‘Nephew? Why am I just being told now?’

“Huh? Did Aldric come back?” Lysander asked, his mood suddenly darkening. His frown deepened, betraying his feelings toward his so-called nephew. This wasn’t a surprise; he despised the boy. The mere mention of Aldric in relation to the word ‘nephew’ left a bitter taste in his mouth. Who could blame him, though? They weren’t related in blood, yet his brother had treated him far better than his own son. It was preposterous, and Lysander would never accept it, no matter what. “When?”

When Humphrey saw his reaction, he chuckled and said, “Not that b*stard, the other one.”

“Elysian?” the noble asked, his expression shifting from surprise to outright outrage. The very notion that a ten-year-old boy was even being considered to be involved in this situation made him mad. Despite their close friendship, his patience wore thin. “I understand we’re close, like family, even. I consider you my brother,” he muttered softly, yet his gaze was piercing. “But don’t… Don’t make such outrageous statements, especially concerning Elysian.”

Immediately, the room fell silent as tension thickened, casting an uncomfortable cloud over the room. The weight of each word hung heavily, causing the typically composed and easygoing Humphrey to momentarily freeze, a flicker of realization crossing his face that he might have overstepped. Such moments were rare for him; his skill in reading people was usually pretty good. How else could he have befriended someone as temperamental as Lysander?

Swallowing hard, Humphrey swiftly adapted; he was like a chameleon, able to easily navigate anything and anywhere in order to save his own skin. “Hey, before you start accusing me of slander, hear me out, alright?” he responded, mustering an awkward smile to diffuse the tension. “I know my words might have sounded absurd, but it wasn’t all bullsh*t.”

‘Elysian, the murderer responsible for wiping out all of Crimson Talon in Ironspire—if that isn’t pure nonsense, I don’t know what is.

Tsk, this b*stard might have fallen back into his addiction. What drugs is he hooked on this time? I’ve warned him countless times to steer clear of those substances. It’s not just unhealthy; it’s also impacting his work.’

“Didn’t I warn you? What are you taking this time?” Lysander asked, not looking happy as he carefully scrutinized his friend's face.

“Hey, stop it, man!” Humphrey exclaimed, recoiling from the noble’s scrutiny. Instead of displaying anger at the accusation, his pale complexion gave some credence to the allegation. He was indeed taking drugs again, a secret he had successfully hidden—well, until now. “You’re veering off the topic. Tsk, this isn’t about me; it’s about the murders. Are you going to listen, or should I just leave? I have plenty of work waiting for me.”

‘This fool is certainly back on those illegal substances again. Ironspire has enough problems already; why is he adding to them?’

“Okay, okay, say it. Explain your crazy speculation to me,” Lysander said, sighing in resignation. He decided to back off, realizing he already had enough problems to deal with; he didn’t have time to get involved in whatever issue his friend was having. “Tell me exactly how a ten-year-old child could exterminate the entire Crimson Talon, huh? Let’s hear how that intelligent brain of yours could explain that to me?”

When put in the spotlight, Humphrey’s confidence quickly fizzled out. “Hmm… Look, man, I’m not saying it’s him. I’m just suggesting it as a possibility,” he cautioned, adding a caveat to not get burned by his absurd idea. “I’ve heard from my sources that your nephew—Elysian—defeated the old man yesterday in the training ground.”

‘What nonsense is he spewing now? Not only did he eradicate Crimson Talon, but he also beat Jareth. Does that even make sense?’

Instead of responding, Lysander simply arched his brow, refusing to entertain such nonsense. Could you blame him? Anyone with a thinking mind would also find such an assertion preposterous.

When Humphrey saw his friend’s reaction, he sighed; he had expected it already. What he didn’t expect was that he was starting to question himself. The more he talked about it, the more ridiculous it sounded. Listening to his own words, he found it foolish that he had come to such a conclusion. However, he had already made the claim. He couldn’t back down now; it would be embarrassing.

“Before you judge me, let me provide some context first,” Humphrey remarked, his mind racing to formulate ways to elucidate his words so they appeared reasonable. “I know the idea that the boy beat the old man sounds crazy, but he wasn’t alone. All the young soldiers, along with two of Elysian’s servants, were present at the event,” he continued, smiling as he attempted to make his point clear. “It was a winner-take-all competition where they bet money. One of the conditions was that the old man couldn’t use aura. Additionally, he could only use his legs, not his arms,” he added, his confidence beginning to return. “Most importantly, it seemed that your nephew can use aura now. This revelation shocked everybody.”

‘Aura? Isn’t he too young?

Hmm…

Didn’t he also start training? The boy had always been spoiled and lazy. Thornwick had been nagging him for ages, but he refused to listen. I know he hated any form of martial practice. He said so himself.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Suddenly, he wanted to train. Not only that, he had also taken his first step into cultivation. Well, being a cultivator was unexpected—sure, but it’s not really surprising. It’s simply in his blood. Both I and his father are cultivators, and we are high-level at that. It would be more startling if he were not one. It’s just his sudden change in behavior that’s troubling.

Well, the boy has to grow one way or another. Thankfully, it’s all been positive. Hopefully, I can influence him more in the right direction.

Hmm…

Why didn’t he tell me that he could use an aura now?’

“Interesting,” Lysander muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. His dour mood from earlier transformed into a soft smile. Even the tension that had filled the room vanished, giving way to a more relaxed atmosphere.

“See, I’m right,” Humphrey responded excitedly, his anxiety forgotten. “It’s not totally crazy that the boy could’ve killed those men.” Grinning widely, he added, “Not only that, but I also heard that last night, before the murders happened, there was a confrontation in a pub between your nephew and three of the regular members of the Crimson Talon. One of them had his arm cut off while the other two were badly beaten.”

