Nora steps into the cramped room her group has been given inside the police station, the smell of paper, ink, and lingering smoke settling over her as naturally as the walls around her.
She crosses the floor with unhurried steps, sits behind her desk, and folds her hands, waiting for Captain Anna to arrive and hand out today's assignments.
Her gaze drifts across the room until it lands on Thomas, her partner, who is flipping through a stack of reports with weary precision.
"How is the case coming along?" she asks, her voice calm but edged with curiosity.
Thomas looks up from the papers with dark circles under his eyes.
"Last night, three buildings filled with gang members turned into a bloodbath again."
Nora leans forward slightly.
"Then it was another gang?"
"Maybe," Thomas says, tapping the reports with his finger, "but the buildings belonged to three different small gangs."
Nora leans back in her chair, fingers steepled as she thinks aloud.
"A gang that wants to fight three gangs at once… strange."
Thomas shakes his head.
"I think it's most likely some cult. The same drawing appeared in each of the buildings."
Nora's eyes narrow.
"Speaking of the drawing, I have some information about it."
Thomas perks up, curiosity flashing.
"What kind of information?"
"Let everybody be present," Nora says firmly. "Then I'll share."
Thomas nods.
"Fair enough. I've also got some news about Frank's father's gang."
A few minutes later, footsteps echo in the corridor, and the rest of the team files into the room, pulling out chairs. They sit in a loose circle, waiting as Captain Anna straightens a stack of papers on her desk.
"Let's share what everyone gathered yesterday," Anna says. "We'll start with Ben."
Ben clears his throat. "Captain, Mark and I checked the businesses dealing in stolen goods, but still no sign of the stone tablet."
Mark leans forward. "We did hear about a hidden market in the city. It might appear there."
Nora's brows rise. "Like a black market?"
"Similar," Ben nods.
"Did you find where it's held?" Anna asks.
"After evening, under the Old Brick Bridge," Ben replies. "There's a door leading directly into an underground space beneath the city."
"Good. Today we'll all check the market," Anna says before turning to Thomas. "What about you?"
Thomas nods. "The first gang murders—the victims were from the Thief Gang, the same one Frank's father used to belong to."
"Then all the Thief Gang members are dead?" Anna asks.
"Not all," Thomas shakes his head. "I showed pictures of the victims to one of my informants. He said five members weren't among the murdered."
Mark adds, "We managed to get the pictures. The Black Dogs didn't block their release."
Anna studies him. "Did you share this with the two Black Guards?"
Leaning back with a smirk, Thomas says, "Nah."
"You should have," Anna replies evenly. "They're working the same case as us."
"They won't share anything back," Ben mutters.
"That doesn't matter. We're not the same as them," Anna says sharply.
Thomas sighs. "Fine. I'll pass the info along."
"No need," Anna cuts in. "I'll handle it later." She pushes her chair back to rise, but Nora clears her throat.
"Captain," Nora says, her eyes steady. "I have information to share, too."
Anna frowns. "That's odd. Yesterday was your off-duty day."
"I didn't work yesterday, Captain," Nora says evenly, "but I came across this information by chance."
Anna tilts her head. "And what is it?"
"I discovered the two Black Guards met with Lin Yu yesterday."
Mark blinks. "Lin Yu?"
Thomas snorts. "Already forgetting? You named him as a person of interest in the Finn family murder case."
Mark's eyes widen in realisation. "Oh—Lin Yu Weston. But why would the Black Guards meet with him?"
"He's a language expert," Nora explains. "Most likely, they went to have him decipher what was written in the drawing."
Anna nods, her expression thoughtful, then straightens. "For this morning, check the other cases. In the evening, we'll visit the black market." She pushes back her chair and strides out of the room.
The rest of the team scatters to their desks, flipping open files and reports.
Meanwhile, at the Weston estate, Lin Yu sits cross-legged in his room. A faint, shadowy glow fades as the last crystal in his hand crumbles to dust. He exhales slowly. He has completed absorbing his tenth shadow crystal.
For now, his stock is gone.
"If I want to form the extraordinary heart, I need at least eight more crystals," Lin Yu murmurs after checking his energy flow. "But that's only the minimum. To push my energy to its limit before condensing, I'll need twice that amount. Sixteen would suffice… but twenty would be best."
His gaze sharpens. "And to acquire them, I'll have to pay a visit to the extraordinary market under the bridge."
