The moment the banker Will Trevor fled with his tail between his legs, Lynch and Officer Natalie practically became saviors in the eyes of the townsfolk.
However, Lynch and the police officer still exchanged a wary glance.
The man had left far too quickly; he likely had other cards to play.
Still, his matter could be set aside for now. Chasing him off had bought them a dozen days or so, making the threat of losing their land much less immediate.
At least for the short term, the townsfolk wouldn't launch another frenzied assault on the Milt residence, and they were willing to cooperate. This opened up the breathing room needed for further investigation.
Instead of partaking in the fine ale the townsfolk eagerly offered, Lynch led a group out for an on-site inspection of the four ranches where all the livestock had died.
Not all of the hundred or so townsfolk tagged along; only the leading farmers followed, accompanied by several gentlemen in formal wear from the town hall.
“Your Excellencies, thank you so very much!”
The speaker was a stout man in his forties or fifties. His round face appeared exceptionally genial, and his double chin jiggled with every step he took, making Lynch almost want to prop it up with his hands.
This was the mayor of Wilson Town, Mark Palin. As an official appointed by Rhine City, he naturally feared that a civil riot would ruin his political career, which made him extraordinarily grateful to Lynch. Clutching Lynch's hand, the mayor was practically on the verge of tears. He answered nearly every question asked of him, clearly laying out the entire chain of events along the way.
It had all started eight days ago.
Eight days ago, the livestock in every household—cattle, dogs, chickens, cats—had suddenly begun acting strangely. Departing from their usual behavior, they refused to leave their pens, curling up inside their shelters.
However, this didn't resemble any symptom of disease, and with heavy downpours over those two days, the townsfolk hadn't paid it much mind.
Then, the day before yesterday, all of old Witt's livestock suddenly died overnight. Having lost everything, old Witt hanged himself in the square yesterday. And just yesterday as well, the livestock belonging to three other families were wiped out entirely, resulting in total financial ruin.
This reminded the other townsfolk of their animals' refusal to go outside. They rushed to check their own livestock, only to discover that no matter how hard they drove them, the animals flatly refused to leave their pens. Even when dragged outside by force and locked out, the livestock would ram the gates like mad until they battered themselves to death.
This was precisely why the elderly gentleman from before had been certain it wasn't a case of poisoning. Such bizarre behavior certainly didn't look like poison; rather, it seemed like some strange illness.
And so, every household had plunged into terror, utterly powerless to stop it. What little reason remained was finally shattered when Mick jumped from the bell tower, culminating in today's riot.
As they spoke, the party arrived at Mick's home. Mick's pasture appeared exceptionally fertile, carpeted in lush, thriving grass.
Drawing near the Mick residence, a foul odor drifted over—the stench of rotting corpses.
Summer had already arrived, and carcasses that had been dead for a day had begun decomposing; the scene promised to be quite overwhelming.
When the group stepped into the barn, they found cattle carcasses strewn across the ground, just as expected. They had clearly dropped dead overnight, presenting a gruesome sight. Yet when Lynch and the police officer saw them, a wave of shock washed over them.
Something was wrong. All the carcasses were mere skin and bones, as if severely malnourished.
What a joke. Even if starved for eight straight days, an animal couldn't possibly waste away to this degree. And they called this normal?
Lynch quickly glanced at Mayor Mark Palin, who had just briefed him, only to find the stout man wearing an equally astonished expression. Exchanging glances with the other officials, the mayor paused for a moment before asking, “Mrs. Malin, you never mentioned the livestock had ended up like this.”
Mick Malin's wife looked even more stunned. Hugging her two children, she froze in place and stammered, “I... I don't know either! When I ran out after Mick at noon, they were still ordinary carcasses! H-How did they turn into this?!”
There was definitely something wrong.
Lynch shot a glance at the police officer. As an "official," it wasn't fitting for him to personally examine the scene. Officer Natalie caught on immediately, raising a hand and barking, “Nobody move!”
She then cautiously approached the carcasses on the ground. After inspecting them for a moment, she returned to Lynch's side and whispered, “No external wounds. It looks like they simply starved to death.”
“And they wasted away only after dying?”
“...Mm.”
That single sound sent a chill crawling up Lynch's spine. Anyone accustomed to seeing corpses knew that a dead body couldn't lose weight. Under these circumstances, it either meant the carcasses had still been alive earlier, or that this was an occult incident.
“You.” Lynch pointed to the farmer he had slapped earlier. “Go next door and see if there are any changes to the surviving livestock. Mayor Mark, take us to see the other three households.”
Only then did the crowd snap out of their daze and spring into action upon receiving the order. Before they even made it halfway, the beaten farmer came running back.
The living livestock were completely normal.
Lynch pursed his lips. This was not a good omen. The information bombardment from his past life allowed him to conjure over twenty possibilities, each more horrific than the last.
