《Blood-Oath》 No Mourning for the Dead ¡°You betrayed me!¡± My voice echoed through every corner of the room, just like the fury erupting inside me. Even the air I inhaled tasted like rusted iron. The room was suffocatingly hot, yet something chilled me to the core¡ªthe cold sting of betrayal. Across from me, my former boss, Merlin, lounged in his chair with a grin plastered across his face. Behind him, the massive wooden desk, the crimson velvet-lined walls, and the flickering candle beside him all paled in comparison to his shadow. This room felt like an execution chamber. And right now, I was the condemned. I wanted to rip that smirk off his face. No¡ªmore than that. He deserved to lose a tooth. His lips should be split open, his face painted in blood. It would suit him. My fingers curled into fists before I could stop myself. My nails dug into my palms, the pain grounding me, barely holding back the blade of rage carving its way under my skin. If I moved, blood would be spilled. But before I could act, Merlin made a small gesture with his hand. Two guards stepped forward. The shadows standing by the door came to life. Their footsteps echoed, heavy, disciplined¡ªthe calculated movements of well-trained men. Their boots tapped against the stone floor in a cold rhythm. But I wasn¡¯t focused on them. I was focused on the cold sensation creeping up my spine. A touch¡ªlight as a mosquito bite. But deadly. A sting. A numbness. And then¡ªa searing cold. The warmth in my body drained like water from a broken glass. Something icy slithered down my spine. First slow, insidious. Then sharper, clawing through my veins. No. I could barely hear my own voice anymore. This feeling¡­ was it familiar? Was this what dying felt like? My muscles slackened. My knees buckled. My feet lost their grip on the ground. The air in my lungs turned to ice. What were they doing to me? My breath came in short, ragged gasps. My heart fluttered wildly, desperate. My pupils dilated. My arms felt like they were weighed down with lead. Someone caught me just as I collapsed to my knees. The world blurred. Sound dulled. The last words I heard froze me more than any poison ever could. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it ¡°Should we kill them, sir?¡± Merlin¡¯s voice slithered down my spine like a dagger. ¡°No,¡± he said, calm as ever. ¡°Let them live. Let them drown in their own regret.¡± And then, I fell into the dark. My legs were soaked. Warm. Sticky. Blood. I didn¡¯t know how much of it was mine. The back alleys of the underworld¡­ There weren¡¯t many places more dangerous than this. Dying here was as ordinary as rotten apples at the market. If you fell, no one would pick you up. They had tossed me into the street. Like a trash bag. No¡ªsomething even more worthless. My first breath stabbed my lungs like shattered glass. My muscles felt ripped apart. My body was a crushing weight, as if a steel block had fallen on me, pinning me to the ground. I tried to open my eyes, but my vision was blurred. The world¡­ The world itself had distorted. Warped, twisted, unrecognizable. A warm liquid dripped down my cheek. Salty. Blood. My mouth was filled with the taste of rusted iron. I wanted to retch, but my stomach was empty. My head throbbed. A hammer pounded inside my skull. Thinking was hard. Where was I? What had happened? Right now, none of that mattered. But I knew one thing. I wasn¡¯t dead. A single word slipped from my lips. ¡°Shit.¡± Something burned inside me. I had survived. But this time, I wasn¡¯t just going to be grateful for breathing. I clenched my teeth. Pushed myself up onto my hands. My entire body resisted. My muscles trembled. But I couldn¡¯t look weak. In this city, weakness meant death. Slowly, I stood up. My knees ached like I was walking on razor blades. Staggering, I headed toward the one place I knew best¡ªthe bar I always returned to. People passing by glanced at me. A man, drenched in blood, stumbling, barely clinging to life¡­ But no one stopped. No one cared. I was as remarkable as a rotting corpse. In this city, pain only mattered to those strong enough to endure it. When I pushed the door open, the sharp chime of the bell cut through my thoughts like a razor. Dim lights. Stained-glass shadows cast over wooden tables. The air thick with an old jazz tune¡­ The only thing that had changed in here was me. The bartender caught sight of me and slid a damp rag from under the counter. Without thinking, I took it¡ªdidn¡¯t even bother thanking him. As I wiped my face, I glanced at the dark stain spreading across the cloth. How much blood had I lost? Did it matter? No. When my glass was placed in front of me, that familiar burn slid down my throat. Did it feel good? No. But I was used to it. Before I even realized it, my glass was empty. I exhaled. My eyes met the bartender¡¯s. A small pin on his collar read: ¡°Ronald.¡± ¡°You¡¯re drinking faster than usual,¡± he said. ¡°Not something I see often.¡± He must have noticed I wasn¡¯t in the mood to talk, because he refilled my glass without another word. ¡°Try not to overdo it, though, please. You¡¯re already not in great shape. No need to let that headache of yours cause more trouble.¡± Hearing someone worry about me¡­ It was a strange warmth. Ah, Ronald. You¡¯re a good kid. How did you end up in a place like this? But I wouldn¡¯t ask. Because everyone who ended up here had their reasons. My gaze shifted toward the men playing poker. Money. God, I needed money. ¡°Hey, Ron,¡± I called. The second he heard my voice, his eyes flicked toward me. ¡°You guys hiring?