Walker Of The Worlds

Chapter 2922: Starting The Investigation

With Lin Mu having picked his task, the others also began to divide the work among themselves.

”I’ll go through the Golden Scales Union’s merchant archives,” Meng Bai added. ”If they’ve purchased strange items or rare materials, there might be a paper trail.”

Little Shrubby thumped his tail twice. ”I’ll sniff around for their scent.”

They all turned to look at him.

”Be careful and tell me once you find something,” Lin Mu replied.

Little Shrubby nodded once, accepting.

Daoist Chu exhaled. ”Alright then. Tomorrow, we start phase two. We gather everything we can, piece by piece.”

”And once we know enough,” Lin Mu said, his eyes sharp with resolve, ”we bring the light to their shadows.”

Outside, the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the city. But inside their quiet room, a fire had been lit—not one of warmth, but of intent.

The hunt had begun.

The next day arrived quickly, and Lin Mu got up bright and early.

The Golden Scales City was already stirring, the morning sun casting a golden hue upon its many gleaming roofs. Businesses were beginning to open, and the wide avenues buzzed with the chatter of merchants setting up their stalls, the rhythmic clatter of carts, and the barking of orders from shopkeepers.

As Lin Mu stepped into the bustling streets, he immediately noticed something different.

The security presence was higher than before.

’Guess they’re taking the necessary precautions as well,’ Lin Mu thought to himself.

After all, an attack on a banquet organized by the Golden Scales Merchant Union was no small matter. The Merchant Union essentially served as the ruling authority in the city, and such an affront would not be taken lightly. To let it slide would be a stain on their prestige and influence.

There were armored guards patrolling the streets in groups, sharp-eyed and vigilant. Their expressions were grim, and they kept a close watch on every passerby. Some stopped to question citizens, while others discreetly shadowed individuals through the alleys and squares.

The investigation was being carried out both openly and covertly. Lin Mu’s keen senses picked up snippets of conversation between guards and citizens, as well as murmurs among the common folk.

”Do you have any information about these individuals?” the guards asked as they showed hand-drawn portraits of the masked attackers.

The images displayed men in dark robes, with strange symbols etched into their garments and on their masks.

”Have you seen such people before? Can you recognize these masks or emblems?”

”Did you hear about the attack?” a man whispered to a nearby shopkeeper.

”Of course! Even the ancestors buried in the graveyards would know about it by now,” the shopkeeper replied, voice tinged with awe and dread.

Lin Mu kept his ears open as he walked, hoping to catch something useful—some offhand mention or clue.

Unfortunately, it seemed the general populace knew even less than he did.

He briefly considered informing the Golden Scales Merchant Union about the Crimson Root and his suspicions, but quickly discarded the idea.

’There’s no doubt they have spies in the city. It would be foolish to let them know what we’ve uncovered just yet,’ he mused.

After a while, Lin Mu arrived at his destination—the Administrative Office of the Golden Scales City.

The Administrative Office stood proudly near the heart of the city, a stately complex of three interconnected buildings built in harmonious symmetry. The walls were crafted from pale green stone quarried from the Jade Ridge Mountains, trimmed with polished brass and carved beams that shone in the sunlight.

The Central Wing, flanked by the Left and Right Wings, was the tallest and most ornate, its roof crowned with tiled eaves in the shape of soaring dragons.

Between the buildings were open corridors adorned with flowering vines and paper lanterns. Carved columns supported wide walkways, and gentle fountains murmured in the shaded courtyards. Couriers and officials bustled to and fro, scrolls and documents in hand.

Lin Mu came to a stop in front of the Central Wing’s grand entrance, where a pair of stern-looking guards stood watch. Their polished silver armor bore the emblem of the Golden Scales—a dragon coiled around a merchant’s balance scale.

The guards eyed him carefully and were about to speak when Lin Mu stepped forward.

”I wish to visit the office where local sect registries are recorded,” Lin Mu stated clearly.

”Who might you be?” one of the guards asked, stepping slightly forward.

After all, this building was a hub of power and bureaucracy, home to vital records, political negotiations, and high-level meetings between influential city officials and sect envoys.

”I am Lin Mu,” he said simply, reaching into his sleeve. ”This might help.” He produced the ornate invitation he had received to the banquet.

The guard’s expression shifted the moment he saw the gold-embossed emblem on the parchment.

”Ah! A VIP!” he exclaimed. ”Please proceed to the reception inside. They’ll guide you.”

”Thank you,” Lin Mu replied, stepping inside.

The Central Wing’s reception lobby was spacious, the ceiling rising nearly thirty feet overhead with beams carved into coiling phoenixes and koi. Multiple desks lined the chamber, each manned by attendants dressed in emerald robes. Parchment, jade tokens, and record scrolls were stacked in neat piles on lacquered tables.

Despite the usual administrative bustle, a tense undercurrent ran through the air—undeniably a result of last night’s attack.

”I’m here to look into information about the local sect registries,” Lin Mu said as he approached one of the desks.

The clerk, a middle-aged man with an ink-stained brush behind his ear, looked up and briefly furrowed his brow in confusion. A second later, recognition dawned on his face.

”Ah! Daoist Lin Mu!” he said, standing up hastily.

”Then, may I view the records?” Lin Mu asked.

”Of course! A simple request for someone of your status,” the clerk replied quickly and respectfully.

He guided Lin Mu through one of the side corridors and into the Left Wing, which housed several administrative departments. They stopped at a set of double doors with a brass plaque overhead that read: