Chapter 6
Lady Detective Consultant
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Despite telling my parents to pretend we never talked about it, suitor applications kept mysteriously appearing—neatly tucked inside my investigative request tray. Every day, I had one more task added to my workload: personally writing rejection letters. I made sure they were clear and polite. And yet… even after my careful refusals, a few of them still showed up at my doorstep.
Of course, after being recently turned down in writing, they didn’t arrive with flowers or extravagant gifts. Instead, they pretended to be clients. I had to wonder—had someone secretly advised them...?
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Please, my fair Lady, I have a heartache!
A long-lost love… a mystery that haunts me!
Five years ago—at the Grand Masquerade Ball—I met her. A masked lady, brilliant and breathtaking, who stole my heart at first sight. At the time, I was just an ordinary young noble—no fame, no glory, no power to my name. I didn’t even have the confidence to approach her.
But she… she was so brave!
When a murder occurred amidst the ball, she was the first to step forward, solving the case without effort
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Under the pavilion’s roof was where I heard my clients.
You might imagine a detective consultant’s office as a gloomy space, cluttered with old newspapers and case files. But no—this was my office. Set in the middle of a blooming garden, it was the kind of place most noble ladies would use for socializing.
But…
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Murder.
Solving the case.
Chestnut brown hair.
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Today, the missing person case was oddly specific.
I stared at him for a moment. Then, with a polite smile, I said—“Congratulations, Major Richard! I think I know exactly who you’re looking for.”
His eyes widened with hope. “You do!? You know where she is?”
I nodded solemnly as I sipped my tea.
“Yes. In fact, the one who solved that murder… was me.”
His face lit up. “Then—then it was you! You are my first love!”
“Unfortunately… no.”
Putting my cup down, I leaned back in my chair.
“That party was painfully boring. So, I hired a peasant girl with similar hair and body proportions to act as my ‘Double’ while I secretly played board games in the courtyard with a friend.”
“W—WHAT!?”
“Yes, she played my role for the evening. If you truly fell in love at first sight… then you actually fell for her. If you’re interested, I can give you her contact information.”
“H-Hold on a moment, Lady Hound! What about the case? The murder!?”
“Oh, that? My double called me on a device called a ‘Telephone.’ I solved it over the line and had her pretend to be me while revealing the truth.”
Silence.
The man named Richard stared at me, visibly shaken, as his well-rehearsed script crumbled before him. “…Really?”
I met his gaze, letting the tension hang for a moment.
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“No. I’m bluffing. Please, f*ck off!”
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With a snap of my fingers, two of my family’s retinue knights appeared.
“Lady Hound, wait! Please hear me first! My love is real! I—”
Before he could finish, the knights each grabbed an arm and hauled him away. I let out a weary sigh, rubbing my temples.
This was getting exhausting.
If I had to keep wasting my energy dealing with these persistent suitors, I wouldn’t have any left for actual cases.
“Hello? Lady Hound?”
A familiar voice called from the pavilion’s entrance. “I see your latest guest has already been escorted out. May I come in?”
I looked up, narrowing my eyes.
“What!? Lestrade!? You, too!?”
In case you were confused, this Lestrade wasn’t Chief Inspector Henry Lestrade from the first chapter, but his son, Sir Gregory Lestrade—a young newly appointed Inspector Knight.
“…Me too?” He frowned, clearly baffled. “Wait, Lady Hound, what are you talking about?”
I crossed my arms, already bracing for another headache. “I know you’re my mother’s favorite ‘Kid-Next-Door.’ But if you came here with some ridiculous case just to use it as an excuse for a blind date…” I gestured toward the entrance. “I swear, if you won’t escort yourself out right now, I’ll have someone throw you straight to her feet instead.”
Lestrade raised both hands in defense. “My Lady, you’ve got it all wrong! I’m actually here on business. I bring several unsolvable cases in the name of the Metropolitan Knights!”
“Oh…” I exhaled, feeling the weight of my misjudgment. “My apologies. I’ve had difficult visitors lately.” I gestured for him to sit. “In that case, speak.”
Lestrade took a seat, before opening his notebook.
“Alright, where should we begin? Hm… How about this case first?”
