Chapter 25

The Ripples of Death

“Men of gold play dangerous games, their glib tongues forever speaking in lies; don’t turn your ire toward the sun, lest you forever go blind.”

Proverbs, III

In the midst of low-humming chatter, sounds of echoing footsteps bellowed out, silencing the chattery walls. The well-armed guards all gave way, respectfully lining up and saluting by pressing their left hands against the right side of their breastplates, looking down. Looking from slightly above, they formed a curved line on two ends of a winding corridor walled off in ashen stone, lit up by the inlaid embers of Light. Ever so often, a military decoration would protrude from the sullen walls, giving them a faint sensation of life.

Along the winding corridor, a small entourage of four figures walked amid the saluting guards, three sheepishly following a single figure well upfront – a man clad in Light-tessellated armor tacked from top to bottom in amber gems whose hearts wiggled and burned. A bloody-red cape unfurled from the wide and boisterous shoulder-pads, fluttering like a set of flags behind the figure as he walked. Strapped to the leather belt was a pair of scabbards, one black and one golden, clanking against the steeled leggings, creating rhythmic sounds.

A scarred face sternly looked forward, ignoring the saluting men to the side; a single scar ran from the top of his forehead, over his left eye and all the way to the jaw, giving him a rather grotesque appearance. By it, a crooked nose extended to the left, paired up with the similarly cut upper lip and faintly dented cheeks. The pair of eyebrows that should have been decorating his eyes was gone, making his appearance even odder; the single eye stood amber-hued with a glint of black, exuding indifference that spilled over onto his foremost expression.

The General Commander of the Royal Guards, Voller Merlin, was a man deep in his fifties and a hero of countless battles, a figure whose name echoed deeply throughout the Kingdom, and the name that struck fear into the hearts of anyone who heard it. ‘The Undefeated Champion’, ‘The Undying Sword’, ‘The God of War’ – he’d obtained countless titles throughout his career, for which he cared little, if at all.

Following him were General Captain of the City Guard, Lyvel S’otirn, Vice-Captain Unmir Aylerrtenskow – a disinterested-looking man deep in his thirties, clad entirely in black-dyed uniform, observing walls and ceilings with a pair of fish-like dead eyes during their walk, and Asandra. The trio followed in silence, each’s reaction slightly different to their predicament; Lyvel’s was a mixture of nervousness and anger, Asandra’s of indifference and faint curiosity, and Unmir’s of absolute indifference.

The four came to a halt as they reached a small gap amidst the walls that sprung out into a cascading set of stairs leading left and right. Voller took the right path down, the sabatons trouncing against the stone loudly while he led them to the Mortuis – to many a place of horror and nightmares, though in reality hardly matching the description.

The room they entered was indeed macabre, filled with transparent jars of body parts, flesh, and bones, with the air breeding decadence of death and decay. At the center, underneath an ember of Light, a wide table of stone sprung, currently holding up a fat, faintly rotting corpse.

“Hm? Ah, you’re here, Commander.” A hissing voice greeted them as a man walked out of the shadows to the left, draped in ashen-gray cloth, old and wrinkled face smiling oddly and bizarrely at the same time. A pair of cat-like, piss-yellow eyes glanced over the newcomers before he walked over to the body, merely nodding toward Voller while ignoring the other three.

“Physician Fe,” Voller spoke in a firm and cold tone, walking up to the table as well. “Have you completed your examination?”

“I have,” the man replied. “Why did you bring the kids with you, though?”

“I believe who I bring has nothing to do with you.” Voller’s volume increased slightly, his single eye slanting.

“… quite right.”

“What have you found?”

“… not much,” the Physician shrugged, suddenly pulling the corpse’s head further back, exposing a clean wound across the neck. “A single slash undid his life,” he continued, tracing his finger over the wound. “It was not made by Light, as you can clearly see, but not with any weapon I’ve ever seen or examined. The male bled out within a few seconds as the slash went from one to the other neck arteries. To be honest, I have nothing for you, Commander. However…”

“However?” Voller pushed the Physician.

“I’ve heard rumors,” the man said, sighing faintly. “You must have heard them as well. Of the group from the Crescent Isles.”

“… the so-called Bloodsworn?” Voller asked, frowning.

“Hm,” the Physician replied. “Master Effer examined a body a few years back and spoke of a similar method to this one. Apparently, the murder was eventually linked to the member of the group. A singular slice, though from what he said, it was across one side of the neck, while the victim's other side was pressed hard, preventing the blood flow."

“… the Bloodsworn have never entered our Kingdom before,” Voller said after brief thought. "And their targets usually aren't common butchers. Besides, I believe that you are leaving out one very important piece of information from that report."

