I followed Osric through the cobbled streets, our footsteps echoing softly beneath the early morning hush. Soon, we arrived before a modest but official-looking stone building—the Coroner's Office. Its brick façade was tinged with moss, and the brass plaque above the arched doorway gleamed faintly in the morning light.
"Are we going inside that?" I asked, eyeing the worn sandstone steps.
"Yes," Osric replied, his tone casual but purposeful. "My friend is a coroner—Doctor Helena Ashborne. She's not part of the police force officially, but she works closely with them on special cases. Especially... odd ones."
We entered through the heavy wooden doors. Inside, the scent of old paper and faint antiseptic lingered in the air. The lobby was lit by hanging oil lamps, their warm glow bouncing off polished floors. Behind a front desk sat a stunningly composed woman with raven-black hair and spectacles perched delicately on her nose.
"We'd like to see Doctor Helena Ashborne," Osric said, stepping forward with practiced ease.
The receptionist raised her eyes and offered a professional smile. "May I have your name, sir?"
"Osric Vale," he answered, bowing slightly.
"One moment, Mr. Vale." She stood and walked off toward a corridor of office doors, heels clicking briskly against marble. Within minutes, she returned.
"This way, please. Doctor Ashborne will see you now."
We followed her down the corridor and were shown into a well-organized office filled with anatomical diagrams, parchment scrolls, and preserved specimens in glass jars. Sitting behind the desk was Helena herself—a woman in her thirties with piercing eyes and a cool presence that commanded attention.
"Osric! It's been ages," Helena greeted with a bright but professional smile. "And who's this?"
"This is my friend, Edward Cain," Osric introduced.
I extended a hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Doctor. I'm Edward Cain—a novelist, newly acquainted with the less... literary parts of this world."
She rose and shook my hand. As our fingers touched, her gaze fell to the bronze ring on my pinky—the telltale symbol of the Alabastar Mages. I noticed then, to my own surprise, that she too wore one.
Her eyes then flicked to the crest-shaped pin on my coat: the emblem of the House of Cain.
"Ah, so you're Count Jonathan Cain's son," she remarked. "I hadn't realized you were a mage. Though... I don't sense any Chaos magic from you."
Of course she couldn't. What I possess is not magic—not in any sense they understand. It is a force beyond comprehension. Authority granted by something far greater.
"He's new," Osric offered. "Hasn't performed the Spell Pact Ritual yet."
"I'm still learning," I added smoothly.
"I see," Helena nodded thoughtfully. "Well then—please, have a seat."
We settled into the high-backed leather chairs across from her desk.
"How can I help you?" she asked, folding her hands.
I reached into my coat and retrieved a small bundle of old newspaper clippings. I laid them on her desk carefully.
"I've been researching several mysterious murder cases," I explained. "Each one feels... unnatural. I suspect they may be connected to Chaos magic."
Helena picked up the clippings and examined them with a professional's eye.
The first article described a man found dead in an alleyway, naked and surrounded by self-inflicted wounds, having bled to death from cuts that made no logical sense.
The second spoke of a young woman who had collapsed and died with no visible injuries or causes—her heart simply stopped, without reason.
The third detailed a grisly find: a decapitated corpse marked with strange sigils, completely drained of blood.
"I was hoping," I said, leaning forward slightly, "you might have access to more detailed reports. Perhaps things that weren't printed in the papers."
Helena sighed and set the clippings down. "Yes… these are familiar. I examined those bodies myself. There were traces of Chaos magic lingering—strong enough to unsettle even seasoned mages."
She paused, then added gravely, "I do have further details. And I can tell you this—there are more cases, some unpublished, all disturbingly similar. But Edward, if you're planning to investigate this further… you need to understand what you're getting into."
Her tone sharpened. "The ones responsible are almost certainly Zanthion Mages. Investigating them is dangerous. They don't care for life, law, or honor. If you go down this path, you'll be putting yourself in their crosshairs. Osric alone won't be enough to protect you."
The Zanthion Mages. I'd already suspected as much. It may have been one of them who cursed the previous Edward. If so... I might have to eliminate every last one of them.
Still, I needed her trust.
"I understand the risk," I said calmly.
Then, to demonstrate the extent of my unorthodox capabilities, I reached across her desk and picked up a brass fountain pen.
Holding it aloft to eye level, I activated one of the All Power abilities: Freeze Move.
I released the pen.
It did not fall.
It hung there, frozen midair, as if reality itself had paused around it. Not floating—no, not in the sense of magical levitation—but held in place by sheer authority over the concept of movement.
Helena gasped audibly. Osric's eyes widened.
"What the…?" Osric whispered. "How did you do that?"
"I didn't feel a single pulse of magic," Helena murmured. "That... that's not even Chaos magic."
"Exactly," Osric added, now visibly disturbed. "I felt nothing."
I smiled softly, letting the pen remain suspended a moment longer before grabbing it again and setting it gently back onto the desk.
"Let's just say... I woke up one morning with abilities I don't fully understand. But I intend to use them for good."
They were both silent.
Then Helena exhaled, tension draining from her shoulders.
"…Very well," she said, standing and turning to her filing cabinet. "I'll trust you. For now."
She returned with a stack of manila folders.
"There are four cases here I think you should start with. There are more, of course—but these are the ones that worry me the most."
"Thank you," I said sincerely, standing to accept the files. "I'll need to borrow them for a while."
She nodded. "Be careful, Edward."
Osric and I left the office and walked out of the building into the sunlight once more. He looked at me with a stare that spoke volumes.
"What?" I asked.
"You should've told me you had abilities like that," he grumbled.
"Maybe I should have," I replied with a sheepish grin. "But I wouldn't even know where to begin explaining."
He crossed his arms. "You owe me for the shock."
"Fine," I said with a laugh. "I'll buy you lunch."
"Oh, no. You're buying me dinner, breakfast, snacks, and dessert for the next three days." Osric said.
"Alright, alright!" I laughed again.
---
After a pleasant lunch, Osric and I went our separate ways. I took the opportunity to wander through Highmarch alone, marveling at the beauty of the Victorian-like era—stone towers, gas lamps, cobbled paths, and the lively hum of people wrapped in cloaks and cravats.
Then something caught my eye—a gleaming motor carriage behind a tall window. I had found a showroom.
I stepped inside the Vennette & Sons dealership, where rows of polished motor carriages stood like mechanical stallions awaiting their riders. After a brief conversation with the well-dressed salesman, I selected a luxury model—sleek, black, and modern by this world's standards. It cost me 2,550 crowns, a princely sum, but worth every coin. I signed a cheque, and they promised to deliver it to my estate by morning.
With a sense of satisfaction, I returned to the city square. My carriage was already waiting. I boarded and gave the order to return home, the files of the dead resting securely in my arms.
Tomorrow, the real work would begin.
---