{Chapter: 50: A City on the Brink}
After spending the better part of the day immersed in the city archives, Ciel slowly pushed back his chair and walked over to the large, wall-mounted map of the royal capital. The parchment was old, worn at the corners from decades of use, but still detailed enough to reveal the intricate sprawl of the city—its winding alleyways, grand avenues, hidden ruins, and forgotten quarters.
Stacks of building permits, renovation plans, and zoning records lay scattered across the table behind him, testifying to hours of meticulous reading and annotation. His eyes scanned the map with sharp focus, his gloved hand trailing thoughtfully across the surface as if reading invisible lines that no one else could see.
Standing beside him, James observed in silence. Though he had watched Ciel work before, something about the way he moved now—precise, confident, purposeful—reminded him that this man had once been hunted as a dangerous sorcerer. And yet now, there was something different about him. A sharpened edge, but also clarity. This wasn't the Salt of old, consumed by paranoia and arrogance. This was a man reborn.
Ciel stroked his chin, his eyes narrowing as he shifted from memory to deduction. His mind had begun doing what it did best—thinking not like a hunter, but like the prey.
He began murmuring to himself, his tone low but clear enough for James to catch.
"If I were to orchestrate a large-scale demonic ritual... it would have to be somewhere secluded. Not completely isolated—that would invite suspicion—but far enough from watchful eyes. Close enough to the crowd to go unnoticed, yet never too close to draw attention."
After a few moments of contemplation, he reached for a thin charcoal pen and drew a slow, deliberate circle around a narrow district near the river. The ink bled into the old parchment, but his hand remained steady.
"First," Ciel said aloud, "we should consider the conventional hiding spots—places with quiet terrain, low visibility, and limited foot traffic. But crucially, not completely abandoned. Somewhere that still hums faintly with life, enough to act as a shield."
He moved along the map, circling location after location—eight in total—marking them with numbers and tiny symbols. Most were old districts, once thriving and now relegated to the margins of city life: crumbling warehouses, collapsed noble estates, and derelict temples claimed by moss and squatters.
"These areas," he explained, gesturing to the first group of circles, "were abandoned not because they were cursed, but simply because time passed them by. That makes them ideal. Nobody pays attention to these ruins anymore, and any strange energy can be passed off as the decay of age."
James nodded slowly, trying to match Ciel's pace of thought. "You're thinking like them," he said quietly.
"Exactly," Ciel replied, his expression unchanging. "It's not enough to chase shadows. You must become the shadow first."
Then he moved back to the table and retrieved another stack of documents—maps of underground tunnels, old city blueprints, and sewer pathways. With a sweep of his hand, he laid a new transparency over the first map, aligning the grids carefully.
"Now for the second category," he said, switching pens. "These hiding spots are far more cunning. Either they're buried deep in the urban chaos—where the press of crowds is a better cloak than any spell—or they're in places so remote, so inaccessible, that nobody bothers looking."
He began to mark new sites across the city. This time, ten in total. Some were nestled in the heart of busy markets, others hidden behind butcher shops or disguised as religious enclaves. One was even located directly beneath a thriving inn frequented by traveling merchants.
"The former," Ciel continued, "are difficult to uncover without protection. The latter, however... they'll leave traces. Ritual magic may be subtle to the untrained eye, but to someone like me, it's unmistakable. But we'll still need the church's help."
James raised a brow. "You think they'll cooperate?"
"They've already taken a bite," Ciel said with a faint smile. "Now let them chew. They've been itching to prove their worth inside the capital, and this investigation gives them both the opportunity and the justification. Besides, they're outsiders. Unburdened by court alliances or local debts. They won't hesitate to do what others would shy away from."
James leaned over the map, his finger tapping against one of the marked sectors. "You're right. They need a foothold. Giving them these locations could serve both of us."
Ciel nodded, his gaze turning colder. "Now... the last group."
