Chapter Twenty-Eight: On-Site Investigation

A messenger, sent by someone unknown, stood at the door. Still groggy with sleep, I brushed my teeth as I took the letter from his hand. He left without a word.

Lamia embraced me from behind and asked, “Darling, who is it?”

I replied, “A courier. Let me see who sent it.”

It was from Michael. I opened the envelope to find his flamboyant handwriting:

“My dear Longinus,

I regret to inform you that our journey to the Pan-American Pyramid must be postponed. Residual evil lingers in the idol of Ix, and it must be dealt with cautiously. I have consulted the honorable Duke of Maizong, who knows an exorcist well-versed in the occult. This man lives at No. 60 Hecate Street, on the fifteenth level. Please invite him to my residence for me. If you are concerned about today’s assignment with the Valkyrie Squadron, don’t be—I have already asked Le Gang to grant you leave.”

Lamia sighed, “He treats you like a servant.”

I said, “His ‘best human friend,’ actually. But it’s not a bad thing; I get to escape official duties for a day.”

The fifteenth level was among the lower tiers, inhabited by humble and struggling people who would do anything to remain in the Black Coffin—humble, cautious, and treading carefully in life. Yet I’d also heard tales of domineering powers, shady dealings, sordid scandals, and banned goods circulating in its shadows.

It was like the narrowest, most concealed corner of a grand mansion—collecting dust that could never be swept away, a hotbed of chaos and confusion.

Lamia frowned. “Shall I send a few Rangers to accompany you?”

I hurriedly declined, “I’d rather not be responsible for death benefits. Forget it.”

“You’ve been promoted to Captain. It’s best to have someone with you. I’ll send Salvador,” Lamia insisted.

I laughed, “That’s good, actually—I’ll have a chance to get to know him better.”

In any case, Salvador was surely more familiar with the Black Coffin than I was.

When Betty heard we were heading to the fifteenth level, she immediately drew up a shopping list, since the variety of trinkets there was famous, and the local snacks were cheap and plentiful.

“We’re on official business, not a holiday,” I protested.

She replied, “I was talking with Sami. Besides, Longinus, you’re a big shot now. Don’t be so rigid.”

Her sarcastic tone annoyed me. I thought to myself, “One day, I’ll break you and Salvador apart—you’ll regret it.”

We reached the first floor to transfer to the elevator and happened to run into Mirce. He was delighted, “I was just looking for you.”

I told him my luck wasn’t bad—I happened to be on official business to the fifteenth floor today, and it shouldn’t take long, so I’d practically have half a day off.

“That’s great. Show me around, so people won’t think I’m a spy,” Mirce said.

I laughed, “Then I’ll be the traitor, won’t I?”

“Hush, keep it quiet,” he replied with a grin. My brother’s sense of humor seemed to be improving in the Sword and Shield Society.

Salvador said, “Don’t worry, there’s nothing secret about the fifteenth floor. The authorities would rather forget it exists.”

Mirce asked, “Salvador, aren’t you Longinus’s brother-in-law?”

Both of them, honest and sincere by nature, soon struck up a lively conversation. I had hoped to toughen Salvador into a decisive man, but with Mirce’s influence, I feared he would remain on the straight and narrow.

Mirce whispered to me, “I want to know about Dalia.”

I nodded, “If you truly want to know, I’ll tell you later.”

The elevator doors opened on the fifteenth floor. Instantly, the shouts of market hawkers startled me. This was the gathering place for the lower-tier residents. The streets were lined with stalls and vendors, jammed with crowds—it seemed as if the whole world had flocked there.

---

I asked Salvador, “Where is Hecate Street?”

“Follow me,” he replied.

We hadn’t gone far when we ran into a patrol—a Ranger lieutenant led three militia hunters. The militia were auxiliaries and reserves for the Rangers, handling their overflow police work and reporting directly to Lady Typhon. Their equipment was poor; they were little more than cannon fodder.

I showed my credentials to the lieutenant, who asked, “So you’re the officer in charge. What brings you here?”

“I’m looking for an exorcist. A noble from above has requested him.”

“If you have time, could you help us with a murder case?” he asked.

I wasn’t a diligent man and didn’t want to waste my half-day of freedom, but I asked out of courtesy, “What kind of murder?”

He answered, “A woman’s corpse was found in the shantytown on Mann Street. She was cruelly dismembered and then burned beyond recognition.”

“I’m not responsible for homicide investigations, sorry,” I said.

“The deceased was a Ranger major,” he added.

Salvador and I exclaimed together, “What?”

“There were her badge and credentials at the scene—a Ranger major.”

