Bang.
A thud came from behind the door, followed by complete silence. Having lost their targets, the infected inside had presumably returned to their aimless wandering.
But the five people outside all bore strange expressions. They looked at one another, finding the scene they had just witnessed difficult to process.
What was going on?
How had an entire family neatly turned into the infected?
The group realized that the memorial portrait they had seen earlier might not have been painted for the city lord himself after all.
“C-Could it be last night's banquet?” Terry asked, overcome with lingering fear. “Was the food at the banquet made with that new grain too?”
“It wasn't the food,” Miss Diana said. “I checked. Several of them had bite marks on their bodies.”
“Every single one of them,” Lynch added. “And the bite marks are smaller than an adult's. It was likely done by a child.”
Everyone immediately drew the same conclusion: young master Jack was the most likely culprit.
“That must be it. And the city lord definitely knew about it. He might have even arranged the whole thing, or else they wouldn't be down here,” Officer Natalie said, staring at the wooden door as if trying to peer through the wood to see the infected within. “But why would he murder his own daughters and their families? Leaving aside the adults, even sparing the children is going too far.”
“To weed out grass, you pull it up by the roots. To slaughter a lineage, you start with the children.” Lynch made a slicing motion, but then knit his brows. “Still, nobody destroys their own roots.”
“I just remembered a rumor... Could it actually be true?” Terry said, his face filled with disbelief. “Young master Jack died in an accident—he fell off his horse. But there have always been rumors that it wasn't an accident, that someone tampered with the horse.”
“A feud over inheritance?”
“It was mostly because His Lordship doted on the young master so heavily after he was born, utterly neglecting his three daughters. That led to resentment toward their younger brother. But they were blood relatives after all—they shouldn't have done such a thing to their own brother!”
“I'm afraid many people wouldn't agree.” Reflecting on the thousands of years of such examples from his homeland—enough to form an entire army corps—Lynch shook his head and said, “I think I understand now. I suspect the city lord's obsession wasn't about resurrecting his son, but enabling his son to take revenge with his own hands. He didn't set up this room for little Jack either—he wanted these murderers to stay by little Jack's side forever.”
“This...” the policewoman said in astonishment. “This is insane.”
“Isn't this world insane enough already?” Lynch sighed. “Lock the door. We're leaving.”
“Mr. Lynch,” the count's daughter pointed at the wooden door. “Are we just going to leave them like this?”
“Leave them for the city lord to deal with when he gets back—assuming he comes back at all.”
“What do you mean?” Judy instinctively translated Lynch's words into her native tongue, startling Terry. “Are you saying Lord Jackson is in danger as well?”
“Under these circumstances, who else could send a single letter that would make the city lord drop that portrait and rush off in a hurry? And remember, that letter was delivered by Locke.”
“Young master Jack.”
“Or whoever is controlling him. Whichever it is, one thing is certain for now: that corpse definitely isn't in the City Lord's residence.” Lynch clapped his hands. “We can begin tracking now. We only get one shot at this, so let's pull out the mastermind.”
“Wait, what about us?” Terry grabbed Lynch's sleeve.
“What about you? Didn't we agree on this earlier?”
The knight rubbed his hands together, looking deeply torn. “With the city lord gone, there's no way to ask for approval to declare martial law!”
Lynch looked at Terry with a strange expression that made the knight feel uneasy, before speaking in a low, measured voice: “Are you infected too, or having hallucinations? Didn't you just see the city lord moments ago? He told you to decide on the plague matters yourself, instructed you to enforce martial law, contain the plague at all costs, ensure everyone cooperates, and authorized you to deal with anyone who refuses as you see fit. Why are you asking me what to do?”
“Huh?” The knight blinked. “Is that allowed?”
“Or would you rather wait until nightfall when the plague erupts and turns everyone into rabid infected?” Lynch shrugged with faux nonchalance. “Every minute saved could save dozens of lives. Though it has nothing to do with me—those people aren't my countrymen, nor do I have family or friends among them.”
Terry fell silent, his face filled with inner conflict.
“I know you are a loyal knight who serves the city lord, but my friend, you're a military man. You should know that battlefield conditions don't wait. There's a saying from the Mythological Era: When a general is in the field, he need not obey even the king's commands.”
Lynch smiled, his tone softening. “No one is telling you to betray the city lord; you are serving him by doing this. His city is facing a crisis that urgently needs handling, and he isn't here to issue direct orders. You must take on the responsibility and guard his city for him.”
“This...”
“Otherwise, when he returns to find the city destroyed and asks why you didn't act in time, what will you say? That it was because he wasn't around for you to ask?”
“I understand. You're right—this is my duty. If His Lordship blames me for it later, I'll bear the consequences.”
The armored knight Terry squared his chest, took a deep breath, and spoke with resolve: “Sir, I will follow your guidance and do everything in my power to save the citizens. I leave the rest to you.”
Lynch patted Terry on the shoulder. “Rest assured, we'll fulfill our responsibilities as well—for this city, and for ourselves.”
Having made that solemn promise, it now came down to whether Miss Diana's arcana could track down Old Sven's whereabouts.
As the main method of combat in the Second and Third Ages, arcana was no simpler than abilities. It was a complex system somewhat resembling magic from his homeland, but relying far more on forbidden knowledge and the power of evil gods to take effect.
Only a small fraction of such techniques had simplified versions; most were intricate to execute. Many of the occult rituals commonly seen today were adapted from those complex arcana.
Blood Trace was one such technique. Rather than a simple spell, it was an arcana ritual requiring a specific venue, spellcasting materials, and ritual procedures.
Fortunately, because Blood Trace had originated in the Fourth Age, people of this current era knew nothing about it, so they didn't have to worry about the target preparing a countermeasure.
Thus, the four left the city lord's castle without looking back, returning directly to their safest stronghold. After greeting Dr. Sven, they found a quiet, secret room.
The casting materials had all been provided by Dr. Sven, and they were surprisingly complete.
First was the blood—the blood of an ice wolf.
The ice wolf was the finest hunter on the ice plains, capable of sensing blood frozen in the cold wind from several kilometers away. Using its blood to draw a hexagram array would maximize the caster's sensitivity to blood.
Next were the fangs—the fangs of a blood shark.
The blood shark was the world's most exceptional blood-seeker; if even a trace of blood dissolved into the ocean, it could not escape the shark's tracking. Carrying the power of the blood shark with one's will allowed one to follow the trail of blood through the air.
Miss Diana sat quietly kneeling in the center of the hexagram array, where wisps of blue smoke drifted from the incense burner before her. Her lips moved as she softly chanted an eerie incantation. As she chanted, the blue smoke seemed to come alive, slowly spinning around her.
Judy sat cross-legged outside the array across from her, silently holding a mortar as she ground the blood shark's fangs into fine powder. Watching the blue smoke close into a ring, she poured the powder into the incense burner.
The rising smoke grew increasingly dense, and at the same time, Miss Diana's chanting suddenly grew louder.
Without hesitation, Judy unstoppered the bottle of blood and dripped it into the burner.
Whoosh! The smoke abruptly turned blood-red and, as if pulled by a force, lunged toward Diana's face, where she inhaled it.
Activated by the blood and soul of the ice wolf, it followed the trail left by the target's blood lingering in the air to locate their hiding place.
Miss Diana had stopped her incantation, her eyes tightly closed as she tracked the scent of blood.
“I'm coming for you, Mr. Sven... I've found you.”
She snapped her eyes open, a look of utter astonishment on her face.
“He's actually there...”
Rate on N.U.
