The attacker cursed under his breath.

"Fuck. Then we have to wait for them. The others already started their part."

Trafalgar and Caelum said nothing.

Both stayed where they were, wearing the masks and clothes of dead men, while the restaurant car sat around them in ruined luxury. Plates lay broken on the floor. Wine had spilled across white tablecloths. Rich passengers slept where they had fallen, their fine clothes wrinkled beneath the slow pulse of the emergency lights.

A few minutes passed.

The attacker grew more impatient with every one of them.

His fingers tapped against the hilt of his curved sword. His head turned twice toward the door behind Trafalgar and Caelum, then toward the next carriage, where the cargo team was probably working.

"Tch." He clicked his tongue and started walking. "I’m going to see what they’re doing. They can’t be taking this long with one person."

Trafalgar moved with him.

"Maybe they’re in the bathroom," he said, voice muffled by the mask. "But fine. Let’s go. I’ll come with you."

The man glanced at him once, irritated but not suspicious enough.

"Come on, then. This delay is not normal."

He turned his back.

That was his mistake.

[Widow’s Whisper] materialized in Trafalgar’s hand.

The compact dagger slid into his grip without sound, and before the attacker could take another step, Trafalgar closed the distance and pressed the blade against his throat from behind.

The man froze.

Trafalgar leaned closer, his voice low beside the man’s ear.

"If you want to keep your neck and head attached, you should start cooperating from this moment on."

The attacker tried to twist away.

Trafalgar pressed the blade harder.

"Stupid man."

The dagger cut skin.

The attacker stiffened when he felt the warmth begin sliding down his neck. He could not see the wound, but he heard the blood hit the floor.

Plop.

Plop.

Plop.

The sound was soft, almost delicate, and far uglier because of it.

Trafalgar’s grip did not loosen.

"You had better stay still," he said. "It would not cost me anything to kill you. Besides, you people have made quite the mess. An assassination attempt against an heir of the Eight Great Families is not very intelligent."

The man stopped breathing for half a beat.

When he spoke, his voice came out thin.

"We didn’t have information about that..."

"Then your information was bad," Trafalgar replied. "Which means cooperating is the only smart thing you can do now. Don’t move. If even one muscle twitches wrong, you will end up like your companions from the other wagon. In case you have not seen them, they are dead."

The man swallowed, and the movement made the dagger bite a little deeper.

"Yes."

Caelum stood a few steps away, watching without interfering. The golden-eyed disguise remained perfect, but Trafalgar could feel his attention on every breath the attacker took.

Trafalgar began with the basics.

"How many of you are on the train?"

The man hesitated.

The dagger pressed in again.

"Twenty-four," he said quickly. "Twenty-four on board. Six teams. Some sweep passenger cars, some control staff sections, some handle the cargo."

"How many in the cargo car?"

"Eight. Maybe ten if they pulled men from the rear. I don’t know if the others already moved."

"What are you after?"

"Blueprints," the man said, the word rushing out with his breath. "Blueprints and one sealed case. That’s all I know."

"Blueprints for what?"

"I don’t know."

Trafalgar’s hand tightened.

"I swear, I don’t know. The cargo team knows. The leader knows. We were only told the case would be in the mithril-reinforced car and that the gas would make the sweep easy."

"Who is leading?"

"A woman called Merisse. Human. Black coat. Short red hair. Uses wires and explosives. She’s with the cargo team."

"Where is Selara?"

The attacker swallowed again.

"Director Selara? The academy woman?"

"Yes."

"I heard they marked her wagon as high risk. Some of our people were told not to engage unless necessary. If she’s awake, they’ll avoid her until the cargo is secured."

Caelum’s eyes shifted slightly.

Trafalgar noticed.

"What else?"

"The train was forced to stop by charges on the outer mana lines. Not enough to destroy it. Just enough to make emergency systems lock the route. Once the cargo is opened, the retreat team will detach two rear cars and leave through the storm."

"How?"

"There are sled constructs outside, hidden near the snow ridge. That’s all I know."

Trafalgar stayed quiet for a moment, weighing the answers.

The man heard that silence and mistook it for mercy.

"I told you everything." His voice cracked slightly. "Please don’t kill me. I told you everything I know."

Trafalgar looked around the restaurant car.

Sleeping passengers. Broken glass. Blood from the earlier fight dried in dark marks near his sleeve. The faint sweet odor of sleeping gas still clung to the air beneath the filter of the mask.

Then he remembered the words spoken in the other wagon.

The way one of them had looked at Cynthia.

The way the dark elf had said they would be free to do what they wanted once the sweep was done.

Trafalgar’s expression did not change.

His arm moved once.

The dagger opened the man’s throat.

The attacker’s hands flew up at once, clawing at the wound, trying to hold himself together. Blood forced its way between his fingers in heavy pulses, spilling down his chest and splashing against the floor. He stumbled forward, but his hands were at his neck, so nothing caught him when his knees failed.

He hit the floor badly.

Shoulder first. Face after.

His boots scraped once against the wood. His fingers kept pressing against the wound as if effort could undo the cut. It did not. The blood spread beneath him, widening into a dark pool that reached the broken stem of a wine glass and swallowed it halfway.

His body jerked twice.

The third time was weaker.

After that, only the train trembled.

Trafalgar watched until he stopped moving.

"Now we know what we need to know," he said. "First, we find Selara."

Caelum looked at the body, then at the blood on Trafalgar’s hand.

"Understood, Young Master." He inclined his head slightly. "Next time, if you wish to avoid staining yourself, please allow me the honor. If you ever need answers from someone, tell me. I will handle it."

Trafalgar glanced at him.

"Fine. Though gaining experience is useful too." He let [Widow’s Whisper] dissolve and wiped his hand on a cloth from the table. "If we find Selara’s master, I’ll put your skills to work."

Caelum’s reply came smoothly.

"Without doubt."

Trafalgar picked up the stolen sword again.

"What is the next wagon?"

"The next car is likely where Miss Selara was last seen," Caelum said. "It is a long carriage, larger than the others, with multiple private rooms and two floors. Some guests paid for proper compartments there. The structure gives too many places to hide, but also many routes for us to search."

"Should we split up?"

Caelum looked toward the door.

"We do not have much time. It may be better."

"I’ll take the upper floor," Trafalgar said.

"Then I will take the lower one."

They moved toward the next car together.

Behind them, the restaurant remained full of sleeping passengers, spilled food, broken crystal, and the fresh corpse near the aisle. The luxury of the place had taken on a rotten edge now, like a noble banquet after the guests were murdered before dessert.

The door opened.

The next carriage stretched far longer than the others.

A narrow staircase curved upward near the entrance, leading to a second level lined with private rooms. Below, the main passage ran between sealed doors, lounge spaces, and small alcoves where wealthy passengers could pretend they were not trapped in a train crossing a snowstorm. The lights flickered faintly, and the distant storm pressed against the windows in white bursts.

Some doors were closed.

Some were open.

A few bodies slept in the hall.

Some wore passenger clothes.

Some wore masks.

Trafalgar and Caelum exchanged one brief glance.

No more words were needed.

Caelum moved left, down the lower corridor.

Trafalgar took the stairs.