Anyone Else Got Something to Say?
Pribil — a small city of three thousand souls in the Empire's southeast.
The last dregs of night. Morning sun climbing. The hour when people stir from sleep and set about their day.
Yet the residential streets of Pribil were unnaturally still.
Doors, windows, curtains — all shut tight, as if even a crack of sunlight were something to fear. Only the cool dawn wind drifted through the silence, lonely and aimless. Not a cat, not a dog, not so much as a single bird showed a feather. Everything seemed to have joined the hush.
Then a woman's shrill scream tore the quiet apart.
The sharp cry rang out with unnatural force through the hollow city. As if that sound were a signal —
Bang! Rattle! Rattle, bang!
Shutters and doors flew open all at once. Pale faces poked out one by one.
"W-where is it this time!?"
"Sounds like the Gyuts place…"
"Damn it… damn it all…"
Cursing under their breath, the townsfolk spilled into the street in a rush — like ants boiling out of a kicked nest. They shuffled, stumbled, crawled forward on anxious, restless feet toward the source of the scream. Dark circles ringed every pair of eyes; every face was gaunt. No one had slept properly the night before.
The crowd converged on a two-story house with a red roof. Unlike every other home locked down tight, its front door and windows had been ripped apart — torn open as if something had clawed its way through.
Through those ragged holes, a woman's wailing poured out.
"Hwaaaaah! Aaaaah!"
It was a raw, bone-chilling cry — the kind that raised the hair on the back of the neck just to hear it.
"Aaaaah! Gyuts! Gyuts!"
Clutching their trembling chests, people crossed the threshold.
"Kh—!"
The stench of blood. The moment they stepped inside, a thick, metallic reek punched them in the nose. It was drifting down from the second floor — and with it, the unmistakable weight of death.
Faces set hard, they climbed the creaking wooden stairs. The flight was short and narrow, yet their breathing grew so loud they could hear it in their own ears, and their legs felt as heavy as if they had just sprinted for their lives.
At the far end of the second-floor corridor —
"Heuuuh… heuuuuuh…"
— the woman's sobs leaked through a shredded bedroom door. Beyond it, red spatters freckled the walls and floor.
"Ugh…!"
"I—I can't…!"
A few of the weaker-stomached ones turned and fled on the spot, unable to bear the atmosphere. The older men who remained steeled themselves and pressed on.
"Hah—!"
"Hhh…"
Gasps burst out. Everyone sucked in a breath and squeezed their eyes shut.
A woman knelt on the floor, weeping — and before her lay something on the bed. Something reddish, pulped, and slick. It was almost impossible to believe it had once been a human body. It looked like nothing more than a lump of raw meat.
If this had not been a bedroom — if the woman collapsed beside it had not been screaming her grief — no one would have recognized that thing as a person. No: they would not have wanted to. Because if that truly was a human corpse, the truth of it was too hideous to face.
"Heuk! Heuuuk……!"
Thud.
The woman finally spent the last of her strength and toppled backward in a faint. A few of those who had come in half-carried her out. The men who stayed behind pulled long faces, rolled up their sleeves, and got to work — roughly cleaning the room, gathering what remained of the body. Their movements were practiced. Of course they were. For the past three weeks, this had been a daily ritual without a single day of rest.
Every night, five victims. Serial murders by unknown assailants. The killings had plunged all of Pribil into chaos and terror.
The scenes were slaughterhouses — and yet not a single useful clue could be found. Even when the house next door was hit, no one heard a sound in the night. Small wonder no one could identify the killer, or killers.
The city guard had worked harder than ever, staying up through the dark hours — and it had done nothing. After several of their own patrolmen turned up in the same condition, even the guards had lost their nerve and started hiding.
They had tried calling for help, too. A week earlier the townsfolk had pooled their money and hired a reasonably well-known mercenary company called the Forest Owls. Every last one of them vanished. In a single day.
One thing, at least, was certain: the murderer possessed overwhelming force — power no one could resist.
And there was one thin scrap of a clue…
"That damned phrase again."
"What the hell do they even want from us…"
At every crime scene, the same short, simple line written in the victim's blood:
Written in the victim's blood.
That was all. Exactly what they were supposed to fear was unclear — but that the people of Pribil were drowning in raw terror was beyond any doubt.
Someone was being chosen and butchered every single day, without pattern or reason. Not merely killed — slaughtered in the most savage, monstrous fashion imaginable. The fear of death is a terror without equal. You might die without warning. You might die in unspeakable agony without even managing a scream. No matter what you did, no matter how hard you fought back, you would die anyway. Those three truths, laid bare, were more than enough to drive a person mad.