¡± For the first time, the redhead hesitated. His blue eyes widened just a little. ¡°Unfortunately, no, Miss Aaralyn¡­¡± He paused, then added, ¡°But I think someone was looking for new cage fighters.¡± Bingo. It wasn¡¯t much different from horse racing. Pick a fighter, place your bets, win big if they survive. For the fighters, the only prize was making it out alive. But for me, it wasn¡¯t just about the money. My body was still heavy, but I needed to fight. I needed to hit something. Feel the heat of blood, the sting of my fists, the adrenaline scorching through my veins. It was the only way to survive in this city. To fight. A smirk pulled at my lips as I stood. ¡°Not a bad idea. Good thinking, kid.¡± My glass hit the table with a soft clink. ¡°Well then, I¡¯ll be off.¡± As I stepped into the darkness of the night, only one thought ran through my mind: This time, I won¡¯t lose. The Hunt Begins As I stepped into the alley, a massive cage fighting arena loomed before me. Rusted metal bars gleamed under the moonlight like a decaying prison. My eyes locked onto the bars. This cage didn¡¯t just trap the fighters¡ªit chained the beasts within. But I needed no chains. The scent of blood, sweat, and stale cigarette smoke clung to the air. The crowd. Bodies pressed together, breaths thick with sweat and alcohol ghosting over my skin. People swarmed in, shoulder to shoulder. If someone dropped a needle, it would be lost in the sea of bodies. The whispers of gamblers, the grunts of fighters, the drunken shouts¡ªthey all merged into a single, suffocating hum. I scanned the room. Let¡¯s see¡­ Who still remembers me? ¡°You looking for a fighter?¡± My voice cut through the chaos. Heads turned. In the corner, a man with more missing teeth than whole ones let out a rasping laugh. ¡°Ohh, fresh meat?¡± His laughter reeked of alcohol and tobacco, making my stomach churn. The tall man beside him¡ªthe one who seemed to be running the fights¡ªgave me a slow once-over. His gaze wasn¡¯t that of a man looking at another person. He was assessing a product. Weighing its worth. ¡°Not just anyone can fight here,¡± he said, narrowing his eyes. ¡°First¡­ we need to see if your bones are as strong as ours.¡± A few men chuckled darkly. One stepped closer, snuffing out his cigarette right in front of my face. The burning ember nearly grazed my skin, leaving behind the ghost of heat. Dirty nails skimmed toward my waist. My body tensed. ¡°How about some fun first?¡± he murmured, fingers inching closer. Cold. I felt nothing but cold. But my expression didn¡¯t waver. ¡°Count your fingers before you touch me. You¡¯ll need them.¡± The man flinched¡ªjust slightly¡ªbut then grinned, winking. ¡°I like ¡®em feisty.¡± That was the last thing he said before I grabbed his arm and twisted it back in one smooth motion. A sharp crack. A pained groan. The others shot to their feet, but the fight organizer raised a hand, stopping them. ¡°Good. At least you know how to break something.¡± He nodded toward the cage. ¡°But let¡¯s see if you can stay standing.¡± His gaze shifted to the ring. ¡°Get in. If you can still fight afterward, we¡¯ll talk.¡± I only smirked. ¡°I can fight. The real question is¡­ how many of you will make it out alive?¡± As I stepped into the cage, laughter and betting voices trailed behind me. But they didn¡¯t understand one thing. Tonight, it would be their blood on the floor. Whispers echoed around me as I prepared to enter the ring. ¡°She won¡¯t last a second.¡± ¡°A woman? Shouldn¡¯t she be at home doing chores?¡± ¡°She looks strong.¡± Oh? A few were actually on my side? Surprising. But would they bet on me? That was another question. That depended on my opponent. And my opponent¡­ Was The Butcher. At first, I didn¡¯t care when I heard his name. But then¡ª ¡°The Butcher¡¯s fights? He tears people apart.¡± ¡°Last week, he ripped a guy¡¯s shoulder out of its socket.¡± ¡°She¡¯s done for. Even if she survives, she won¡¯t be the same.¡± ¡°How long do you think she¡¯ll last?¡± That¡¯s when I knew. This man was a killer. The moment our eyes met, even my heart skipped for a fraction of a second. He wasn¡¯t an ordinary fighter. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. Shoulders broad enough to swallow my entire frame. Pale scars stretched across thick arms, relics of old wounds. A cheekbone that had healed wrong, a jagged knife scar splitting his face, faint marks at the corners of his lips. Knuckles hardened to stone. The Butcher slowly tightened the wraps around his hands. His gaze had already begun peeling the skin off my bones. So I gave him a message of my own. I winked. And I grinned. Everyone who fought The Butcher ended up the same¡ªdragged across the floor or left gasping, unconscious. He ripped his opponents apart. But I wouldn¡¯t fall. Tonight, he would be the one bleeding out. He took a step forward. His body was a wall of muscle, his fists heavier than sledgehammers. Old fractures, healed wounds¡­ How many lives had he taken? I didn¡¯t count. I didn¡¯t need to count. Because today, I was fighting this monster. He tilted his head, popping his neck, those beady eyes scanning me. Then came the smirk. ¡°If you think I¡¯m gonna go easy on you, you¡¯re dead wrong,¡± he said, voice low and gravelly. ¡°Didn¡¯t think a little girl would walk into this ring. You sure you can put on a show?¡± Can I put on a show? My jaw tightened. My hands curled into fists. ¡°We¡¯ll see.¡± The announcer¡¯s voice boomed. ¡°GENTLEMEN! IN THIS CORNER¡ªTHE BUTCHER! AND IN THE OTHER¡­ THE LITTLE GIRL!¡± Cheers. Shouts. Laughter. Then, the sickening whispers: ¡°Can¡¯t say the same about her chest.¡± ¡°Did she hit puberty a little early?¡± A blade twisted in my gut. Rage flooded through me. My fists clenched tighter. And then¡ª THE GONG STRUCK. THE BUTCHER LUNGED. SHIT. How could someone that big move that fast? But he did. The first punch came. I ducked. CLANG! The cage rattled. If that had hit, my skull would¡¯ve been powder. Second punch! I couldn¡¯t dodge in time. It scraped my shoulder. Pain exploded down my back. I staggered. Trading blows? Impossible. If I tried to match his strength, he¡¯d break me apart piece by piece. I had to be smart. But¡ªhe was already there. Like he¡¯d teleported. He grabbed my shoulder. And lifted me into the air. ¡°Fuck off!¡± I swung my fist with everything I had¡ªstraight into his jaw. His head snapped to the side. But then¡­ He smiled. And slammed me into the ground. BOOM. Every ounce of air in my lungs vanished. I couldn¡¯t breathe. Ribs¡ªdid he break them? My hands trembled. The Butcher took a step forward. The cage shuddered. Another step. ¡°Let¡¯s finish this.¡± His foot came down. Straight for my head. At the last second¡ªI rolled! His boot slammed into the metal. CRASH! If I¡¯d been there? I¡¯d be a goddamn puddle. I forced myself up. My legs were shaking. I couldn¡¯t beat him with strength. But there was a way. I narrowed my eyes. He came at me again, fist swinging. But this time¡ªI watched. His speed. His openings. And¡ª I raised my knee. Right into his groin. The crowd gasped. The Butcher¡¯s eyes went wide. His teeth clenched. For the first time¡ªhe stumbled. NOW. A kick to the head! A strike to the leg! A punch to the gut! But¡ª He wouldn¡¯t fall. His knees buckled. But he didn¡¯t drop. He straightened again. And on his face¡­ A grin. ¡°So¡­ you can hurt me.¡± He grabbed my wrist. And smashed his fist into my chin. MY VISION WENT BLACK. I tasted it. Blood. My knees wobbled. But¡ªI wouldn¡¯t fall. Not that easy. The Butcher thought I was done. He leaned in. Studied my face. This was it. He was testing me. The way his eyes looked down at me¡ªthe slight ease in his muscles¡ª That¡¯s why I was going to win. I raised my hand. And jabbed my fingers into his eye sockets. The Butcher SCREAMED. My nails dug into flesh. I ripped back like I was hooking meat. Blood! It streamed down his face. A kick! Another! A punch! A punch! A punch! FALL, DAMN IT. The Butcher swayed. He looked at me. I¡ªLEAPT. The final strike. I swung my foot up. And brought it CRASHING down on his chin. CRACK! HIS JAW SNAPPED COMPLETELY OUT OF PLACE. Blood erupted. The Butcher collapsed. But I didn¡¯t believe it. One second. Two. Would he get up? No. It was over. I dropped to my knees. Sweat. Blood. My lungs burning. Silence. And then¡ª THE CROWD WENT FERAL. Shouts. Screams. The gamblers went wild. But I only knew one thing: I won. I closed my eyes. I smiled. I told you¡ªI wasn¡¯t going to lose this time. The announcer¡¯s voice boomed: ¡°OUR WINNER¡­ NYX!¡± Oh? Gave me a new nickname, huh? Is this how people got their codenames? Maybe¡­ NYX was truly born today. ¡°THE NUMBER OF PEOPLE WHO BET ON THEM¡­ ONE! A BIG BET, KID. YOU HERE, MYSTERY MAN?¡± As I scanned the crowd, I spotted him¡ª A man in a brown fedora, slipping away. No one dressed like that. Not here. Not even in the underground. Something¡¯s off about him. And my instincts never fail me¡ªhe must be the one who bet on me. Aralyn pushed through the roaring crowd. The man walked quickly, but not like he was panicking¡ªhe moved with purpose. For a moment, he vanished. Damn it. The crowd was too thick. But then¡ªthere. At the corner. He was speeding up. The streets darkened. Fog crept in, gas lamps flickering weakly, casting broken shards of light on the cobblestones. Aralyn picked up her pace. She caught him in an alleyway. Grabbed him by the shoulder¡ªSLAMMED him against the wall. One arm blocked his escape. The other? A dagger, drawn, pressed cold against his throat. The steel bit into his skin. He must¡¯ve felt it. But the man¡­ only smiled. ¡°Impressive,¡± he said, unfazed. ¡°Though, I expected better.¡± Aralyn¡¯s eyes narrowed. She pressed the dagger slightly deeper. A thin drop of blood trailed down his skin. ¡°Who are you watching me for?¡± Her voice was a blade just as sharp. The man tilted his head slightly. ¡°I observe,¡± he said smoothly. ¡°Not just you¡­ your potential.¡± Something twisted in Aralyn¡¯s gut. But she didn¡¯t let it show. She only tightened her grip. ¡°For who?¡± His eyes locked onto hers. Was it wisdom in them? Or just an infuriating amount of confidence? And then¡­ he smiled. Slowly, he leaned in. Close enough that his lips nearly brushed against the dagger. And whispered¡ª ¡°For my boss.¡± Aralyn¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°Who?¡± The man chuckled. The small cut on his neck bled freely now, but he didn¡¯t seem to care. ¡°You¡¯re not ready to know.