“… the Light.” The Physician sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Yes, there were clear traces of Light.”

“What about his chest?” Voller said, pointing at the corpses ‘decorated’ chest.

“The most I can say is that it was done with the same tool,” the Physician replied. “Though I can’t guarantee it, and it is just my personal speculation, the wounds have makings of a dagger. Not like any of the ones I’ve seen used for killing before, but the pattern of the wounds indicates slight teeth-like protrusions of the blade. However, they are too minuscule to have been crafted by any of the smiths I'm aware of."

“…” Voller remained silent for a moment before turning around, starting to walk out. “If you find anything new, come see him.”

“Will do, will do, Commander. As always, a pleasure.”

“Humph…”

The Commander, and the small entourage, quickly left the Mortuis, climbing back up the cascading stairs, and back into the corridor, stopping right there. Voller turned toward the three and gazed at them for a moment before asking a question.

“… spread the rumors that the butcher killed himself.”

“E-eh?” Lyvel stuttered in surprise, the command clearly directed at him. “W-why, if I may ask, Commander?”

“What? You want to spread the truth?” Voller frowned. "A man was murdered, yes, but don't worry – we know nothing of the method or the assailant, or even a way to discover either, but we can protect you, trust us? We don't need panic spreading. Pay out a small compensation to his family to keep them silent. Lock up anyone who continues referring to it as a 'murder'."

“…”

“What is it, Asandra? You don’t agree?” Voller’s eyes moved onto the calm-seeming woman who met his gaze squarely.

“No, I do,” she replied. “Will we drop the investigation?”

“… of course not,” Voller said curtly. “If anything, we need to figure out what in the Light’s name happened as quickly as possible. Especially now, with the Holy War approaching, we can’t allow anything to disturb the Kingdom. You and Unmir will take charge of the investigation, while Lyvel will take care of the naysayers. I give you my full confidence; no matter what it takes, I want the murderer’s name within half a year.”

“… aren’t you asking for too much, Commander?” the ever-disinterested Unmir suddenly spoke out, startling Lyvel; he wondered where the two people who were beneath him in ranks got their courage to speak to the Commander so directly and unabashedly.

“How come?” Voller asked back.

“That murder was clearly a message of sorts,” Unmir said, pulling back his long, black hair and revealing a rather pale and sickly-looking face hiding underneath as well as a pair of night-dark eyes. “Why, to whom… I can’t say. However, it was a message. So, the murder itself, if you think about it, is just a means of delivering that message. None of our usual approaches, in that case, will work – it won't be someone that knew the butcher or even someone that ever interacted with the man. It could be literally anyone in the city for all we know."

“… no murder is simply random, Unmir,” Voller said. “Something sparked it, and chances are that it is something recent. Ask around and see what was he up to. Maybe he crossed some wrong people. There are always clues.”

“… do you honestly believe anyone who knows anything will tell us?” Asandra suddenly chimed in as well, causing Voller to look back at her. "As Vice-Captain said, it was a message – and whoever knows what that message means… will rather wind up in prison than talk to us. By now, the reality of his death had already spread throughout the city, and while we can suppress the rumors and even change them, those that know anything will bury themselves before reaching out to us.”

“… go through the standard procedure first,” Voller said, dismissing them. “If it doesn’t turn up anything, come and see me.”

“…”

Leaving them behind, Voller continued down the winding corridor, toward his office. Though he had to maintain the façade for his subordinates, the murder struck him far more than the others; they were all green, in more ways than one, and most-likely thought this murder just slightly extraordinary. He, however, knew the reality of it – it shouldn’t be possible. At least not without the Light as a form of assistance. Even if the killing itself is possible, escaping unnoticed and leaving nothing behind… it was beyond the best assassins Voller had ever seen in his life.

What sparked his worry, even more, was the target itself – as Unmir said, the butcher was merely a catalyst. However, not for a second did Voller think the butcher was selected simply at random – catalysts are chosen because they fit something perfectly enough, not at random. Even still, with over forty years of experience, he was nevertheless unable to pull out even a potential theory that could explain his current conundrum.

“… could it really be the Bloodsworn?” he muttered aloud, sighing. They were scarcely known in the Kingdom, but, especially along the western shoreline, they were a common dread. Voller had met a few members of the group a long ago on the battlefields, and while they were certainly a dangerous bunch, they were dangerous because of how well-versed they were at using Light. Most of them had adapted it perfectly to the assassination techniques; without Light, their techniques were, at best, subpar and certainly not nearly enough to pull something like this off. “Lynder… could it be him?”