Chapter 48

The Red-eyed One

“She bore the Wheel before me, and I was awed; I remember kneeling, frozen, for years after, begging and praying to be heard. The Wheel… is of beyond.”

Private Diaries, Vol. XL

Commander Voller Merlin was agonizingly staring at stacks of papers spread about his desk. There were so many, he was close to taking them all and using them as fuel for the fire. In the end, however, he knew better, and merely sighed in frustration before sitting down, ready to slowly go through them. He already knew that most had to do with the Nobles requesting more guards, both within their residences in Elucido, as well as their lands at large. Due to the King’s proclamation over the incoming Fire, the entire Kingdom had turned up in arms, barely holding back from breaking out into a mass panic.

Though he would never admit it out loud, he was somewhat happy to be so swarmed with papers – even if an annoyance, they were also the perfect distraction from the problem he's been facing for weeks now – the still-unsolved murder of the low-end butcher. One way or another, however, no matter how swarmed, that image still manages to creep into his mind.

No matter where they dug, what they asked, who they asked – nobody spoke. And he was certain somebody knew something. He’d seen the looks in their eyes, the spark of knowledge, but they refused to say a word, even under the threat of imprisonment. It was like their hearts were bound with Light, but they weren’t – Voller personally checked. They refused to answer of their own will, due to their own fears.

He didn’t blame them, however; at the very least, now he knew that the reason for the murder was to send the message – rather than to commit the murder itself. ‘AB’ was the message, whatever it meant, and the recipients weren’t either him, or his guards, or anyone from the upper echelon of the Kingdom. Those in the low-hanging parts of the city were the recipients, and they knew what it meant – and feared the same fate if they were to squeal.

Were it not for the gruesome act, he would even applaud the murderer, or at least the way the person went about it. Voller knew it wasn't enough to simply kill someone to send a message – the murder itself ought to be spectacular, so much so it sent the fire throughout the entire place. And it did; to this day, there was still the chatter of the shadow that swallowed the butcher and butchered him as a cruel act of irony.

A sudden knock on the doors made him feel thankful as he sighed in relief, putting the papers down, and saying “Come in”. The doors to his small and somewhat cramped office creaked as they opened, a familiar figure walking through – Asandra.

She was particularly tall for a woman, with a somewhat broad, yet nimble frame. She would by no means be classified as a beauty among any of the circles, but she did have a peculiar charm, especially her gem-like red eyes, one of a kind, as far as Voller knew. They were piercing and shining, and when paired with her placid expression, almost looked like a fire inside a jar.

As always, she stood straight up, like a spear, walking over. He had trained her well, he mused, though felt somewhat apologetic for the fact that she missed her life as a woman. He’d taken her under his wing when she was nary a thirteen-year-old girl, teaching her in the ways of the sword and cruelty over sewing and brewing tea. She never voiced her displeasure, however, but as to whether she felt it or not, Voller was not privy.

He smiled, though she merely nodded; he couldn’t remember whether he’d ever seen her smile – rather, he couldn’t recall when was the last time he saw a shift in her expression.

“… this is rather rare,” he said in a mellow tone. “Though I know my hope is in vain, could it possibly be this is a social visit?”

“… no?” she replied in a calm voice as he felt his heart crack lightly.

“Ah, yes, of course,” he coughed awkwardly, pointing at the chair opposite of him, though she merely ignored it, continuing to stand. “How can I help you?”

“I managed to learn something about the murder,” she said as Voller’s interest grew rekindled, his ears perking up. “I disguised as a common whore for a week and managed to listen in on the chatter.”

“W-wait, what?! Don’t tell me you—you sold your body?!”

“What? No,” she spoke calmly once again. “I wouldn’t sell myself to those pigs even if it meant learning the murder’s name and where he lives.”

“… ah, right. So, uhm, what did you learn?”

“The murder was likely related to Crowns.”

“Crowns? Theft?”

