The Chief Steward finished his drink and walked slowly toward where Baron and the other were.

Back at Buckingham Palace, between the darkness and Jack’s sneak attack, Baron hadn’t paid him much attention.

Now, seeing him clearly, Baron noted the Chief Steward’s broad shoulders, steady gait, and powerful, bear-like build. He was obviously a trained fighter.

Baron’s instincts screamed that this man was trouble.

It was the same for Freya. Although the man’s gaze was fixed on Baron, even the casual glances he threw her way made her, a Bronze Mage, shudder.

He was an enemy.

A Wizard’s intuition.

"Sir, you’ve been sneaking glances at me ever since you walked in. What is it, want to have a drink together?"

The Chief Steward casually positioned himself at Baron’s side, blocking his escape route.

Those words made Baron instantly realize—he had used the Chain of the Imitator last night. In the Chief Steward’s eyes, he was the mysterious man wearing the face of the missing Number 3!

Thoughts raced through his mind like lightning, and a bold idea surfaced.

’It’s come to this. I have to take a gamble.’

In the eyes of Freya and the Chief Steward, the aura of the young man across the table suddenly shifted. An indescribable air of profound, unshakable mystery emanated from him.

Baron said calmly, "Is that any way to speak to a colleague, Number 2?"

The Chief Steward’s expression changed. He looked utterly astonished. "How do you know..."

Baron said calmly, "Your mission failed last night. To avoid further complications, the higher-ups sent me. She is my prey."

"Who are you?" The Chief Steward dropped his pretense, his voice filled with shock and suspicion. "Why wasn’t I notified?"

"I’m Number 4. As for why you weren’t notified... failures don’t have the right to ask questions."

Baron took the hand of a bewildered Freya, wrapped an arm around her waist, and headed for the exit.

Freya was wearing a light-colored silk dress, a form-fitting piece that hugged her toned figure and made her legs look long and slender in the lamplight.

The girl’s body tensed when Baron’s arm went around her waist, but she quickly relaxed. Baron let out a silent breath, inwardly marveling at her quick-wittedness while also appreciating the feel of her delicate waist.

But just as they reached the bar’s entrance, Baron heard a mocking voice from behind him:

"Mr. Baron Constantin, a fine performance. But playtime is over."

Baron’s heart leaped. He whipped his head around, only to see the Chief Steward turning his head as well. Freya whispered, "It’s the bartender!"

The bartender vaulted over the counter, stretching his limbs with a sharp crackle of joints.

He said, "I’m the real Number 4."

’Son of a bitch.’

Without a moment’s hesitation, Baron flung a Dragon Flame behind him, grabbed Freya, and bolted.

Eventually, apparently deciding Freya was running too slowly in her high heels, Baron simply hoisted the Wizard onto his back and sprinted toward a crowded street corner.

"Why are you saving me?" Freya asked, clinging to Baron’s back.

"My [Time Death Judgment] is for tomorrow. You’re the only person who can get the Judge to lift the death sentence. Only if you live can I truly live."

Gasping for breath from the exertion, Baron set Freya down. He pointed to a deserted spot on the bank of the Thames River. "There’s a hidden Griffin there. Get on it and leave...

I used [Promise] earlier, so the Law Enforcers will be here any minute... Remember, you have to live! Go to the Prole Court, find the chief Judge, and declare my innocence! Otherwise, I will have saved you for nothing!"

With that, Baron turned and ran, heading away from the crowds and back toward the two assassins, apparently trying to lead them away from Freya.

Freya stared blankly at the young man’s retreating figure. She felt as if she had never truly known this infamous man who had once been her fiancé in name only.

She murmured to herself, "If only..."

...

Baron stopped, standing silently, and gazed into the distance.

’Bagins was right,’ he thought. ’The Inner Side is damn efficient. It’s only been a few minutes since I used [Promise], and the Law Enforcers have already sniffed me out.’

At the end of the road stood a middle-aged man in a slim, long coat. A pipe dangled from his lips, and he held a Cross in his hand. He smiled at Baron.

"You’re finally here, the God-forsaken one."

The Priest bowed elegantly. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am a Bronze Saint of the Inquisition..."

"Just as handsome as he is in the papers. It’s almost a shame we have to kill him."

A leaf drifted down beside the Saint, transforming into a buxom, green-haired, jade-eyed Battle Nun with a serrated cleaver as tall as she was strapped to her back.

The Dragon Flame twisted elegantly in the air before vanishing... No! It hadn’t vanished!

