Rhod nearly jumped out of his skin—and almost shot Karamon on reflex.
Then he realized: the boy, though missing half his body, was still wrapped in a faint shimmer of blue waves, keeping the wound from consuming him.
Under the Soul Eye, Karamon's spirit remained whole—weak, frayed, but still alive. Its outline flickered, yet it had not dissolved.
He's not dead… unbelievable. Tough bastard.
In a world full of absurd miracles, Rhod supposed he shouldn't be surprised anymore. He crouched quickly beside him."What do I do?"
Karamon's trembling hand pointed weakly toward his belt.
Rhod reached down and pulled free a small bottle. Inside sloshed a yellow-orange liquid—like a bottle of glowing fruit nectar.
"Drink?" Rhod asked.
A faint nod.
Rhod uncorked it and poured the "juice" into Karamon's mouth. The liquid glowed as it hit the air, evaporating almost instantly once swallowed, vanishing like steam—absorbed straight into the soul.
It felt less like medicine, more like a ritual.
The bottle emptied. Rhod leaned closer. "That enough?"
No answer. Karamon's eyes closed, face as pale as parchment, his breathing gone—but the soul-light steadied. The disintegration stopped.
Still alive, Rhod thought with relief.
He stood and looked toward the open space where the giant heart had once pulsed.That… pull he'd been feeling—it was stronger than ever now that the heart was gone, almost screaming for his attention.
He'd thought it came from the heart itself, but no—the moment it was removed, the call only grew louder.Now, with time to breathe, he saw it clearly.
On the damp stone floor where the heart had rested, a pattern had appeared.Two sharp, zigzagging lines, crossing each other like twin bolts of lightning.
The lightning mark!
Rhod's eyes widened. It was identical—the same sigil he'd seen when the Migration Team was annihilated.
His pulse pounded in his ears.Around the symbol stood black stones—arranged exactly as before.The only difference: those had been red. These were black.
Why is it here?Why is it calling me?
His heartbeat quickened, blood roaring.He felt he was close—so close to the truth. Maybe this was it, the thread that would finally unravel the mystery of the Migration Team's destruction.
Just one thing was missing.A key.
The thought came unbidden:What if I step inside?Would I find it then?
From down the tunnel came distant voices—boots, metal, the harsh glare of light cutting through the dark.City Watch. Reinforcements. Real ones this time.
No time to hesitate.Just like before, Rhod stepped directly into the pattern.
A sudden heat tore through him—like something molten driven into his body.Then blackness. And visions.
Dark tunnels. Four figures in black priest-robes standing in a circle, hands raised high. A massive heart floated between them.They slit a corpse open, painting symbols with its blackened blood. They placed the same pattern of black stones in ritual lines.In the darkness, a roar—something vast, approaching.
The images vanished. The strange pressure ebbed.Rhod blinked, back in the present.The sigil under his feet sizzled, turned to dust, and scattered.
Exactly like before.
He looked down.A new mark had appeared on the back of his hand.
A perfect seventeen-sided polygon, circled once, with a cross in the center.
What… is this?
His mind sparked—threads of confusion suddenly aligning, as if a door had cracked open and a flood of new possibilities rushed in.
No time to think. Not now.
He slung Karamon over his shoulder and sprinted toward the light.Behind him, the tunnels trembled with a low hum—as though something vast had stirred awake below.
Five figures in Watcher uniforms appeared ahead, their belt-lamps blazing with white light.
"Quick!" Rhod shouted. "He's badly hurt!"
One Watcher dashed forward to take Karamon. Another raised a red crystal and waved it before Rhod's eyes—flash."No sign of corruption," he said.
He passed the same stone over Karamon. Red light flashed again.
For a heartbeat, Rhod saw—deep inside Karamon's soul—a tiny knot of blackness. Then the red faded, and the soul went smooth again.
"Possible infection," said the Watcher flatly. "Transfer him to the Soul Chapel immediately."
The man holding Karamon lifted off, vanishing into the shafts above.
Another grabbed Rhod by the arm and launched upward through the sewer grate.
When Rhod broke the surface, the open air felt unreal. He exhaled, finally.
The Watcher pulled him along, leaping from roof to roof. The lamps on their belts burned so bright they cut through the murky sky—each jump a flash of lightning between clouds.
Everywhere below, he saw more Watchers standing sentinel, lamps glowing like stars. For the first time in a long while, Rhod felt something like safety.
After a while he managed to ask, "Where are we going?"
"War Ministry," the Watcher said tersely.
The War Ministry. Rhod remembered the name—it was one of the capital's core divisions. The Defense Bureau answered to it.
"So… I'm being interrogated?"
The Watcher gave him a strange look. "You're reporting. Stating facts."
Right. Not a suspect… yet, Rhod thought.He steadied himself, then asked, "What about my teammates? Did you find them?"
The Watcher nodded once.
"How are they?"
His tone softened slightly."Four suspected cultists—three confirmed dead, one in critical condition. Watcher Reeve is performing emergency stabilization, but his energy's depleted. Outlook poor.
"Two of your companions were delivered to the Healing Church's infirmary. One's stable—severe injuries, but strong restorative resonance. The other's critical. Corrosive toxins spreading in the spirit. The Church has dispatched Arch-Healer Yuse Ironthorn personally. With her there, survival's likely."
Rhod's chest loosened.So Madam Yuse really is that strong. She did all she could for me, too.
He smiled faintly. Guess the memory's gone for good. The truth's on me now.
Water has no shape. Wind leaves no trace. But there's always one truth.I'm not the killer. I'm the detective—Detective Washing Machine.
Lost in absurd thoughts, he barely noticed when the Watcher vaulted the inner wall.They landed before a towering citadel—a fortress of steel and stone.
The headquarters of the Royal War Ministry.