Afternoon in Igwynt, Lower City, White Pearl Street.
In a small alley, four or five street thugs were lounging on a set of steps. These idle vagabonds, as usual, were passing time bragging and bantering. Among them, a young man in suspenders was in the middle of a heated tale.
"Is it true?" one of the thugs asked.
"Of course, it’s true! My cousin saw it with his own eyes and heard it himself," the young man in suspenders replied confidently.
"He was right outside Corey’s shop when it happened. The guy who pawned something to Corey handed over stolen goods—stuff from the Burton Veil case! At first, Corey didn’t notice, but when he realized, he panicked and even shouted out Burton Veil’s name!"
The group erupted into murmurs of disbelief and awe.
"Really? So, the murderer of Burton Veil might be hiding right here on White Pearl Street?"
"Another big shot on our turf? I heard that guy took out seven or eight people on his own. If he’s really around, even the bosses wouldn’t dare mess with him."
"Wait, does that mean Corey is working with the killer to fence the stolen goods?"
From a nearby rooftop, Dorothy overlooked White Pearl Street, guiding her corpse puppet through the alleys to spread similar whispers. With precise manipulation, rumors of “Corey the pawnbroker fencing stolen goods from the Burton Veil case and possibly associating with the killer” began to circulate. Dorothy estimated that it wouldn’t take long for this news to reach the ears of those who needed to hear it.
“So… when will you make your move?” Dorothy murmured to herself as she watched the setting sun.
This morning, Gregor had mentioned he’d be working late. Coincidentally, Dorothy had her own “overtime” plans for the night.
Day faded, and night descended.
Darkness blanketed Igwynt, shrouding White Pearl Street in shadow.
After the day’s events, Corey was in a foul mood. After reprimanding his inept employees, who had failed to find the thief, he decided to close up early and sent everyone home.
“Damn it… damn it! How could so many of them lose track of him? Useless fools!” Corey grumbled, locking the shop’s doors while seething with anger.
“Hmph… tomorrow, I’ll talk to Harkson. I’ll get his men to help. Let’s see if that bastard can keep hiding! When I catch him, I’ll cut off his hands and feet, shove him in a coffin, and sink it to the bottom of the Ironclay River—just like the others who’ve crossed me!”
As he muttered and schemed, Corey finished locking the door and turned to head inside. But before he could take another step, a gloved black hand appeared behind him, pressing a knife to his throat.
“Don’t move, Corey Cross…”
The low voice from behind made Corey freeze. His eyes widened, and his rage transformed into terror.
What? Again? How did someone get into my shop?
For the second time that day, Corey found himself threatened. His mind raced, but he forced himself to calm down. With a nervous smile, he addressed the unseen assailant.
“S-Sir, let’s talk this over. If it’s money you want, I don’t have any on me right now. Let me go, and I’ll get it for you.”
“I don’t want money,” the tall, black-clad, hooded man behind him replied coldly.
“I only want to know one thing: did you, earlier today, accept stolen goods from the Burton Veil case?”
Hearing this, Corey nodded hurriedly.
"Y-Yes, yes! I did receive something from Burton Veil!"
"What was it? Where is it?" the black-clad man continued his threatening interrogation. Corey dared not delay his answer.
"It’s in the pocket of my jacket, on the right. It’s a pocket watch. Let me get it for you..."
"No need... I’ll handle it myself."
As he spoke, the man in black reached into Corey’s pocket with his free hand and retrieved a pocket watch. He opened it with one hand and quickly saw a name engraved inside.
"Who pawned this watch to you? Do you know him?"
Staring at the watch, the man in black asked directly. Corey, flustered, replied hastily.
"It was... a man. Tall, wearing a black trench coat and a hat. He had a gun and wore a mask. I couldn’t see his face clearly! I don’t know him at all!"
"I swear I’m telling the truth, sir! That guy even forced me at gunpoint to take the watch! I have nothing to do with him! Please, just spare me!"
Corey pleaded desperately. Hearing this, the man in black nodded slowly. After pocketing the watch, he lowered the knife from Corey’s throat and shoved him forward.
"Stand there. Don’t move, and don’t turn around."
"Yes, yes! I won’t turn around!" Corey promised hastily.
The man in black nodded, then turned to leave. However, for the second time that day, Corey had been humiliated, and he wasn’t about to let it slide. Standing still, his angry eyes darted to the drawer of a cabinet in front of him.
Without hesitation, Corey stepped forward, opened the drawer, and pulled out a revolver. He quickly turned, aiming at the departing man in black, ready to pull the trigger.
Before Corey could finish his sentence, a throwing knife shot out from a dark corner of the room, striking him squarely in the neck. Corey’s eyes widened, and before he could fire, he collapsed to the ground.
The notorious loan shark of White Pearl Street, Corey Cross, died in his own shop.
From the shadowy corner where the knife had emerged, another black-clad and masked man stepped out. Joining the first man by Corey’s corpse, he sneered.
"Everyone on White Pearl knows that Corey Cross’s promises aren’t worth a damn."
After saying this, one of the men pulled a palm-sized piece of coarse paper from his clothing. He crouched down and slapped it onto Corey’s wide-mouthed, lifeless forehead. The paper ignited immediately, leaving a faint "Chalice" symbol burned onto Corey’s skin.
Then, something grotesque began to happen. Every inch of blood and flesh on Corey’s body started to evaporate, dissolving into blue smoke. From his skin to his muscles and internal organs, all of it disintegrated rapidly.
In mere moments, all that remained of Corey’s corpse were bones and clothing.
"Clean it up quickly. Mr. Clifford is still waiting for us," one of the black-clad men said.
He pulled out a bag and stuffed Corey’s remains—bones and clothing—into it. With their grim task complete, the two men slipped out through a side window, vanishing into a deserted alley under the cover of night.
What they didn’t know was that their every move had been observed. A gecko, perched on the ceiling, had silently witnessed the entire scene. As they collected Corey’s bones, a smaller gecko crept unnoticed into the leg of Corey’s pants, packed away with the rest.
Elsewhere, in a dark corner of the street, Dorothy slowly opened her eyes.
"Finally... I’ve got your tail."