Chapter 254
She never expected that the very powder keg she had been using, hidden away by the Heishui Party, would ultimately come back to hit her like a boomerang.
This was a simple problem to solve; all she needed to do was to tip off Aivina in advance, instructing her to have the police department search for all the bombs.
But who could guarantee that after this batch of arms was confiscated, there wouldn’t be another unexpected twist? Would the mastermind behind it all simply let it go?
“Continue to trace the whereabouts of those bombs. We must find out who purchased them,” said Shaer.
“And as for Isabella, send someone over to investigate the buyers and sellers of those paintings. Anyone even slightly suspicious…”
“No need to report to me; just take care of them,” Shaer said calmly.
“Understood!”
Tara nodded, her voice earnest. “I’ll get right on it.”
“Let someone else handle it.”
Shaer shook his head and continued, “You’ll be accompanying me to a place shortly.”
“Alright, I’ll arrange for it now.”
Tara didn’t ask where Shaer intended to take her; just the thought of being with him filled her with excitement.
She quickly dashed downstairs, handing the tasks Shaer had assigned to a few composed and trustworthy bishops, instructing them to split into two teams and head to the leads for further investigation.
By the time Tara gathered the remaining people, Shaer had already arrived in the hall below. They climbed into the same carriage, which sped toward the Jueshi Bridge area, followed by several mounted bishops and a dozen newly baptized knights.
As the carriage jolted along, Shaer kept his eyes shut, replaying the events that had unfolded since his arrival.
At this point, there were two logical chains of development.
The first chain was the overt terrorist attack orchestrated by the Orlando Republican Army, backed by funding from the Grain Import and Export Association, which sought to regain its export licenses.
Whether through anonymous accounts or money laundering via art exhibitions, the goal was merely to pay a commission for the assassination of the Russell family, using the Orlando Republican Army to pressure them into relaxing export controls.
If they didn’t lift the export restrictions, food would never come in. Without food, the porridge factory couldn’t operate, and more people in Beiansu would die.
The more deaths, the more frenzied the retaliation from the Orlando Republican Army would become.
This was pressure.
Unfortunately, they had miscalculated in their attempt to silence Balfour; as long as he lived, the chances of their exposure increased.
For the Orlando Republican Army, this also provided an opportunity to take revenge on the great nobles of Ansu, particularly those connected to Minister William, while also securing substantial funding—a win-win situation.
The second chain, however, leaned more toward conspiracy theories for others.
She was inclined to believe that someone was manipulating everything from behind the scenes.
The Grain Import and Export Association wouldn’t risk “treason” for such political maneuvers; the Orlando Republican Army wouldn’t choose this moment to launch a wave of terrorist attacks; the mint workers wouldn’t burn down the mint, hang the factory owner, and engage in large-scale conflicts with Orlando immigrants, escalating tensions and chaos.
This wasn’t just Shaer’s imagination; it was based on previous simulations.
Had there been no famine in those simulations? No mint-related incidents? No foolish decisions from the upper echelons of Ansu?
Of course, there had been, but in the earlier simulations, these events hadn’t all erupted simultaneously, and they were far more intense than anticipated.
One could say that aside from Shaer, who had glimpsed another possibility, anyone else investigating this matter would likely arrive at the first conclusion.
Because that was the most straightforward, the “facts” laid bare before them.
If the one stirring the pot and escalating the situation was an extraordinary being, what kind of potion were they digesting? What outcome were they aiming for?
A term suddenly surfaced in Shaer’s mind.
“Instigator.”
In Shaer’s current understanding of extraordinary paths, it seemed that only this route would be keen on accomplishing such deeds…
The “Instigator” leads to the second-tier “Dream Thief”…
“Tara,”
Shaer turned to Tara, who was sitting across from him, lost in thought, and asked, “What do you know about ‘Instigators’? What are the subsequent paths?”
A test?
Thinking the Mother Goddess was merely quizzing her, Tara straightened her back and replied:
“Lord Shaer.”
“As far as I know, ‘Instigators’ rarely show themselves. Those who have properly completed the Reenactment Ritual or are organized ‘Instigators’ are unlikely to interact with other extraordinary beings. Even if they do, they wouldn’t reveal their identity as an ‘Instigator.’”
“Because no one wants to befriend an ‘Instigator’; everyone fears being stabbed in the back without realizing it.”
“Within the ‘Instigator’ community, there seems to be a saying: ‘When words are combined in the right way, they can change a person’s thinking.’ This appears to be their creed.”
After a brief pause, Tara continued:
“As for the ‘Dream Thief,’ they are even more elusive… You might encounter an ‘Instigator’ in reality, but if you come across a ‘Dream Thief,’ it means you’re already trapped in the dream they’ve constructed.”
“And the subsequent third-tier ‘Subverter’… To be honest, I know very little about that. I’m sorry, Lord Shaer; my knowledge is still too shallow.”
Tara lowered her head slightly, showing a hint of regret.
Her studies and knowledge were mostly concentrated in the fields of religion and archaeology, and when it came to the rarefied knowledge of the extraordinary, she was venturing into her blind spots.
She had rarely engaged in actual combat; most of her life had been spent in the library of the monastery and in debates over scriptures, with only occasional teaching, which took up little of her time.
“It’s alright.”
Shaer gently shook his head, lost in thought.
“Subverter”…
Why did the mere sound of this path’s name make Shaer feel as if he was on the verge of solving the case?
The carriage came to a slow stop outside a dimly lit manor. Tara opened the door and stepped out, holding an umbrella for Shaer.
“We’ve arrived, Lord Shaer.”
Chapter 149: Dream Theft Space.
Shaer slightly bowed his head, stepping out of the carriage, his shoes touching the ground as he looked up at the manor before him.
At this moment, Manor No. 5 was brightly lit, yet there wasn’t a single guard at the entrance.
A few guards who had arrived later stepped forward to open the grand door of the manor for Shaer, bowing their heads as they stood on either side, waiting for him to enter.
Before Shaer stepped through the manor’s door, dozens of black and white shadows had already slipped inside, clearing away any threats within.
Shaer strolled into the garden of the front courtyard, following the stone path straight to the entrance of the manor.
At that moment, a bishop dressed in a long black robe hurried forward, bowing his head and whispering something in Tara’s ear.
“Hmm… go ahead.”
Tara waved her hand, then slightly raised her head to look in Shaer’s direction, respectfully saying, “Lord Shaer, it seems there are only Baron Harold and his wife inside… no one else.”
“Not even a servant?” Shaer inquired.
“No.”
“Bring him over.”
Shaer walked directly toward the parlor, taking a seat in the main chair, leaning back against the backrest, waiting for the others to bring the baron to him.
Although Baron Harold held a title similar to Hastings, their wealth and status were worlds apart.
Hastings inherited his title but had no land or assets; he merely snagged a cushy job as a magistrate due to his baronial position.
In contrast, Harold was a legitimate businessman, having earned his honorary title through land donations, which was not hereditary.
Why would someone with such wealth and status, already at the limits of what an ordinary person could achieve, get involved in something like this? Acting as a middleman to pay commissions for the Grain Import and Export Association?
There was no benefit for Harold in this; even if he could skim off a portion of that ten thousand pounds, the profit would be far less than what he could earn from his own factory—especially since his factory was completely unaffected by the food import ban.
Would a businessman of his caliber engage in something so devoid of profit?
This was a point Shaer couldn’t comprehend.
There were only two explanations.
Either he was a North Ansu native hiding his identity.
Or he had been brainwashed.
And Shaer leaned toward the second explanation.
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