"…What do you mean by that?"
Ethan's breathing turned ragged. Even speaking became difficult.
"I mean it literally," Ivy replied. "If I send a letter, transferring you into the Bureau's intelligence division shouldn't be a problem. As far as I know, it isn't hard to get into."
That day, Ethan witnessed the empire's darkness with his own eyes.
In his plan, he still needed three more years to save enough money to rent a place in Gear City. By then he'd have five years of experience. If luck favored him, the guild leader's recommendation might help.
If he became an official Bureau employee, he'd start from the bottom. New hires were typically sent to border towns.
If he performed well and earned a superior's favor, he might be transferred back to headquarters.
Another five or six years, perhaps.
All of that… hinged on luck.
And the "rear" intelligence jobs weren't truly safe either. You still handled cursed objects. If a major case broke out, you still had to respond to the front line.
Ten years of struggle.
And a miracle of ancestral luck.
For Ivy?
It weighed as much as a single letter.
Too dark.
Darker than the cultists, even.
Ethan often felt he didn't belong in this world because he wasn't dark enough.
Now he understood why, in his last life, people constantly said they "didn't want to work hard anymore."
He stared at Ivy with profound emotion.
She clearly had noble blood—young, beautiful, likely the prettiest woman in Creekwood. A good figure too.
And, most importantly…
A kind heart.
"Ivy… we've worked together," Ethan said carefully.
To show sincerity, he lifted the bowl and drank the meat soup in one go.
To be honest, he'd always believed he had the potential to become a dark archmage.
He just lacked an opportunity.
"You see," he said, wiping his mouth, "I didn't run off with your gun. That proves I'm brave. And I'm a bit smarter than the others in town."
Those were Ivy's own words.
"You can talk without rubbing your hands," Ivy said, frowning. Ethan set the bowl down and immediately looked like he was plotting something. Combined with the fact that he was bare-chested, it was… painful to behold.
"You want me to write you a recommendation letter?"
"I've always believed I'm no worse than them," Ethan said solemnly. "I just lack a platform."
"What benefit do I get?" Ivy asked.
"If I make something of myself in the Bureau, everyone will know you have a keen eye—able to dig up talent from an obscure border town."
Ethan felt this was the kind of chance that could change a life.
But he was also pessimistic, for one simple reason:
Right now, he couldn't provide value to Ivy—or to the Margaret family.
So he resorted to the classic method.
Drawing a big future.
"Consider it… an investment," Ethan said. "In my future."
He did believe he could achieve something in the Bureau's intelligence division. That wasn't blind arrogance.
It was because too many people in that department didn't do any work.
Someone who just showed up on time would look like an exemplary employee by comparison.
"Then prove it," Ivy said.
"How?"
"While you were asleep, Bureau specialists already took the cursed object. They learned about Riverside's destruction, and they mentioned abnormal cases have been increasing."
She continued evenly, "Headquarters is considering establishing an intelligence outpost in a border city."
"Since you don't want to be my assistant… then be my colleague."
"Starting today," Ivy said, "I'm the station chief. You're an investigator."
"…Is your station legitimate?" Ethan asked, deeply skeptical.
She was making it sound far too easy.
This wasn't stuffing someone into logistics. This was establishing a real outpost on the front line.
Even if headquarters intended to do it, they wouldn't assign it to a noble brat who got in through connections.
"Of course it's legitimate," Ivy replied without blinking.
Even if it wasn't right now, there was nothing a letter couldn't fix.
"You'll have an official investigator ID," she continued smoothly. "A full performance evaluation system. You can participate in quarterly awards."
"I'll be stationed in Creekwood for a while. If you perform adequately during that period, I'll write a recommendation letter and transfer you to headquarters."
Ethan thought it over.
Earlier, Ivy had handed him her sidearm—knowing perfectly well he could run.
And she'd trusted him anyway.
If they worked together, she'd probably be a decent leader.
"Deal—" Ethan caught himself. "I mean… I'll work hard."
Good leaders were rare. This one also knew the current Bureau Director.
Not being able to jump straight to headquarters was, admittedly, not quite dark enough.
But it would still shave years off his struggle—and remove the "luck" factor entirely.
Ethan had never been lucky.
After all, what lucky man transmigrated into a world this dangerous?
Then again, without comparison there was no harm.
His last life hadn't been smooth—but he hadn't lived in fear that leaving his house meant getting kidnapped or assassinated.
Assuming Ivy wasn't lying to him.
Surely a noble young lady wouldn't deceive a poor man like him, right?
Margaret.
Ethan rolled Ivy's surname around in his mind. It felt… familiar.
By the sixth repetition, his body jolted, and he slapped his thigh hard.
The tuft of hair on Ivy's head jumped in shock and silently cursed him with impressive expressiveness.
Ethan remembered a name.
Diana Margaret.
"…May I ask," he said carefully, "Queen Diana is…?"
Ivy didn't answer.
Her voice cooled. "In public, do not mention my surname."
"Understood, Leader," Ethan said immediately—though inside he began to suspect she'd run away from home.
"And don't call me leader," Ivy added. "When we're working, we use codenames. Mine hasn't arrived yet."
Ethan understood.
He'd done his homework. Every Containment Bureau employee was assigned a codename for confidentiality, to reduce the risk of their families being targeted.
But with the Bureau expanding in recent years, the codenames had been getting… stranger.
"No problem," Ethan said brightly. "Miss 'Mine Hasn't Arrived'!"
It was too long. In Ethan's opinion, shortening it to three words made it much catchier.
"Hiss—!"
Ivy sucked in a breath so sharp her blank face finally showed a crack.
Her right hand twitched several times, fingers curling into a shape dangerously close to a Nine Yin White Bone Claw.
Only noble etiquette prevented her from planting it into Ethan's forehead.
For the first time, Ethan heard Ivy's teeth grinding.
"I mean," she hissed, "our ID cards haven't arrived yet. We don't have codenames yet!"
Her chest rose and fell hard.
It took her a full minute to suppress the urge to slap Ethan to death.
"I'd say you're basically recovered," Ivy said, voice tight. "You can start work this afternoon."
Establishing a new station meant acquiring basic infrastructure.
"Go change," she ordered. "We're going to Hearth Bay."
Advance Chapters available on Patreon
patreon.com/Inkveil_