It was one of those freezing nights when the wind howled through the dark alleys of the city.
but in the luxurious office of Mayor Dolgen, warmth and opulence held court.
The fire danced within the huge stone fireplace, projecting golden shadows on gilt paintings and priceless artifacts that filled every space, silent witnesses to a fortune not built on honesty.
The mayor, portly and wrapped in his silk night robe, was comfortably settled in his soft leather chair.
In front of him, on his shiny desk, lay a pristine white sheet upon which he scribbled down unfamiliar numerals in Eiblum coinage. He held a jet black, gold- and ruby-studded pen—not as a writing tool, but as a symbol of authority.
He rumpled his short brown hair with his fingers and greedily muttered to himself,
"An investment of 5,700 Eiblum in the new gambling hall… yes, that'll be quite profitable."
With reckless strokes, he jotted down more numbers for the city's neglected needs:
Repairing the Aieltheris Residential Road: 680 Eiblum.
Constructing housing to consolidate Bostgast District: 18,000 Eiblum.
Equipping the Loumiron Public Hospital: 3,609 Eiblum.
He looked at the total with disdain. "Barely twenty-two thousand… pathetic."
He let out a theatrical sigh and set his ornate pen aside. Twirling his long mustache thoughtfully, a cunning gleam flashed in his eyes.
"Ahhh… I've already burned through thirty thousand this month on nightclubs and luxury hotels… and still fifty thousand remain in the treasury."
A cold, humorless smirk curved his lips.
I'll throw them another ten thousand to close their barking. The rest is for my own ventures. Waiting builds character, after all."
Soft knocks broke the silence of the night. From the other side of the door came the polite voice of his maid:
"Sir, you have a guest, Mr. Feredon Nashak."
Dolgen lifted his head, surprise and annoyance crossing his features.
"At this hour? What would that whore be needing now?"
The maid replied quietly,
He said it was something urgent—a meeting or maybe something regarding Elonia."
The mayor's eyes gleamed with interest. The mention of Elonia always meant one of two things: opportunity… or danger.
"Very well," he barked, "bring him to the reception room..and have coffee and our best pastries available.".
With the fading away of the sound of her footsteps, Dolgen rose quickly to get dressed.
He wore a fashionable dark-velvet suit, pushed a large golden ring onto the little finger of his right hand—a symbol of his authority—and polished his glossy black boots.
In front of the mirror, he meticulously brushed his short brown hair and long mustache.
Descending the wide wooden stairs, his confident steps echoed in the silent hall until he reached the reception room where Feredon was waiting.
Feredon Nashak was a young man with a determined jaw, standing confidently beside the blazing fire. His black hair was dense and his beard well-groomed, which went well with piercing, hawk-like eyes and fair, sun-touched skin.
His travel attire was refined, suggesting he'd come from some distant place and important.
Dolgen approached with a feigned laugh, disdain hidden behind his smile.
"Ohhh… Feredon! It's been ages. I thought you'd forgotten the way to Loumiron."
Feredon smiled peacefully, taking a sip from the glass he was holding in his hand.
"The previous time, yes… a year ago, at the coronation ceremony."
Dolgen sat in his favorite armchair and asked him to be seated.
"And how is Korosh? I suppose the capital sun has burned him while he attends to the business of the kingdom."
Feredon placed the glass on the table.
"Ruling a kingdom is never easy...especially without a king."
Dolgen patted his knee in mock sympathy.
"Yes… well then, come on—did you travel all this way on such a chilly night for something important, or did you simply miss my coffee?"
Feredon's face became serious.
"I was at an important meeting in Elonia today… Honestly, they're geniuses.
They've created a machine that keeps food—and even meat—cold for days. Can you believe it?"
Dolgen's eyes widened in genuine shock.
"No way… No more ice houses, no more freezing cellars!"
Feredon nodded.
"Yes, though it's only a prototype. It'll be in the markets by 1465."
At that moment, the maid entered radiant like an angel, with pale skin, brown hair, and piercing green eyes.
She carried a silver tray bearing a pot of cardamom-flavored coffee, nut-studded pastry, and a small closed wooden box.
She placed it on the table, bowed her head in respect, and noiselessly left.
Dolgen nodded absently, his mind still off with that marvel machine.
"So, did you drop by merely to bring this great news?"
Feredon savored a delicious bite before responding,
"No. There's something more urgent. concerning the Bostgast Forest."
Dolgen's eyebrows creased, and he lifted his coffee cup.
"Continue."
Feredon talked in low tones, as if reciting a grim fact,
"According to recent reports, Loumiron ranks lowest in education and healthcare. That must be causing trouble with the citizens, isn't it?"
Dolgen laughed loudly, sipping his coffee.
"That's not my problem. The Elgarth's government should handle that."
Feredon smiled faintly.
"Listen, Dolgen… reliable sources claim you've spent over sixty-eight thousand Eiblum from the city treasury on your private ventures."
The mayor froze, setting his cup down with a sharp clink.
You dare to meddle in my affairs?"
"No," Feredon replied calmly, "but do you know that amount would have made this city thrive?"
Dolgin scoffed.
"As long as the people are content with their misery, I will change nothing."
Feredon leaned forward, his grin set in determination.
"That's exactly why I'm here. I require a joint management agreement for the entire forest to create my own projects there. In return, I'll fund new schools and hospitals myself. What do you say?"