He rises, crossing to his desk cluttered with open books and scattered notes. The faint glow of lamplight falls over strange symbols, sketches, and translations in progress. He picks up his pen, steadying his hand.
The tablet's unknown language still resists him, layer upon layer of meaning hidden in each word. He bends over his work, determined to wrestle more answers from the script before evening falls—when the extraordinary market will open its doors.
Lin Yu dips his brush in ink and carefully redraws the strange symbol onto fresh parchment.
For days, the shapes refused to align with any structure of language he knew, ancient or forgotten.
But as the strokes come together, a sudden clarity pierces his thoughts.
"These aren't characters," he whispers, his hand stilling above the parchment.
"They're runes."
He pulls another book closer, flipping through diagrams of elemental seals and sigils.
The resemblance is faint, but it is there, undeniable.
He leaves his desk and goes to the treasure chest tucked in the corner.
From within, he takes out a small glass bottle filled with crimson liquid.
He holds it to the light, watching the red shimmer ripple inside.
With a shake, the liquid swirls, thick and heavy.
He pulls out the crystal cap and brings it close to his nose.
"It still contains magic power," he murmurs, satisfied.
The crimson liquid is the blood of a low-tier magic beast, carefully preserved.
With the bottle in hand, he turns toward the desk, but pauses mid-step.
"Wait… I forgot something."
He kneels again at the chest, hands rummaging through its contents.
From beneath folded cloth and scraps of metal, he draws out a piece of hide.
It is from a magic boar, leftover from when he had sewn himself inner armour.
Back then, he had been an ordinary man, desperate for protection against bullets.
Even now, this body could still be killed by bullets.
But with his original power and the new strength he has acquired, he can regenerate from almost any wound.
So long as his body is not blown to pieces or hacked into hundreds of fragments, he will not die.
He presses energy into the hide and feels the answering vibration.
There is still magic inside, waiting to be used.
Now he has everything he needs: the ink, the parchment, and the material to test a rune.
He returns to the desk and clears away the clutter with swift movements.
On the empty surface, he sets down the crystal bottle and the piece of magic hide.
He dips the tip of a feather pen into the blood and lifts it with care.
The scent of iron drifts faintly through the air as the crimson ink clings to the nib.
With steady strokes, he draws the first rune upon the hide.
The lines come together perfectly on his first attempt.
Of course, he expected nothing less.
As the final stroke settles, the rune shimmers with a crimson glow.
The glow breathes, pulsing faintly as if alive.
A wave of power presses against him, and he feels the law of blood stir in the air.
His spirit brushes the rune and instantly perceives the knowledge hidden within it.
Not words, not meaning, but a principle carved into existence.
He exhales slowly, then sets the pen again to draw the next.
One by one, he repeats the process, runes blooming across scraps of hide like burning seals.
Time slips past unnoticed as the daylight outside fades toward dusk.
When evening finally falls, he cleans his tools and puts them away.
He dresses with care, gathers what he needs, and steps from his study.
Outside, his carriage waits in the quiet street.
Lin Yu climbs in, the door closing softly behind him.
The horses stir, and the carriage begins its steady roll toward the night.
The carriage rattles across cobblestone streets, carrying Lin Yu toward the Old Brick Bridge.
Night has settled fully, and lanterns glow faintly along the deserted roads.
The air grows colder as the bridge looms ahead, its bricks dark with age and damp.
Lin Yu steps down from the carriage, the driver keeping silent, eyes averted.
He walks beneath the arch of the bridge, where shadows gather thick and heavy.
At the base of one column, half-hidden by moss, stands a rusted iron door.
Two men in dark cloaks guard the entrance, their gazes sharp and unwelcoming.
They glance at Lin Yu once, then shift aside without a word.
The iron door creaks open, releasing a faint breath of stale air.
Lin Yu descends the narrow stairwell, the sound of his boots echoing off the stone.
The deeper he goes, the more the smell of incense and damp earth mixes.
The passage widens into a cavernous underground hall lit by glowing crystals.
Stalls line both sides of the stone floor, draped in fabrics, filled with strange wares.
Jars of preserved beast organs glimmer beside piles of bones etched with runes.
Hooded merchants whisper from behind their tables, eyes gleaming with secrets.
Customers tiptoe, their faces masked, their voices hushed.
No one greets him, but every gaze marks his presence.
Lin Yu steps deeper into the market, his attention fixed.
Somewhere in this place, shadow crystals must be waiting.