Clive walks behind Rosalyn and Brooke as they follow Chief Paul through the crowded street.
Paul does not slow down.
He pushes past onlookers.
Moves with urgency.
People instinctively part when they recognise the police chief.
They reach the gate of a modest two-story house.
Two patrolmen stand guard at the entrance.
At the sight of Paul, they immediately sidestep.
Paul enters first.
Brooke follows.
Rosalyn steps in.
Clive walks last.
Inside the lawn, the air feels heavy.
Brooke leans slightly toward Rosalyn and speaks under his breath.
"Why are we bringing him here?"
Clive catches the look Brooke throws at him.
Annoyance.
Distrust.
Clive only smiles faintly.
Rosalyn replies quietly.
"Our mission is to find his master. If he stays with us, we'll know the moment his master contacts him."
Brooke hums in dissatisfaction.
He turns his gaze forward.
Rosalyn slows slightly and glances back at Clive.
"I freed you. If you don't want me in trouble, you stay with me."
Clive nods calmly.
"Alright."
They step inside the house.
The reason Paul summoned them becomes immediately clear.
The entire family has been murdered.
The silence inside the home is suffocating.
Each bedroom reveals a body.
Every victim lies on their bed.
Eyes gouged out.
Noses torn.
Ears severed.
Tongues missing.
Not cut cleanly.
Removed as if consumed.
Clive's eyes narrow.
The method is not random violence.
It is ritualistic.
Deliberate.
He kneels briefly beside one bed.
Observes without touching.
For the past year, since leaving the ruin, Clive has travelled across the kingdom.
Solving cases.
But also investigating quietly.
The Church of Disaster.
Officially, the Royal Griffon Kingdom has no such church.
No registered congregation.
No sanctioned presence.
Yet whispers circulate in black markets.
Of priests.
Of rituals.
Of hound knights.
Clive followed those whispers to this city.
For a week, he found nothing.
He began to suspect that the rumours were false.
Now he sees proof.
The removal of sensory organs.
The feeding marks.
The pattern matches descriptions he heard in hidden circles.
But he says nothing.
Not yet.
Two days pass.
After dinner, Clive sits with a teacup in his hand.
Across the room, Brooke and Rosalyn discuss the case.
Their investigation has yielded nothing concrete.
No witnesses.
No clear motive.
They begin leaning toward the theory of a senseless killing by a madman.
Clive sets his cup down gently.
"Today, I visited the Wilson household."
Brooke's head snaps up.
"Rosalyn, you left him unsupervised?"
Rosalyn responds evenly.
"I cannot watch him twenty-four hours a day. And if his master contacts him, he will tell me."
Clive frowns slightly at that.
Rosalyn continues.
"And even if I stayed with him constantly, I might not know if he was contacted."
Brooke's gaze shifts back to Clive.
"Why did you go to the Wilson household? The only link between them and the Davies family is that both household heads work as managers at Elliot Mine in Arlen Town."
Clive answers calmly.
"Shane Wilson sent a letter to his family stating he would remain at work because the Earl has not found a replacement for Jack Davies."
He pauses.
"I compared the letter with samples of Shane Wilson's handwriting. They do not match."
Both Rosalyn and Brooke stiffen.
Brooke narrows his eyes.
"Why did you do that?"
Clive continues.
"Shane Wilson's wife told me something strange. In the letter, he did not request his medicine."
Rosalyn leans forward slightly.
"Medicine?"
Clive nods.
"Shane Wilson suffers from a chronic illness. He must take medicine daily. When he left for Arlen Town, he brought only eight days' supply."
Brooke frowns.
"That proves nothing. He could obtain medicine there."
"I thought the same," Clive says. "But his wife told me some of the herbs required are rare. Preparation requires a life alchemist."
Rosalyn's eyes sharpen.
"The Jonas family's alchemist."
Clive nods.
"Exactly."
He folds his hands.
"I grew suspicious. So I compared the handwriting. The discrepancy suggests Shane Wilson has been replaced."
The room grows quiet.
Clive continues steadily.
"You both know how easily a skilled Flesh and Blood Alchemist or Life Alchemist can assume another's appearance."
Brooke and Rosalyn exchange glances.
Clive's tone lowers.
"And I believe I know who killed the Davies family."
Both look at him sharply.
Clive meets their gaze.
"The method matches accounts of Hound Knights from the Church of Disaster."
Rosalyn's eyes narrow as she studies him.
Brooke inhales sharply.
Silence stretches.
Finally, Brooke speaks.
"Tomorrow, we go to Arlen Town."
----
Night settles thick over Arlen Town.
The rocky street is quiet.
