The research room inside Crestfall Castle was silent, save for the soft rustle of parchment. The faint scent of ink and old wood lingered in the air, mixing with the faint metallic tang of the torchlight.

  Rhen Calder stood at the long table, one hand pressing the file flat as Akitsu Shouga and Lemon hovered close. The folder retrieved earlier by Selene Vael lay open once more, its contents now scrutinized with far greater intent, ink lines and hand-drawn diagrams scrawled with meticulous detail.

  “…Here,” Rhen said, tapping a marked diagram with a deliberate fingertip. “This is what we missed before.”

  Akitsu leaned forward slightly, hood shadowing his eyes. “Locations?”

  “Exact discovery points,” Rhen replied. “All confirmed bodies from the east district.”

  Lemon floated higher, wings fluttering nervously. “Show me.”

  Rhen turned the page. A rough map of the east district lay before them—streets, alleys, abandoned housing blocks—red marks scattered with unnerving precision.

  Akitsu’s gaze narrowed. “They’re not random.”

  “No,” Rhen said quietly, voice low. “They’re clustered.”

  Lemon tilted his head, wings bristling slightly. “Clustered… around the center.”

  Rhen exhaled slowly. “Exactly. Every single corpse appears either in or adjacent to the middle of the east district.”

  Akitsu straightened, voice taut with calculation. “Then the killer is hiding there.”

  “Or passing through it,” Rhen corrected. “But yes. That’s our best lead.”

  Lemon crossed his arms, visibly unsettled. “Well, at least now we’re not chasing shadows.”

  Rhen closed the file with a firm snap. “Then we move. Now.”

  Dusk draped itself over Crestfall as they entered the central east district. The dimming light revealed the true decay of the area. Once a residential hub, narrow streets twisted between half-ruined homes and abandoned courtyards. Merchant stalls sagged under broken tarps, their wares long scavenged or destroyed.

  Now, the district felt hollow. Half the homes were abandoned. The rest were sealed tight—curtains drawn, doors barred, no light spilling from windows. Silence pressed against them like a physical weight.

  Rhen’s boots echoed sharply across the cracked cobblestones. The sound seemed almost intrusive in the heavy stillness.

  “This place feels like it’s holding its breath,” Lemon whispered, his voice trembling slightly.

  Akitsu’s eyes scanned rooftops, alleyways, and upper windows. “People are watching us.”

  Rhen nodded. “Fear does that. It’s a language of its own.”

  They passed the alley where Akitsu had encountered the old man earlier. He stopped abruptly.

  “…He’s gone,” Akitsu murmured.

  Rhen followed his gaze. “Do you think that’s important?”

  Akitsu shook his head slowly. “Not necessarily. It’s nearly night. He could have hidden… or been taken.”

  Lemon sniffed the air cautiously. “Or something found him first.”

  Akitsu glanced at him, eyebrows hidden under the hood. “Did you smell anything?”

  Lemon hovered lower, nostrils flaring. “…No. Not yet.”

  They continued deeper into the district. Minutes stretched with no movement, no sound, no hint of life.

  Rhen frowned, jaw tight. “This doesn’t make sense. If the killer operates here—”

  Lemon suddenly froze midair, ears twitching.

  “…There,” he whispered.

  Rhen tensed, hand brushing the hilt of Masamune. “You smell it?”

  Lemon nodded slowly, wings quivering. “Yes. That same scent. Faint—but spread across the district.”

  Akitsu’s hand moved instinctively toward the daggers at his waist. “Then the killer passed through here.”

  Rhen shook his head. “Or the scent belongs to something else.”

  Lemon turned to him, eyes narrowing. “You think it’s not the killer?”

  “I think,” Rhen said carefully, “that it’s too obvious. If this scent was the killer’s, we’d have tracked them already.”

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  Akitsu considered that. “Still. We cannot ignore it. We know almost nothing about their methods or patterns.”

  Rhen nodded firmly. “Agreed. We keep it in mind.”

  The sun dipped below the horizon. Shadows stretched unnaturally long, twisting across broken walls and empty streets.

  “…It’s night,” Lemon murmured, voice tight with unease.

  A sound echoed. Step.

  All three froze.

  Rhen’s hand went to Masamune. Akitsu drew one dagger, then the second, the steel whispering softly in the quiet night.

  “Someone’s here,” Rhen said, voice low but commanding.

  Another step. Slow. Deliberate.

  From the far end of the street, a figure emerged.

  Tall. Thin. Wrapped in dark, tattered clothing that seemed to ripple despite the absence of wind. Its face was hidden beneath a hood—but faint, pale lights glimmered beneath it, like distant lanterns in fog.

  “…That’s not a civilian,” Lemon whispered, wings bristling.

  The figure stopped. Silence settled over the district like a living thing.

  Then—“You are… searching,” a voice said. Layered. Strange. Echoed, as though multiple voices spoke in perfect, discordant harmony.

  Rhen stepped forward. “Royal Knight Captain Rhen Calder. Identify yourself.”

  The figure tilted its head slowly. “Names,” it said, “are… temporary.”

  Akitsu shifted, blades poised. “You’re in the center of the east district. Bodies have appeared here. Remove your hood.”

  A soft sound followed. Laughter. Low. Hollow.

  “…You are late.”

  Rhen drew Masamune fully. The moonlight gleamed off the polished steel. “Last warning.”

  The figure raised one hand—and the air grew cold, unnaturally so. Frost clung to the edges of the cobblestones, even in the absence of wind.

  Lemon recoiled. “That feeling—!”

  The ground beneath them darkened. Shadows pooled unnaturally, twisting and thickening, almost alive.

  Akitsu moved first. He vanished. In an instant, he reappeared behind the figure, daggers flashing toward its neck.

  Clang.

  Something invisible deflected the strike. Akitsu landed silently, eyes sharp beneath the hood. “Not human.”

  Rhen charged. Masamune cut a clean arc—but passed straight through the figure as though it were smoke.

  “What—?!”

  The figure flickered, reassembling itself behind him.

  “You carry many souls,” it whispered near Rhen’s ear, voice cold and layered.

  Rhen spun, slashing again—this time tearing through the figure’s tattered cloak. Black mist spilled instead of blood, curling into the night air like smoke rising from a pyre.

  “That’s the scent! It’s coming from it!” Lemon shouted.

  Akitsu clicked his tongue. “So it is related.”

  The figure stepped back, cloak unraveling slightly, revealing a face pale—unnaturally so—and eyes glowing faintly with an inner light.

  “You may call me,” it said, voice smooth, almost melodic, “Yurei.”

  Rhen steadied his stance. “Yurei. You’re responsible for the deaths.”

  Yurei tilted its head. “Deaths? No.”

  Akitsu’s eyes narrowed, daggers at the ready. “Then what do you call them?”

  “…Harvests,” Yurei said, the word chilling the air, drifting through the district like a curse.

  Lemon hissed, feathers ruffled. “I really don’t like that word.”

  Yurei lifted both hands, and shadows surged outward. From surrounding alleys, faint shapes emerged—distorted silhouettes of people, frozen in silent screams, their forms flickering like half-remembered memories.

  Rhen gritted his teeth. “Spirits…”

  Akitsu’s hand went to Joyeuse, still wrapped in cloth, the white blade glinting ominously. “Whatever you are,” he said calmly, “you picked the wrong district.”

  Yurei laughed, sharper this time. “Then come,” it said, voice carrying across the alleys. “Let me see how bright your souls burn.”

  The street darkened completely.

  The confrontation had begun.

  And none of them yet knew—they were facing something far worse than a killer.