Walter adjusted his collar, cleared his throat, and spoke steadily. "Mr. Axel's testimony is as follows," he said, his tone professional but cautious. "Early this morning, after completing an absorption session with the rock spinal core, he was attacked by Mr. Vaughn Brighthelm, who forcibly entered his residence."

Walter's eyes flicked to Vernon, then back down to his report. "According to Mr. Axel, Vaughn attacked with lethal intent. However, after absorbing the spinal core, Axel's strength had increased significantly. Vaughn was overpowered."

"Get to the point!" Vernon barked, slamming his fist against the table.

Walter's brow creased, but before he could respond, one of the city leaders gave him a warning look. Walter exhaled quietly and continued.

"Mr. Axel stated that he understood the influence of the Brighthelm family and feared potential retaliation if Vaughn survived. He claimed that after subduing him, he tried to reason with Vaughn—to get him to stand down. But Vaughn refused, remaining hostile. Exhausted, Axel eventually fell asleep, only for Vaughn to wake first and attack him again. Facing imminent death, Axel defended himself… and delivered a fatal blow."

For a few seconds, there was silence. Then Vernon laughed—low at first, then rising into a bitter, broken sound. He stared at Walter, eyes glinting with grief and venom.

"You actually believe that bullshit?"

Walter's frown deepened. "Mr. Vernon, I understand your loss, but this is still the preliminary stage of the investigation. We can't draw conclusions until we gather all the facts."

"Facts?" Vernon sneered. His laughter turned harsh, manic. "What facts do you need? My son was weaker than him—he admits it himself! After 'trapping' him, why didn't he just walk away? No—he stayed. He wanted blood. That's premeditated murder!"

The room tensed. The officials behind him shifted uncomfortably, glancing at each other but not daring to speak.

"Mr. Vernon, please," one finally said. "Calm down for a moment. The… Awakened you requested—the Undead Guide—is already on his way. Let's wait until he arrives before making any conclusions."

A Level Five Undead Guide—a specialist capable of summoning and communicating with the spirits of the dead. Costly, dangerous, and politically explosive.

But in a case with no witnesses, no cameras, and conflicting testimony, it was one of the few ways to establish truth—or at least, something like it.

Vernon sank back into his chair, the murderous energy rolling off him like heat. The men around him felt it like a pressure on their lungs.

Through the glass, Axel sat motionless in his chair, hands folded loosely in front of him.

Some of the officers watching felt a strange pang—pity, maybe, or something close to it.

He's right, they thought silently. Most people would act that way when cornered by someone from a family like the Brighthelms.

But none of them dared to say it.

Footsteps echoed sharply from the hallway. A moment later, several men in crisp black uniforms entered, their movements precise, their expressions cold and confident.

"Mr. Vernon," one of them said. "There was an accident on the way—we're a bit late."

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The man who stepped forward was heavy-set, in his fifties, with neatly combed gray hair and a politician's smile.

"Fletcher, about damn time," Vernon said, standing up. He gave the room a pointed look. "You really ought to train your men better. The quality of your subordinates is slipping."

Walter and the local officers bristled.

"Commander Fletcher…" a few murmured as they stepped forward, trying to look respectful.

Fletcher—one of the top five officers in the state police—acknowledged them with a faint nod. Most of them had never seen him in person; under other circumstances, they might have been honored. Tonight, no one felt that way.

Fletcher smiled mildly at Vernon. "For a case like this, it's only right for them to be cautious. I'm sure they'll handle it properly—and you'll get the answers you deserve."

That line seemed to placate both sides. Vernon's expression softened, though his eyes still burned. Fletcher, meanwhile, glanced toward the glass wall of the interrogation room.

When Vernon had first called him, Fletcher had hesitated. On one side was the Brighthelm family, with whom he'd long kept a profitable friendship; on the other was Axel, the prodigy of the Whisper Syndicate. It was a delicate situation. But when it became clear that the Syndicate wasn't intervening, Fletcher had decided to step in personally.

"This case," he said finally, voice firm, "will now be handled directly by the State Police."

At his signal, a dozen uniformed men fanned out behind him.

Vernon wasted no time. "Find me a dark room," he said, his tone low and dangerous. "I'll handle the questioning myself."

Fletcher's brow creased. "Easy there," he said with a thin laugh. "No need to rush. We'll do this by the book." He shot Walter and the others a glance, silently ordering them to clear the room.

The city officials exchanged uneasy looks. As they began to file out, Walter lingered.

"Commander Fletcher," he said, voice steady. "This isn't proper procedure. Mr. Vernon is not an authorized investigator—and Axel is a member of the Whisper Syndicate. He's entitled to certain legal protections. Until the Undead Guide completes the investigation, he can't be treated as a criminal."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

Fletcher's expression hardened. Vernon turned slowly toward Walter, his eyes like knives.

"Walter," a man said coldly, "what the hell are you talking about? This isn't your concern. Get out."

A few city leaders who knew Walter personally tried to intervene, shoving him lightly toward the door, eyes pleading.

Fletcher raised a hand to stop Vernon. His voice was calm, almost gentle. "It's good that you care about the rules, Walter. But sometimes, rules bend for a reason. Think of it as… professional flexibility. You should try learning some."

A few men laughed nervously. Others began pulling at Walter's arm, but he stood his ground.

Fletcher's patience began to fray. "Walter," he said, his tone sharpening. "What's your attitude here? You planning to make this difficult?"

The air was thick enough to choke on. Then Walter spoke, voice shaking but loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Commander, I'm not being stubborn," he said. "It's just—my son goes to Bloodstone Warfare School too. When the beast tide hit a few months ago…" He pointed toward the interrogation room. "…it was that man in there who led the students. He held the line. Without him, Shiverstone City would've fallen."

His voice broke, then steadied again.

"If the Undead Guide proves he killed Vaughn Brighthelm in cold blood, fine—punish him according to the law. But what if he's telling the truth? What if it was self-defense? I don't want to stand here and watch you throw the city's savior into a dark cell to be beaten to death."

Every officer in the room froze. A few younger ones—men Walter himself had trained—stepped up beside him without a word.

"Can't we just follow the damn rules?" Walter said, his voice cracking with frustration. "Just this once?"

Silence.

Fletcher stared at him for a long moment, the faintest smile curling his lips. "At your age," he said softly, "you still talk like a rookie. No wonder you've stayed stuck where you are."

He turned, expression icy. "Anyone else want to test me?"

No one answered.

At his gesture, the black-uniformed men moved in, surrounding Walter and his small group. The sound of boots against the floor filled the air.

Just as Walter was about to be dragged out, another voice echoed from the hallway.

"Excuse me! Make way, everyone."

Heads turned. A man in a frayed leather coat strolled in, his ears flushed from the cold. His grin was wide and careless, showing yellow, smoke-stained teeth.

"Skye?" someone muttered. "What the hell are you doing here? This has nothing to do with you."

Skye just chuckled, hands in his pockets. "Heard there was a big case going on. Thought I'd come take a look."

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