‘Isn’t he too young to drink? Why was he even in the pub?

Sigh, likely a celebration for winning the bet. Tsk, why is he associating with those vermin? He should set a clear boundary between himself and his subjects. Didn’t I teach him that? Otherwise, he would just be taken advantage of, not the other way around.’

“So?” Lysander asked, raising a brow.

“What do you mean?” the soldier asked, perplexed by his friend’s reaction. “Didn’t that establish a motive?”

“Idiot!” the noble snorted, shaking his head. “They are in a pub; fights happen. Is there anything new to that? If their conflict was serious, he would’ve killed them. Why did he let them live?” When he saw his friend was about to object, he immediately added, “Also, don’t tell me that they went out and asked for reinforcement. Don’t you think Grimscar would dare attack my nephew—‘my nephew’, just for his injured men? I reckon he would’ve killed them outright if he heard they were beaten by a ten-year-old kid.”

“I understand that it’s not much of a motive, but you can’t deny that there’s a hostile connection between the two sides,” Humphrey remarked, not easily conceding his point. “But you can’t deny that the boy has the capability to commit those murders.”

“You are really a fool,” the noble retorted, snorting at the man’s presumption. “You’ve said it already; the old man was beaten by a throng of young soldiers, along with my nephew. On top of not being able to use his aura and arms, does it make sense to you that the boy could have killed all those men, including Grimscar?” he asked, his expression more animated now, reflecting his frustration. “We are talking about Grimscar, here? Not those three men in the pub, who are drunk and just regular people. Grimscar was a veteran who had been a cultivator for many years. Do you think a boy who just stepped into cultivation could’ve beaten him?”

‘He’s usually bright. Why is he a moron now?

Tsk, it’s the drugs. This fool likely consumed so much substance that it affected his reasoning somehow. Elysian killing Grimscar? Is there something more absurd than that?’

Humphrey fell silent and just sat there, staring at nothing in particular. After what felt like an eternity, he sighed, a defeated expression crossing his face. “Yeah, you’re right,” he finally admitted, nodding in agreement. He couldn’t find a rebuttal to that argument. No matter how he analyzed it, the conclusion remained the same. “Now that you’ve put it that way, it sounds rather dumb.” Leaning back in his chair, he continued, “I’ve heard he was the last one to attack the old man. The b*stard was likely exhausted from all the relentless assault of those children; he is rather old, after all. Or, perhaps, he simply let him win.”

“Jareth has always been hard to read. He’s not the type who places any importance on honor or fame. He doesn’t care about appearances. That’s why he still looks like a drunkard,” Lysander remarked, his voice carrying a hint of respect. “But we’ve gotten off track. If I remember correctly, you mentioned that most of them had a puncture wound on the back of their heads, meaning they didn’t all die the same way. Is that right?”

“Correct,” Humphrey responded as he tried to recall the murders. “To be precise, there are actually three crime scenes involving the Crimson Talons. In the warehouse where the majority of them died, they were mostly killed by what I described earlier, a puncture in the head.”

“And the others?”

Humphrey went silent for a moment as he tried to piece together the information. “Well,” he muttered before sighing in resignation. “I really have difficulty trying to piece together how the events unfolded. Now that I have time to think about it, I’m certain that this wasn’t done by a single person. I’m even willing to bet that these murders might not be related to each other.”

“There you go again,” Lysander retorted, shaking his head. “Aren’t you done with your outrageous ideas?”

“I know it’s absurd, but I really can’t connect them so that they would make sense,” Lysander remarked, earnestly trying to convey his point. “There are ten other deaths in the warehouse: four outside—patrols—and six inside a hidden room. The two outside seem to be done by a professional—fast and efficient, while the other two were clearly the work of an amateur.”

“Amateur?” the noble asked, curious how he had arrived at that conclusion.

“Yes, amateur and… Hmm, emotionally unstable,” the soldier replied, nodding at himself. “You can clearly see the difference in how they were killed, especially the other one. He was stabbed repeatedly; it's as if he was killed through unbridled rage. Inside the hidden room, there was one who was also killed the same way. Well, they aren’t really similar, in the sense that this was worse. He was killed to the point that he was beyond recognizable; he looked like a man ripped to shreds by a beast. Whoever did that wasn’t human.”

“Was Grimscar killed there?” the nobles inquired as his head started to throb in pain again.

“No, his second-in-command was. Hmm,” Humphrey answered, trying to recall something. “I forgot his name. He’s the one recently transferred here from their headquarters. He was killed by a dagger in the back of his head.”

“Didn’t this just disprove your theory earlier?” Lysander asked, raising a brow. “It seems these killers are part of the same group.”

“No, they are different,” Humphrey retorted, shaking his head with confidence. “All the dead bodies before were killed in the same manner. They were stabbed at the exact location—at the back of the head; such precision could only be done by a highly trained killer. When I first saw it, I couldn’t believe that it was possible. Just looking at it gave me goosebumps,” he stated, his face paling as he recalled the incident earlier. “However, the second-in-command wasn’t killed the same way; it was at the back of the head, sure, but near his right ear. It seems he was killed by a thrown knife when he attempted to run away.”

‘Damn it, my headache keeps getting worse.’

The noble sighed in irritation as he massaged his temple. “Where was Grimscar killed? It seems he wasn’t murdered in the warehouse.”

“Yes, he wasn’t,” Humphrey answered, his face suddenly turning pale. Unlike before, his eyes were filled with fear. There was no mistaking it; he was terrified. Swallowing hard, he stated, “He was killed in his house, hidden in the forest.” After a moment of silence, he continued, “He was tortured.”