¡± And then, in one swift move¡ªhe seized her wrist. Flipped the grip. In a blink, the tables turned. She was the one slammed against the wall now. But he didn¡¯t strike. He simply looked at her. Studied her. Then turned his back. And walked away, as if he hadn¡¯t just been seconds from death. Aralyn clenched her teeth. She trusted her own strength. But this man? She hadn¡¯t even considered he could overpower her. And the worst part? He had never panicked. Aralyn exhaled. She had enough to deal with today. She wasn¡¯t sure she could take any more. When they emerged into the Upper World, onto Thornwych¡¯s cold, fog-choked streets, the blood on their clothes was still fresh. Was it theirs? Or the Butcher¡¯s? At this point, it didn¡¯t even matter. Here, in the Upper World, the stares were sharper¡­ and filled with more fear. But the moment they slipped into the alleyways, everything returned to normal. There, blood, violence, and death were just part of the scenery. But if a cop saw them? They were done for. Crossing into the Underworld was strictly forbidden. Not that anyone obeyed. Fog shattered the gaslight¡¯s glow, stretching the shadows long and menacing. Thornwych¡¯s gothic buildings loomed in the silence, standing like gravestones. At last, they reached their apartment. The old spiral staircase groaned beneath each step, wood creaking like it was protesting. When the door opened¡ª Loneliness settled over them. The inside was old. Quiet. The air was thick with mold. A couch. A table. A sink. That was all. They had no intention of using the sink¡ªtheir stomach couldn¡¯t handle it. Cleaning supplies were too expensive. The black-market dealers might have some, but even considering that took more energy than they had right now. They only knew one thing: Tomorrow, they would be better than this. Cold water hit their bloodstained skin, sending a tremor through their body. The rusty scent made their stomach churn, but they ignored it. And then¡­ they collapsed onto the couch. The stiff cushions pressed against their bones. They didn¡¯t care. In the darkness, they stared blankly at the ceiling. Their eyes slowly shut. Today, they had survived. But tomorrow? In Thornwych, even sunrise was a luxury. A Dress, An Identity Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. Fingerprints Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. The Game Begins The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Hollow Eyes I took a deep breath, trying to collect my thoughts. Where did the man work? Asking people seemed like a reasonable idea, but¡­ Just then, my stomach let out a loud growl. Great. My priorities might have been a little out of order, but I figured eating before starving to death was a good idea. I turned my path towards the noble districts. I was already too tired to bother with finding the factory. And I needed information. This time, I could start by asking people, just like Victor did with a sigh. I could ask people on the street. I scanned the people walking by. Most were minding their own business, some were haggling, others just aimlessly staring around. I needed to find someone willing to talk. Then, a homeless man sitting by the corner caught my attention. He was trying to light a cigarette he had found on the ground using one of the matchsticks he was selling. I approached before the wind could blow out the flame and lit his cigarette with my own match. The man took a deep drag from his cigarette and laughed joyfully, his mouth full. ¡°Thank you!¡± That brought a smile to my face. ¡°No problem.¡± I smiled lightly. ¡°Can I ask you something?¡± ¡°Of course, go ahead!¡± he said, still grinning. His deep wrinkles became more pronounced as he smiled. I took a small photograph from my pocket and showed it to him. It was a mugshot of a man with long, greasy hair, whose nose had been broken at least twice. ¡°Have you ever heard of a man named Vesper Jones?¡± The old man thought for a while, squinting at the photo as he took another drag from his cigarette. After a long pause, he shook his head. ¡°Sorry, miss, never heard of him¡­¡± ¡°No worries, thank you for your time.¡± Just as I was about to turn away, another question popped into my mind. ¡°Have you heard of any strange incidents lately?¡± The man took one last deep drag from his cigarette before scratching his balding, graying head. ¡°Yes¡­ There¡¯s been a lot of cat deaths. But they¡¯re¡­ brutal¡­¡± For a moment, there was silence. His eyes drifted off, as though recalling something from the past. ¡°One of those victims was Zeytin¡­¡± he said, his voice shaking. Tears welled up in his eyes. ¡°Seeing its organs removed¡­ its skin flayed¡­¡± His voice cracked, and he started sobbing. I felt a lump in my throat. I didn¡¯t want to probe into his pain any further. In a soft voice, I said, ¡°I¡¯m very sorry for your loss, sir¡­¡± I nodded slightly and said my goodbyes. But an uneasy feeling lingered within me. I didn¡¯t know why. Something seemed off. Still, I couldn¡¯t stop and think. I had more important things to do. And conversations like these continued along the way. All of them unsuccessful. The man had kept his identity well hidden. Was I approaching this from the wrong angle? Should I have asked about his ¡°hidden¡± identity instead of his real one? The man with the brown fedora¡­ There were so many people in the upper world who dressed like that. Following this trail would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. I asked people on the street, but received no useful answers. Who was this man? How could no one know him? I asked at least 20 people¡­ Then again, it would be odd for random people on the street to know anything. My stomach growled again¡­ I had wasted enough time on the streets. I couldn¡¯t keep asking questions without some food. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. As I slowly walked, I remained immersed in silence for a while. My head was spinning. I was tired. Questions swirled in my mind, everything was getting jumbled together. Who was this man? What did he want? With every question, I felt like I was sinking further, like there was more to lose. Without realizing it, I must have reached Edelweiss Hill, for I noticed a large apple hanging over the high fence. It was plump, fresh, and gently swaying in the cool, fresh breeze. My stomach growled even more. I didn¡¯t think I could last any longer without getting something to eat. There was no one around¡­ Taking one wouldn¡¯t be noticed, I thought. I began climbing the iron fence. The homeowners were sitting outside on their lounge chairs, chatting away. The cold metal bars felt strange against my fingers, and with each step, I felt like I was getting deeper into darkness. It felt as though crossing this fence wasn¡¯t meant for someone like me. As I climbed over the fence, the rusty spots on the bars caught on my fingers, but I couldn¡¯t think of anything but my hunger. The apple was right in front of me, as though everything would be set right once I took it. A voice inside me whispered, ¡°Take it, everything will be fine.¡± Just then, I overheard a conversation that caught my attention: In the middle, there was a golden-finished table, surrounded by wine glasses, and dim light filtered through crystal chandeliers. Women in embroidered corsets and voluminous skirts, men in their fedora hats, and slim walking sticks, puffing on their cigarettes. ¡ª ¡°Haven¡¯t you heard? Those poor strikers are taking over the streets again! How shameless.¡± ¡ª ¡°Oh, yes. Those lowly wretches, when they shut down work, our profits drop, they don¡¯t even realize it! Mr. Gildroy said his factory might close soon. How ridiculous.¡± ¡ª ¡°That¡¯s why we shouldn¡¯t give them too much money. The poor can¡¯t hold onto money. What else could they spend it on? Cheap liquor and whores!¡± ¡ª ¡°I absolutely agree. The working class has become so disrespectful. Just the other day, someone begged me for money. Covered in mud! Can you imagine?¡± ¡ª ¡°The poor were always like this. They won¡¯t learn to work without starving. Old methods are best. My father¡¯s time wouldn¡¯t have let them get away with this.¡± ¡ª ¡°But, Lord Whitmore, their suffering is affecting us too. So many workers have died, and we can¡¯t find enough people to work in the factories anymore. Don¡¯t we have to at least give them some bread to work?¡± ¡ª ¡°My God, Lady Aurelia, have you decided to show them compassion? Remember, a slave who¡¯s overfed will bite their master.¡± ¡ª ¡°Despite that, there¡¯s someone behind these strikes. It¡¯s not just a group of workers. Something is being organized.¡± ¡ª ¡°Whoever they are, they¡¯ll crumble soon. Hungry people don¡¯t have luxury, my lady.¡± A laugh echoed. Silver spoons lightly clinked against porcelain plates. ¡ª ¡°Also, the real issue is this: This new politician woman¡­ what¡¯s her name?¡± ¡ª ¡°Ah yes, Lady Iris. She¡¯s all over the news. A woman holding this much power¡­ Honestly, I find it a bit too arrogant.¡± ¡ª ¡°Absolutely. She should know her place. When women get involved in politics, things get ugly.¡± ¡ª ¡°But she really is impressive, isn¡¯t she? Her words are sharp, part of the public practically worships her.¡± ¡ª ¡°The stupid public worshipping her doesn¡¯t change the fact that she¡¯s dangerous.¡± A brief silence passed. Wine glasses gently clinked together. ¡ª ¡°If this woman gains more power¡­¡± ¡ª ¡°She might try to change the system.¡± ¡ª ¡°And we can¡¯t allow that.¡± A politician woman?.. At that moment, a branch cracked, making a sound like breaking bones. Oh, damn! I quickly plucked the apple and started running. Usually, I would be hearing about disgusting things like that, but¡­ Iris? Hearing her name for the first time, the fact that politicians were afraid of her¡­ could there really be such revolutionary people? It was hard to believe. Iris, who was she? Slowly, I made my way back home, with the apple in hand. Under the pale light of the streetlamps, I was alone with the dark night. The moonlight flickered, illuminating everything. For a moment, I completely disconnected from the night. In front of me, in all this darkness, was a world I was alone in. Wherever it would lead me, I had to solve this mystery somehow. But what about Iris? What I had learned about her, what I had heard¡­ Should I take a closer look? I glanced around; there was no one. Who was this woman? I didn¡¯t ask anyone, but now I needed to figure out what was happening. It was as though everything was heading towards a dead end. Alone in the night, I kept walking, losing myself in my thoughts. Iris¡¯s name had become one feared by politicians. They were afraid¡­ Why? How powerful was she? Slowly, I took a bite of the apple, and the taste was just as expected. Bitter and sweet, but it didn¡¯t ease the unease inside me. No matter which way I went, this tangled question was pulling me forward. I slowly walked towards ¡°home.