He reached for a new marker and began outlining the third set of locations with care. Unlike the previous circles, he used thick, bold strokes, almost as if branding them with warning signs.
"These are the most dangerous," he said quietly, his voice laced with a grim finality. "If any demonic activity is rooted here, it won't be some fledgling cult. It will be something ancient. Something entrenched. Possibly sanctioned, even if unknowingly, by the very powers we serve."
The first name he uttered made James recoil slightly.
"The Royal Palace."
Then came the others: the Grand Colosseum, the Central Library, the Vaults beneath the Academy of Arts, and finally, the private estate of Earl Art—a nobleman whose wealth and connections made him nearly untouchable.
Each name landed like a hammer blow. These weren't obscure corners of the city. These were its foundations.
James pressed his lips together, tension building in his jaw. "You're telling me... that if something evil is hiding in one of those places... we'll have to bring it down ourselves? With what, exactly? A handful of inquisitors and a few loyal guards? That's suicide, Ciel."
"I'm not saying you should, James," Ciel replied. "I'm saying you must, if you find anything there. Because if you don't, the Duchy of Marton may not survive what comes next."
A heavy silence fell between them.
James took a long breath, his fingers massaging his temples. "If we pursue every single one of these leads, I'll end up offending a quarter of the nobility. Maybe more. Some of these names... they sit at the very heart of the coronation council."
Ciel's tone softened. "Then don't go after them all at once. Be surgical. Use the church where you can. Investigate through proxies. But don't ignore the signs. You have power now—but it's fragile. And when these things rise, they won't care about your coronation."
James looked up at him. "You speak like a man who's already faced them."
"I have," Ciel said, eyes distant. "And I survived. But only just."
Ciel let out a long sigh, his gaze lingering on James's conflicted face. The flickering light of the candle on the table cast shadows across the prince's furrowed brow, accentuating the tension that gripped the room. Outside, the wind howled faintly against the palace walls, carrying with it the distant echoes of a sleepless capital.
Seeing the hesitation still clinging to the other man's features, Ciel finally broke the silence with a quiet, but resolute voice. "You're hesitating again," he said, almost sympathetically. "But this is no longer the time for doubt. If you fail now, you'll lose everything. The moment you hesitate at the critical point... that's the moment you die."
James looked up at him sharply, but Ciel raised a hand to forestall any rebuttal.
"You must be willing to bleed a little," he said. "No matter whose blood it is. Yours, mine... or even those you once considered allies."
There was a heavy pause.
"If you uncover treachery," Ciel added, his voice growing colder, harder, "you cannot afford mercy. No second chances. No negotiations. No hesitation. The cleanest solution... is the ruthless one."
His words sank deep, like knives into the heart. The room was silent again, save for the soft clink of a wineglass as Ciel picked it up and took a slow sip.
The implications were brutal, but clear: If James discovered a demonic summoning site hidden in the palace itself, then it could only mean one thing—betrayal from within his own bloodline. The Crooked Spirit Society could not have orchestrated such a feat alone. Not in a place so heavily warded, so carefully watched.
It would mean one of his own brothers. Or sisters.
Someone from within the royal family had thrown open the gates to evil.
And if the ritual site turned out to be hidden in a public stronghold—such as the Grand Colosseum or the Central Library—then the web of conspiracy extended beyond even the royal family. It would mean the elite of the capital, those who wore smiles in daylight and masks at night, were involved. Lords. Nobels. High-ranking military officers. People whose names were etched into the foundation of the kingdom.
People James could not easily touch… unless he was prepared to burn the kingdom itself.
Ciel studied James with a calm intensity. He could see the storm brewing behind the prince's eyes.
This wasn't about James being too kind—far from it. Ciel had watched him rise through the ranks, outmaneuver rivals, outwit opponents, and crush threats with surgical precision. James Woz was no stranger to ruthlessness. He didn't wear the velvet robes of a crown prince by accident. He had taken them from others—many of whom no longer had heads to wear them.