Time passed swiftly, and several days went by.
During this time, Igwynt remained as peaceful as ever. Both the lower and upper cities continued their routines—those in poverty still toiled under harsh conditions to make a living, while the elite busied themselves with an endless cycle of social gatherings and banquets.
However… there were some subtle changes.
In the lower city, the number of missing homeless wanderers had significantly decreased since two months ago. Many of the terrifying rumors that once circulated among the lower-class citizens had gradually faded away. In the underpasses and dark corners where the desperate struggled to survive, people now worshiped the Holy Mother, grateful that She had finally used Her divine power to eliminate the demon that had been hunting them from the shadows.
Meanwhile, life for the upper-class residents remained unchanged. The gruesome murderer responsible for the Elmwood Street No. 22 massacre and the White Riverbank No. 14 case had not struck again recently. This left many ladies and young socialites feeling a little disappointed, as they found themselves lacking a thrilling topic for their gatherings.
As for the gentlemen, they were puzzled. They wondered why one of Igwynt’s most prominent nobles, Viscount Field, had not appeared in public since the charity event. Normally, based on past experiences, he would continue attending various social events in the following week, bringing along the child he had recently adopted while making public declarations about his charitable endeavors. This was also the time when he would accept interviews from the media, and those hoping to establish connections with him would seize the opportunity to approach him. After all, Viscount Field was not one to frequently participate in Igwynt’s upper-class gatherings outside of these occasions.
Yet this year, after the charity show, Viscount Field had completely vanished. This not only confused many people but also sparked widespread speculation. The media, who had prepared interviews but found themselves unable to meet him, began publishing articles filled with baseless conjecture.
Aside from these minor anomalies, Igwynt seemed as peaceful as ever. But beneath this calm surface, the hidden world was already in turmoil. The Igwynt’s Serenity Bureau and even the Church had been working tirelessly, facing their busiest period in years.
After Viscount Field was slain due to his monstrous mutation within the Serenity Bureau, the entire department was temporarily crippled by the poisonous gas released from his transformation. It was only with the support of the local Church that they managed to neutralize the toxin overnight and restore normal operations.
Eventually, they found Field Manor deep in the hills. However, when they had made their final preparations and were ready to storm in, they were met with a shocking sight.
Somewhere in Igwynt’s upper city, the underground of Cypress Fir Tower.
Inside the Serenity Bureau, staff members were busy at their desks, working tirelessly. Hunters and clerks hurried back and forth, their faces etched with exhaustion. The entire atmosphere was one of urgency and unease.
Gregor walked briskly down a hallway, dark circles under his eyes. He yawned occasionally, nodding in greeting to colleagues passing by.
Before long, he arrived in front of the Director Office. The door was tightly sealed—boarded up with planks and nails, covered with sigils and magic arrays, enforcing a powerful seal.
Through the runed windows, the scene inside was chaotic. Green vines sprawled everywhere, covering the floor and walls entirely. Wooden desks and bookshelves had sprouted fresh buds, and a dense green mist filled the space. The vines twitched occasionally, pulsating with an eerie vitality.
Gregor only spared a brief glance before turning to the adjacent room. He knocked lightly on the door, and a voice from within responded.
Gregor entered a modest office and immediately saw James seated behind a desk, writing a letter.
James glanced up at him, waved a hand, and said, “Have a seat. This newly arranged office is a bit cramped, but it’ll have to do.”
“Thank you, Mr. James… How long do you think your original office will remain in that state?” Gregor asked, stealing a curious glance at the adjacent wall.
“No idea. I’ve already requested a curse removal team, but there’s been no response yet. Knowing how things go around here, it’ll probably stay that way for a while. Not much I can do about it—every Bureau has its own ‘unique attractions,’ after all.”
James’ tone carried a hint of dry humor before he shifted the topic.
“How’s the investigation at the Northern Hills manor progressing?”
“We’ve made significant progress. We can now confirm with great certainty that the manor was a stronghold of the Crimson Eucharist. They were in the middle of a ritual when they were ambushed by an unknown force and completely wiped out.”
“The battle centered around the manor’s chapel. Judging by the extreme damage to the corpses and the large number of Devouring Sigils left behind, the fight must have been incredibly brutal. The Crimson Eucharist members’ bodies were almost entirely desiccated, shattered beyond recognition, making it very difficult to determine their precise causes of death.”
“The key discovery, however, was a corpse found in the third-floor gallery. We have identified this individual as Field’s butler—named Luer, last name unknown. He arrived in Igwynt six years ago, alongside Field, after returning from a journey.”
“Six years ago… That coincides closely with the appearance of the Crimson Eucharist,” James mused, his expression thoughtful.
“Exactly. That’s why we suspect that Luer was actually the true founder of the Crimson Eucharist, with Field merely serving as his puppet. Mr. James, during our first visit to the manor, you deduced from the remnants of the ritual that there may have been a Black-rank Beastman present. We now believe that this individual was Luer.”
Gregor recalled their first visit when James had led the team due to the likelihood of combat. Afterward, Gregor and a few other team captains had handled the follow-up investigation.
“Hmm… That ritual was clearly an advancement ritual—a tribute to the Gluttonous Wolf. Given our previous analysis that the leader of the Crimson Eucharist was a Black-rank, I had suspected the presence of a Beastman at the time,” James muttered, deep in thought.
Gregor continued his report, his tone growing more serious.
“On the night of the battle, Luer—presumably the leader of the Crimson Eucharist—must have fought against the intruding Beyonder and was ultimately killed. The battle took place on the third floor, but based on the evidence, we found very few Beastman combat traces. For example, there were no deep claw marks on the chapel’s floor. This suggests that Luer’s battle ended quickly—he barely had time to resist before he was slain.”
“Killed in a short span of time? A Black-rank Chalice? Are you certain?”
James’ brows furrowed in disbelief. He was a Black-rank Beyonder himself and understood the immense power difference between them and apprentices.
“Yes… It sounds unbelievable, but our investigation leads us to that conclusion. The site contained no other bodies or bloodstains apart from Luer’s. If the fight had been prolonged, there would have been many more signs of struggle.”
“The scene was heavily damaged—shattered glass, overturned display cases, three walls punctured through. It looked like a massive battle had taken place. But upon closer inspection, we noticed a pattern: the fallen display cases had been toppled in a uniform manner, suggesting they were hit by a single force. The three broken walls also showed closely aligned impact points, likely pierced by a single attack.”
“Based on this, we hypothesize that the destruction was caused by just one attack. The actual fight may have lasted only an instant.”
Gregor’s expression turned grave as he spoke his final words.
“Mr. James, we believe that in this battle, Luer encountered an adversary of an even higher Beyonder rank…”