Father once said, "Peace only ever attracts one thing—to feel relevant: trouble."

With the crisp morning air filling my lungs, I'd hoped this would be a simple mission. Small town, small problems. Missing people—find out why, report back, done.

Yet here I was, standing in a room that stank of blood and herbs. Damn it.

I wiped the blade clean with a square of cloth, watching the sunlight catch on the steel. "Nice craftsmanship," I murmured. "Balanced. Just serrated enough at the edge to dig out a heart—and tear muscle cleanly, if you twist."

The Mayor "Mosteely" winced. The two town security men behind him—one middle-aged and the other early 20s—were already pale, shifting uneasily at the sight. All they offered the Mayor and this town was just numbers. 2 Stars? How weak.

"Not exactly the thing I enjoy seeing before breakfast," the mayor muttered. Was he trying to lighten the mood?

"Neither do I," I said, still studying the blade. "But with all this, something seems obvious… the killer wanted us to see what he could do. Look at the placement—heart torn out, then set in the hands, chest opened, blood drained clean. This wasn't rage."

I paused. "This was… art."

Mayor Mostleey looked perplexed, and who could blame him? "Someone used one of our own for his sick, twisted reason? And you're calling it art?"

"Yeah. Why, you want me to repeat it twice?" I shot back, gesturing toward the body. "Look at it—the attention to detail is terrifying. Every wound feels deliberate, like the killer treated the body as a canvas. There's no fear or hesitation in the cuts, just precision."

I dropped the rag, straightened, and scanned the body again.

"Feels like a punishment of some sort," I said quietly. "Someone punishing this town—or maybe you, Mayor—for dragging me here to solve your problems."

The mayor swallowed, fidgeting with his ring. "What... punishment? Don't be ridiculous. Why Arcsaw? He was just—just the innkeeper."

"Was he only?" I asked, finally turning to face him. "Because I'd like to ask what role did he really play in this town?"

I glanced around the inn's interior. The craftsmanship was far too refined for a small-town establishment. Whoever owned this place had money—and people with that kind of wealth rarely stay just innkeepers, especially in a quiet little place like this.

He hesitated, looking to his guards before answering. "He ran the Silver Anvil Inn, yes. But… he also handled the town's taxes. Helped us pay our taxes on time. Until we were able to pay to get you here from Manyblood."

"Ah," I said, nodding slowly. "So the man who paid the town's taxes is the same one who made sure you had no trouble saving up for my help—especially from the Task Force."

I crouched again, studying the deep wounds. "Then perhaps this isn't just a punishment alone, but an absolute….."

He frowned. "A message?"

"Clear and simple," I said. "Don't go calling for help. That's the message."

I stood, weighing the knife in one smooth, practiced motion. "Mayor, you've got a cold-blooded killer in your town. And for some reason, he wanted us to see this—wanted this body found exactly like this."

The mayor stared at me, lost. "Why go this far?"

"Exactly," I said. "Why go this far now? You're right to ask that." I began walking toward the window, where the sunlight barely touched the bloodstained floor. "Tell me, when's the next tax payment due?"

The mayor hesitated. "In a few days."

I turned, a faint smirk tugging at my lips. "Then I'd suggest you start gathering every last coin you can find—from your bakers, townfolk, and your visiting merchants… oh, lest I forget, and especially your killer."

"Because tax collectors always come collecting," I added softly, "and when they do, they take payment in blood."

One of the younger officers swallowed hard as the Mayor went pale again. "What does he want? Money, my position? What the hell does he even want from us?"

It was clear the old man wasn't himself anymore. The calm, steady figure who'd deescalated the issues with me in the town square was gone. All that was left now was a frightful, weak old man.

"Come to think of it…" he murmured, glancing at the body. "Was he responsible for the disappearances too?"

"No," I said, stepping past the corpse. "Maybe I can't say for certain, but one thing's clear—he considers this town his territory. He's after the people who touch it."

"Territory?" The younger guard's voice trembled. "So… that means us too? We're basically his playthings?"

I caught the mayor's gaze. The realization hit him hard—he knew he might be next. I didn't particularly like him; he'd tried too hard to be friendly the first time we met. I almost felt sorry for him—almost. He wanted the best for this town. Too bad he might end up paying the price for it.