"You know the forest is within Elgarth's lands," Dolgen said, seeking an escape.
Feredon's smile intensified.
"I know. That's why you have to rush the paperwork to make the acquisition seamless."
Dolgen's eyes narrowed.
"Do you want something in the woods?"
"You know… it's one of the top tourist attractions of Elgarth. I'm going to make good use of that," Feredon replied, opening the wooden case to reveal a fine cigar, offering one to the mayor.
Dolgen declined the offer.
"That much forest land will cost you more than ten million Eiblum."
Feredon chuckled, taking a drag on his cigar.
"Wealth has never been a problem for me… Dolgen."
Dolgen eventually took the cigar, lit it with a gold lighter, and exhaled a thick, fragrant cloud. His face resembled a corrupted philosopher.
"Do you know why I remain mayor of this miserable city, Feredon?"
Feredon raised an eyebrow.
"Why?"
Dolgen watched the smoke rings fade.
"Because the poor always demonstrate… yet they're the first to applaud when I open a new club. Don't they warrant some entertainment?
Feredon laughed deep in his throat.
"You're right… but the city is not the same. It's frightening how deserted it is."
Dolgen's smile turned off, and genuine worry played in his eyes.
"Yes… there's a serial killer on the loose. A real nightmare."
Feredon drained his coffee.
"And the Royal Investigation Unit found nothing?"
"I don't know," Dolgen despised.
"A bunch of elgarth fools, What we need is a genuine Aielthersea knight."
Feredon sighed, setting his cup aside.
"A full knight? What inconvenience is that?"
Dolgen leaned closer, his voice trembling in terror.
"The bastard has killed over fifty people! Even Elgarth's finest investigator couldn't trace him. He's a ghost."
Feredon's voice was calm, but it sounded like he was offering a simple solution to a nightmare.
"I know some elven investigators from Elonia, famous for their… unusual methods."
Dolgen's eyes gleamed with optimism.
"Really? That's… wonderful news!"
Feredon stood, brushing off nonexistent dust from his clothing.
"Yes. Accept that as the second favor I do for you this evening."
Dolgen tensed, recognizing the significance of the words. Twice beholden in one night.
"Are you… leaving so soon?"
"Yes," Feredon said, walking to the door. "Thank you for your hospitality. I will remain in Loumiron until the papers are drawn up."
Dolgen fought to regain the upper hand.
"Then stay in my hotel. I'll have them ready the best suite, at my expense.
Feredon stopped at the door, with a smile.
"I've already ordered it before I came. "
He inclined his head toward a glossy leather suitcase that was erect by the door.
"That's my luggage."
He went out and gently closed the door behind
him. Dolgen was alone in the middle of his luxurious salon—enraged, humiliated, and defeated. The silence that followed was deafening.
He looked at the still-smoldering cigar in his hand, then, in mute fury, crushed it brutally in the crystal ashtray, snapping it in two.
His knuckles whitened as he clenched his fists, his eyes on the closed door, realizing that tonight, he hadn't entertained a guest… but met his new master.
Dolgen climbed the stairs, each step a leaden echo of his rage.
As he ascended, he tore his silk tie off, opened his coat, trying to rip off the memory of shame. But halfway, something was wrong. Silence.
A heavy, unnatural silence. No whispers among the servants, no tread of the guards, nothing but the wind outside wailing.
When he reached the upper floor, he stumbled back in horror, colliding with the wall behind him.
On the valuable Persian rug was one of his servants, face-down. He wasn't asleep. A dark sticky pool gradually developed beneath his head—blood seeping from a deep wound.
Dolgen screamed, his voice echoing through the empty house.
"GUAAAARDS!"
There was no answer. Only that suffocating silence.
Panic set in. He rushed to his bedroom, tore open a hidden panel at the rear of a painting, and pulled out a cumbersome rifle. He trembled as he grasped it, with beads of perspiration appearing on his face.
Then followed the funeral dirges from the temple nearby—low, mournful, and terrifying. It made his blood run cold. He whirled frantically about in the dark corridor, eyes darting everywhere.
"Feredon… was it you? Were you going to kill me, you bastard?!"
Cold wind seeped through his open window, making the curtains wave manically.
Moonlight revealed the silhouette of a figure in the middle of the room—clothed in black, wearing a stark white mask with three vacant, black eyes.
Dolgen's voice shook as he pointed the rifle.
"W-Who… who are you?"
The masked figure said nothing. He stepped forward, silent as night. Dolgen fired.
The gunshot echoed through the room—yet the bullet stopped in midair, inches from the mask, then dropped with a faint metallic clink.
Then Dolgen felt it, a choking pressure closing in around him, invisible but impossible to withstand, as if the air itself was attempting to crush him.
The walls cracked. His bones began to groan under the pressure. The rifle slipped from his trembling hands, and he collapsed onto his knees, fighting to draw in air he could no longer breathe.
The chanting outside grew louder, deeper—almost victorious. The masked figure moved closer and stood over the prone mayor.
He drew out of the folds of the cloak a glittering knife that shone in the moonlight.
Dolgen's tearful eyes lifted, locking onto the three black eyes of the mask.
ering moment, all the threads of the city's ghastly murders came together in his mind and the awful truth burst upon him.
He whispered, voice breaking and wet with blood,
"D..Detective!…"