Chapter 22

Chapter 22

The words Run! rang in her mind like a scream.

Her heart pounded, her palms were slick with sweat.

“Oh my, Miss Hampton. Don’t tell me you’re getting scared now?”

The man calling himself Detective Facili turned toward Rose with a peculiar smile on his face.

“It’s fine. You already visited four scenes, didn’t you? This one’s no different.”

A sour, unpleasant scent stung her nose—but no, it wasn’t a smell. It was the same nauseating aura she’d sensed at the previous crime scenes, that foul magical energy.

And the source wasn’t the alleyway where the fifth victim had supposedly been found—it was the man himself. Specifically, his right hand.

Pure horror slithered over her body like a snake. Detective Facili is the killer.

Why hadn’t she realized it sooner?

There was no time to think.

Rose spun around and ran for the main road with all her strength.

But—

“Tsk. Looks like I’ll have to escort you by force.”

As he reached toward her, a black stream of water lashed out like a rope, coiling tightly around her and yanking her violently back into the alley.

“Ah—!”

Thrown off balance, Rose was hurled into the dead end, crashing hard against the stone wall and floor.

“Ugh!”

Pain throbbed through her body, and the stench—overwhelming, choking—made her instinctively hold her breath.

The source was the same oily rope of liquid still restraining her, leaking foul magical energy.

“The fifth offering required ‘the blood and finger of a young woman who sees the past and the future.’”

The man crouched in front of her, his voice light, almost playful.

“Those damned people in Linden are so bloody rational. You can’t find a proper fortune teller, let alone a fraud psychic. And even when I did, they were the wrong age or gender.”

He sneered, raising his right hand. In his palm, a murky liquid began to swell.

This was it. The end.

Rose opened her mouth, desperate to buy time.

“You’re a Mythos, aren’t you?”

“Huh. So Miss Hampton’s one of us?”

His eyes gleamed as he looked her over.

“No need to sacrifice our own, I suppose—but if I let you go and you start flapping your mouth to the Crows, that’d be a problem.”

“Offering… So the missing body parts from the victims—they were summoning materials, weren’t they?”

“Heh. Sharp little thing, aren’t you? All the more reason not to let you live.”

“You deliberately left magical traces at each scene to keep the circle powered, didn’t you?”

“Exactly. Just need your finger and blood now, and it’s complete.”

“……”

“What’s wrong? Scared?”

He snickered down at her.

If only I weren’t bound by this filthy water rope!

If she could just get free, she might manage to hit that bastard in the head with a brick or something.

She twisted her body, straining, but it was no use.

The man leaned in closer.

“Pop quiz, Miss Hampton. What was the cause of death for the victims?”

It was a question, but he clearly didn’t care about her answer.

His hand stretched toward her face, fingers aimed at her mouth and nose.

“Correct answer: Drowning.”

“……!”

And then—

Bang!

A sharp, metallic crack echoed like a gunshot, cutting through the hum of factory machinery.

“Hands where I can see them. Step away from her. Slowly.”

A revolver gleamed silver in the dim light, its barrel pressed firmly to the back of the man’s skull.

It was James Dautryche.

“Pointing a gun at a detective? That’s brave of you, Mr. Darling.”

The man slowly raised his hands.

“I know you’re not Detective Facili. So drop the act.”

“Huh. With a face like that, I thought you were just some pretty boy kept by an heiress, but turns out you’ve got a brain.”

“You talk too much.”

The click of the revolver being cocked echoed sharply through the alley.

What the hell? Why is he here right now?

It was miraculous timing—but Rose’s heart was filled more with anxiety than gratitude.

James might know how to use a gun, but how could a Logos with no magic possibly fight a Mythos?

Look at that! He’s already using magic to block the gun!

“Mr. Dautryche! Drop the gun!”

Crack!

A loud smash rang out as the sound of something heavy breaking against a skull filled the air.

James had twisted his pistol, gripped the sight, and slammed the handle into the man’s head.

The magic meant to intercept the bullet dispersed harmlessly into the air.

The rope binding Rose burst with a wet pop, dousing the alley in filthy water.

Now!

She summoned what little magic she had left and yanked a paving stone from the ground beneath the man’s feet.

“Take this!”

“Urgh!”

The stone flew upward, slamming into his jaw before crashing to the floor.

Reeling from the blow to his head and now his chin, the man collapsed with a thud.

“Your hand—quick!”

As he groaned on the ground, James grabbed Rose’s wrist and pulled her into his arms.

In that fleeting instant—

A massive wave of sensation crashed over her entire body.

Sharp as a blade, warm as a fire—fierce, powerful, enveloping.

Ah, this scent—it was James Dautryche.

Musk and cedarwood.

And… something else.

Is this… magic?

At first, she thought it was just his cologne—but no. The feeling engulfing her came from a tremendous flood of magical energy.

It surged into her like a waterfall. And overwhelmed by it, Rose lost consciousness.

“Miss!”

James’s voice rang in her ears as everything receded into darkness—his urgent cry and the heat of his hands the last things she felt.

Linden Caldea Premium Hotel, penthouse suite.

Though the entire floor had been secured, an almost excessive number of guards patrolled every corner.

In the suite’s reception room, a broad-shouldered man in his fifties sat across from Rose, watching her closely.

His suit was tailored from the finest cloth, and a row of medals adorned the front of his jacket—clearly not an ordinary person.

“Rosie, it’s been a while.”

“It has… Crowley.”

How long had it been since she heard that nickname?

After a moment’s hesitation, Rose sighed and completed the sentence.

“…Uncle.”

Her expression was sour as she addressed the man before her.

“You still don’t intend to return?”

She didn’t reply.

With a heavy sigh, he drew a small case from his coat.

“Here. The badge of the Golden Crows.”

“Uncle. I have no intention of joining the Golden Crows or being tied to the Bureau again. Just forget about me.”

“Forget? Is that what you say to your uncle after five years?”

He shook his head, clearly exasperated.

“Enough. Shut down that foolish little office and come home.”

“Uncle!”

“If this hadn’t turned out to be a case the Golden Crows were already investigating, both you and that man would’ve been in serious trouble!”

His raised voice sparked a flare of temper in Rose.

“If it was under investigation, you should’ve caught him sooner—before I got involved!”

“Someone unexpected interfered. We can’t reveal ourselves to Logos so easily!”

“……”

She had no comeback.

The unexpected party could only mean James Dautryche.

“What’s going to happen to him?”

“You’re worried about him?”

Any Logos who learns the truth about Mythos rarely fares well.

At best, they’re bound by unbreakable secrecy pacts. At worst, their memories are forcibly erased—or they lose their minds in the process.

“No need to worry. By now, he should be done with the tests and training. You’ll be seeing him shortly.”

Tests? Training?

Before she could ask more, a knock sounded at the door.

James entered the sitting room.

The man Rose had called Uncle Crowley rose and extended a hand.

“Mr. James Dautryche, CEO of Dautryche Company. How long has it been? Since the policy conference last spring?”

“It’s been a while, Minister of Land Affairs, Crowley.”

James returned the greeting with polite precision, his eyes never leaving the older man.