Chapter 21
Episode 21
Now, under the pretense of searching for someone, and in the name of a contract, he could keep her close. Maybe they could even agree to file a marriage registration; the mystery of the drawing on his chest would be unraveled, and if luck was on his side, he might finally meet that nameless girl—now a grown woman—once again.
‘Come to think of it, I never even asked Miss Blavatsky’s real name.’
Alice Hampton was surely not her real name. He would prefer she write her legal name when signing the contract.
“Her real name…”
A spark of insight flashed through James’s mind.
He beckoned to Philip, who was waiting out front of the building.
“Yes, sir. Did everything go smoothly?”
“Philip. Go to the Linden Police Department immediately. There’s something I need you to check.”
“Understood. What would you like me to find out?”
“Find out whether there’s a detective named Leonard Facili there. And if he exists, I want to know exactly what kind of person he is. I’ll give you thirty minutes.”
After sending Philip off, James ordered the carriage to park at a vantage point with a clear view of the building that housed the Hampton Agency.
[Four murders. Police incompetence, or a cunning killer?]
As he kept watch on the office window and the building entrance from the carriage, he unfolded a newspaper with a sensational headline and began to read.
“The crime scenes were: an alley at 21st and 3rd, a housing complex on 7th, behind the Palace Gallery, and Mr. Smith’s residence, huh.”
James’s expression twisted in displeasure as he scanned the article.
Tsk.
No matter how desperate things were, how could they entrust a matter like this to a civilian? Either the police were truly useless—or something else was going on.
The more he read, the more bitter his thoughts became. Just as he was debating whether to finish the article, Philip returned right on cue.
“You’re late.”
“Apologies, sir. There was an accident on the central road, and traffic was backed up.”
“So? What did you find?”
Philip replied promptly, barely catching his breath.
“Yes, sir. There is indeed a detective named Leonard Facili at the Linden Police Department. However, two days ago, he was dispatched to assist at the Concost precinct.”
James’s brows drew together slightly.
“So Leonard Facili is a real person—but he’s not in Linden right now.”
He folded the newspaper and tossed it aside.
“Any chance he returned without notice?”
“No, sir. I confirmed it over the internal police line. I spoke directly with Detective Facili in Concost. Another officer present also verified his identity.”
In other words, the man currently with Rose was not Detective Facili.
And just then—through the narrow carriage window—he caught sight of her leaving the building with the man posing as the detective.
“Damn it.”
Without a moment to praise his assistant’s excellent performance, James flung the door open and jumped out of the carriage.
“Wait! Sir!”
“Go report to the police immediately. Tell them the head of the Dautryche Company is in danger.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“Tell them someone is impersonating Detective Facili.”
Without offering further explanation, James took off running.
His tall figure disappeared swiftly into the gray haze and smoke of Linden’s streets.
“What the hell is going on?”
“Beats me. I’m just as clueless as you.”
The driver answered Philip’s muttering with an awkward shrug.
“A report? What in the world is happening out there?”
A suspicious man pretending to be a detective, claiming to need help with a murder case, lures a young woman who runs a spiritist and psychic agency off to some unknown location?
Even with your nose plugged, you could smell the crime in that.
This was the real reason James Dautryche had suddenly begun tailing Rose through the middle of Linden.
After James left, the supposed Detective Facili practically begged Rose for her help.
He pleaded with her to get any information she could—if identifying the killer was too difficult, then at least speak with the dead.
“It’s like they cast a damn spell—there’s no evidence at any of the scenes! I’m losing my mind here. Please, you’re our last hope to prevent more victims!”
The police typically didn’t bother with so-called psychic or supernatural professionals—but clearly, this case had them backed into a corner.
‘So he’s asking me to identify the killer by speaking with the victims…’
Back in Romberton, Rose had received more than her share of requests to commune with the dead. Faking it like a convincing medium was nothing new.
“You can’t just summon the deceased whenever you want. You need a medium—a personal belonging, a place they frequented, or some sort of record.”
Truthfully, no mage, no matter how powerful, could speak with the dead.
But it was possible to read the remnants of memories left in objects or places.
‘It takes complex incantations and drains a decent amount of mana…’
Rose quickly measured the remaining sliver of mana left in her body.
“Will this do?”
The man opened a worn leather notebook and handed it to her.
It was filled with field notes on the string of murders.
The jagged, hastily written scrawl suggested it had been scribbled in a rush.
Still, it was legible. Rose carefully read through it.
“…Hmm.”
The victims ranged in age and gender, with no discernible pattern—elderly women, young men… This likely explained why investigators initially saw no connection.
All had died by drowning, yet no body of water was found near any of the scenes.
The only notable clue was that each victim was missing some part of their body.
“Hair, ring finger, tip of the tongue…”
Rose’s eyes lingered on the list of peculiarities.
Something about it nagged at her.
The randomness—the small, precise body parts taken—felt like the components for some kind of summoning ritual.
“I’m sorry for showing you something so gruesome, especially to a young lady. But really, we’re desperate. We’ve nowhere else to turn.”
Was he misreading her silence as fear? The man bowed his head apologetically.
“No need to apologize. I’ve seen worse during séances.”
Rose reflected on what she’d just read.
“Still, the reports alone aren’t enough. I’ll need to see a personal item—or the crime scenes themselves.”
She didn’t need to visit every site. Just one or two would probably be enough to glean a clue.
If she carefully rationed her mana and avoided basic spells for a week, she might just manage it.
“It’s difficult to access the belongings right away, but I can personally escort you to the scenes!”
The man leapt to his feet, brimming with enthusiasm.
“I, Leonard Facili, will guide you myself, Miss Hampton!”
Following the man’s lead, Rose traversed Linden, visiting each crime scene one by one.
‘This definitely wasn’t a typical murder case.’
She had just stepped out of the fourth location—Mr. Smith’s residence.
“What do you think? Anything you can tell us?”
Rose slowly shook her head at the expectant question.
“I do specialize in spiritism and séances, but… there’s just too little to go on.”
A lie.
Damn it, there was more than enough evidence.
Even without expending mana, her senses were screaming. The places reeked of foul magical residue.
She had been sweating bullets trying to act oblivious.
“That’s unfortunate. But just in case—could you take a look at the final scene as well?”
“Final scene?”
“Yes. There’s been a fifth murder. That’s when we really started scrambling for spiritualists and seers.”
As she followed him through the city, Rose’s thoughts moved fast.
Five victims. All drowned where there was no water. Deliberately removed body parts. And faint traces of unsettling mana lingering at the scenes.
Whoever committed these murders was undoubtedly a mage—in other words, a Mythos.
‘What am I supposed to do—stand up and declare: “The killer used magic, and that’s why there’s no evidence!” I don’t have enough mana for a full trace spell either. So what now?’
She bit her lower lip without realizing it.
A Mythos killing Logosi, in a string of murders.
‘Five innocent victims… What were the Golden Ravens even doing?!’
Weren’t the agents of the Royal Bureau of Supernatural Investigation supposed to protect the kingdom?
“We turn left at the end of this alley, and it’ll be just inside.”
As Rose quietly followed him, her steps suddenly slowed.
“Miss Hampton?”
Unlike the previous locations, she felt nothing here.
Not even the faintest trace of that foul magical residue.
Suddenly, her finger—still wearing her enchanted ring—began to throb with pressure.
As if the ring itself were sending a warning.
Run. RUN! The fifth crime scene is a trap!