The city of Loumiron did not awaken to sunlight, but to a cold, chaotic nightmare. Fierce winds swept through its narrow streets, and the rain poured relentlessly, turning the alleys into muddy rivers.
In this gloomy atmosphere, the Royal Gendarmerie was deployed on every corner, their cloaks drenched and their armor gleaming coldly under the grey morning light. The clatter of their boots on the wet cobblestones was the only sound that dared to challenge the wind's roar.
The residents were bewildered, gathering under awnings and in store doorways, exchanging conflicting whispers.
They didn't know whether to mourn the murder of their corrupt Mayor, or rejoice at their deliverance from his tyranny.
Some, secretly, considered the killer a hero who had rid them of a tyrant, but the majority were simply terrified; the monster who killed the Mayor was still at large among them.
In the midst of this chaos, investigators were knocking on every door, shattering the peace of the homes with forceful, sudden knocks, followed by a barrage of sharp questions that sowed doubt and fear in every heart. Within a few hours, sixteen suspects had been apprehended.
Based on the testimony of one surviving servant, suspicion focused on a single name, which caused astonishment throughout the city, and quickly became linked to every gruesome crime that had shaken Loumiron.
Under the pouring rain and fierce winds, Fredon Nashak—the wealthy and mysterious visitor—was led in shackles across the main square, becoming the prime suspect in the murder of Mayor Dolgen, as the citizens' whispers fluctuated between fear and bewilderment.
The rain lashed him mercilessly, the wind slapped his face, and his bare feet struck the cold, wet stones. His silk clothes clung to his shivering body, his eyes darting between the faces of the angry crowd and the armed gendarmes who ruthlessly shoved him toward the Mayor's lavish house, now a crime scene.
He stopped for a moment, trying to whisper to himself, but his words were cut short with every shove from the guards:
"They got him... that easily... and now I'm next... I'm next..."
At that moment, Mayor Dolgen's house, which yesterday had been a symbol of velvet luxury, had turned into a cold, chaos-ridden beehive.
The Royal Gendarmerie and investigators filled the foyer and the upper floor.
Most of the guards and servants who had filled the place yesterday were now scattered corpses.
On the upper floor, where the gruesome crime occurred, four investigators quietly moved about.
In front of the shattered mirror stood Arenwald, a veteran investigator. He was a man in his prime, his black hair touched with grey at the temples.
His face was cold as stone, etched with a few wrinkles, and deep black circles marked his sharp brown eyes.
He wore a long brown coat and black wool trousers. His eyes meticulously scanned every tiny detail of the crime scene, as if deciphering an ancient code, searching for a single thread that would lead him to the truth.
On the other side of the room, near the window that leaked cold air, the investigator Erail was at work.
A tall young man, unlike the average-height Arenwald. He had wavy brown hair, gleaming yellow eyes, and was dressed entirely in black. He was dusting his hands with a pale yellow powder, carefully scattering it over every spot of blood.
On the luxurious bed, the third investigator, Ainliss, was nonchalantly lying, smoking the Mayor's remaining fine cigar.
He exhaled a thick cloud of smoke into the air and said with a sarcastic, loud voice:
"Arenwald! They caught the killer... why are you always so stubborn?"
Arenwald turned to him coldly, his eyes still fixed on the stained floor.
"Fredon Nashak is merely an idiotic visitor who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He'll be cleared once his memory is viewed. The real killer is still here."
Ainliss got up and walked toward Erail, leaning on the edge of the table, and asked him with a sly smile:
"Do you agree with him, rookie?"
Erail smiled, his yellow eyes gleaming.
"Yes... so far, everything suggests this isn't an ordinary crime."
Ainliss laughed mockingly:
"Of course it's not ordinary, you idiot."
The Mayor's body was pale and mutilated in an indescribable manner.
The killer had cut his mouth and gouged out his eyes, then switched their positions, so the gouged eyes were where the mouth should be, and the open mouth was where the eyes should be.
In addition, his throat had been violently slit; his fleshy neck was severely torn, as if the killer had used the knife with savage rage.
But what was truly terrifying was the symbol drawn on his chest.
The killer had drawn a large inverted triangle on his chest, with an eye in the center, and his dry fingers circled that eye in a near-perfect circle.
The resulting shape looked like a hollow sun with an inverted triangle inside it and a lost eye in its hollow.
Ainliss spoke shrewdly, recalling their difficult work on previous crimes:
"Dolgen, letter D... We've just collected 57 letters from all the victims. Five remain."
Arenwald replied, looking toward the wardrobe in the corner of the room. A message written in blood was on it:
"57/62."
Arenwald looked at Ainliss coldly, confirming his suspicions:
"Yes, and we still haven't deciphered the entire message."
Erail avoided looking at the corpse for a few seconds before warding off his fear with a cold comment:
"The same method repeats, the same symbols, even those strange names... none of it resembles anything we've seen before."
Ainliss quickly searched his memory. He recalled what Ethan had told him upon their arrival in Loumiron, and that strange moment when Ethan felt a sudden pressure, as if someone was watching them.
