Behind Main Street, along the south canal, stood a simple building of sturdy red brick. Its austere and formal appearance contrasted with the lively and colorful shops nearby. A sign under the arched doorway announced in crude script, "Calico Constabulary." The building was the local sheriff's office, where law and order were the order of the day.

The outside of the building was old, but the inside was brand new. The Police of the Helioric Kingdom was created just over 20 years after the Metropolitan Act, which advocated the creation of a systematic security force to govern the capital, Phlegoneos. By combining the Patrols, the watchmen, and the Parish Police into a single organization.

The law also requires settlements of more than 20,000 people to establish a police and security force at the expense of that government. The rumored town of Calico quickly drew population with the help of the railways and the press. Many people rushed into the fire like moths, dying instantly without a chance to change.

"This is where people and bad guys get caught, isn't it, Althur?" The boy with the blond hair in the warm weather asked the young man next to him.

They were standing in front of a worn brick building with high walls and arched windows that suggested many stories.

Bloody stains on the walls and a small stable with horses and carriages nearby added to the rustic feel.

Althur replied without turning his head, "No. They only arrest those who are against it."

"Against what?"

"What they think is right." Althur replied briefly.

After saying goodbye to Winston, the two quickly took another carriage and drove to the Calico Police Headquarters. This is a relatively safe area, at least on the surface. No one knows if it was done on purpose, but the location was designed to allow the police to rapidly reach southern downtown.

He quickly led them into the inner hall, leaving the stuffy and foul air outside. A scene of chaos greeted their eyes. The clamor they had heard earlier grew louder and clearer.

The stern and brutal tones of the men in uniform overpowered the boy's cries of fear and pain. "You filthy brat, you should be grateful for the abolition of the gallows. You'd be swinging from a rope instead of whining here."

"You scum, there's no point in denying it. You will not stand trial. You'll be taken to the mines to work as slaves." A sloppily dressed man, bearing little resemblance to a police uniform, threatened a boy and smiled coldly.

"I didn't take anything. I went there for no reason."

"Shut up, you liar. You and your gang are nothing but pickpockets and cheats. I know your tricks. You always sneak around the train station and downtown to rob people. You deserve to rot in hell."

"I don't do anything."

"Fool me once; shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me." The whole area seemed deserted. It made him feel like a king, and he enjoyed trampling on this half-assed garbage.

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The man, no longer angry with the child, stood and watched the visitors enter. There were two human figures, one tall and one short.

"You should be grateful, you little rat. Get in there and warm up with the riffraff." The man threw the child roughly into the cell, where several drunks and ruffians were being held. After noticing someone coming, he quickly threw the child into the next cell so as not to spoil the atmosphere. All were locked in darkness, with no light on their faces. They were silent and sullen before and after.

The young gentleman was wearing a formal black suit and a bowler hat. As a downtown acquaintance, he knew that this young gentleman was not a strict person. However, this judgment must be discussed after he understands many details because many bohemian young people come here.

He quickly ran over to the young man and saw that he was carrying a small child. It was similar to the one he had just thrown into the cell, but the boy was as clean and beautiful as the porcelain dolls he often saw the upper-class children bring when they came here.

"What can I do for you, sir?" The man approached quickly.

"Good day. I'm here at Bishop Colby's request." Realizing that this man appeared to be a man on duty, the man's demeanor was less formal. He examined the young gentleman's clothing more closely. His gray eyes seemed to have integrity and were the only adornment. He wore no expensive accessories, not even a cufflink.

"Then you have something to confirm, sir?"

Althur didn't bother to give his name or make small talk as a courtesy. He went straight to work without any small talk, as if he didn't want to waste time here. While the policeman thought that this young gentleman didn't mention his family name, compared to a bourgeois who didn't mention it,

"Hypocrisy." He thought to himself.

However, his attitude did not change too drastically. After all, now that commoners can enter the political system, many can change their lives if they can fight for prestigious universities. Little did the man know that the person standing in front of him was actually from the most prestigious university in the country, Isandros Academy.

"Here." Althur quickly produced a pamphlet bearing the stamp of the diocesan representative.

The man quickly flipped through the paper. "Uh, there's a body in the cellar. Had it not been for Father Colby's request, we would have burned it quickly. Let's finish your work early so the room can be cleared. We don't have much room."

"Peter, take the guest." The man called for the back door.

The door creaked a few times, and a young man, weak and scholarly, appeared.

The policeman quickly took the paper and threw it to the young man called Peter and said, "Take this young gentleman down to the cellar. He wants to see the body that has been there for a week and has not yet been cremated."

"Sure."

"Shit. Brat. You'll be lucky if you can work in this cellar. Nor will you and your sister be down in the mine."

Althur looked up. The young man's voice was as cold as a corpse, and the blue veins on his hands and cheeks were like a walking corpse. The young man was silent. He didn't say anything after hearing the man's words, which were similar to this situation.

"Can I leave the child here? I don't think it's the right place to take a child."

"Okay. Do what you want." He pointed to the cell and a small chair where victims who had come to report usually sat.

"You choose." The man looked at Brahms.

Althur looked at Brahms, who remained silent, went to the small chair, and waited obediently. He knew Althur didn't want him to see those creepy corpses.

The young man led Althur down a flight of stairs that turned as if they were going straight to hell. As the room grew colder, the two of them entered a subterranean area with a door sealed with iron plates to keep out the cold.

With a flickering candle in his hand, the young man led the church guest to the lower level. He showed no warmth or friendliness, only a cold detachment. He seemed like a walking corpse, devoid of any emotion. Althur wondered if he was still alive, but he felt a faint vitality from his guide.

The only sound was their footsteps on the stone floor. As they stood at the foot of the stairs, there was a massive wooden door secured with a rusty padlock. The young man behind them broke the silence. His voice echoed in the cellar, each word sounding like a chilling bell.

"Have you ever seen a ghost?" Althur asked.