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There’s a group of street racing motorcyclists who’ve been disturbing the neighborhood, using public roads as their own personal racetrack and causing noise in the middle of the night. For months, they’ve been a nuisance. But last night, something far worse happened. Two of the racers were killed—beheaded—right in the middle of a race.
The witnesses, including some of the local residents and the third surviving racer, all describe the same thing about the incident. We’d like to believe this was some kind of tragic accident, but there’s no logical explanation for how it happened.
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I picked up my teacup, taking a slow sip. “Were there any poles at the scene?”
Lestrade furrowed his brow. “Utility poles, maybe, but they can’t behead someone mid-air. It’s impossible.”
Oh, Lestrade… such a lack of imagination.
If only he had read ‘The Death of the Headless Riders,’ he’d know this was an ordinary trick in detective stories—sometimes even adaptable for horror films.
“What if,” I set my cup down, tapping my chin, “someone tied a thin wire—perhaps a metal cable—between two poles? The incident took place at night, and with our city’s frequent fog, the visibility must have been low. Did anyone reach the scene immediately after it happened?”
Lestrade shook his head. “The crime was too terrifying, Lady Hound. The local residents locked themselves inside, waiting for the Patrol Knights to arrive. As for the third racer, he crashed before reaching the others. When he saw his friends’ heads… well, he panicked and fled the scene. He was later arrested. But a thin wire—is that what you’re suggesting could be the murder weapon?”
“Possibly.” I picked up a macaron, taking a bite. “It depends on the material. A metal cable might leave scars if handled carelessly, but with enough momentum—like the speed of a motorcycle—it could slice through a body as cleanly as a guillotine.”
“A… guillotine?”
“Yes.” I gave him a slow smile. “The head-chopping machine used on the Continent. Very popular among revolutionaries. Headless, painless, and a grand spectacle of terror for their enemies. It’s also quite egalitarian. Whether you're a commoner, a noble, or even a king—the guillotine treats everyone equally.”
“You do realize you are an aristocrat, right?” Lestrade gave me a wary look. “Never mind. Forget I asked. Do you have any guesses about who set this thing up?”
“The gang’s been causing trouble for the neighborhood, haven’t they?”
“Yes, my Lady,” Lestrade nodded. “The locals have had enough of them. Do you think it could be one of the residents?”
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
I shook my head slightly. “Annoyed residents might complain. But imagine if someone was truly harassed by them—someone with no place to escape. That’s a much stronger motive.”
“You’re suggesting it might be a homeless person—someone who had to stay near the streets all the time? There’s one among the witnesses!”
“High possibility.” I gave him an approving nod. “He’s the one who lives closest to the street. If my theory holds, he had the perfect opportunity to set up the trap and take them out. And if you’re wrong, well, he can certainly give you a better explanation than I can.”
“Very well, my Lady. I’ll have my men check on this person and search for possible weapons.” Lestrade straightened his coat, then gave me a hopeful look. “But if you don’t mind, I’d like to request your expert consultation for another case.”
I sighed. “As long as you don’t force me into a romance conversation, I’m fine.”
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The next case was even more bizarre.
A man was found hanging upside down in an abandoned warehouse, his body pale as snow. The doctor confirmed that he died from blood loss, yet strangely, there were no visible wounds—only a small scar, roughly the size of fang marks!
People are in a panic!! Some are convinced we are dealing with a vampire!
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Oh, please, give me a break.
I could guess this story’s trick since the first time I ever read ‘The Night with the Hanging Man.’
“Antithrombotic,” I said, leaning back and calmly sipping my tea, feeling quite pleased with myself.
“A-antithrombo… what?” Lestrade stammered and confused.
To be fair, let’s give the poor man some justice: He’s a knight, not a pharmacist, so it’s only natural he wouldn’t know.
“Antithrombotic,” I repeated, more deliberately. “It’s a substance that prevents blood from clotting. The killer must’ve given it to the victim. When they hung him upside down, his blood drained slowly without coagulating. Through this method, there’s no need to slit the victim’s throat like a chicken. Just a small wound, and the blood will keep flowing, unable to stop.”
“Ew! That’s…really disgusting! Who would do something so horrible!?”
