
"This is Buckingham Palace?!" he exploded.
Russell snapped out of the map. He sat on his bed in a stunned daze, staring at London's gray sky beyond the window, unmoving for a long time.
With the blind box opened, the mission prompt surfaced in his mind.
[Target Building: Buckingham Palace]
[Advanced Challenge Activated]
Mission Objective (Phase One): Before the countdown ends, infiltrate Buckingham Palace and steal any one item from Princess Louise Edward.
Time Limit: 168 hours (Countdown has begun)
Rewards: Purchase cost refunded; Malice gain +20%; unlock special item purchase access; Attribute Point +1
Failure Penalty: Identity exposed
"…."
[A Gentleman Thief's Notice Has Been Automatically Sent]
"?!"
Russell jolted as if struck. His pupils trembled as he stared at the cold text.
You bastard—what did you just send out?!
Buckingham Palace, East Wing, Third Floor—The Royal Gallery.
Beyond the tall windows, London's sky looked as if it had been set alight—fierce and hazy at once.
The air was crisp. A thin mist curled like silk around the bare treetops of St James's Park.
Princess Louise Edward—eldest daughter of King Edward VII—stood quietly before a landscape painting.
She wore an ivory gown. Lace at the hem fell like frozen foam, pooling soundlessly on marble polished to a mirror sheen.
Her golden hair was pinned into an elegant chignon, with only a few curled strands left loose at her ear, softening the rigid perfection of royal poise.
Everything about her was flawless.
Like the masterpieces lining the gallery—framed, placed at the "right" height, admired day after day… and fixed, day after day, inside a world no larger than these walls.
Yet her gaze wasn't on the canvas's storm-tossed sea.
Amber eyes looked through the glass, toward the city's silhouette drowned in sunset and fog—eyes full of lingering innocence and yearning.
Her tutor had once told her that in the city outside, every street was like a river—carrying countless lives, joys and sorrows, flowing endlessly.
But she had never truly seen it.
To her, London wasn't a river.
It was a painting—hung outside the window, never replaced.
She could see ships moving on the Thames. She could hear Big Ben's heavy chime from afar.
But she had never touched the river's cold water, never felt the faint tremor the bell's sound might cast into stone beneath her feet.
The only thing connecting her to the "real world" was the morning newspaper served with breakfast.
For example: yesterday's headline had described a battle in Lloyds Bank's underground vault.
A thief called Moriarty—like a knight walking in shadow—had single-handedly shattered a shocking robbery.
"Midnight Phantom," "Dark Hero," "Zorro-like gentleman thief"…
The reporter had exhausted every ornate phrase to sketch a silhouette that still refused to be seen.
Louise loved those stories most.
A caged canary will always envy the raven that can fly freely.
She'd imagined the thief many times: wild black hair, eyes as deep as London fog…
But it was all imagination.
More than once, she'd wished she could meet the gentleman thief in person.
Unfortunately, Moriarty seemed uninterested in Buckingham Palace.
He favored Kensington far more.
Conveniently, she had a pen pal who lived in Kensington too—she wondered if that friend had ever seen him.
As she drifted in these thoughts, a calm male voice sounded behind her, steady and familiar, snapping her back.
"Good afternoon, Your Highness."
....
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