Two days later, Enami still hadn’t sent word. Lanche couldn’t tell if she was dead or had simply run off.

Death seemed unlikely. But fleeing his relentless demands? That felt plausible.

Just then, Enami appeared in the courtyard. Her face remained hidden behind a black cloth, but her eyes radiated icy displeasure.

“You’re back safe,” Lanche said warmly, relief washing over his features.

Enami snorted softly through her nose, keeping a careful distance to avoid his grabby hands.

“I found a place,” she stated flatly. “Crowded. Full of followers of the *Confession*. Likely their base.”

“How many?” Lanche asked.

“Dozens coming and going. Some ordinary townsfolk mixed in.”

“That’ll do. Let’s go.” Lanche rose from his prized wicker chair.

Enami exhaled silently. *Finally, the lazy bastard moves.*

If he’d ordered her to work again, she’d have seriously considered assassinating this heartless boss.

Lanche slipped back inside to secretly gear up.

Meanwhile, Sileus was buried in ledgers, managing the Claire Beer partnership. Kestia hadn’t taken Liya and Lekui along; the sisters were busy cleaning the mansion, ignoring Lanche completely.

So Lanche strolled out as if heading to the village market, then met Enami to travel to the Royal Capital.

Upon arrival, Lanche bypassed the base Enami had found.

“Where are we going?” Enami frowned. “Aren’t we destroying their hideout?”

*Did I misjudge him? Is he this unreliable?*

“Fool,” Lanche scoffed. “What good is hitting them once or twice? You want to fight them forever?”

“Then what now?”

“Report them.”

“…” Enami fell silent.

Lanche then lurked near the Knights’ Hall.

Enami frowned again. “Aren’t you reporting? Why sneak around?”

“*Who* you report to is the real art. Wait.” He refused to explain, buying street snacks along the way and munching contentedly—making sure not to skimp on himself.

Enami shrugged, sitting beside him to wait.

“Why hide your face even in daylight?” Lanche asked.

Enami wore a hooded cloak, always shielding her features.

“Because…” She hesitated.

“Afraid they’ll discover you’re Demon Kin?” Lanche grinned.

“You—you *know*!” Enami jolted.

“Now I do,” Lanche nodded. “No Subhuman looks like you.”

Realizing she’d been tricked, Enami glared before slumping, silent and dejected.

“Now that you know I’m Demon Kin… will you do something to me?” she whispered.

“I don’t care. Just don’t kill people randomly.”

“I *wouldn’t*!” Enami snapped. “Demons don’t just kill people! We’re no different from humans!”

“Oh?” Lanche’s curiosity piqued.

He’d only heard tales of demons—ruthless, locked in eternal war with humans.

“Yes! Humans claim we Kutras must drink blood and eat raw meat to survive. It’s slander!”

“Huh? You don’t drink blood? What are those fangs for then?” Lanche blinked.

“Well… we *can* drink blood…” Enami crossed her legs tightly, shifting uncomfortably.

“We eat normal food. Blood isn’t… sustenance.” Her voice grew small, flustered.

“When *do* you drink it, then?” Lanche pressed.

“Umm… when we… *like* to.”

The girl squirmed. Though her face was hidden and bowed low, Lanche sensed her blush.

*That reaction… feels kinda lewd?*

*Damn, now I’m curious!*

“When exactly do you ‘like’ to?” he pushed.

Enami wrestled with herself before whispering: “It’s… like arousal…”

“Kutras have blood magic. We can taste emotions in blood. Drinking it feels…”

“Ah! Got it. Unique kink,” Lanche nodded sagely.

“It’s *not* a kink!” Enami sputtered, mortified.

“Then what is it?”

Enami clamped her mouth shut.

*…Okay, maybe it kinda is.*

Near noon, Kestia emerged from the Knights’ Hall with Yufi and Fenrele.

Lanche nudged Enami urgently. “Go. Give your intel to that silver-haired beauty.”

“Huh?” Enami froze. “Aren’t *you* going?”

“I hate trouble. You go.” He shoved her lightly.

“Don’t think I don’t know! That’s your *wife*!” Enami seethed.

“*Exactly* why it’s trouble,” Lanche shrugged.

He’d come to gift his wife credit—but feared disrupting his lazy life. Enami was perfect for this.

“I’m *not* going!” Enami shook her head fiercely.

*Are you kidding? I’m underworld scum. A demon. I avoid knights like plague. Delivering intel? They’ll think it’s a trap and torture me first!*

Lanche sighed, relenting. “Fine. Wait while I change.”

Thankfully, he’d brought his disguise.

---

Meanwhile, Kestia walked with Yufi and Fenrele, searching for a lunch spot.

“We should examine the crime scene ourselves,” Kestia murmured.

Fenrele shook her head. “Many knights already have. No leads. Baron Bailaku refuses further disturbance.”

Kestia fell silent.

This stalemate felt like zero progress.

Sensing her mood, Yufi smiled encouragingly. “Don’t lose hope. Prince Reina’s team has no leads either. We still have a chance.”

“True,” Fenrele agreed.

They monitored rival knights’ movements—just as others watched them.

Even if they found nothing, they could steal clues from others.

But Kestia disliked such tactics.

*This temperament… unfit for politics.*

Yufi soothed her: “With your wisdom, and us at your side, we’ll find a way. No need to rush.”

Kestia shook her head. “The ‘new malt liquor’ and Claire Beer… I didn’t create them.”

“What?” Yufi and Fenrele stopped dead.

Claire Beer was now wildly popular in the Royal Capital, elevating the Claire Family’s status and enriching the Sloke Trading Company under the Greenshield name.

Everyone hailed Kestia as a genius.

Yet she whispered: “Lanche created them. Without him, the Claire Family would still be unknown.”

His marriage into their house had, in one year, lifted them to royal circles and the King’s election.

Now Kestia felt lost again. She longed to lean on him once more…