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... stopped counting when Metis spoke. Soon, a cute pout appeared on her face. "Why is this place so white? Why are there so many clouds? When will we arrive?"


Despite her monotonous voice, everyone present could tell how impatient she was.


Flying in an endless direction with a bunch of identical clouds was too much, even for Ophis. She didn't know how long she'd been flying and didn't care; all she wanted was to see something new.


"... We are getting there soon. ...

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In Victorian England, occult practitioners and the Nightmen Police, who hunted occult practitioners, were at odds and engaged in a fight to the death. Legend has it that one of the occult practitioners was a mysterious merchant who ran the world’s largest underground black market in the occult arts, offering a variety of rare treasures. Word says that the Nightmen have a newly appointed young detective whose decisive actions have solved many cases, and occult practitioners are terror-stricken hearing his name.

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“Now… where should I put you both?” he asked casually, not expecting a reply. “It’s regretful that I only have one chandelier.”

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“Yes, I let them go,” Atticus said. Then, his eyes darkened. “To receive divine judgment from the heavens.”

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