The second household wasn't far from Mick Malin's. Their livestock had dropped dead half a day earlier than Mick's. The master of this house was somewhat sturdier and hadn't chosen to end his life. He was currently leading the way at the front of the group, ignoring his wife who came out to greet him as he barged straight into the barn.
The ground was covered in the carcasses of healthy cattle... only slightly decomposed.
Without lingering for a moment, Lynch walked straight out of the barn.
“To the next one.”
“The next one is old Witt's place,” the mayor explained.
“Lead on.”
This one was a bit farther, taking them fifteen minutes to reach. The stench of decay at old Witt's house was even heavier, and the skin of the carcasses bore visible signs of rotting.
His livestock had died earliest, so they had been decomposing the longest. In other words, all four households' cattle had begun turning into mummified corpses at roughly the same time.
“This is... something draining their vitality or power, not even sparing the corpses.”
Lynch spoke in a hushed tone, and Officer Natalie nodded slightly. It seemed the mutation had already begun, though when it would end remained unknown. Moreover, this meant...
“Have you ever seen an occult incident that only affects livestock, Natalie?”
“I have, but that might not be the case here.”
“At least the wife at the last house was still alive.” Lynch pondered for a moment, then suddenly frowned and asked Mayor Mark, “Old Witt died yesterday. Where is his family? Have they shown up today?”
“Well, uh...”
“Never mind, let's go check their house together. Who else is in his family?”
“His mother, plus a son and daughter.”
“Let's go.”
Old Witt's residence was right next door. The crowd hurried over in a disorganized commotion. No one came out to greet them, leading people to wonder if they weren't home at all today.
Lynch, however, was not so optimistic. An ominous premonition seized him.
“Remember how the livestock refused to leave their pens?”
Lynch whispered beside the police officer. Officer Natalie gave a soft affirmation, picking up her pace to get ahead of the crowd. Without bothering to knock, she kicked the front door open.
“Police!”
A familiar phrase. Lynch subconsciously rubbed his arm. Finding no enemies, the police officer lowered the sword held defensively in front of her.
No one was inside.
“Search.”
The group quickly began rummaging through the rooms with clattering noises, yet found nothing. They even checked the basement, but Witt's family was nowhere to be found.
Where were they?
The farmers and gentlemen searching the house were growing uneasy, their faces pale and their eyes darting nervously. Just then, a shrill scream cut through their search.
Someone had discovered a bloody handprint inside the dim utility room—on a hidden trapdoor leading up to the attic.
Within moments, everyone gathered outside the utility room, staring blankly at the eerie, macabre bloody handprint.
Everyone except Lynch and Officer Natalie.
Lynch blocked the crowd outside the utility room, while the police officer, sword in hand, had already approached the bloody print.
“This isn't pure blood. It's mixed with pus and mucus.”
Pus and mucus often accompanied dangerous occult phenomena—hardly a good sign. With that, Officer Natalie yanked open the trapdoor to the attic and signaled to Mayor Mark outside.
“Aunt Witt, are you up there?” the fat mayor shouted toward the dark attic stairs. “We've come to check on you!”
“We're here. We're all here,” a reply suddenly echoed, prompting the townsfolk outside the utility room to breathe a collective sigh of relief.
It seemed their worry had been for nothing; they were fine.
Yet just as the fat mayor moved to step onto the stairs, the old woman's voice drifted down again. “Do not come in.”
“Huh?” The fat mayor froze. “Are you all right?”
“We are fine. Very fine,” the old woman said eerily. “Leave us alone here. Do not come in.”
Her face grim, the police officer pulled the mayor aside and ascended the stairs with her sword drawn. After a brief hesitation, Lynch raised his cane to guard her back, carrying a lantern as he followed close behind.
The attic was relatively empty, save for a few piles of grain, but there was no sign of whoever had just spoken.
It can't be a recording, can it? A phonograph?
Lynch held up the light and looked around, but still couldn't spot... Holy shit.
Turning around, he saw an aged face emerging from the wall in the shadowy corner, staring fixedly at the two of them with lifeless, emotionless eyes.
What on earth was that?
Lynch's hairs stood on end, but he was no longer a rookie who turned weak at the knees upon seeing bizarre phenomena. He was the Soul Severer Lynch.
“Natalie.”
Holding his cane defensively with his left hand, he drew his revolver with his right and aimed it at the human face. At the same time, the police officer stepped back to his side, shielding half of his body while leaving a clear line of fire.
Yet Lynch didn't fire. He merely kept it aimed, his face turning thoroughly unsightly as he pressed his lips tightly together, fighting back the urge to vomit.
The police officer's expression was equally taut as she gripped the hilt of her sword tightly.
It was difficult to describe the mass on the wall.
It was several human bodies heaped together, their flesh melted like wax, fused into a single amalgam, and resolidified against the wall.
