Encounter

On the bank of the Lande River in the Crown District stood a square, three-story building.

Four slab buildings, each dozens of meters long, enclosed an open plaza in a square perimeter. Right in the center of the square, a tower soaring tens of meters pierced the sky. At its peak sat a colossal clock, constantly clicking and clacking with a mechanical rhythm.

The Hall of Order, Order Square, and its tallest structure, the Tower of Justice—one of Rhine City’s iconic landmarks.

This was the headquarters of the Rhine police, capable of garrisoning thousands of officers, and had safeguarded the order of Rhine for more than a century.

Yet today, billowing plumes of thick smoke poured from it.

Tugging Lynch by the arm, Natalie bolted with him across several hundred meters, reaching the exterior of the Hall of Order within a minute.

The moment they stopped, Lynch collapsed to his knees, his vision blurring as his chest heaved violently like a blacksmith’s bellows.

Officer Natalie hadn't even lost her breath, but her expression was uglier than Lynch's as she glared grimly at the chaotic mess within the Hall of Order.

Basic order was still maintained.

Still, clusters of police officers crowded Order Square, and piles of miscellaneous clutter were stacked in open spaces.

“Huff, puff, puff... Wh-Wh-What got... pant, pant... b-burned down...?”

Drenched in sweat, Lynch dragged himself up by Officer Natalie's hand. Before he could even catch his breath, the question tumbled urgently from his lips.

Officer Natalie shook her head grimly and frowned at Lynch. “Can you walk?”

His legs were still trembling, but Lynch managed a few staggered steps, gritting his teeth. “Yeah. Let’s go... go in and see.”

“‘Yeah’ my foot. You seriously need to work on your stamina. Once your troubles are dealt with, I’m dragging you out for a run every single night.”

Glaring at Lynch, the lady officer looked away, hooked her arm around his, and supported him as they walked into Order Square.

The air was heavy with an acrid, burnt stench, fine flecks of ash swirling everywhere. Puddles of water covered large swathes of the ground, scorched soot clearly stained the walls, and black smoke still drifted from several shattered windows.

Up close, the damage was actually not severe. The open flames had been extinguished without spreading, and the fire was essentially under control.

Only a section of rooms on the first floor along the inner side of the West Wing had caught fire. Though it looked heavily charred, it hadn't caused structural harm. It was a fairly ordinary fire incident, leaving one to wonder what had burned to produce such billowing smoke and flames.

Spotting the pair entering the square, a blue uniform immediately shouted and marched over, but upon seeing Officer Natalie flash the badge inside her trench coat, a smile instantly replaced his scowl.

“Which department caught fire?” Natalie asked.

“Reporting, ma’am: it's the archives. Specifically, the rooms storing records from recent years.”

The officer's nonchalant answer sent a chill creeping up Lynch's spine.

Speak of the devil. The place on fire really was the archives—and from recent years, no less, which coincided precisely with where records on the Norin-Rhine Railway would likely be stored.

How could it be such a coincidence?

Feeling a cold weight in his chest, Lynch exchanged a glance with Officer Natalie, released her arm, and cautiously approached the smoldering rooms.

A damp, scorched stench struck his nose alongside waves of heat. Peering through the dense smoke, virtually nothing inside remained intact. The fire-gutted papers, repeatedly drenched with water, had disintegrated into mushy ash, rendering any chance of recovery completely impossible.

“What was the cause of the fire?” the lady officer's voice came from behind.

“Reporting, ma'am: it hasn't been confirmed yet, but the preliminary guess is that a staff member violated regulations by smoking indoors and tapped out pipe embers onto a wooden desk.”

“Do you people... often do that sort of thing?”

The blue uniform's gaze drifted away in embarrassment.

“Fine. Excellent. And where is this person now?”

Before the blue uniform could reply, a group of dust-covered figures in white robes rushed out of the building carrying three stretchers.

Though covered with sheets, parts of bodies still protruded from underneath—charred pitch-black, completely carbonized.

Lynch instantly clapped a hand over his mouth and took several steps back. His stomach churned, nearly making him vomit on the spot, but he forced himself to ask, “Were these pulled from the first-floor scene?”

“Where else would they be from?” One of the white-robed men gave Lynch a look reserved for idiots and hurried past without slowing down.

Fair point. Lynch’s mouth twitched. Behind him, Officer Natalie asked, “Is the smoker among them?”

“I'm not sure, ma’am, but probably. Word is, no one saw the archivists make it out.”

Now there was no one left to question. Lynch frowned and looked once more at the burned archive rooms. He had always been an armchair theorist; thrust into investigating an actual crime scene, he couldn't discern anything useful. Still, he signaled to Natalie, and the two walked to a secluded corner by the main entrance.

“There’s something wrong with their deaths,” Lynch whispered, glancing around. “I suspect—”

“They lost consciousness before the fire started?”

“Yeah. You think so too?”

“I heard your exchange with the people from the Hall of Suffering. They died on the first floor, yet the first-floor windows are less than two meters off the ground—they could easily have leaped out to escape. But not a single one of the three did, which makes no sense.”

