Bailonz Street 13

Episode 156. 37 Blemich Street

While looking at Owen, who left us with cryptic final words until the end, I had to feel complicated emotions.

I remembered the moment we first met. At Blemich House, the seemingly carefree man I met while searching for Liam Moore. That’s all I thought of him at first.

I never thought he would die. He was someone who took frightfully good care of himself. Even in the Devil’s Land, I had grown overconfident after managing to save him once in a precarious moment.

I thought I could save the people around me. If only I tried hard enough.

If I had known it would come to this, I wouldn’t have involved them further.

“Lord Moore… what do you plan to do?”

“…We’ll hold the funeral after London’s restoration is complete. The procedure will be simple, following his wishes.”

It seemed he could open passages for others to use. The ground beneath the young man’s feet rippled once. After saying “Thank you,” he jumped in. He would now head to Greenwich to deliver the news.

Liam was directing people to their positions with remarkable naturalness. He seemed accustomed to giving orders, though this must be his first time.

“You two guard Cassfire.”

The designated people bowed and moved to surround Owen.

“The remaining Greenwich members will assist me with London’s restoration. I authorize ‘erasure’ under my authority.”

The remaining Greenwich people bowed and began departing in their various ways.

London’s outskirts had suffered relatively less damage, so they would start from the center.

Now only I, Herschel, and the two people guarding Owen remained in the clearing. Liam spoke to Herschel.

“You should depart too.”

“Mm.”

After taking a few steps, Herschel turned once, transformed into a white hawk, and flew up toward London’s sky. I no longer had the energy to marvel at such sights.

“…And Jane.”

His hand briefly brushed my cheek, wiping away moisture. Liam too seemed to be barely suppressing his grief. Perhaps that’s why his face looked more expressionless than I’d ever seen it.

“Come with me.”

I realized where he meant. Blemich House.

‘In the Blemich house… …find.’

The last words Owen Cassfire left behind.

Liam Moore intended to go where those words pointed.

* * *

Residual flood water splashed under our feet with each step. The fact that no monsters appeared at the splashing sounds suggested that everything that had gripped London had lost its power along with the King’s retreat.

While Bailonz Street No. 13 had been completely washed away, this area would quickly return to normal with just minor restoration.

Liam, firmly supporting my waist, navigated around the building debris and opened the door to 37 Blemich Street. The front door was already half-open, as if it had never been locked.

Water had filled the house, but Owen’s flat on the second floor was safe from the flooding.

“It’s all underwater here.”

Liam replied.

“Yes. The Thames seems to have properly overflowed. Still, fortunate this place is intact. Jane, watch your step.”

“Ah, yes.”

Opening the flat’s door revealed a disheveled room.

It was a room full of signs of life, as if just vacated. Liam hesitated before entering. So did I. Like a dream, Owen’s death still felt impossible to accept. Was all this perhaps a hallucination?

‘Ah, you’re here?’

It felt like Owen might peek out from the sofa saying that, scratching his messy hair.

But more than me who had only met him a few times, Liam, who had known Owen for so long, must be the most confused. So without saying anything more, I stepped into the living room. Liam Moore followed.

I saw the desk by the window. Though not as messy as before, several papers lay on top. I picked them up.

They were… orphanage documents for a child. Documents clearly handled recently, showing signs of use.

“Lawrence.”

Lawrence. No surname. Just a name, birthplace, and what appeared to be an approximate birthday. Though color photographs weren’t available yet to confirm the child’s hair color definitively, it was dark.

Owen had circled several things. He had also written his personal investigation notes.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

[Peculiar. Feared by children at orphanage. Rumors of being strange, odd. Avoided.]

[Cannot find family. Found in basket at orphanage door. Silver locket exists.]

And there was a photograph of the locket.

Liam came over to look at the documents with me.

“There’s a resemblance.”

Though he didn’t specify who, we both could tell that this child’s features bore a considerable resemblance to the departed Owen.

But Owen had a child?

“Did he have a lover?”