A major’s rank among Rangers was significant and rare. Why would one be in the slums? And why such a brutal killing?

“Have you reported it up the chain?” I asked.

“I have. I thought you were sent to investigate.”

Salvador whispered, “If someone’s already handling it, we shouldn’t interfere—there’ll be trouble.”

I said, “I’ll look at the crime scene, but this isn’t my responsibility. Give me the address.”

After the lieutenant left, Mirce remarked, “Being a Ranger is dangerous. The casualty rate is high—even in the Black Coffin, it’s not safe.”

Salvador said urgently, “This is serious—a Ranger officer tortured to death in the slums! On the wasteland, maybe, but here it’s a direct challenge to our law and order. The authorities will demand a thorough investigation. I bet this market will be shut down for a while.”

“Will it really escalate so much? The market may not be connected to the murder,” I wondered.

“You don’t understand. The elders only have to hint, and the subordinates will overreact. They all fear being accused of negligence and so go to extremes,” Salvador explained.

Would the Elders’ Council truly be alarmed?

I couldn’t help but imagine the glory and rewards if I solved the case—restoring the Rangers’ honor, avenging my colleagues, saving the bustling market. Recovering Yune or the idol might seem remote and abstract to ordinary folk, but a murder in their midst would make me a hero.

“We’re going to the crime scene, now,” I declared.

Salvador hesitated, “Weren’t we looking for the exorcist?”

“Don’t be stubborn. Trust me—let’s go,” I urged.

At the same time, I contacted Faga. “My little angel, tell me which Ranger is investigating the case?”

“Le Gang just received the report and is deliberating,” Faga replied.

“Can you let him know I happen to be on the fifteenth floor?” I asked.

“That’s easy. He’ll get the message.”

Soon, the floor’s intercom announced, “Captain Longinus, please proceed at once to No. 3 Mann Street and contact Ranger Lieutenant Paul.”

Salvador, unaware of my little conspiracy with Faga, was astonished. “What a coincidence!”

---

I laughed, “Divine providence!” Yet halfway through, I grew anxious—what if I failed to solve the case? I’d be utterly humiliated.

“Why did you stop laughing?” Mirce asked.

“Have you ever handled a murder case?” I inquired.

“No, the Sword and Shield Society doesn’t deal with such matters.”

I looked to Salvador. “I’ve encountered a few homicides,” he replied. “Usually, you interview people, collect evidence, and hand it over to the officer in charge.”

That was no help—worse, I was the officer in charge this time.

At the scene, the wooden shack had been burned out. The Black Coffin’s fire system was advanced and had extinguished the blaze quickly, but the victim was already charred beyond hope.

Lieutenant Paul—the same man from before—greeted us, “Sir, we meet again.”

“Very well. What do you make of the case?” I asked. If he had any real insight, I wouldn’t mind letting him share a bit of the credit.

“I await your orders, sir,” Paul replied, pushing the problem back to me. I shot him a glare, but he pretended not to notice.

I climbed the stairs, greeted by the stink of burning flesh. The corpse had been neatly “taken apart.”

Mirce reminded me, “Your potion can enhance your senses.”

I snapped to attention, drank Odin’s Eye, and the details of the room grew sharper. Disturbed traces, claw marks on the floor, slight damage on the walls—fortunately, the fire had been put out in time, or nothing would remain.

“There was a struggle here,” I said.

The Ranger shone his flashlight, illuminating the space. “One of the combatants was… not normal,” Mirce observed.

Indeed, the marks on the wall suggested a sharp weapon—but it resembled five fingers, leaving deep grooves.

Moreover, I felt a chill and nausea in this room, not from the body but from the place itself, as if it was cursed—filthy and oppressive.

Paul shivered all over, speechless, and soon slipped away. Salvador’s face grew pale; he shouted, “Sorry!” and bolted outside, gulping for air. Mirce and I managed to endure.

“It’s the Mind Blade protecting us,” Mirce said.

“This room is eroding our will? Did someone perform a strange ritual here?” I asked.

“No. Think—two people fought here, and the body was dismembered in chaos. Would the killer have time for rituals? He killed, set the fire, and fled,” Mirce reasoned.

He might be right, at least it was better than no clue at all.

Suddenly, I noticed something even more bizarre. Examining the major’s remains, I saw needlework on certain parts.

Every break in her body had been stitched.

Had she once suffered terrible wounds and been sewn together, limb by limb?

But why was her head stitched as well?

Her whole body was like a doll, disassembled into pieces, each part once joined with thread.

After killing her in such a horrific way, had the murderer tried to reassemble her?