So, my perception ability can distinguish 'extraordinary individuals' from ordinary people…
And the key difference—
Their eyes.
-Lorien pondered in silence.
That glowing blue light in Hermann's pupils—
Could that be a physical manifestation of 'spiritual energy'?
He remained calm.
"Nothing much.
I was just tracking the 'Ripper's' trail.
You were in the way."
That was the truth.
His Environmental Perception confirmed it—
The intruder had escaped through this exact path just minutes ago.
Hermann's lip twitched.
"Weren't you the one who insisted on staying behind me?"
Lorien didn't flinch.
"You could walk faster."
Hermann's face darkened.
But he quickened his pace anyway.
Meanwhile, Lorien focused on the traces left behind.
Entry through the window.Searching for something.Unable to find it.Skillfully erasing any evidence—even scent.
This wasn't just a burglar or a common murderer.
This was the real killer.
And where could he be now?
The only exit was the main hallway.
If the killer had seen the police cars, he wouldn't risk going outside.
He was still inside this building.
Lorien grinned to himself.
Hunting 'prey' like this felt exhilarating.
They descended the stairs.
Right as Inspector Hastings returned.
"The building is sealed.
No one is getting out.
Can you confirm the intruder was the 'Ripper'?"
Lorien's voice was certain.
"It has to be him.
I believe this connects to Marilyn's mother—'Marianne.'
From the landlord's description, Marianne was likely a mistress to a high-profile figure.
She probably knew something the public shouldn't.
And that's why Marilyn was murdered."
Hermann smirked.
"And the other victims?
Just disposable distractions?"
Then he paused.
Something wasn't adding up.
"…Wait.
If Marianne moved in over twenty years ago,
why would her 'lover' wait until now to kill Marilyn?"
A long silence followed.
Then—
Hastings exhaled.
"…Next month,
East London is holding its District Council elections."
Lorien's eyes narrowed.
Moments later—
They stopped in front of Room 022.
Their boots echoed in unison.
Hastings knocked.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
"Open up.
Police investigation."
A pause.
Then—
A hesitant voice from inside.
"…What's the matter, officer?
I—I'm not feeling well."
Hastings' voice was cold.
"You have thirty seconds."
"P-please, officer.
I really can't move right now—"
"Twenty-nine."
"I swear, I—"
"Twenty-six."
Silence.
Then, rustling sounds.
At fifteen seconds,
Footsteps approached the door.
A woman cracked the door open.
The security chain was still in place.
A twenty-something woman.
Disheveled hair.Dark circles under her eyes.Thin spaghetti-strap dress.
"O-officer."
Hastings remained expressionless.
"I need to search your room."
She hesitated.
"D-do you have a warrant?"
Hastings lifted his badge.
"Inspector of the Whitechapel Enforcement Unit.
Please cooperate."
His left hand moved subtly—gesturing behind him.
A silent signal to Lorien and Hermann.
Translation?
There's someone inside.
A hostage situation.
Lorien's gaze sharpened.
He nudged Hermann.
(I'll grab the woman. You charge in.)
Hermann blinked.
(What?)
Lorien rapidly blinked back.
(Aren't you a 'sorcerer'? Even if the guy has a gun, you won't get shot, right?)
Hermann squinted.
(Why don't you go in?)
Lorien's expression was pure innocence.
(I'm just an ordinary guy. If I get shot, I'll die young. Tragic, right?)
…Hermann scowled.
(Fine. Watch my signal.)
The woman's lips parted—
But Hastings subtly shook his head.
"I… I have tuberculosis."
"It's contagious.
You shouldn't come in."
Hastings hummed.
"I see."
"Then, just unchain the door.
Let me take a quick look inside."
The woman hesitated.
Then sighed.
Her trembling hand reached for the chain.
Slowly unhooking it.
The second the door opened—
Hastings lunged.
He grabbed her wrist—
Pushed her outside—
Used the doorframe as cover—
Lorien pulled her behind him—
His revolver aimed inside.
Covering for Hermann.
Inside—
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Gunshots exploded.
Curtains shredded.
Bullet holes lined the walls.
But none hit Hermann.
They just grazed past him.
Not a single scratch.
"Hah! Got you now."
Hermann fired back.
BANG. BANG.
Two shots.
The 'Ripper' collapsed—
A bullet in his leg.
Click.
The 'Ripper's' gun clicked empty.
Hermann smirked.
"Tch. Even a low-tier sorcerer like me has an overwhelming advantage over regular folks."
He holstered his gun.
Stepped forward.
"Well, well.
Look what we have here.
A 900-pound payday."
The man slumped against the wall.
Mouth opening to speak—
Then—
Darkness surged from the window.
Shadows coiled.
A figure emerged.
Tall. Broad. Silent.
Bloodstained.
A gloved hand seized the 'Ripper's' face.
The man's muffled screams echoed.
A low, raspy voice.
"…I heard you go by 'Jack the Ripper.'"
The figure lifted his hat.
Cold, brass-colored eyes locked onto Hermann.
Silence.
Hermann's eye twitched.
"…Oh, shit."
TO BE CONTINUED…