“No,” Asandra shook her head. “From what I’ve heard, the butcher borrowed some money, and then refused to pay.”

“…”

“You doubt it?”

“As do you…” Voller sighed.

“… I do,” she nodded. “Murder seems an unlikely recourse for such actions.”

“Rather, it seems counter-productive,” he added. “How can the dead pay their dues? And the theatrics were unnecessary if that were the case.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” she nodded. “But I felt I should report it to you regardless. Apologies for bothering you when you were so busy.” She glanced at the papers on his desk.

“No, no, please, do bother me whenever you like,” Voller said quickly. “If you’d like, why don’t you stay for a cup of tea? It’s been a while since we spent time together, no?”

“… why?” she asked, tilting her head. “You are busy – I am busy. There is no need for us to squander time on horrible tea.”

“… why do you say ‘horrible tea’?”

“Because you can’t brew proper tea.”

“Neither can you…”

“That’s right. So it’s pointless either way.” This girl…

“Fine, fine,” Voller sighed, waving his head and indicating for her to leave. “Be on your way then. Report if you find anything new, and be on the lookout for the troublemakers with the recent announcement out.”

“Will do.”

Asandra saluted before turning around and leaving, exiting the tall and imposing, stone-cast barracks. One would think that the Fire was the solitary thing on her mind, as it was for the rest of the city, but it hardly even registered for her. She didn't care for it. What interested her far more was the murderer – and she didn't know why. But, perhaps for the first time in her life, she felt the excitement that she couldn't describe. The enigmatic puzzle, the mystery, stirred something inside of her. She had to find out who did it – and, yet, she didn’t know why.

What was it that was driving her? She never considered herself nearly clever enough to answer questions like those. All her life, the only thing she had confidence in was her brawl. She never picked up on the courtly or the political skills, and only prided herself in the objective understanding of other people, of her peers which was why she was yet to advance past the position of a guard, though her not wanting it to begin with might have also played a role, and if it weren't for Voller, she knew she would have been kicked out a long time ago.

Furthermore, she had no aspirations of furthering her career; she hardly cared for courtly musings and political push-and-pulls. All of it sounded like an absolute chore to her; she was perfectly content staying a guard – that was until she ran into that scene. The bloodied mess awoke something inside of her, something she never knew was even there. It wasn’t as though she had never witnessed a corpse before, or even a butchered and disemboweled corpse. She had seen a lot, but nothing quite like that. It was perfect, she believed. It had a purpose. That man, more so in death than in life, served a purpose.

To her, turning the corpse into the point of the purpose was something she couldn’t imagine until recently. Corpses were just… corpses. Dead men and women meant to be buried or burned.

The image of that morning, of that room, was burned into her memory. She knew they were there to stay, perhaps until her own day of death would come. It frustrated her, however, that she didn't know why. But she knew who could provide her with the answers – the murderer himself. He would know. He had to know. Someone who can turn a corpse of a fat man into a piece of art would be keenly aware of what she was feeling, why was she feeling it, and how to deal with it. She didn’t like not knowing, and especially so because it continued to tug at her thoughts. She was not good at thinking – never was. Yet, she couldn’t stop. Time and again, her mind kept spinning the gears that weren’t there, causing her headaches.

However, the man turned out to be just as elusive as the corpse’s purpose, and her own feelings. No matter how hard she sought, how hard she questioned, and all the underhanded measures she had tried… she learned nothing. I’ll probably be dispatched soon, she knew for she always was. She was a thorn in the eye of her superiors; whenever there was a chance to send her away, they would do so. With the Fire coming, she would be sent to the Silent Crossing as a part of the Vanguard Offense. It would put her aspirations to a grinding halt, but she had no choice. She couldn’t refuse. Besides, she mused, it might be good for her, to distance herself from this for a while and drown herself into the frenzy of a battle, something she was far more comfortable with. Perhaps, if the Light wills it, she might not even return back home to continue musing on the purpose of the corpse and her own emotions. One can only hope…