"Well… I don't think so," he said, though his voice wavered. "But we shouldn't rule out that possibility either."

"We'll protect you with our lives, sir," the older security officer added firmly, stepping forward beside the mayor.

I paused at the door. "For now, your main suspect should be someone who works with knives every single day—someone who knows exactly where to cut when it comes to bone and flesh."

The mayor blinked, realization dawning. "The butcher… Farda?"

"Isn't it obvious?" I said. "This blade didn't come from just anyone. Look at the victim—what we're witnessing requires a precise knowledge of bone and flesh. No ordinary townsfolk could achieve this. The knife is perfectly sharpened, maintained with care. It's a butcher's tool, through and through."

I glanced over my shoulder, eyes cold. "So it's either your butcher or someone who's been in his shop and has access to it."

He opened his mouth, but I cut him off. "Lock the town gates. No one leaves. And fetch the butcher. If we're lucky, he's still here."

"And if he's not?" the mayor asked quietly.

I smiled thinly. "Then the killer's not the only one cutting things when they arrive."

The mayor's voice cracked the silence. "So… what am I supposed to tell them now?"

I glanced up from the corpse, brushing the dust from my hands. "You don't," I said flatly. "Bad news spreads on its own. Don't waste your breath. By now, every last one of them already knows."

He frowned, confused. "Then what should I do? Young master…"

"Shake their belief," I replied.

"shake their belief?"

I sighed, already tired. "Don't you get it? Fear is a belief the strongest one people have. Fear of the unknown, fear of uncertainty, fear of being powerless." I stepped closer, staring him down. "That's what the killer wants, Mayor. To feed that belief. You don't reward him by looking weak."

The Mayor swallowed, glancing at the corpse again. "I see… Sorry, I'm just not myself today. I have asked so much of you, young master. It appears this isn't the first time you've… um…"

"Seen a dead body? No, and it won't be my last. I will return home doing my labors. I have seen all sorts of things, so unlike you, Mayor, I have seen the dark side of the living."

He tried to stand taller. "Indeed. That… must build a sort of resilience."

"Maybe," I said. "Maybe not. No matter how strong you are, seeing a body like this takes something from you.

"But I also have seen dead bodies," he replied, "but not this grotesque."

I supplied, "Understandable. In a small town like this, cases like this aren't common. But the closer you get to Manyblood, the more you see."

I shifted the topic. "Now, back to the main issue. You tell them everything is under control," I said evenly. "Stand outside that inn and act like every guard in this town is ready at your command. People don't need the truth they need the illusion of control."

He nodded slowly. "Hmm. I understand, young master. Thank you… this old man is truly grateful."

He tried to stand taller, as if my words had given him a spine. Yet despite his newfound posture, the moment he faced a dead body, the old man's composure crumbled—it was a grotesque death.

"Now," I continued, "where's the butcher?"

"Farda?" the older guard said, rubbing his chin. "He went hunting in the forest yesterday.."

"Interesting," I murmured. "Any idea when he's due back?"

The younger of the guard spoke up. "Tomorrow morning, sir. He usually returns by dawn."

"Perfect duration," I said. "Long enough to do something terrible, short enough to still look innocent."

The mayor squinted at me. "So it's Farda behind this?"

I shook my head slowly. "I didn't say that. I said he's got the time, the tools, and the knowledge. But motive? That's still missing."

I turned the knife over in my hands again. "And then there's this — the killer left the weapon here. Practically handed it to us. Anyone with half a brain would know the butcher would be the first suspect. Which means…"

The mayor blinked. "whoever it is was wanted us to suspect Farda."

"Exactly." I said. "Either to frame him, or to buy himself time while we waste ours."

One of the younger guards, pale and jittery, finally spoke up. "Sir… are we all forgetting something? The innkeeper's daughter there's no trace of her. No signs of struggle. No blood trail. It's like she vanished."

I looked at him, my expression unreadable. "So now we've got a butcher with no motive, a girl with no trace, and a corpse."

I sighed, rubbing my temple. "This small town's carrying a lot of stress for a place that barely shows up on the map."