“The child is seven. Owen hasn’t mentioned being interested in any woman even once in the past decade.”

“…What’s this about?”

I pulled open the drawer, wondering if there were other documents. It contained various items: half-translated foreign grimoires, rabbit’s feet, crystal balls.

And in the last drawer, I found a letter. The envelope had an addressee written on it.

“‘To Liam Moore.'”

Liam’s eyes twitched. He couldn’t bring himself to take the letter, his hands clenched.

“Shall I read it?”

“Please.”

Clearing my throat with a “hem-hem,” I opened the letter.

“‘If you’ve found this letter, it means I’m dead. Regrettable.'”

I’m not sure if he meant regrettable or sorry. I continued reading.

“‘As you know, I see the future quite irregularly. My death was there, so I thought it couldn’t be avoided. Let’s set aside questions like why I didn’t say anything, if it could have been changed. As you know, I’m dead now. I have something to entrust to you. This is my will, and my legacy.'”

“Damn it, Cassfire.”

“‘Don’t complain and listen.’ Ah, this isn’t me speaking, it’s what Owen wrote.”

Liam nodded, staggering back to lean against the sofa. He took out a medicine bottle from his pocket and started unscrewing the cap. Seeing his forehead damp with cold sweat, it seemed Liam’s condition wasn’t entirely normal either.

“‘You thought all the Cassfires were dead. They despise our bloodline as much as the Moores. I thought so too until recently. While investigating the crawling chaos separately, I wandered through the slums. Children’s untainted souls make good materials. I thought they would surely target them.'”

“That’s true indeed.”

“‘That’s where I found Lawrence.'”

I paused briefly to check what followed. At the end of the first page was written:

“‘Lawrence is my son.'”

Splurt. Liam spat out the medicine he was drinking. I too was shocked and turned to the next page with trembling hands. There was a brazen smiling doodle at the top.

You’re laughing? Owen Cassfire, you find this funny?

Let’s see what else he wrote, I thought, and continued reading.

“‘Just kidding.’ …Oh, Owen! You scoundrel, joking about children!”

As I gripped the letter like I might crumple it, Liam exclaimed between coughs:

“Ah, so he’s not his son?”

“He says he’s his nephew. His cousin’s son.”

“I thought…”

“‘After all the Cassfires died, I lived thinking I was the last Cassfire. Just when I was getting tired of the Greenwich elders begging me to leave an heir, I fortunately found my cousin’s nephew. Anyway, I was planning to adopt him, so he is my son.'”

Isn’t it stranger to have a son before marriage? As I muttered this, Liam squeezed his eyes shut, suppressing laughter. It was obvious which was stronger – respect for the deceased or the desire to mock his friend.

Owen’s letter continued.

“‘Anyway. Please find Lawrence. I’m not sure if he’s safe after all that chaos. He knows me too. Since I visited him often after finding him, I’d like you to explain the situation and have Greenwich protect him. It would be troublesome if he faces threats before coming of age.'”

“At Greenwich?”

“‘…Of course, you’ll say “At Greenwich?”‘ This person, is he watching us from somewhere?”

Even scarier was the small writing saying ‘Scary, isn’t it, Miss Jane? I possess such remarkable abilities.’ It felt like Owen was sitting here chatting with us.

“‘Though I’m sorry to pass on the sage’s position, that status will protect Lawrence one day. Just take responsibility for protecting him until he comes of age. That’s the end of my will. Ah, as for my estate, give it all to Lawrence. Too little for social contribution. You can move the things from Blemich House. Dispose of the house as you see fit. Ah, but what about your house?'”

Here, I felt more than surprise – I felt a chill.

The Black King’s actions had just submerged our house and all our belongings in the Thames. Leaving all other buildings alone, just our house. Yet Owen from long ago seemed to have foreseen this clearly. Here, I wondered just how far his foresight extended.

“‘You can use it to help find new lodgings. Consider it pocket money from your big brother. Live well. Really the end.'”

That’s how the two-page letter ended.