Eastern Coast of Pritt, Tivian.
During the day, in the outskirts of Tivian, there was a stretch of steep coastal cliffs. Below the cliffs lay jagged reefs, with wave after wave of turbulent sea surf crashing in from the ocean, relentlessly pounding against the solid rocks. The sound of the surf was constant.
Atop the cliff stood a large military fortress. The fortress faced the sea on two sides and featured tall walls, rows of watchtowers, and heavily fortified turrets filled with dense firing ports. Numerous soldiers in Prittish military uniforms patrolled ceaselessly along the high walls, while the flag of Pritt fluttered in the wind.
At first glance, this seaside fortress looked like a standard coastal defense installation. However, upon closer inspection, one would notice that its artillery wasn’t just aimed at the sea—it also had many military installations pointed inland, which should have been its rear. Its defenses were strict in every direction, and its level of alertness far exceeded that of ordinary military facilities.
The name of this fortress was Cold Cliff Prison. As its name suggested, it was not truly a military fortress but a prison—and a very special one at that. The inmates held here were all tied to mystical crimes. It was one of many specialized prisons set up by the Prittish government to contain “special criminals.”
These "special criminals" were those involved in mystical incidents. Most of the suspects captured by Pritt’s mystical police during investigations of mystic-related cases were detained in these specialized prisons. From low-ranking cult grunts to Black Earth–rank officers, all ordinary society members and low-rank Beyonders from the Tivian area were concentrated here. White Ash–rank senior officers, who were extremely rare, were held in even stricter, separate facilities.
Outside Cold Cliff Prison, in the sparsely wooded forest along the coast, two figures rode horseback along a narrow forest path. The lead rider was a woman dressed in tall boots, dark trousers, a black coat, and a low-brimmed hat—an outfit marking the standard uniform of a Hunter. She was Misha Devonshire, Special Captain of the Tivian Serenity Bureau. Behind her followed another uniformed Hunter on horseback—a young man named Gregor.
On the slightly muddy trail, the two rode toward the distant fortress. Gregor looked up at the looming structure ahead and spoke.
“Lady Devonshire, we’re almost there.”
Misha replied calmly, and Gregor continued.
“Yeah… took longer than usual. But, Lady Devonshire… do we really need to come here again? That guy’s been interrogated several times already, hasn’t everything that could be extracted been extracted?” he asked, somewhat doubtfully.
Misha replied with composure.
“While going through the clues again last night, I suddenly saw things from a new angle. If my reasoning is right, that guy might still be hiding something. I came here today to make sure.”
“Oh…”
Gregor nodded thoughtfully, then said no more, quietly following behind Misha. After a while, Misha suddenly paused ahead, seeming to realize something. She checked herself and then frowned as she turned to Gregor behind her.
“Careless of me… I seem to have lost my ID. I think I dropped it earlier at the checkpoint near the wooden fork. Mayschoss, could you head back there and help me look for it?”
“The wooden fork? That’s a bit far… but understood. Please wait here, ma’am—I’ll be right back.”
Gregor tugged on his reins and turned his horse around, galloping back the way they had come. Misha sat silently on her horse, watching Gregor’s figure disappear into the distance.
Misha waited quietly in place, as though awaiting Gregor’s return. After some time, she heard rustling from the forest beside her. Turning her head, she saw a mounted figure emerge from the trees.
It was a black steed she didn’t recognize, slightly larger than hers or Gregor’s. Atop it rode a young man also dressed in Hunter uniform—yet his face was exactly identical to Gregor’s.
Before Misha stood a man with the same appearance as Gregor. If not for the fact that his uniform looked more worn, his horse was different, and the faint, unsettling smile on his lips was something Gregor would never wear—along with the completely different air about him—Misha might have mistaken him for the real Gregor.
“Hello, Miss Misha. Pleased to meet you.”
The man identical to Gregor smiled and tipped his hat in greeting. Misha, examining the familiar yet foreign face, spoke with curiosity.
“You’re… one of Rose Cross Order’s people?”
“Indeed. I used a few tricks to temporarily acquire a Blood Shade ability. Your subordinate sure left in a hurry—I almost didn’t have time to observe him properly.”
The young man chuckled, and Misha asked again.
“What should I call you?”
“Hmm… My real name? For this mission, there’s no need for you to know it. Just keep calling me Gregor for now.”
Shrugging, the young man responded. Misha glanced in the direction of where the real Gregor had ridden off.
“You’re not going to do anything to my subordinate, are you?”
“Of course not. At most, we’ll implant a few false memories so he can cooperate with our rhythm. Hm? You care quite a bit about the guy, huh? Don’t tell me you—”
He teased with a grin, but Misha quickly cut him off.
“Don’t talk nonsense. I’m just a little concerned for my subordinates, nothing more. That kid’s reliable on missions and quite capable in the field. If something happened to him, it’d be a real shame. But back to the point—you people can implant false memories? How?”
Changing the topic, Misha asked. The “Gregor” responded.
“Just a little dream-based trick. It’s not my main ability and has lots of limitations. It only works under specific conditions.”
“Alright, enough idle talk. Let’s get down to business. Those guys have already started moving. We don’t have much time—we need to act fast.”
“Gregor” looked toward the tall fortress prison in the distance. Misha nodded slightly at his words, then resumed her ride toward the original destination, with “Gregor” following behind.
Now with a replacement subordinate, Misha continued on her way. Before long, she arrived at the fortress prison gates. At the outer checkpoint, she was stopped by the guards for inspection.
After dismounting, undergoing a full inspection, and presenting her complete credentials, Misha was allowed through. As she walked to the base of the towering fortress walls, a slightly chubby warden with a sycophantic smile emerged from a side door and greeted her with a grin.