Only the wind moves between the houses.
A man walks alone.
His steps are steady but heavy.
His face is pale.
Dead-tired.
Yet his eyes betray him.
They move constantly.
Sharp.
Erratic.
Watching shadows.
Listening for sounds.
He stops suddenly.
Ahead, on a large roadside rock, someone sits.
A silhouette against the faint moonlight.
The seated figure jumps down lightly and turns toward him.
"Wilson, are you alright?"
Shane Wilson exhales inwardly in relief.
It is only Neil.
"Neil," Wilson says calmly. "What are you doing here at this hour?"
Neil shrugs.
"I was waiting for you."
Wilson's brow creases slightly.
"Why?"
Neil looks almost offended.
"Did you forget what you told me a month ago?"
Wilson pauses.
"What did I say?"
Neil's face tightens.
"Wilson, you cannot do this to me."
Wilson tilts his head slightly.
"What exactly did I say?"
Neil speaks quickly now.
"You said you would retire soon. You said you would introduce me to the Earl."
Wilson sighs softly.
"I am not retiring right now."
Neil opens his mouth to protest, but Wilson raises a hand to stop him.
"I know what you're about to say. Why didn't I recommend you to take over Jack's position this week?"
Neil nods sharply.
"Then why didn't you?"
Wilson smiles faintly.
"Did you forget? At the end of this week is Lady Elena's coming-of-age ceremony. During the banquet, I can speak to the Earl personally."
Neil's expression shifts.
Hope replaces frustration.
"You're serious?"
Wilson begins walking again.
Neil walks beside him.
"Why would I lie?" Wilson replies lightly. "The Earl will be in high spirits during the banquet. He may grant the position immediately."
Neil laughs.
"That would be wonderful. Then you wouldn't need to retire. I live here. I can help you when your illness troubles you."
Wilson nods.
"That would be better."
They laugh quietly as they walk through the dark.
They reach Shane Wilson's house.
They stop at the steps.
"Goodnight, Neil," Shane says.
"Goodnight, Wilson."
Neil walks away down the street.
Shane steps toward his door.
Then he hears Neil call out again.
"Shane! Tomorrow is my day off. Shall I go to Rainer City to bring your medicine?"
Shane freezes for a fraction of a second.
Then he answers without turning.
"No need. Someone will deliver it tomorrow."
"Alright," Neil replies. "Thank you, Wilson."
Shane nods once and unlocks his door.
He steps inside.
Closes it.
Leans his back against the wood.
A faint popping sound begins inside his body.
Bones shift.
Muscles tighten.
Skin ripples.
His face reshapes.
Moments later, the middle-aged Shane Wilson is gone.
A young man stands in his place.
He flips the light switch.
The room illuminates.
He jumps slightly.
"Larissa? What are you doing here?"
Across the room, seated calmly on a chair facing the door, sits Larissa.
She does not move.
"Shane Wilson is sick," she says evenly. "He requires daily medicine. Yet he did not request it from his family."
Nick removes his shoes and walks barefoot across the floor.
He enters the kitchen area and pours himself a glass of water.
He drinks slowly.
Then turns toward her.
"Tomorrow, I will send another letter."
Larissa shakes her head.
"You cannot continue being Shane Wilson."
Nick blinks.
"Then who should I be?"
Larissa's voice is flat.
"Kill Neil Smith. Take his identity."
Nick considers for only a moment.
"Alright."
He leans casually against the dining table.
Larissa's voice sharpens.
"Go now."
Nick sighs softly and moves toward the front door.
"Not the front," Larissa says immediately. "Use the back balcony."
Nick turns and walks toward the staircase leading up.
He notices a large sack placed beside it.
"What's in the sack?"
"Shane Wilson's body," Larissa replies.
Nick nods once and climbs the stairs.
Minutes later, a dull thud sounds from the back of the house.
Larissa remains still.
Then she stands.
She walks to the sack and unties it.
Inside lies the corpse of the real Shane Wilson.
She arranges the body carefully.
She takes out a potion vial.
Uncorks it.
Channels its energy into the corpse.
The flesh subtly changes.
The pallor shifts.
The decomposition reverses slightly.
By tomorrow, it will appear freshly killed.
Not days old.
She seals the vial and hides it.
Without hesitation, she moves to the back balcony.
She jumps down silently.
Climbs the wall behind the property.
Drops into the forest beyond.
She moves through the trees without sound.
Heading toward the castle on the hill.
When she reaches the rear of the castle grounds, she steps out from the forest.
The rock wall rises before her.
As she approaches, she sees movement above.
A black figure descends the rock face.
The figure drops lightly to the ground.
And turns to face her.