¡± Maybe by taking this internal journey, I¡¯d find some peace. A lot of confusing information had piled up along the way, and there were so many questions¡­ The unease inside me grew with each passing second. I had to know what would happen next. As I walked home, the yellowish glow from the street lamps caught my eye. A cat corpse. But¡­ this one was different. Slowly, I approached and looked more closely. There was something very odd about this one. Its skin was flayed, its eyes wide open, and it was clear that something was missing. Its skin was flayed with unnatural precision, and it felt like its eyes were staring directly at me. I quickly turned my head. For a moment, I couldn¡¯t tear my eyes away. I had seen so many dead cats, but this one sent chills down my spine. For a second, I thought about those horrifying images. A shiver ran through my whole body. Was all this a coincidence? When I heard a woman¡¯s name, were these kinds of dark things lurking behind? Still, I had no answer. But I needed to find out the true identity of the people behind this massacre. This uncertainty gnawed at me, growing with every minute. I still didn¡¯t know Iris¡¯s involvement in all this. As these thoughts danced in my head, my eyes began to close from exhaustion. I blinked for a few seconds. When I opened them, it was morning. I had no memory of how I had made it home. Great, and I was lying in bed, wearing my own clothes. Perfect. For a while, I stared at the ceiling, struggling with my thoughts. Then, I put my feet on the cold parquet. The floor creaked under my feet. The walls around me were grimy and stained. Though I didn¡¯t want to do anything, staying here only made me suffocate more. I stood up and splashed my face with water. I felt like a stranger in this world. As I put on my clothes, I thought about today¡¯s plan. I needed to deliver the first outfit. Renting another one would cost too much, so today I would ask people normally. I¡¯d go to the underworld for information and reward myself with a nice meal afterward. The thought alone brought a smile to my face. I shouldn¡¯t go to the factory today; I¡¯d have to find out exactly where it is, then rent another outfit. By then, it would have been better if I knew something tangible. I was also planning to ask for the budget I earned while heading to the underworld. And that female politician¡­ she had certainly caught my interest. I threw myself out of the building. I couldn¡¯t bear to look at those walls for another minute. Without making eye contact with anyone, I headed toward the main street. But involuntarily, I glanced back at the place where the cat¡¯s corpse had been. What was that? The place where its blue eyes had been¡­ was now replaced with a hollow void and blood. My stomach lurched. It wasn¡¯t hunger anymore¡ªit was fear. Someone was doing something seriously wrong to the cats. I paused for a moment, feeling the air around me grow colder. I took a deep breath and quickened my steps. Fear gnawed at me, but at the same time, my curiosity to learn something grew stronger. No words .Just Answers I walked toward Vesti¨¨re Noir again. All eyes were on me. The crowd¡¯s gaze closed in around me like the petals of a flower. But the real danger¡­ was hidden within those petals. And I wasn¡¯t even aware of it yet. The white sign¡­ The wind rustled the bag in my hand. Inside were clothes I was supposed to deliver¡ªmaybe for a final inspection, who knows? But then the wind shifted. And in that moment, I realized it. The smell of death. I paused. The scent hung in the air, but I couldn¡¯t pinpoint where it was coming from. The wind blurred everything. I decided to step inside. The bell rang. But that smell¡­ it had seeped into the shop as well. Memories crashed into me like a wave. Things I wanted to forget¡­ things I couldn¡¯t forget. Just then, the store clerk rushed out from the back room, stopping near the counter. She was covering her mouth and nose with one hand. Her voice sounded as if it were coming from underwater. ¡°Get rid of those corpses¡­ those damned things! The dress will be free.¡± The most tempting offer I had heard in a long time. I left the bag where I stood and walked to the back. And there they were. Cat corpses. Piled up behind the building. I held my breath. These cats hadn¡¯t died of hunger. No¡­ they had been tortured. A lump formed in my throat, but I didn¡¯t swallow. If I swallowed, it would mean I had let it affect me. With the tip of my shoe, I nudged one of the bodies. Something glinted between the fur. A small piece of metal¡­ A nail. Hammered into where its claws should have been. I felt nausea rise, but my face remained unchanged. Emotions couldn¡¯t dictate my actions. My gaze shifted to the back. Amid the pile of trash was a rusty shovel. Had it been there before? Or was I only noticing it now? I didn¡¯t know. But it didn¡¯t matter. I reached out. The metal was cold. I held on a second too long. Then, I moved. Swift. Silent. Unfeeling. I examined the bodies from a distance. But¡­ one of them was different. Fresher. Newer. My eyes instinctively scanned the area. Someone had left this one here recently. I froze in place. Someone was watching me. Every move. A star blending into the night. Vesper. My fingers tightened around the shovel¡¯s handle. I gathered them all into a trash bag I found beside the pile. Blood had soaked through. The heavier the bag got, the lighter something inside me felt. But I didn¡¯t know what it was. I threw the bag into the dumpster. A THUMP echoed through the silent street. That¡¯s when I realized¡ªthe stench had clung to me. I looked at my bloodstained hands. I didn¡¯t care. I was never a clean person. I turned back, re-entering the store. The bag was still where I had left it. I didn¡¯t look at the woman. She didn¡¯t matter anymore. Because my mind was on one thing. Someone was playing a game with me. And I had said it before. This was a game for two. The one hunting me would one day be the hunted. My hand clenched. My nails dug into my palm. But on my face¡­ there was a smile. At that moment, the store clerk spoke again, still covering her mouth. ¡°Thank you. Your next dress is free. I assure you.¡± She was trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. Who are you trying to fool? An idea crossed my mind. ¡°Can I use that now?