「Outer Side. London’s Thirteenth Prison.」

A guard knocked on the iron door. "Lankao Bagins Clarence! You have a visitor!"

...

"You have only five minutes to talk! And a complete transcript of your conversation will be magically recorded on this parchment!"

The guard finished speaking and the door to the visiting room swung shut, leaving Lankao alone in the room.

And a Dwarf.

Master Bagins stood on a chair, his long robes trailing to the floor.

He looked across the table at his former apprentice, his fingers drumming on the tabletop. Half his eyebrows and beard were grizzled white, the other half shrouded in shadow. Under the light filtering through the stained-glass window, they took on a blue hue.

Bagins didn’t speak. He was simply silent.

Lankao stared motionlessly at the old Dwarf who had been his mentor and taught him Alchemy, managing a pained smile. "Master, so you’ve known I was alive all this time."

"I told you long ago that a ritual must not follow a single, unchanging method," Bagins said. "A mistake you always make, a habit you aren’t even aware of, is breaking the fingers on the corpse’s left hand. But I’ve been watching for so many years..."

"How could I not have known?" the master sighed.

"So, you’ve come to condemn me, Master?" Lankao asked with a strained smile. "I thought the next time we’d meet would be when our spirits ascended to the Spirit Realm."

"But only powerful spirits who harbor intense emotions can achieve that. And it might even require a prayer of the Second Law to establish a connection."

Bagins said, "The Soul School’s latest work, *On the Soul*. To be honest, I thought it was very well-written. For a moment, it even made me wonder if the Spirit Realm truly exists."

"But I won’t have a chance to read it. The court has sentenced me with the Time Death Judgment. I won’t even last long enough for the next onset of my Blood Madness Disease, let alone find time to read."

Bagins stroked his beard, his gaze darting about. He didn’t look at Lankao, but at his graying hair, his withered and maimed hands, his ragged clothes, and the wrinkles that had, at some unknown point, creased the corners of his eyes.

After a long silence, he spoke.

"If you were still my apprentice, Lankao, I would feel pity and sorrow for you. But you are not."

"You are now a Blood Biter, a notorious murderer. You killed 105 people from 35 families, and thousands more will grieve and weep for the dead."

"I do feel sorrow, but not for the man you used to be. I feel it for your innocent victims."

"I came here only to see for myself... to see how much sin has stained you, how much guilt you carry, and to see..."

Master Bagins paused. "...how old you have become."

Lankao watched the old Dwarf hop down from the chair and shuffle toward the door, his retreating figure as clumsy as a penguin learning to walk.

A bitter feeling welled up in his chest for no reason as he suddenly recalled the first time they had met.

It was a rainy day in Inner London. He had been sitting under the eaves to shelter from the downpour when the door opened.

Bagins had leaned down to look at him, his figure looming large.

The Dwarf’s gaze fell on the still-damp apprentice uniform from the Magic Pharmacy that Lawrence wore, and on the scars covering his slender arms.

He had taken a long draw from a pipe just like Churchill’s and said, "Kid, one Gold Coin. For just one Gold Coin, I’ll take you with me and show you the greatness of Alchemy!"

Recalling the memory of that gold coin, the smile on Lankao’s face grew even more bitter.

"Master Bagins, the Twin ritual... it was the correct one. You truly are a great Alchemist. You weren’t wrong. I was..." he said. "And so is this world."

The door clicked shut.

Bagins was gone. He hadn’t looked back, not even once.

...

「Inner Side. A valley somewhere in the William Mountains of the Scottish Highlands. In a dungeon of the Dragon Eater Association.」 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

Baron watched the Cultist tie the "Traitor" to a pillar. After saying, "Thank you," he immediately knocked the new Cultist out with a single punch.

The new Cultist staggered and fell, but he wasn’t out. He clutched his head and stared in shock at the Head of the Blood Department, about to say something, but Baron hit him with two more punches!

Three!

Four!

Five, six, seven, eight, nine!

The new Cultist couldn’t take it anymore. He yelled at Baron, "My lord, I’ll do it myself!" then knocked himself unconscious by ramming his head into the pillar.

The barely conscious Dwarf, Zophie, tied to another pillar, witnessed the entire scene.

He saw Baron approaching and, thinking the man was about to torture him the same way he’d just beaten the other Dragon Devourer Cultist, began kicking his short legs in the air as if pedaling a bicycle.

All the while, he was cursing, "You bastards from the Dragon Eater Association and the Lancelot Family are all worthless scum! Fuck you, and fuck every one of Lancelot’s ancestors for eighteen generations!"

Even as Baron pressed the muzzle of his gun to the Dwarf’s jaw, he spat defiantly, "I, Zophie, am a warrior of the Dwarves! I will never submit to animals like you!"

Fearing the Dwarf’s shouts would attract the guards outside the dungeon, Baron lowered his voice. "Master Zophie, I’m Constantine. Ba—"

Before he could get the name out, Zophie had already spat, "To hell with your Constantine!"

Having no other choice, Baron pulled back his hood to let the Dwarf see his face, enunciating each word clearly. "Baron Constantin. Master Zophie, I am Baron Constantin."

Zophie immediately stopped struggling and cursing.

"Young Master? Young Master Baron?" Zophie said, stunned. "You’re alive? You’re back!"

’A thick, sorrowful wall has already risen between us... Damn it, Brother Xun is invading my thoughts again.’

Baron shook off the discomfort of being called "Young Master." He began to untie Zophie, getting straight to the point. "This is urgent. I came to ask you two things."

"This is about the assassination of the Knight Order Leader, isn’t it, Young Master Baron?" Master Zophie quickly composed himself. "I don’t know what evidence they claim to have, but I’m certain of one thing: you were framed, Young Master."

’Of course I know I was framed,’ Baron thought. ’The issue isn’t just finding out who did it. I need to know how to beat it.’

"To make a long story short, Master Zophie, first question: what’s your take on me assassinating the Knight Order Leader?"

Baron stared intently into Master Zophie’s eyes.

He had the corroboration of the original body’s Secret Notes and a few hazy memories of his own.

But time changes all things, including people. He couldn’t be certain if Master Zophie was still someone he could trust.

This was the only way to be sure.

"If you ask me, Young Master, your problem is you’re too soft-hearted."

Zophie didn’t avert his gaze. As soon as the ropes came loose, he hopped down, casually stripping the robe off the unconscious Dragon Devourer Cultist on the floor and putting it on himself.

"If you had told me earlier you were going to kill Anthony, I could have given you more than just that Canaan Tree Staff. I have an ancestral Dwarven Short Spear, too.

You could’ve coated it with Fire Dragon Oil and used it with the staff. I guarantee the body would’ve been burned to cinders without leaving a single trace of combustion at the scene!"

"Do that, and forget the Inquisition—not even that old fossil, Golden Wizard Newton from the London Tower, would have figured out it was you who assassinated the Knight Order Leader!"

Carried away by his own words, Zophie didn’t notice the "Young Master’s" expression growing progressively darker until his entire face was swallowed by the shadows of his hood.

Baron’s heart sank into an abyss, frozen over by endless despair and disappointment.

’The worst-case scenario has happened!’

’The killer... was me!’

—

From the Secret Notes of Baron Constantin (the original):

April 12, 1975 / Plains / Overcast

I told Master Zophie I wanted to join the Templar Knights and become a heroic Contract Knight.

He laughed at me, so I blew up his Alchemy Workshop.

He gave me a harsh scolding. I didn’t cry, but Yelena did.

When he saw Yelena crying, the Master had no choice but to praise me, saying I was born to be a Knight.

I smiled.