The Divine Armor of the Old Century（Book 1）

Chapter 99

The air was thick with the stench of blood, as if a beast had just fed savagely. Clumps of dried blood and flesh littered the scene, and the floor bore fresh marks, suggesting something sharp had recently sliced across it.

"Any thoughts, Mr. Holmes?" Preston asked, his voice muffled as he pressed his mask tightly, trying to avoid the sickening smell of fear that hung in the air.

Holmes, the renowned detective, had been pale and shaken since discovering the writing on the wall. A chair had been brought for him, and he now sat amidst the blood, staring at the mangled woman on the bed and the hateful words scrawled across the wall.

"Silence..." Lloyd said, his hands clasped, head bowed under his deerstalker hat. Preston couldn't see his expression.

"Why not use windgrass? You always find clues in the visions of the dead," Watson's voice, seductive and echoing, tempted from behind the chair.

"But that would strengthen my connection to the darkness, increasing your chance of escape, wouldn't it?" Lloyd growled, his eyes fierce. "This is your prison, you damned demon or witch. You're not getting out."

Lloyd's voice dripped with venom as he released his hands. "Until I find a way to kill you for good, you get no chances."

A tinkling laugh filled the room. Watson draped her arms around Lloyd's neck, whispering, "Yet you rely on my gifts to survive, to sever the link with the Stillness Sanctuary. All thanks to me, your greatest enemy."

Lloyd glared at her. Watson then turned her attention to Preston, who remained oblivious to her presence. No matter how she swayed or touched him, Preston felt only a chill, attributing it to the cold Dunlin winter.

"Get lost. I don't need you. Not now." Lloyd stood, his curses driving Watson to bow mockingly and fade away, her voice lingering, "You know how to call me."

Peace returned, and Lloyd rose with a somber expression.

"Any ideas?" Preston asked, seeing the detective stand.

"A factory worker, a stranger in this land... Who could harbor such hatred against her?" Lloyd mused, focusing back on the case now that Watson had vanished.

Despite the bizarre appearance of Watson, a perilous figure in his life, Lloyd chose to concentrate on the murder. The Gospel Church had failed to deal with her for centuries; he doubted he'd fare better. The priority was the present, the brutal murder of the woman.

Why here? Why now? As Lloyd pondered, Preston's voice cut through his thoughts.

"Wait, where are you going?"

"Investigating," Lloyd replied, heading for the door, which had been violently smashed. The criminal had clearly used brute force to break in and begin their gruesome work.

Lloyd wasn't just a drug-dependent detective, prone to shooting everything with his Winchester. He had honed his deductive skills in Dunlin over six years. Stepping over blood and debris, he closed his eyes, reconstructing the scene.

"She heard a knock, came to the door..." Lloyd narrated, stepping past the shattered wood. "Someone was impatient, bursting through before she could react, knocking her down."

A bloody tooth lay nearby, confirming his theory.

"She was stunned, then strangled, unable to scream. No one heard her suffer."

Preston watched, initially bewildered, as Lloyd immersed himself in recreating the woman's final moments. He became not just the victim but also the assailant, contemplating the scene with a menacing intensity.

Lloyd's expression suddenly cleared. "Something's wrong."

"What is it?" Preston asked, sensing a shift in the detective's demeanor.

"How did he leave?" Lloyd wondered aloud. "A brutal revenge, blood everywhere, yet no trail. He'd have left marks unless he was a phantom."

Scanning the room, he considered his options. Would he retrace his steps, leaving behind a bloody scent? Or was there another way?

"Fire escape?" Preston suggested.

Lloyd sprang to the window, leaping out onto the fire escape. The bitter wind rushed past as he ascended quickly, his Winchester ready. Reaching the roof, he shouted, "Stop!"

But there were only bewildered repairmen, fixing a steam pipe.

As the birthplace of steam technology, Dunlin had steam pipes snaking through every corner, requiring constant maintenance. Repairmen were as ubiquitous as the pipes themselves, integral to daily life.

Back in the bloodstained room, Sergeant Donas berated Preston. "You assigned this case to that lunatic? Are you out of your mind?"

Preston kept his head down, enduring his superior's wrath.

"And you, get out! I'm taking over this case!" Donas yelled at Lloyd.

Lloyd nodded, not looking at Donas, mumbling, "This doesn't make sense."

The repairmen claimed they'd been on the roof all morning, hearing nothing unusual. It was eerily normal.

"Are you listening? This case is mine!" Donas roared.

But Lloyd's attention was elsewhere, drawn to the blood writing on the wall. Watson's voice echoed in his mind, urging him to trust his instincts.

"Donas, shut up," Lloyd finally snapped, raising his shotgun to silence the irate sergeant.

Once quiet, Lloyd approached the bloodied wall. The smell, familiar yet repugnant, stirred his memories of hunting demons.

Tasting a sample of the blood, he detected a mix of fear and violence. "This case is mine," he declared, the demon's blood confirming his suspicion. Watson, still unseen, smiled approvingly.