Room 120.
That was Marilyn's room at the Rose House.
Lorien followed the others inside.
It had already been cleaned out.
There was nothing left.
No clothes, no personal items, and most importantly—no clues.
Lorien exhaled.
"Looks like we'll have to check Marilyn's home."
The police had already searched her place.
But with no leads here, there was no other choice.
Inspector Hastings nodded.
He waved over two officers from the Whitechapel Enforcement Unit.
His tone was flat.
"I have reason to believe that 'Old Hawk' here has been illegally organizing prostitution.
Search her home."
Lorien raised an eyebrow.
"Wow.You really don't hold grudges, huh?"
Hastings smirked.
"Of course not.I handle them immediately."
Behind them…
Old Hawk trembled.
Her face turned pale, but she didn't dare protest.
As the officers passed her, she kept her head down, eyes glued to the floor.
They left 'Rose House' behind.
Their next stop—
Marilyn's residence.
On the way—
Greve took a group of officers to investigate the other murdered prostitutes.
That left—
Lorien.Hermann.Inspector Hastings.Superintendent Kuhn.Two officers.
Marilyn's apartment building.
The landlord led them up the stairs.
His expression was nervous.
"When I saw the news about Marilyn's murder…
I—I didn't dare touch anything in her room."
Hastings nodded.
He was the first to step inside.
The moment he pushed open the door—
A wave of stale air rushed out.
Lorien entered next.
The room was small but tidy.
A single bed. A dresser. A wardrobe.
On the wall… a photograph.
A mother and daughter.
The background was this apartment building.
The little girl had golden hair, hands clasped behind her back, looking shy.
The older woman looked pale and sickly, but forced a strained smile.
Lorien glanced at the landlord.
"Marilyn had a daughter?"
The landlord shook his head.
"No.
That little girl is Marilyn.The woman is her mother—Marianne."
Lorien frowned.
"…Marianne?"
The landlord sighed.
"That was… twenty-four years ago, I think?"
"I'm not sure.Back then, my father was the landlord.
That's when Marianne moved in with her daughter."
He explained:
At first, someone financially supported them. After six months, the money stopped. Marianne took jobs, but couldn't make enough. Then… she got addicted to opium.
She struggled for a few months.
Then—
She started bringing men into the apartment.
The previous landlord forbade it.
His warning:
"If I catch you again,I'll raise your rent."
…Which was ironic, because he had already lowered it multiple times.
Marianne stopped bringing men home.
Instead—
She began working at a brothel.
The landlord sighed.
"I never imagined her daughter would follow the same path."
Lorien stayed silent.
In Whitechapel,70% of families had women working as prostitutes.
Some part-time.
Some full-time.
Girls started 'working' at 8-13 years old.
Once they fully developed, they became official prostitutes.
The landlord added something odd.
"Marianne seemed… well-educated.
She didn't seem like someone raised in a slum."
Lorien raised an eyebrow.
"Why didn't you tell the officers this before?"
The landlord shrugged.
"They only asked about Marilyn.They never asked about Marianne.And that was decades ago."
Lorien sighed.
He moved on to search the room.
The wardrobe.
He opened it.
Inside—
Women's clothing.
And at the bottom…
A pile of miscellaneous objects.
Then—his eyes narrowed.
Something wasn't right.
Hastings noticed his change in expression.
"Did you find something?"
Lorien straightened.
His voice was calm but firm.
"Someone was here.Not long ago.
Less than ten minutes."
Hastings turned to the landlord.
The man was sweating.
"I—I swear, I don't know anything!I locked this room two days ago!Only the police have been inside!"
Lorien smirked.
"He came through the window.A real professional.
If not for the disturbance in the wardrobe,even I might've missed it."
His eyes gleamed.
"Looks like…We'll be meeting the 'Ripper' very soon."
But he didn't say 'Jack the Ripper.'
He said—
'The Ripper.'
Hastings immediately ordered a lockdown.
"Seal off the entire building!No one leaves without my permission!"
Superintendent Kuhn moved fast.
The landlord was dragged downstairs.
Hermann clicked his tongue.
"Damn.You're actually useful."
Lorien smirked.
"Can you track our intruder?"
Hermann hesitated.
He waited for Hastings to leave the room—
Then muttered:
"…I'm a sorcerer, not a god.I have limits."
Lorien shook his head.
"Useless."
He refocused.
Activated 'Environmental Perception.'
A hum filled his ears.
His vision dimmed, as if viewed through a gray filter.
Details sharpened.
Everything in the room became clear as day.
He turned—
To Hermann.
Testing his ability.
No difference.
Hermann seemed normal.
Except—
His presence was… distinct.
Then, Hermann turned.
Met his gaze.
And Lorien froze.
Hermann's pupils were gone.
In their place…
A glowing blue light.
Cold.Emotionless.
Lorien's breath caught.
What… the hell… was that?
TO BE CONTINUED…