A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5372

Jared etched Ieuan's name into memory. "Thank you, Your Highness. Yuliana and I will start today. The moment we uncover anything, you will hear from us."

"Good." Aurelius rose and clasped Jared's shoulder, his voice suddenly gentle. "The safety of the realm rests with you. Whatever you need, the kingdom will provide."

Outside Celestia's palace, the spring air felt thinner. Yuliana turned, violet eyes sharp. "Jared, where do we dig first?"

"The Intelligence Agency," Jared said. "If Malevolent Path Hall stole the bell, they must have studied Roaring Storm Church beforehand. Old case files may hold a frayed thread we can tug. And while we're there, we study Ieuan's record. The king's doubt is reason enough for ours."

Yuliana nodded and led him west through winding alleys to a quiet compound that looked like any other townhouse—save for the unseen sigils humming beneath its walls. This was the Intelligence Agency, fortress of whispers.

Its master, Pedalf Cantrell, a stooped elder of formidable Earthly Immortal Realm Level Seven, greeted them the instant he saw Jared's Investigation Badge—and even more quickly when he learned the visitor carried the Golden Dragon Bloodline. Pedalf produced every dossier on Malevolent Path Hall and on Ieuan Chapman without a breath of hesitation.

Jared and Yuliana bent their heads over scrolls from dawn until the lamps guttered, yet the pages yielded only crumbs.

Files on Malevolent Path Hall amounted to scattered sightings—fleeting silhouettes, rumors of robed strangers—each lead dissolving before a second report could be penned.

The folders on Ieuan were worse. They consisted merely of pristine accounts of loyal service and meticulous records of ordinary court affairs. There was nothing dark, nothing amiss, almost too clean.

"Either Ieuan hides very well," Yuliana muttered, frustration tightening her jaw, "or he truly is innocent."

Jared shook his head. "Perfection can be a mask. Ieuan has ruled his corner of the court for years. If he wished to scrub away stains, he had time. We need fresh angles—eyes outside these walls."

Just then, a junior clerk hurried in, breathless. "Mr. Cantrell, Lady Fiala, Mr. Chance—the Prime Minister's Office has delivered an invitation. Prime Minister Chapman requests Mr. Chance's company at a banquet tomorrow evening."

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