Baron’s eyes widened. He watched as the Saint, dressed like a Priest, raised the now-burning Cross to light the pipe in his mouth.

"Thanks for the light." He made a clumsy sign of the Cross on his chest. "Praise God."

The Dragon Flame had been absorbed by the Cross, and now coiled around it.

"Praise this."

Baron snapped. Uttering a classic curse, he squeezed the revolver’s trigger, firing several shots at the Saint and the Battle Nun before doing what he did best—turning tail and running.

"Sister Camilla, I will entrust the execution of his divine punishment to you."

The Saint smiled and turned. A short distance away, Number 2 and Number 4 were approaching at a leisurely pace. "I have two other heretics to deal with."

Camilla snorted. "Don’t get careless and screw it up."

"Don’t you worry. I’m looking forward to attending mass with you again... Praise God and the Lord... Ah, the very thought is making me... aroused. How improper of me..."

The burning Cross split apart, becoming a pair of silver shortswords.

...

Dawn broke with a light rain. A gray alley. A streetlamp still glowed faintly.

Exhausted, Baron lay on the ground, watching as the buxom, green-haired Battle Nun pressed her ridiculously large cleaver against his neck. 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

Blood seeped from the cut, pooling on the ground below.

’I can’t accept this... The Tier gap is just too big. There’s no sudden power-up coming for me... I’ve already burned my cosmos down to the wick... Thinking back, this life was short, but it wasn’t a total loss... I blew up a subway station, so I guess I came out ahead...’

He forced his eyes open, determined to see whether the expression on the Nun’s face was one of mercy or mockery in the instant the blade fell.

But the Nun lowered her blade. She glanced left, then right. Her playful smile faded into a calm expression, and then, completely out of the blue, she said, "The fog is rolling in."

For a moment, Baron didn’t understand, but that didn’t stop him from making his move.

BANG! A gunshot rang out.

The Nun parried with her blade and jumped back. By the time the other Nuns arrived, the alley was empty.

...

Breathing faintly, Baron leaned against a wall, reloading his two revolvers. The massive blood loss from his numerous knife wounds told him there was no escape.

The rain was light; it wouldn’t wash away the bloodstains anytime soon. The Hunters would follow the trail and find him before long.

Even knowing he was at the end of his rope, Baron had no intention of giving up.

His short life as a fugitive had kindled a desire to live that bordered on a zealot’s faith. He spoke to himself as he loaded the rounds:

"Hey, don’t give up..."

His heartbeat slowed to a crawl from the blood loss.

"Just have to get through this..."

His ears rang and his vision swam. The world before him began to blur into double images...

"There’s still a chance to go home."

His body collapsed heavily to the ground.

Baron groggily opened his eyes. He saw that the exquisite joker card had slipped from his pocket at some point and was now soaking in a pool of his blood.

The black-and-white joker was stained red by the blood, and colors that shouldn’t have been there began to fill the face of the card.

The lesser joker was becoming the greater.

...

By the time the Saint and the Battle Nuns arrived on the scene, followed by the belated Griffin Knights, Faith Knights, and Demon Hunters, they found only a trail of blood that abruptly ended.

All traces of him had vanished.

It was as if a great, invisible hand had simply erased Baron from the face of the earth.

Bronze Saint Elvin crouched before the bloodstain, his pipe clenched in his teeth, his expression troubled.

"It seems our intelligence was flawed. Turns out the ’Bloodless’ of the Constantine Family isn’t so useless after all."

He smiled at the Faith Knights of the Holy Cross Association, the Griffin Knights of the Knight Order, the Demon Hunters from the Demon Hunter Association, and Camilla.

"We’re the useless ones."

...

In Inner London, at the very top of the London Tower, Golden Mage Isaac Newton stood with his hands behind his back, looking out at London City, now shrouded in rain and fog.

He waited until the fog grew thick—so thick the streets emptied and the roars and moans of Demon Fiends could be heard echoing through the mist. Only then did he let out a long, slow sigh.

"To think *it* chose this boy as well..."

He instructed his young disciple, "I want a file on Baron Constantin. The more detailed, the better."

"Master, should I include the part about his bedwetting phase?"

"..."

Isaac Newton stared silently at his personal disciple, finally letting out a sigh. "Yes."

Then he added, "And after you’ve collected the information, your punishment will be to copy the *Jade Record* ten thousand times."

"Wha—?" The disciple’s shock quickly turned to wails of despair.