Sometimes, things on their own are perfectly fine — harmless, ordinary.But put them together, and they undergo a strange kind of alchemy.
Lloyd had eaten many bizarre things in his life. Whether during his years hunting monsters for the Order, or on that journey through Gaulnaro with Seriu, he had endured worse situations and swallowed food far more revolting than this. Yet none of it had ever struck him with the same psychological force as the… thing now sitting before him.
In his six years living in Old Dunling, Lloyd had heard the name of this dish before. Only heard of it. He rarely visited restaurants, usually settling his meals at home. But now, staring at the plate in front of him, he felt a faint, existential disorientation.
Fish heads. Cheese. Pizza crust.
Individually? Perfectly edible.
Together? They resembled some kind of culinary demon hybrid — an abomination born of poor judgment and misplaced confidence.
The fish heads stood upright on the pie, eyes wide open.
Lloyd's expression darkened.
"Stargazing," they called this dish.
"This isn't gazing at the stars," he muttered internally. "This is dying with your eyes open."
Every fish head seemed to be staring at him in silent accusation, protesting the indignity of its fate.
That was enough. More than enough.
Lloyd grabbed a sandwich, turned on his heel, and walked straight out of the restaurant without looking back.
A brand-new day.
No troublesome people. No troublesome events.
Wonderful.
He boarded a steam tram, the rumbling iron serpent clattering along its tracks toward Suarlan Hall.
Wake up. Eat. Go to Suarlan Hall.
That was Lloyd's routine these days. Old Dunling was vast, and every day birthed a fresh crop of strange cases. As a contracted detective, Lloyd never lacked work.
And, he had to admit — doing things officially had its perks. Assistance throughout investigations. Public funds available for expenses. The only inconveniences were the extra paperwork… and the restriction on opening fire.
Well. At least not freely. Not in the city center.
Soon, the striking structure of Suarlan Hall came into view. A towering castle, oddly situated in the middle of the urban district. Parts of it had already been demolished. It had once belonged to a nobleman who went bankrupt and mortgaged it away. After years of transfers — and the expansion of Old Dunling — it eventually fell into government hands.
Originally, it was slated for demolition.
But its historical value, along with its military-grade defensive structure, saved it. Now it served as Suarlan Hall — the central police and security headquarters of all Old Dunling.
After passing through security, Lloyd entered with ease. This wasn't his first time here. In his previous life, he had infiltrated the place under many different identities.
Only now, as a contracted detective, could he walk in through the front door.
He quite liked the feeling.
Officers turned their heads as he passed. He had been working here for over half a month now, but many of the younger officers still looked at him with open curiosity. Some regarded him like a looming threat. Others looked ready to burst with excitement.
Which made sense.
Before this, Lloyd had been the mysterious detective from the Lower District — the man associated with the infamous Red River Massacre that reshuffled the entire underworld. To most of them, he had been little more than an urban legend.
Now the legend was not only real — he clocked in for work alongside them.
The mystique had shattered.
Instead of some grim, ghost-feared terror, the man turned out to be approachable, constantly smiling, fond of chatting, slacking off, and enthusiastically "bleeding" Suarlan Hall's budget like a seasoned professional.
He carried the air of someone ready to shout, "Comrades! Let us overthrow the wicked ruling class together!"
After greeting a few familiar faces, Lloyd weaved through the dense rows of desks and stopped beside Press's workstation.
"Got anything for me today?"
Thus began another day.
…
A carriage raced through the streets of Old Dunling. Automobiles had already been invented, but due to energy costs and terrible road conditions, they remained toys for the wealthy — impractical for the city's chaotic sprawl.
Lloyd and Press sat facing each other inside. Several bullet holes in the carriage door had yet to be repaired. Cold wind slipped through, forcing them both to tighten their coats.
"A murder case?" Lloyd scanned the report in his hands, reading every line carefully. This was how he usually familiarized himself with a case on the way to the scene.
"More accurately, a brutal slaughter," Press added. "Extremely brutal. Some of the officers nearly vomited. A few of the younger ones were so scared they cried."
"That bad?"
Ordinary people would feel disgust or dread hearing that.
Lloyd, however, felt a flicker of excitement.
Cases like this were rare. He found himself curious just how horrific the scene must be.
Humans place limits on themselves. One might kill an animal without much psychological disturbance, yet recoil in horror at the sight of a fellow human's corpse. If this was truly a savage slaughter, then the killer either possessed extraordinary mental fortitude…
…or was a complete and utter psychopath.
Either way, things just got interesting.
The crime scene lay in the outer district, near a newly developed area at the edge of Old Dunling. As technology advanced and the nation grew stronger, the city's population had surged, forcing continuous expansion in recent years.
These development zones were unfinished, but rents were cheap due to their remote location. Many migrants lived in these low-cost apartments, boarding early trams each dawn to work in distant factories.
The crime scene was inside one such apartment building.
Suarlan Hall's carriage took up most of the street. Mounted officers had set up cordons. Every face looked grim.
"God… it's too cruel."
"I don't think I'll be able to eat meat for half a month."
"I need to throw up…"
The voices washed over Lloyd the moment he stepped out. Officers wore haunted expressions. Some sat on the steps, staring blankly, as if the shock had shaken their grasp on reality.
"Doesn't look good," Press muttered. He accepted a mask handed to him, then passed one to Lloyd.
"Tell me what happened," Lloyd said, pulling it on as he addressed the officer guiding them.
Even outside, the metallic scent of blood hung in the air. Hard to imagine how terrible the room itself must be.
"The victim was a middle-aged woman. Moved to Old Dunling this year. Worked at a factory in the western district. According to the report, the landlord smelled a strong scent of blood in the morning, noticed signs of forced entry into her room, and then… well. That's when the case came to light."
"Robbery seems unlikely," Lloyd said with a nod. "Places like this don't exactly hold much worth stealing."
He followed the officer up the stairs. The room was at the end of the fourth-floor corridor. Even from the opposite end of the hallway, Lloyd could feel the thick wave of blood-scent hitting him. Beyond the police tape, dried blood had flowed across most of the corridor.
It was hard to believe the human body could contain that much.
"I hope you're prepared," the officer said, still shaken. "I've been on the job a long time. This is the worst I've ever seen."
He stopped at the tape, unwilling to go farther.
"You coming?" Lloyd asked Press.
Press hesitated. Curiosity warred with regret over a decision not yet made. After a few seconds, he nodded and followed Lloyd inside.
A madness so dense it felt almost tangible slammed into their senses.
And then the canvas of blood unfurled before them.