¡± The woman¡¯s brows lifted slightly but quickly smoothed. She nodded toward the display. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°Of course. Go ahead, choose.¡± But I didn¡¯t care. I would return when it was time to play the game. For now, there was only one place I needed to go. The precinct. By the time I reached the central building, the air had turned colder. The structure loomed¡ªa monument of gray concrete and bureaucratic indifference. Inside, the familiar fluorescent lights stung my eyes. It was always the same here¡ªa box filled with crime, law, and the scent of cigarettes. I found Victor in his usual spot, buried under stacks of files. A coffee sat on his desk, likely cold by now. He looked up, eyes locking onto me with his usual smug grin. ¡°So, what did you bring me this time¡ªtrouble or a body?¡± ¡°Do you have an address?¡± I asked directly. ¡°Vesper Jones¡¯.¡± Victor hesitated, only for a moment, before sighing. ¡°Going there alone isn¡¯t a good idea,¡± he said, spinning his cup in his hands. I leaned on the desk, tapping my fingers against the wood. ¡°Where¡¯s his factory, Victor?¡± Victor sighed again, pulling a file from the mess. He flipped through the pages, then glanced at me with slightly raised brows. ¡°His printing house is in the old city. A side street. Here¡¯s the address.¡± He slid the paper toward me. I skimmed it. The old city¡­ narrow alleys, places where no one asked questions. I folded the paper and slipped it into my pocket. ¡°You saved me time.¡± Victor leaned back in his chair, took a sip of coffee¡ªthen immediately winced. ¡°It tastes like shit,¡± he muttered. I turned, heading for the door. But as I reached it, his voice stopped me. ¡°Aralyn,¡± he said, more serious now. ¡°If that man¡¯s record was wiped clean¡­ you might not want to be there alone.¡± I glanced over my shoulder, smiling faintly. ¡°I¡¯m not playing this game alone, Victor.¡± I stepped outside, into the street bathed in the blood-red light of the setting sun. And then, a scream tore through the air. ¡°You¡¯re a monster! He¡¯s a living being too! My cat is a living being! Whoever tortured him should suffer the same!¡± The voice belonged to a little girl. Her blonde braids were messy, her eyes burning with fury and grief. But¡­ there was something else. She had seen me, yet she continued. Wait. She had seen me, yet¡­? I grabbed her shoulders, looking into her eyes. ¡°What did the man look like?¡± My voice wasn¡¯t a question. It was a command. But the girl¡­ hesitated. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then stopped. Her brows furrowed, her lips pressing together. ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t remember exactly¡­¡± She was lying. My hands slid into my pocket, pulling out a photo. ¡°Did he look like this?¡± The girl¡¯s trembling hands took the picture. And in that instant, I saw it in her eyes. Recognition. But then, a firm hand landed on my shoulder. ¡°Sorry, miss. You don¡¯t have the authority to conduct interrogations.¡± The police. As much as he was right, my anger was hard to contain. I turned to the girl one last time. Her eyes¡­ had widened with fear. But not of me. Of something else. What did you see? I opened my mouth. But the officer pulled me away. I had to leave without an answer. But I was starting to believe this wasn¡¯t just about an animal abuser. There was more to this. Much more. I was in front of that damn factory. This time, I was prepared. I stood at the door. Voices were coming from inside¡ªconversations, laughter, the mechanical hum of machines¡­ The factory wasn¡¯t empty. I stepped inside. And at that moment, all eyes turned to me. If I made a wrong move, I might not make it out of here. The air smelled of ink and oil, mixed with sweat, cigarettes, and something even filthier. The men were working¡ªor at least pretending to. But their eyes¡­ their eyes lingered for too long. I shrugged and walked forward. But before I could take more than a few steps, someone stepped in front of me. A sweaty, filthy guy with his shirt unbuttoned. He grinned, showing his yellow teeth. ¡°Hey, sweetheart. What are you doing here?¡± Sweetheart? I slipped my hand into my pocket and raised an eyebrow. ¡°None of your business.¡± The man laughed. The others in the back laughed too. But one of them leaned toward the guy next to him and whispered something. The man¡¯s grin faltered. For a split second. Doubt flickered in his eyes. But then, with that same disgusting smirk, he leaned in. ¡°Don¡¯t be so harsh. Let¡¯s have some fun.¡± Wrong. Very wrong. He touched my wrist. A mistake that would last until he pulled his hand back. And he wouldn¡¯t be able to. I twisted his arm in a flash. A crack. A scream. It echoed through every wall of the factory. The men behind him flinched. But one of them reached for his belt. A gun. This was why I had thought everything was too easy. Because it was a trap. I tilted my head slightly. Took a step back. ¡°Where¡¯s your boss?¡± The man gritted his teeth, still clutching his left hand, but his right was still reaching for his belt. ¡°You¡­ you¡¯re not supposed to be here.¡± And your hand wasn¡¯t supposed to go for that gun. With my left hand, I yanked the gun from his belt. Before he could even react, I had already removed the magazine. It was empty. I smiled. ¡°Were you really going to threaten me with an unloaded gun?¡± His eyes widened in fear. He had recognized me. That was what I wanted. Trembling, he pointed toward a door on the upper floor. ¡°Th-there.