The mayor looked lost. "So… now?"

"Now," I said, hand in my pocket, "we wait for your butcher to return. In the meantime, keep your people calm, keep your guards at the ready, and secure your tax money."

"And while I do all that, what will you be doing?" the Mayor asked.

I walked toward the door. "Me?" I glanced back with a faint smirk. "I'm going somewhere—don't worry about it. If your butcher's innocent, that's where all the answers about our real killer lie."

The younger security guard piped up, voice brittle and too loud with nerves. "…I think that's a scimitar."

Huh? I raised an eyebrow. What are you talking about?

"I wasnt sure before, but now I could say it definitively—it was a scimitar. The knife."

"Are you sure?" I pressed, locking my gaze on him. His certainty—or lack thereof—mattered.

He straightened, trying to steady himself. "Yes. Now I'm sure of it. It is a scimitar."

"Congratulations," I said, cutting him off, a slow, predatory smile curling my lips. "You're my second suspect."

A beat of confused silence. "Huh? W-why me?"

The mayor, bless his oblivious heart, stepped in, placing a protective hand on the guard's shoulder. "you can't be serious. He's been with me all week!"

Just what I needed: knowledge. "Well, sorry, Mayor, 'amma have to arrest him."

The Mayor's jaw dropped.

I relented with a sigh. "What? Relax. I just need his knowledge around knives. I'm going to need you close by during this investigation." His insight might be useful.

A low, slithering sound—heavy—came from outside. Right on time. That was a large crowd. The crowd would already be agitated; a show of power was needed to bring them to heel.

"Well, Mayor, enough stalling, time to give a speech," I said, nudging him toward the door.

###

He stepped out, and I followed. Standing before the observers, the chaos in the air was palpable. The sight of us—especially after news of Arcsaw's brutal death didn't calm them. It brought terror.

And then, the inevitable: the first heckle. "Which one of us is freaking next, Mostleey?"

Another voice joined in. "Dealing with only missing people was one thing, but this... I'm leaving town!" Multiple people began to agree, a desperate murmur turning into a roar.

Idiots. This is exactly what the killer wants. I thought to myself, frustration bubbling like acid in my gut. "Mayor, you better do something."

"They won't listen to me like this," the Mayor muttered, a flicker of true fear in his eyes.

I stared at Toki, my mana beast. Time for the theatrics. He didn't need a spoken command.

Toki blasted a high-pressure jet of flames at the sky, creating a sonic-boom-like big bang. Some people gripped their ears.

"EVERYBODY SHUT UP!" I roared, my voice carrying over the ringing silence. "Now listen up! Yes, people have been missing, for four years now, but now someone has died. 'Oh, no! It could be me next! I must leave!' Yen yen, tough luck."

"But let me be clear: among you is a killer, and nobody—" My eyes flared red with mana. "—is leaving this town!"

Flames licked up around my fists, hot and crackling, a warning that made the air taste of iron. "And if you try to leave," I growled, "you'll have to go through me and the Mayor... or die."

Everywhere, silence. Good.

"Listen everyone," the Mayor said, now bolstered by my display. "I know you have many questions in your hearts, but I will be brief. Yes, Arcsaw Silver is dead and died in an unimaginable way. I wouldn't even wish it on my worst enemy. But one thing is clear: the person behind all these is afraid. They are scared they would get found out. That's why they want to create fear in our minds!"

"I beg of you, do not let the fear consume you. Greyjoy has been sent, and now he would deliver his promise."

"After we are all dead?" a skeptic shouted back.

"If that's what you think, then that's on you. Just do everyone a favor and kill yourself."

"All I can ask from you all is the belief in what we have all struggled with for so long: the suffering and smiling era will soon be over. Or would you want to spend the rest of our lives being picked on by one, waiting our turn to go missing like we are chicken in a pen?"

As your Mayor, I'm tired of that life. That's why we must support young Master Greyjoy at all cost. But now, the more pressing matter at the moment…"

I watched, waiting for the Mayor's calculated pivot.

"What could be more pressing than this, huh?!" someone yelled.

The Mayor paused for a dramatic beat. "Taxes."

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