As expected of a professional police officer. Lynch once again felt privately relieved that he had brought her along into his investigation. She continued:

“Did you find anything just now?”

“Nothing. I already probed through the window and found no mysterious filth, but that doesn't mean it has nothing to do with mystery—only that no filth was left behind.” That had been the Travel Companion’s exact words in his mind moments ago.

“Did someone deliberately stop us from seeing those files?” Officer Natalie had clearly considered this as well, resting a hand on her saber in deep thought.

“Couldn't it just be a coincidence?” Lynch still clung to a sliver of hope.

“Don't joke about that.” The lady officer gave him a sideways glance. Realizing he was still a rookie, she explained, “Someone once said that believing in coincidences in the world of mystery is the quickest path to death.”

“Hm?”

“In the world of mystery, connections between things are twisted to the extreme, and causal relationships defy human understanding, leading many to mistake them for mere coincidences. But being unable to understand causality doesn't mean it isn't there; treating it as a coincidence is practically courting death. From now on, whenever you deal with mystery-related events, never treat any unusual, unexpected occurrence as a coincidence. Mystery hunters prefer to call them omens. Remember: we can be overly sensitive a hundred times, but if we fail to be vigilant even once, there won't be a next time.”

“Understood.” Lynch nodded earnestly, committing her words to memory. “Still, I don't think this was done by a person. Nobody knew we were coming here to check the files; even we only decided on it this morning.”

“I’d rather it were human handiwork; otherwise, it’s far worse,” the lady officer sighed. “That would mean this is a mysterious event capable of autonomously erasing connections that might expose it, which points to a formidable level of mystery.”

“Another relic?”

“Not necessarily. Anything can happen in the world of mystery. I hope I'm wrong—dealing with mystery that strong would be extraordinarily thorny.” The lady officer shook her head. “We can’t be sure right now, but a fire in the archives is no small matter. The Hall of Order is bound to assign a dedicated team to investigate. Let's wait for the specialists' findings before drawing conclusions. Unfortunately, pulling the case files is off the table for now. I can't imagine where else we could find relevant records, which is a shame—I really wanted to see that information. There might have been something bizarre hidden inside.”

“Actually, I thought of a place that might still have some records preserved. The catch is that we have to get their voluntary cooperation; we can't force them.”

Officer Natalie frowned. “Where?”

Lynch parted his lips to speak, but his expression suddenly shifted, and he lunged toward Officer Natalie.

The lady officer's gaze turned sharp, her fist raised in an instant. Yet seeing Lynch throw himself forward with total defenselessness, her resolve softened, and she pulled her punch back. An instant later, Lynch wrapped his arms around her, clamped a hand over her mouth, and dragged her into the dark corner of the porch, pressing their bodies tightly together.

Hm? Something felt off.

Sensing the subtle contours pressed against him and the faint fragrance of hair reaching his nose, Lynch finally realized what he had just done. Cold sweat broke out across his back in a flash.

The figure in his arms was stiff and completely still, not struggling in the slightest. But the more she refrained, the more terrified Lynch became; he could practically hear the death knell tolling in his ears.

Bracing himself, he remained tucked in the corner with the lady officer. A moment later, he saw an old woman—wrapped in a headscarf, dressed in plain clothes, and leaning on a walking stick—hobble unsteadily past them.

By now, Lynch had forgotten his own precarious situation. He lowered his gaze to avoid meeting anyone's eyes, yet pricked up his ears to listen intently to every sound in the porch.

The old woman shuffled slowly, but her steps didn't falter as she leisurely made her way out of the porch.

Fearing she might suddenly turn around, Lynch still dared not move until someone poked his arm a moment later.

Looking down, he met a pair of eyes brimming with murderous intent. Only then did Lynch realize he was still covering the lady officer’s mouth, pinning her against the wall with his body.

Cold sweat drenched his back even heavier. Yanking his hand back as if touching red-hot coals, he staggered back several paces, holding up his hands with a dry laugh. “Uh, so... is it too late for me to explain?”

“Not at all. Go ahead.” The lady officer rolled up her sleeves with a calm, flat voice, rolling her wrists. “I'll carve every word of it onto your tombstone.”

“No tombstones, please! Just listen to me!”

“Cut the nonsense.” Brushing back her hair to conceal her flushed cheeks, the lady officer glared daggers at him. “What was that about? Who was that old woman? Do you know her?”

“Karina’s Makeup.”

“Hm?”

“The relic I sensed back at city hall—that old woman had it on her.” Lynch glanced toward the direction she had departed, lowering his voice. “I suspect she's the eldest daughter of that noble family from city hall in disguise, using the relic to masquerade as an old woman. On top of that, she’s also a Soul Severer.”

“Hiss... A Soul Severer who appeared at city hall before the tragedy, showed up at the Hall of Order right when a fire broke out, and disguised herself to conceal her identity...”

Exchanging a glance, both realized the gravity of the situation.

“Come on. After her.”

Officer Natalie nodded firmly, then suddenly seemed to remember something and kicked Lynch's shin “gently.”

“I’m putting that tombstone on your tab, bastard.”

“Ow.”