So the citizens bolted their doors and windows, clutched kitchen knives they doubted they could even swing once, buried themselves under their blankets, and spent every night wide-eyed and shivering. Praying to the gods — please, not me next.
The day after the first-semester evaluations ended — the first day of the holiday, a Thursday evening.
Just as the black clouds that had hung over the city since morning finally began to spit rain, Leon and Aria were heading toward the outskirts of Elaim.
Thud, thud—
Heavy raindrops hammered their shoulders. The water could not pierce the black hooded robes wrapped around their bodies; it simply sheeted off the outside. Beneath the robes: face coverings that hid everything below the eyes, dark shirts and long pants cut for free movement, hard combat boots. They had shed every last trace of academy student. They looked like hitmen — or the kind of problem-solvers who worked in the shadows.
And yet, as if they had simply put on familiar clothes, the look suited them. It felt more natural. More comfortable.
Ziiing.
Leon glanced at the pendant in his hand. Small blue letters glowed across the black crescent-moon charm. The pendant Hera had given him revealed an address when mana was poured into it — and right now it was calling a location on Elaim's outermost fringe. Go that far and you were deep in the heart of the slums: the darkest corner of Elaim's underbelly, a place even the city guard quietly turned away from. Not that it mattered. It still wouldn't be worse than Hevilon.
Flash—!
KRA-KOOM!
The world blinked white for an instant, then the thunder crashed after. As his ringing ears cleared, the dense hiss of rain returned.
Leon muttered under his breath.
"Weather's perfect."
He meant it. Sometimes weather like this wasn't half bad.
Before long they had reached the vicinity of the address. The streets that should have been choked with trash, filth, and cigarette butts had been scoured clean by the rain. Not a soul in sight — not even a rat. Only filthy, rotting abandoned buildings sprawled along the road, the kind that looked like they should be crawling with vermin.
And right in the middle of that street, a two-story building stood alone, bright light spilling through its window frames. The place looked rough, but compared to everything around it, it was almost respectable.
"Has to be that one."
"Let's go straight in, Master."
The closer they drew, the more a raucous din filtered through the rain. A sign hung over the front door, painted large with the words Dragon Claw Inn — and beside it, a pathetic drawing that looked less like a dragon's claw and more like a cat's paw.
Leon and Aria opened the door without a second's hesitation.
Creeeak.
Inside, they pushed back their sodden, heavy hoods and pulled down their face coverings, then took in the room.
The first thing that hit them was the reek of alcohol. Ale, brandy, hard liquor — every kind of booze mashed together into a single assault on the sinuses. Leon's face twisted at once. Behind him, Aria's usual cold expression dropped several more degrees.
Tables and chairs were scattered without any order. Broken bottles and glasses rolled across floors and tabletops alike. The entire first floor was one giant tavern. Staircases on either wall led up to the second story.
The place was packed with men — and a fair number of women, too. The common thread: every face was rough and mean. Voices loud enough to burst eardrums. Curses spilling out with every open mouth. Tables slammed for no reason. At least one weapon hanging from every belt. Classic mercenary stock.
They kept laughing, shouting, pouring drinks — and then they all looked at the pair of newcomers who had just walked through the door. Uncomfortable stares rained down like the storm outside.
Aria was a beauty who would make anyone's eyes go wide at first glance, man or woman. Leon, small scars on his face aside, looked like a reasonably clean-cut young master. By appearance alone, neither of them belonged in this place, this situation.
It took less than two seconds for someone to open his mouth.
"Damn, that piece is something else!"
A short whistle, then the words. A man with round eyes and a face freckled thick as a star map. His greasy tone carried just far enough to fill the whole tavern. Rotten smiles spread across the room in agreement.
The man didn't even pause for breath before adding more.
"Grab that with both hands, shove it right between—"
He never finished the sentence.
Because a man with a dagger buried in his mouth cannot speak.
—Thud!
The corpse toppled backward off its chair. The bastard sword at his hip clattered to the floor with him. Blood from his skull began to paint the boards red.
Leon slowly lowered the hand he had thrown.
His eyes burned crimson. That fierce light swept the room, sliding along every line of his gaze.
"Anyone else got something to say?"
Click.
As if someone had hit a stop button, the roaring noise cut out all at once. What filled the emptied hall was a silence deep, cold, and absolute.
"………………"