CHAPTER 55: A MURDEROUS GAME

Edward sat across the small coffee table, the faint clink of porcelain echoing through the room as he set his cup down. The air carried the faint fragrance of herbs steeped too long, mingling with the faint musk of old wood. Across from him, Auren swirled his own drink lazily, his eyes sharp and unreadable even behind the curl of steam.

"So... you’re probably wondering why I called you here today," Auren began at last, tone casual, but his stare unblinking.

Edward lifted his cup again, sipping without hurry. "Not really," he thought to himself. "It’s most likely about the soldier I killed." He let the silence stretch, then exhaled.

"I do admit, I was surprised," he said aloud, tilting his head as though humouring the man.

Auren lingered for a moment, then smiled, though the expression didn’t reach his eyes. He raised his cup, took a small sip, and never once broke his gaze. When the rim left his lips again, his voice carried a careful calm.

"There’s been a murder," he said. "I have to admit, it’s embarrassing—coming to you after saying I had no need for your expertise. But this one is... particular."

Edward arched a brow, not out of shock but to keep the act alive. He already knew where this was going.

"One of our soldiers was killed off duty," Auren continued, tone measured, almost rehearsed. "The killer left no traces behind. He must’ve known what he was doing. I can’t say I’ve ever seen anything like it." His eyes locked on Edward with quiet intensity. "Not once."

Edward studied him over the rim of his cup.

"Is he toying with me?"

"There have been a lot of killings lately," Edward replied, setting the cup down with deliberate calm. "I doubt it’s that unusual."

Auren leaned back, lips tightening. "I assure you it is. I reviewed every record of the recent killings. None left no trace. You, of all people, should know—there’s always something left behind."

Edward let the words hang in the air, pretending to consider them, though he already knew how the man had died. He took another slow sip before finally setting the empty cup on the table. "So... you want my help?"

Auren chuckled softly, low in his throat. "Ah, yes. Direct as ever. I could use some of your expertise, Edward. Maybe you can help us find the person behind it."

Edward’s jaw tightened imperceptibly.

"What is he playing at? He must suspect it’s me. Why ask for help unless he’s already decided?"

Still, until Aeris and Seraphine returned with aid from the capital, he had to play along.

"Fine," Edward said at last. "I’ll take a look."

"Great." Auren rose smoothly, placing his cup aside. "Darren will take you to the body. If you find anything... let me know." His smile lingered, practised and empty of emotion.

Edward stood, gave a curt nod, and stepped out of the office.

A scarred man stood waiting outside, his broad frame filling the hall. His brow hair was coarse, his face carved with deep lines and old wounds.

"You must be Darren," Edward said flatly.

The man grunted, nodding once. "Follow me."

They left the building together, weaving through streets still thrumming with life. Lanterns burned low, their glow casting halos across the cobbles. Vendors packed up carts, while drunks stumbled home. Patrols passed with rhythmic steps, spears clinking faintly, eyes half-lidded but searching. Edward walked in silence, Darren a quiet shadow beside him, until the city gave way to the wild edges beyond the wall.

There, in a shallow grave half-dug, the corpse awaited. It had been unearthed already, pale flesh gone slack, skin mottled and torn by insects. Maggots writhed through wounds, and the stench was heavy, metallic and sour.

Edward knelt, studying the remains. The chest bore no sign of the pact mark he’d seen. The skin had been flayed, carved away until only raw muscle and bone remained. Every trace of Crimson Oath had been erased.

He didn’t need to look. He remembered the strike well—the short thrust of Shadow Assassin’s blade through the ribs. The kill had been swift, precise. But he forced himself to linger, eyes narrowed in mock examination.

"Blade wound," Edward said aloud. "Single strike. Large dagger or shortsword. He probably had no chance to react."

Darren gave a small grunt, nodding as if in agreement.

Edward glanced up at him, then back to the body. "What’s the point of this charade? Do they want me distracted? Or do they just want me to know they’re watching?"

He rose to his feet. "Did he have any enemies? Anyone who might’ve wanted him dead?"

"Didn’t know him," Darren muttered with a shrug. "Heard he was a good lad."

"No blood, no witnesses, no grudges..." Edward shook his head slowly. "Then there’s not much I can do." He brushed the dirt from his knees, straightening. "I’ll let the chief know."

Darren gave another curt nod, nothing more, and Edward turned back toward Ashenhold.

The streets pressed close around him, filled with chatter and the rattle of carts. Music drifted from a tavern door, laughter spilling after it. Edward walked in silence, weaving through the crowd, every step ringing with a single question.

"What was the point of that?"

When the townhouse finally came into view, a faint relief stirred—until he noticed the door. It stood ajar, cracked open just enough to let a sliver of shadow spill through.

Edward’s expression hardened. He reached for the handle, easing it open with deliberate care. The hinges whispered. The hall inside was dim. A drag of red smeared the wooden floorboards, a trail leading deeper.

His steps were silent as he followed it to the dining room.

And there, upon the table, lay two severed heads.

The first, he recognised instantly. The soldier—the one who had whispered his suspicions, who had promised him information. His eyes were still half-open, lips frozen mid-breath. Beside him was a woman, her features soft, her age near his. Wife, perhaps. Or sister. Someone close enough to matter.

Edward’s jaw tightened, his chest rising slowly and deliberately. He stared at the grisly tableau, at the blood pooling beneath the table’s edge, dripping to the floor. He didn’t flinch. He only let the silence stretch.

Auren hadn’t invited him for tea. Hadn’t asked for his expertise. He had wanted him to see this.

He wanted to let him know that he knows.

Edward’s eyes narrowed, a shadow creeping across his face. His voice dropped to a whisper, low enough for only himself to hear. "Why not come after me then?"

He turned his gaze from the heads to the window, the sun cutting across the glass. The afternoon pressed in, thick and heavy, but a sharp calm steadied his breath.

"Very well then," he murmured. "If you want to play... let’s play."