CHAPTER 15: CRIME SCENE

Edward followed close behind the Chief, his steps were quick yet careful, as though he was retracing a memory he wasn’t entirely sure had ever belonged to him.

The path to Selene’s home felt both familiar and foreign.

He recalled faint fragments of dusty roads, crooked fences, and the faint smell of wood smoke drifting from nearby huts, but most of it looked completely alien to him.

The houses grew sparser as they left the heart of the village behind.

Small huts leaned tiredly against one another, smoke rising slowly from chimneys. Beyond them stretched farmland, faintly visible even in the evening gloom. Then, on the very edge of the settlement, stood Selene’s home.

Edward slowed his pace.

The house was larger than most, its walls were wider, with a reinforced roof, far sturdier than the huts scattered around the village.

A place that suggested its owner held respect in the community. That made sense. Ormund had been one of the oldest and most experienced villagers, a man who commanded attention even in silence.

The Chief paused before the building. His expression had grown hard, eyes narrowing as though bracing for something he wished he wouldn’t see.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then, the Chief advanced toward the already open wooden door. The hinges creaked faintly as he pushed the door wider and entered.

Edward followed.

The smell of metal hit him the moment he took a step inside. The heavy tang of blood clung to the air, thick and suffocating. His gaze snapped downward, locking instantly onto the crimson streaks staining the floorboards.

Blood trails.

Edward’s eyes sharpened. His instincts surged. His mind fell into the familiar rhythm of deduction. He crouched near the streaks, his lips moving faintly as his thoughts found words.

"Medium-velocity spatter... blade wound... right-handed swings."

Every droplet, every streak carried a story. To an untrained eye, it was pure chaos. But to Edward, it was a confession written in red.

His chest tightened, not because of fear, but because of recognition.

This pattern... it was the same. It was exactly the same as the one that had marked Edward’s death before he had awakened in his body.

A hollow ache pressed into his stomach.

He didn’t believe in coincidences when it came to blood.

His gaze lifted, following the trail further inside, and then he froze.

There, lying only a few steps from where the blood had begun, was a body. An old man with a long grey beard, his hair dishevelled, his skin already pale with the stillness of death.

Edward’s breath caught in his throat.

Ormund.

Memories of the old man teaching him the basics of mana control resurfaced in his mind. The rough patience in his tone as Edward failed again and again. The rare smile when Edward managed the smallest success. Ormund had given his time freely, never demanding anything in return, even though the orphan had no potential.

"He was a good man," Edward said, the words slipping from his mouth before he realised he said them out loud.

"Yes... he was." The Chief’s voice was heavy, the weight of grief barely contained beneath his stern exterior.

His eyes swept over the room, sharp and searching, as though hoping to find the murderer lingering in the shadows. His fist clenched tightly at his side.

"Who the hell would do this?" he muttered, hint of anger in his normally stern voice.

Edward didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

In his mind, the answer was already forming. The same person who had killed him. The same hand, the same blade, the same rhythm in every spatter of blood.

Blood never lied.

It did not soften its truth, nor did it care for what the living wished to believe. It showed what had happened, unfiltered, undeniable.

Edward’s eyes lingered on Ormund’s lifeless form, his jaw tightening. Then a sudden flicker of light drew his attention. A translucent notification appeared in front of him.

[Extraction Available]

His hand twitched.

For a moment, the thought tempted him. He could summon Ormund, bring his spirit forth, and speak with him one last time. But Edward exhaled slowly and closed his eyes.

No.

It wasn’t right. Not for Ormund, not for himself. The boy had too much history with the man to reduce him to another summoned corpse. And besides... Edward already had a suspect.

This was a play so perfect that no one else in this world would ever piece it together. The villagers would only see it as another tragedy.

But Edward’s experience, his knowledge of blood, of violence, and of the truths that dripped from every wound, allowed him to see what others could not.

He stood, his expression grave. "I will find who did this."

The words came out sharp with conviction.

The Chief turned toward him, his brows knitting.

For a heartbeat, Edward thought he would be dismissed outright, told to leave this matter to his elders. But the Chief paused. He studied Edward’s face, the unflinching seriousness in his eyes, the steady weight of his tone.

Then, he gave a slow, stern nod. "Do what you have to."

Edward inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"I will"