“Well, well, I was wondering who it was—turns out it’s Lady Devonshire… It’s been a long time. Apologies for not greeting you earlier.”
Looking at the warden before her, whose face was plastered with flattery, Misha calmly folded her hands behind her back and said quietly.
“Long time no see, Warden Morris. I’m here for the usual reason.”
“The usual, huh? Ah… I see. Then may I ask which prisoner you intend to interrogate this time, Lady Devonshire? I’ll arrange it right away.”
Misha replied.
“This time, I want to question inmates 0155 and 0078… those few.”
“1142, 0078… those ones, huh? You’ve interrogated them quite a few times already last year and early this year. Seems like you’ve made some new progress.”ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ NoveI~Fire.net
“That’s not your concern. Just take me there. No need to prep a special interrogation room—I’ll question them directly in their cells and leave after that.”
“Of course, of course. Right this way.”
With that, the warden led Misha and “Gregor” into the tightly guarded prison fortress. They walked down long, damp stone corridors, passing through layers of security until they reached the cell blocks. The long hallway was lined with tightly shut iron-barred doors. The warden fetched a large ring of keys to begin unlocking them.
“Oh, right. I might interrogate some other inmates beyond the original plan—it could take a while. Hand the keys to my subordinate here; we’ll handle it ourselves. You can go take care of your own business.”
“Er… alright.”
The warden hesitated slightly at Misha’s request but eventually handed the keys to “Gregor.” With that, he and Misha began moving freely through the cell block, unlocking doors at will. Misha entered some of the cells, questioned a few unexpected inmates briefly about relevant cases, then exited and locked the cells again.
After several interrogations, Misha led “Gregor” deeper into the prison. Descending a staircase into the cold, underground levels of the dungeon, Misha, under the dim light of torches, walked down a corridor filled with distant, eerie howling. At the end, they stopped before a thick, reinforced iron door.
Misha gave “Gregor” a slight glance. He immediately pulled several matching keys from the heavy keyring and inserted them into the locks one by one. After turning all of them, he slowly pushed open the door to reveal a narrow, dimly lit cell.
Inside, a gaunt male prisoner in a prison uniform sat on the cold floor. His skin was yellowed with hunger, his head bald, his wrists and ankles chained with heavy iron links embedded into the wall, worn raw and bloodied. As the door opened, the prisoner slowly raised his head to look at Misha and “Gregor,” who had stepped inside.
“Hello, Vehan Calder… or rather, Mr. Northbone. Long time no see.”
With her hands still behind her back, Misha addressed him condescendingly from above. Hearing her voice, the man called Northbone hesitated, then replied.
“It’s you… from the Black Dog Bureau… What do you want now?”
“The same as always—to ask you a few questions.”
“Questions? Hah… I’ve already told you everything I can. I’m just a minor cog in the organization, a tiny strand in the Web of the Spider Queen. I have no more useful information for you. Keep pressing me all you want—you’ll get nothing more…”
Northbone’s words revealed his identity: he was a member of the Eight-Spired Nest, one of the captured Eight-Spider operatives, and a particularly special one.
He hadn’t been arrested during the recent Serenity Bureau raids, but much earlier—caught after being discovered as an undercover Eight-Spired Nest spy.
At the end of last year, Director Harold of the Serenity Bureau, desperate to resolve increasingly severe information leaks, planned to form a counterintelligence team composed solely of members from regional branches. Unfortunately, the Eight-Spired Nest caught wind of this. Two of the officers summoned from local divisions to HQ were ambushed. One was a Hunter from South Lymeshire named Vehan—killed and replaced by a member of the Nest. That spy was Northbone.
Later, with intel from the Rose Cross Order, Misha discovered Vehan’s true identity and captured the imposter, Northbone, in secret. After forcing him to drop his disguise, they subjected him to round after round of interrogation. But unfortunately, Northbone genuinely didn’t know much, and they gained little of value.
“Does Tivian still have other hidden safehouses? Are there more spies being deployed after you? Answer me clearly!”
“Tch, give it up, you black bitch. I don’t know any of that. Even if you cracked open my skull, you wouldn’t find anything. Don’t waste your time…”
Despite her harsh questioning, Misha couldn’t get any new intel from Northbone. His answers were vague or empty, and her frustration began to show.
“Listen to me, you filthy spider freak. You’d best answer me properly, or—hng!”
Suddenly, Misha’s mouth fell silent. Her eyes widened, and an uncontrollable wave of drowsiness swept across her face. Then, under Northbone’s shocked gaze, her body went limp, collapsing to the floor, unconscious.
“…What the…”
Stunned, Northbone stared wide-eyed, unsure what had just happened to Misha. At that moment, a voice echoed in the cell, drawing his attention.
“Heh… The drug worked. One trigger and she’s down. Instant effect.”
Standing beside the fallen Misha, “Gregor” held a small wooden stick and smiled. Then he turned to Northbone, whose eyes widened in disbelief.
“You… you’re—”
“I’m here to rescue you, comrade. You’ve suffered enough these past months. The Spider Queen won’t forget your sacrifice. Now… let me bring you back—into the Deep Web.”
The fake Gregor smiled warmly at Northbone, then glanced down at Misha’s unconscious form and added.
“We don’t have much time. Her identity will let you pass through all the security checks. Let’s begin.”
…
At the same time that Gregor and Misha had entered Cold Cliff Prison, across the vast wilderness outside the fortress, countless hidden figures were moving rapidly, converging on a single location.
Mysterious individuals were gathering at concealed sites outside the prison. And within its walls—some were already prepared.