Old Tom’s corpse lay on the ground, a ragged, hollow cavity left in his chest.
Vivian stood before him, holding an umbrella, a still-beating heart clutched in her right hand.
Blood dripped between her fingers, splattering on the ground in bright crimson blooms.
[Old Tom slain. Experience +300]
It was fortunate the others, cowed by her intimidating presence, had all fled and were nowhere to be seen.
If anyone else had witnessed this scene, they’d surely think it was some demonic murder site.
Vivian lowered her head, glancing at Old Tom, who had already lost all signs of life.
She then shifted her gaze to the heart in her hand.
It was still beating!
Old Tom’s corpse was almost completely cold.
Yet this heart, like a living thing, continued to function even after being severed from its body and blood supply.
Curious, Vivian brought the heart closer for a careful look.
Minute magical patterns were etched onto the heart’s surface.
With each contraction, a pulse of energy traveled along these patterns, ultimately converging at the heart’s apex.
‘I don’t get it…’
Magic-illiterate Vivian stared for a long time but couldn’t discern anything useful.
Squelch.
She applied a bit of force with her hand, crushing the heart outright.
It turned into a pulpy mess oozing between her fingers.
A red energy floated out from the heart, coalescing into a shimmering, unstable orb of energy mid-air.
Now this Vivian was familiar with.
Wasn’t this the very blood magic she usually used to heal injuries and make money?
She reached out to grab the energy orb.
Suddenly, an immense suction force erupted from the orb.
It directly sucked Vivian’s consciousness inside.
What the hell?
Vivian’s vision was filled with nothing but red, she couldn’t see a thing.
Then came candlelight.
Her vision was blurry and indistinct, as if she had just woken up, everything around her was hazy.
In the center was a row of indistinct candles, their flames haloed in an orange-red glow.
After a moment, her vision gradually cleared.
Behind the candles appeared a row of silver cutlery.
‘Am I standing on a table?’
Vivian tried to move her body.
It was then she realized she seemed to have no limbs.
This was just a wisp of consciousness.
At the end of a walkway on the right stood an altar, behind which was a statue about half a person’s height.
The statue was smeared with red clots of blood, obscuring its specific features.
Kneeling before the altar was a person, facing sideways to Vivian.
A red robe, the hood covering their head and face.
Their hands were clasped together in prayer, lips moving visibly, but no sound of chanting could be heard.
This strange individual was most likely the mastermind!
Vivian’s heart jolted.
She quickly scanned her surroundings, searching for any distinctive features.
‘Maybe I can find clues about this place!’
At that moment.
The kneeling figure slowly stood up.
They were slender, with a ramrod-straight posture.
“Who are you?”
They turned their head toward Vivian, their tone unhurried.
Their face was completely shrouded in shadow, utterly impossible to see.
“Never mind, it’s not important.”
They walked over slowly, reaching a hand out toward Vivian.
Under the candlelight, their face finally became clear.
An ordinary, utterly unremarkable young face… a face you’d absolutely lose in a crowd.
Vivian’s vision was blocked by a massive palm, everything went dark.
A sudden, sharp pain lanced through her.
When she regained her senses.
Her consciousness was back in her own body.
“He’s missing two fingers…”
Vivian murmured, holding her forehead.
In that final moment when he reached out, Vivian had caught the most distinctive feature about him.
His right hand was missing the ring finger and the little finger!
“I have to go tell Nolan and the others!”
Vivian turned and ran toward the church without hesitation.
Inside the small wooden hut beside the church ruins.
Vivian, Nolan, and Derek sat around a desk.
“I’ve made a major discovery!”
Vivian slammed both hands heavily on the table, declaring loudly.
“Half an hour ago, I was on Black Rat Street, meticulously investigating every single suspicious individual…”
“…and in the end, my clever self was a cut above, seeing through his trickery.” “I punched him to death!”
She recounted her encounter, embellishing it considerably.
“And then I got sucked into a special space…”
“Wait, you said he’s missing his ring finger and little finger!”
Hearing this, Derek’s pupils contracted sharply.
His expression grew complex.
Then, as if talking to himself, he murmured in a low voice:
“I see…”
“See what?” Nolan whipped his head around.
“I think… I know who did it…”
“Marco!”
Derek spat out the name through gritted teeth, as if he wished he could tear the person apart with his bare hands.
“You know him?” Nolan said.
“If only it were just knowing…”
Derek lowered his head and let out a sigh.
“He was my classmate at the seminary…”
“You were close?” Vivian interjected.
Derek hesitated for a moment before saying, “We were.”
“And now?”
Derek fell silent.
He clenched his fists, the edges of his fingers turning white.
Then he suddenly relaxed, a relieved, light smile appearing on his face.
“Now… I don’t know.”
He continued:
“During our studies, his grades were slightly worse than mine.” “Maybe it was our similar backgrounds, or perhaps fate’s mockery.” “He and I gradually became good friends.”
“We lit candles together more than once, discussing the lore of Elios in the dim firelight.” “We also went abroad together as exchange students, debating the truths of the world with heretics.” A trace of nostalgia surfaced on his face.
“But later… Marco… he betrayed the Light.”
Derek’s tone turned angry.
After a long while, he calmed down and began to recount his story in detail.
—
Post-Magic Calendar, Year 1421, Winter.
Saint Cyril Seminary.
Whoosh, whoosh.
The cold winter night wind, carrying snowflakes, blew in through the window.
Derek was awakened by the cold.
He opened his eyes.
The dorm room was dark, only some moonlight reflected off the snowy ground cast pale patches on the ceiling.
Derek hugged his arms, shivering as he sat up.
He glanced at the extinguished fireplace and the swinging window shutter.
“That bastard Marco is so careless.”
“Not only did he let the fire die, he couldn’t even manage the window properly!”
He cursed his roommate under his breath.
Then, very reluctantly, he crawled out of bed.
By the faint moonlight, he closed the window again and lit the fireplace.
Haa~
Derek yawned, planning to return to bed.
Just as he passed Marco’s bunk.
Marco wasn’t there?
He rubbed his eyes and looked at the opposite bunk again.
The blanket on the bed was neatly folded, and the pillow showed no sign of being used.
The holidays aren’t even over yet, Marco. Sneaking off to study at night?
Trying to surpass me in next semester’s assessments?
Derek casually threw on a school uniform jacket.
Without lighting a lamp, he groped his way out of the dorm in the dark.
The seminary corridors were frighteningly cold.
The chill from the stone floor seeped up through the soles of his shoes, like stepping on ice.
Moonlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, illuminating Derek’s face.
The sound of his footsteps echoed in the empty corridor.