Several human heads protruded around the lump of flesh. Some had half-melted noses and eyes; the remaining eyes rolled frantically, fixed unblinkingly on Lynch and Officer Natalie.
“Get out. We are fine. We have never been better.”
The aged voice bore no emotional inflection whatsoever, and its gaze was as cold as stone.
“Fall back, Lynch!”
Without wasting half a second, Lynch retreated from the attic instantly.
He had seen it—that mass of flesh was writhing, swelling, vibrating with an ominous tremor.
Before his feet even touched the floor below, the police officer leaped straight down, slamming into his embrace. Throwing caution to the wind, he wrapped his arms around Officer Natalie and rolled outward, tumbling all the way to the entrance of the utility room.
Boom! A muffled blast sounded from above, followed by a patter of splatters, after which a thick stench of blood drifted downward.
Locking eyes with the woman in his arms, the two nodded to each other. Turning back, they signaled for no one to approach before climbing up to the attic once more.
Sure enough, that grotesque mass of flesh had exploded, coating the entire attic in minced meat and blood.
Lynch felt the veins in his temples throbbing. Clamping a hand firmly over his mouth, waves of lingering fear washed over him.
Thank goodness Officer Natalie had warned him just now; otherwise, he would have been drenched head to toe in gore. While the physical damage might have been minor, the psychic shock would have been devastating.
“Hiss... What on earth is this?”
“A manifestation of deep occult interference, similar to when your arm withered back then. But their mental state is different—it's likely related to the specific occult incident they encountered.”
The police officer sighed at the horrific mess across the floor. The two quickly swept the attic: only flesh and blood remained, with no living souls. The last surviving members of the Witt family had finished themselves off before Lynch even arrived.
“Remember, no one is permitted to go up there, or you will suffer the consequences,” the officer said as she strode down the steps, pulling the attic trapdoor firmly shut behind her.
“My Lord, what about our cattle...?”
Officer Natalie clenched her fists, glaring darkly at the leading farmer. “An entire family has just been brutally wiped out, and you're worrying about your cattle?!”
“B-But we...”
“There's no need to panic either,” Lynch said, raising a hand in a calming gesture. “We must at least inspect the goods before deciding whether to purchase them. It's almost dark now, so how about this: we will stay overnight in town and continue inspecting tomorrow. That will also give us tonight to figure out why the cattle turned out like this; otherwise, we wouldn't feel safe buying them anyway.”
The farmers were quite disappointed, but Lynch's reasoning was sound. Besides, even after witnessing such bizarre changes in the dead cattle, he still indicated a willingness to buy, leaving the farmers no choice but to nod in agreement.
It always takes you to handle this sort of thing.
Behind his back, the police officer glanced quietly at Lynch's silhouette. Biting her lip, she tapped her own forehead in self-deprecation before quickly composing herself and ordering the fat mayor, “Find two townsfolk to ride fast horses to the city and report this. An entire household has perished here.”
“B-But we don't have horses, ma'am,” the mayor replied with a bitter smile. “All the livestock in town are cooped up in their pens and won't come out, including the post horses.”
“Huh?” Lynch quickly interrupted. “Even the town hall's horses are affected?”
“They're housed and cared for by the townsfolk at their homes.”
The police officer frowned. “No matter. We brought horses harnessed to our carriage. You leave right now.”
“That won't do, ma'am!” the leading farmer said, wringing his hands in panic. “It's nearly dark! We can't leave town; traveling at night is too rough and dangerous!”
“That's right, ma'am!”
The other farmers chimed in. A few gentlemen from the town hall couldn't bear it and shouted at the farmers to obey, but this time the farmers seemed stubbornly resolved—there was absolutely no way they would leave town at night to report to the city.
“Then one of you can go instead,” Lynch suggested to the fat mayor and the gentlemen. “It's less than a two-hour trip anyway; it won't be that late.”
“W-We don't know how to ride horses,” the gentlemen said awkwardly. “We can't go either. Why don't you two go yourselves? We won't leave; we'll wait in town for your news.”
“That won't work. We must guard the crime scene here. Besides, with such a heinous incident taking place, I cannot leave before it's resolved. Lynch, why don't you make the trip?”
“I know even less about riding horses, so I can't go either. Let's just have—”
Before the words fully left his mouth, Lynch froze and abruptly gripped the police officer's hand.
He gripped so tightly that the officer frowned. Yet Lynch's expression had suddenly turned grim, his face deathly pale and his movements stiff. In a chilled whisper, he said:
“Have you noticed? Everyone is making excuses refusing to leave this town.”
“Every single person is doing it, just like the cattle and horses refusing to leave their pens. No matter how absurd or bizarre the excuses are, no one realizes it, and no one can resist it.”
“Including... us.”
Their gazes locked, and a bone-chilling dread crept up their spines.
Rate on N.U.