“A doctor, nurse, pharmacist—anyone with a bit of medical knowledge could pull it off. You should check hospitals, clinics, apothecaries, and maybe even the Medical Campus for anyone with access to antithrombotics. Oh, and you might want to visit the Research Center at the Imperial Zoo too…”
“Wait!?” Lestrade was shocked. “You mean to tell me that bats actually drink human blood!?”
“No! I meant leeches!” Couldn’t resist it, I groaned. “They produce an antithrombotic enzyme called ‘Hirudin.’ Someone could be researching it.”
“Now, the final case isn’t exactly under the jurisdiction of the Metropolitan Knights,” Lestrade admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.
My ears perked up. “Not under their jurisdiction? Then why are you bringing it to me?”
“Because…” Lestrade straightened, his expression turning more serious. “It’s a special request from His Imperial Majesty, my Lady.”
“The Emperor?” I nearly choked on my tea. “Wait—what does he have to do with any of this!?”
“I heard that your reputation has reached the inner circle of the Imperial Palace. So, when a Diplomatic Incident occurred, His Majesty believed you might have valuable insight.”
“Whoa, hold on! I may have handled many weird cases before, but a Diplomatic Incident? That’s way too big for me!”
“No need to worry, Lady Hound,” Lestrade tried to assure me. “Whatever conclusions you come to, this has already escalated into a political matter—one that only the people in the government can resolve. However, since the root of this crisis is a ‘Mysterious Murder,’ His Majesty simply wishes to hear your professional opinion. The Emperor admires your expertise—he just wants to experience your consulting firsthand, so please, treat him like any other client.”
Good grace, that’s too easy to say!
But, well… “Alright… Uh… I’ll hear it first.”
Lestrade flipped to a fresh page in his notebook.
“This incident didn’t happen here in the Home Continent. It took place in Kalambara.”
“You say ‘Kalambara’?”
“Yes, my Lady. One of our protectorate nations. And given the status of the victim, his violent death during a diplomatic mission has sparked a major crisis.”
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Kalambara? Hm, okay!!!
This is gonna be easy, I hope!
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Let me break it down for you.
An Imperial Envoy was traveling through the countryside of Kalambara with his Wife and Butler when they were ambushed by a notorious Bandit. Despite having a retinue of guards, they were no match for him—he single-handedly wiped them out.
The Envoy himself was found dead on days later, after his Wife and Butler managed to escape from the Bandit’s captivity and were rescued by a search party.
Now, here’s where things get tricky.
The Bandit was captured and brought to trial, but when everyone was asked to recount the details of the incident, their stories didn’t match up.
The Bandit spoke first. He arrogantly claimed that he killed the Imperial Envoy in a fair-and-square duel at the request of the Envoy’s Wife. According to him, she was captivated by his 'Charm' and wanted to be with him instead.
Next, the Wife took the stand. Her testimony gave a very different story. She claimed the Bandit had harassed her during their captivity. After finally freeing her husband, she begged him to fight and kill the Bandit to restore her honor. But the Imperial Envoy heartlessly refused. Consumed by grief and rage, she admitted to killing him herself for failing to protect her.
Then came Butler's testimony, which only added to the confusion. He stated that the Imperial Envoy had taken his own life out of shame after seeing his Wife’s affection for the Bandit. The Butler even implied she had willingly given her body to their captor.
The Colonial Court of Kalambara ends in complete chaos, with no clue who they should believe. But His Imperial Majesty seems confident that you might have an explanation of this testimony mess!
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That’s exactly why this story has been named ‘The Testimonies from Kalambara.’ The entire mess roots from the conflicting testimonies of three people, who had their own reason to lie.
“Alright, I get it,” I said, leaning back and crossing my arms. “But why the heck is Colonial Court even wasting time trying to figure out which of these stories is true when all three might equally be ‘Bullsh*t’?”
“Wait, Lady Hound, are you saying they're all lying?” Lestrade asked, clearly struggling to keep up with me once again.