¡± I tossed his gun aside and rushed upstairs. Could this be a trap? Maybe. But everything was a trap anyway. I walked down the corridor leading to the boss¡¯s office. The metal floor amplified the sound of my boots. I stopped in front of the door. Knocked without hesitation. ¡°Come in?¡± The moment I heard his voice, I knew. I stepped inside. ? The boss¡¯s office was upstairs, away from the factory noise¡ªclean and orderly. Too clean. Suspiciously clean for a printing press. Something was going on here. A middle-aged man in a suit looked up. He adjusted his glasses. ¡°I don¡¯t know who you are, but attacking my workers is not a good first impression,¡± he said, his tone measured. I sat down. Crossed my legs. ¡°The only thing I care about is information.¡± He sighed. But it almost felt like relief. That wasn¡¯t the reaction I was expecting. What are you hiding? ¡°What do you want?¡± he asked. I reached into my pocket and placed a folded piece of paper on the table. The name Vesper Jones was written on it. His eyes flicked to the paper. And in that moment, his entire body language changed. A muscle twitched. His breathing shifted. That name wasn¡¯t unfamiliar to him. He studied me. ¡°Where did you hear that name?¡± I smiled. But my eyes were cold. ¡°The real question is¡ªwhere did you hear it?¡± His hands slid under the desk. And at that moment, I knew. A gun. The boss pointed his gun at me. I expected this. Which is why I didn¡¯t react. I didn¡¯t flinch, didn¡¯t narrow my eyes, didn¡¯t hold my breath. Instead, I relaxed my clenched fists. Smiling? No. But my eyes held amusement. ¡°If I were you, I wouldn¡¯t.¡± The barrel of the gun was pressed against my forehead. His eyes didn¡¯t waver. ¡°I¡¯m good at shifting the balance.¡± For the first time, his brow twitched. He realized what I was playing at. His finger moved a fraction on the trigger. A small sign of weakness. So I sighed. ¡°Alright.¡± I placed my hands on the table. Despite the gun still pointed at me. I needed to prove something to him. I was the one in control. He might not be afraid of me. But soon, he would be. If he was testing me, I was testing him too. ¡°Where did you hear the name Vesper Jones?¡± There¡¯s a tone that tells you whether a sentence is a question or a command. His was a command. He was interrogating me. I liked his nerve. I tilted my head. ¡°At the police station. Thanks to a friend.¡± The boss chuckled softly. And now, the test was truly beginning. ¡°What a coincidence.¡± His eyes were on me, but his mind was elsewhere. He was planning something. ¡°Because I heard Vesper Jones¡­ is dead.¡± Ah. The first lie. The trap had begun. ¡°Is that so?¡± I asked, not showing any real surprise. ¡°Yes. A few weeks ago. Hands cut off, even.¡± A normal person would have flinched at that. Raised an eyebrow. Reacted somehow. But me? I didn¡¯t blink. And at that moment, he realized he had played the wrong card. Because if Vesper was dead, why was I here? And the real kicker¡­ Vesper wasn¡¯t dead. His eyes betrayed his lie. So I made the first move. I smiled. ¡°Interesting. Because I spoke to him last night.¡± The gun in his hand twitched slightly. Bingo. His hesitation lasted a second too long. And that second was mine. I grabbed his gun with lightning speed. Before he could even recoil, I had already pressed the barrel against his forehead. He was still in his chair. But now, he leaned back. The flicker of doubt in his eyes¡ªbrief, but I caught it. ¡°Smart play,¡± I said, too casually. My hand holding the gun didn¡¯t tremble. ¡°But not good enough.¡± The boss pressed his lips together. He didn¡¯t want to back down. But for the first time, he was on the defensive. He sighed. ¡°So this is how we¡¯re playing it.¡± Yes. Exactly like this. ¡°Write down Vesper Jones¡¯ address.¡± I wasn¡¯t asking. I was ordering. But here, the boss played his last bluff. He tilted his head, with a small smirk. And his hand slid under the desk. Calling for the button to alarm the sirens. Ah, sweetheart. Not so fast. BANG! I slammed the butt of the gun onto the desk. The noise echoed as loud as a gunshot. His hand froze in midair. I stopped him. Now, he had a choice. Either he gave me Vesper Jones¡¯ address. Or he pressed that button¡­ And someone at this table would die. He stared at me, trying to decide. But what he didn¡¯t know was¡­ I had already made my decision. I pressed the barrel closer. ¡°You can sound the alarms,¡± I said, locking eyes with him. ¡°But do you really think they¡¯ll come for you?¡± Silence. My words sank in. I could see the calculations in his eyes. ¡°Everyone lives for themselves.¡± And his life¡­ was in my hands now. Slowly, he withdrew his hand. Because he knew. He couldn¡¯t beat me here. He picked up a piece of paper. His fingers trembled. And he wrote. Silently. Vesper Jones¡¯ address. He slid it toward me. But his eyes never left mine. ¡°I hope you know what you¡¯re doing.¡± I took the paper. Without a word. And I smiled. Cold. Dangerous. Like the winner of a game already decided. Just as I opened the door, I heard a whisper behind me. ¡°You found the wrong person.¡± That threw me off for a second. But I didn¡¯t show it. ¡°I¡¯ll be the judge of that.¡± And I walked away. But that sentence stuck in my mind. The wrong person. I quickened my pace. A feeling churned inside me. Something was wrong. By the time I left the factory, the sky had darkened. The streetlights flickered, the roads were empty. I looked at the paper in my hand. Vesper Jones¡¯ address. Two choices lay ahead: 1. Find Vesper immediately. 2. Gather more information first.