Several police officers in black-and-white checkered uniforms followed the landlord inside, covering their mouths with their hands.
The room reeked of blood!
"Officer, I don't know what happened either," the landlord in a silk top hat said, looking around nervously, unwilling to stay any longer. "It was the other tenants who said it seemed like a lot of blood had spilled, that they could smell it through the walls and door."
The inspector with black temples and blue eyes waved a hand. "Wait outside. I still have questions for you."
As he spoke, he put on white gloves and turned his gaze toward the bedroom door.
He didn't enter right away, though. He slowly looked around, taking in everything: A pile of coal, a cabinet storing dishes and ingredients, a small stove, a cleaned iron pot, a slightly greasy table, two overturned stools, two crooked chairs, several glass bottles containing an unknown powder, and a spread-out deck of tarot cards.
"An occult enthusiast of moderate means?" the inspector murmured to himself, nodding. He then gestured for one of his subordinates to open the bedroom door.
With a groan, an even stronger wave of bloodlust burst out.
The officer who opened the door peeked in and let out a short scream, stumbling back several steps.
The lead inspector frowned, placed a hand on the retreating officer's shoulder, sidestepped him, and approached the bedroom.
His eyes swept across the scene, and his expression instantly stiffened.
Inside the bedroom, on the wooden bed, lay a man. His hands were tied to the headboard bars.
He was naked, covered in thin, deep cuts. The blood had long since drained, dyeing the sheets and blanket a dark red.
At first glance, it seemed as if the victim had been bound tightly with wires, cutting through skin, flesh, and into bone.
Even for officers used to crime scenes, the sight was profoundly shocking and carried a ritualistic eeriness.
Just as the lead inspector was about to say something, two people burst into the room. One tried to take a picture; the other fired off a series of questions: "Another murder?" "There have been several murders in East Borough lately, haven't there?" "Inspector, do you think this is a serial killer case?"
The inspector frowned deeper and waved his hand. "Do not disturb the scene, or I'll consider you accomplices."
He then said to the officer from earlier, "Calis, escort these two reporters out. Tell them to direct any questions to the Sevillas Precinct's press office."
After the reporters were shown out, the inspector sighed deeply. "This is going to hit the papers again, damn it!"
…………
Inside the luxurious villa of Count Hall's family in the Queen's District.
Audrey, having finished dinner, was flipping through the Backlund Evening News in the living room. "Another murder in East Borough, the victim suspected to have been tortured..."
Hearing his daughter muttering, Count Hall shook his head and sighed. "In East Borough, that's hardly news. Statistics show people die there every day—more than one, in fact."
Audrey didn't dwell on it. After chatting with her father, mother, and brother for a while, she headed back to her room with her golden retriever,
Without any verbal communication, the two of them had an unspoken understanding. Susie stayed by the door, acting as a guard, while Audrey locked herself in, sat by the bed, and silently recited Mr. Fool's holy name.
A few seconds later, a deep crimson light surged before her eyes, engulfing everything.
Audrey found herself above the
She noticed that a small room had appeared to the side, its mottled door slightly ajar.
"This is much better than that old confessional from last time... But this doesn't quite suit Mr. World's personality. Has his mental state changed?" Audrey mused as she entered the room and closed the mottled door.
She had previously given Gehrman Sparrow—the World—a follow-up consultation and cleared him as fully recovered. Yet today, unexpectedly, she received another request from him for treatment.
This both surprised her and piqued her curiosity.