His smile completely vanished, and he said with sudden terror:
"Arenwald... could the killer be an Emissary"
Arenwald nodded slowly, his eyes still fixed on the bullet's impact site.
"It's plausible. The bullet's shape is deformed by an immense, concentrated pressure, as if it was crushed between two layers of metal."
Erail spoke seriously, realizing the magnitude of the danger:
"If he belongs to the Trunks of Nature, he will be a difficult and dangerous rival."
Ainliss took out a small metallic device adorned with yellow crystals and a faint screen. He said with an anxious tone:
"I hope he's just a normal sorcerer... at least we know how to deal with them."
Ainliss gently placed the device near the Mayor's coagulated blood. The device gave him a stable frequency, and he stated:
"His blood frequency is 10.5. This means more than ten hours have passed since his murder... The crime occurred around midnight."
(The device Ainliss uses measures the blood frequency; every creature has a unique frequency signature, like a fingerprint.)
At this moment, a gendarme burst into the room, his face pale from the sight of the corpse.
"Sir, we found this paper near the fridge!"
Arenwald moved with deadly calmness toward the soldier and took the paper. The white paper was the same one the Mayor used to write his city accounts on.
But at the bottom of the paper, in different handwriting, prominent Latin letters were written: "Qxd1".
Ainliss and Erail moved instantly to see what was written.
Arenwald said with a calmness that didn't betray shock:
"A new symbol... he gave us 57 symbols before, and we still haven't reached a single solution."
Ainliss began observing the symbol calmly, then said with a strange certainty:
"I have a weird feeling, Arenwald... that Ethan will know the solution to these codes."
Arenwald looked at him with clear astonishment, while Erail watched their exchange nervously:
"Ethan? The immigrant you brought yesterday? I don't see anything exciting about him to be important in a case like this."
After that, the corpse removal team entered. They were two men dressed entirely in white and wearing rubber gloves. One carried a huge black bag, and the other carried multiple small bags.
Before they collected the corpse, one of them took out a strange-shaped camera; it was long and had some flashing crystals, and he began photographing the corpse and all its gruesome details.
Moments later, the three investigators left the room, their hands holding bags containing the collected evidence. As for the two men inside, they began placing the severed organs into special bags: a bag for the fingers, a bag for the eyes, and a bag for the inverted mouth.
Finally, they placed the battered corpse inside the huge black bag, inserted the other small bags into the large one, and exited the room.
The three investigators stared at the empty spot where the body had been, the place filled with deafening silence after the removal task was complete, but they knew well that the real work had yet to begin.
The three investigators left the luxurious house, leaving the gendarmes to secure the rain-washed crime scene.
The three boarded an old, heavy-design car, which began to crawl slowly through Loumiron's wet streets.
Their shoes made a slight rubbing sound as they emptied the water clinging to them onto the car's carpet. Ainliss's rain-soaked hair clung to his forehead, giving him a more serious look than usual.
Upon arrival, they entered their private investigation room. The room was wrapped in organized madness; pasted photos and drawings of incomprehensible symbols filled the walls, and an old wooden table centered the room, covered with white papers containing notes and maps.
Arenwald and Erail carefully placed all the evidence they had collected on the table. As for Ainliss, as soon as he entered, he pulled up a chair and sat down heavily, saying with a feigned sigh of relief:
"Ahhh, finally my ass gets some rest."
Erail chuckled lightly as he organized his tools.
"You were just in the car, Ainliss."
Ainliss replied under Arenwald's thoughtful gaze:
"An Elf's ass rests on wood, my friend. It's a genetic matter."
Arenwald ignored their conversation and picked up a small list he was reviewing.
"Alright, we have the cracker crumbs that were on the sofa..."
Ainliss interrupted him: "The Mayor's scattered hair, the accounts paper, and also those gruesome photos the team took."
"Where is the pen?" Arenwald suddenly said, his eyes focusing on the white of the table.
Ainliss looked surprised:
"What pen?"
Arenwald suddenly shouted, his voice echoing in the room:
"The ornate ink pen the Mayor was writing with, you fool! It was right next to his body!"
Erail moved quickly, his face turning pale. He took the lavish, gold-studded pen out of his pocket and rushed it toward Arenwald.
"I apologize, it... it was with me."
Arenwald took the pen sharply, examining it for a moment before handing it back to Erail.
"The analysis team will arrive shortly. Give them the pen immediately. I want every fingerprint on it, and every trace of ink."
Erail nodded nervously, placing the pen carefully in his pocket. Then Ainliss spoke again, trying to return to the subject of Ethan:
"Arenwald, give Ethan a chance. He's not an ordinary guest."
Arenwald turned to him, his brown eyes questioning. He said with indifference:
"How will he help? Aren't the sixteen suspects enough for us?"
At that moment, Ainliss exhaled a deep breath, leaned forward, and released his words in a quiet, earth-shattering voice.
"He's an Emissary, Fucker ! ."
Arenwald froze in place instantly upon hearing this news. As for Erail, he was stunned by the word, lifting his head to look at them with wide eyes, as if Ainliss had just announced the key that would open the doors to the truth.