“Technically, I’m in no position to judge that,” I replied. “But from what I’m hearing from you, all three testimonies are obviously biased! The Bandit wants to appear as some kind of heroic rogue, the Wife is trying to salvage her own honor, and the Butler… well, he’s likely trying to preserve his dead master’s dignity. They’re all driven by self-interest, and their stories are constructed around that. The Bandit wants to come across as a charming villain, the Wife aims to be seen as a victim-turned-avenger, and the Butler, loyal as ever, would do anything to protect the Envoy’s reputation—even if it means fabricating a tale of suicide.”
Lestrade’s eyes widened as he began to follow my reasoning. “So… what should the truth be, then?”
“The truth?” I scoffed. “How the heck am I supposed to know? The crime happened across the ocean, and here I am, stuck with nothing but three biased testimonies from your notebook. I can’t give you ‘the Truth’ without a proper investigation. But what I can offer is a fictional story that might yield similar results.”
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The Bandit really harassed the Wife during their captivity. Perhaps he even went further, violating her. After days of suffering and humiliation, she finally found an opportunity to free her husband. In her mind, there was only one way to restore her dignity: by having him kill the Bandit. She begged him to fight for her, to prove her worth through a duel.
To her shock, the Envoy refused. In his eyes, she was already tarnished—no longer ‘Worthy’ of risking his life. He didn’t want to duel for her.
Naturally, this response devastated the Wife. Her grief quickly turned to rage. In her fury, she lashed out at him, calling him a coward and hurling even worse insults. Backed into a corner by her accusations, the Envoy reluctantly agreed to the duel—one he didn’t want to fight and certainly couldn’t win. Thus, he died… in a pathetic, dishonorable way. His death was so humiliating that his loyal Butler couldn’t bear the truth. That’s why the Butler fabricated the story of suicide—to protect his master’s dignity from the shame of pitiful death.
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Lestrade sat there in silence, processing everything I had just said before expressing his opinion, “That... is logical! Are you sure this isn’t the real story?”
“OF COURSE NOT!” I exclaimed, my voice rising in pitch. How could I possibly reveal that this version came straight from the story’s ‘Epilogue’!? “Look, I have no evidence to prove it, alright? Even if you have to tell the Emperor this story, make sure to mention that it’s a fictional version!”
Lestrade closed his notebook, considering his tasks fulfilled. “Well, my Lady, I believe I’ve taken up enough of your valuable time for now. Please, allow me to take my leave.”
I felt a wave of relief.
Finally, I would have some peace.
Sure, all three cases today had been among the simplest, but solving them back-to-back had left me utterly drained. To revive my tired brain, I grabbed three lollipops and popped them into my mouth like a makeshift detective's pipe. Because, you know, tobacco leaves carcinogens everywhere, so I’d rather prefer ‘Diabetes,’ which, at least, doesn’t harm anyone else.
For a brief, blissful moment, I savored the sugar rush and let my body melt into the armchair, already teetering on the edge of sleep.
But then, everything suddenly changed in the wrong way…
The shift was instant, like a glass of juice turning into poison.
The wind died.
The birds fell silent.
The garden, once alive with movement and song, became eerily still, as if all living things had sensed a predator’s presence. Even the scent of flowers, once so sweet and rich, turned hollow—fading, as if the very air had grown dry.
And then, it came…
That suffocating, oppressive ‘Death Scent.’
The once-warm sunlight now felt distant, weak, like the last glow before dusk would devour the sky.
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Tap…
Tap…
Tap…
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The sound of a polished cane echoed across the unnaturally quiet space, each step measured.
“My, my… Even in an elegant dress and such a beautiful place, you still love to indulge in childish candies?”
That voice… I stiffened.
I turned my head, and there he was, standing just a few feet away, as though he'd always been there.
‘John’ was dressed exactly as he had been the first time we met. But this time, he wasn’t empty-handed. In his arms, he held a bouquet of a hundred roses—the very gift he had promised to give me another time.
The lollipops slipped from my mouth, falling to the floor with a soft thud. I inhaled sharply, preparing to scream, to call for help—from anything and anyone.
But John's hand was faster.
Before I could even make a sound, he shoved a handkerchief into my mouth, muffling any words I tried to form.
“MRPH!?”
His lips curled into that mocking smile. “My dear Sherlin, that’s very rude! Please, don’t tell me you always behave like this with other guests?”