The dilapidated wooden door creaked open.
The storm outside raged, the wind howling so fiercely that even the lamps outside swayed violently, letting in cold gusts of wind as the door swung open.
"Same old, detective?"
The tavern owner asked teasingly, though his hands remained steady as he mixed the drinks.
"No, tonight, something stronger."
Clad in a black raincoat that enveloped his entire frame, water dripped from its hem and gathered into a small pool on the bar's floor.
"Detective, a sudden burst of inspiration, perhaps? I'd suggest you focus on writing instead, rather than chasing after all these strange and inexplicable things."
The tavern owner, despite his jest, seemed to avoid getting too close to the mysterious man. The aura surrounding him, unsettling even to someone like Xiros, who was accustomed to the shadows, was hard to ignore.
"Xiros, just focus on your bartending. I'll leave once I finish this drink."
"Alright."
Delta-Xiros shrugged indifferently and bent his head, resuming the task of mixing the drink.
The sharp clink of glass echoed in the otherwise noisy yet tranquil tavern.
Feng Si watched the drunk patrons around him, his gaze shifting between light and darkness.
"Xiros, it's about time to close the tavern for a few days."
Xiros glanced up for a brief moment, said nothing, and lowered his head again to shake the glass bottle.
Clink, clink.
"Sir Feng, drink up."
Feng Si took the glass, pulling a match from his coat pocket.
Whoosh—
The damp match flared to life, unnoticed by anyone around.
He held the match to the glass, igniting the contents.
Then, he downed the drink in one go.
After placing the money on the counter, Feng Si pushed open the tavern's wooden door.
Whoosh—
The rain and wind showed no signs of abating. Feng Si tightened the collar of his black coat and stepped into the downpour.
In no time, his figure vanished, and the oil lamps outside the tavern swayed violently in the wind.
In a rundown room, the light was switched on by a hand drenched with rainwater.
The raincoat was hung on the wall by the door, water dripping freely from it
Entering the bathroom, Feng Si gazed at his face in the mirror, youthful yet worn by time. A few short stubbles adorned his chin, adding a layer of ruggedness to his features.
His eyes, as dark as night, seemed capable of devouring souls—eerily so.
Leaving the bathroom, Feng Si walked straight to the basement, poured a glass of aged liquor, not for himself but for the machine beside it.
Next to the glass sat an old, battered projector. This was the reason Feng Si had made this place his home—its seclusion, though the frequency of incidents was disturbingly high.
This was a dark zone where even light could not reach, situated in a remote border town of Trokexia State.
Sitting on the old, worn-out leather sofa, he pulled out a dry severed finger and placed it on the tray of the projector.
It was due to this peculiar design that Feng Si had named the machine The No. 0 Projector.
As the film reel slowly began to turn, an image flickered onto the wall, blurring before sharpening in an instant.
Within the basement, nothing from the outside world could affect Feng Si.
Just as several knife-wielding figures appeared outside the door, seeing no light within, they eventually melded into the rain and departed.
The soft whirr of the film reel continued
The memory began.
In the dark, only one small area of the room illuminated, Feng Si's gaze fixated upon it as the drink in his glass mysteriously diminished.
"Edson, we can't go any further."
"Shut up, Borkham, we've come this far. We can't turn back now."
Inside the grand castle, the two men crept forward in the dark. Outside, crows cawed, their eerie calls filling the air.
Suddenly, the dragging sound of chains grew louder, moving closer and closer to the castle.
"Oh, looks like we've got visitors. Right, Oli?"
A strange figure, hunched over, emerged from the shadows. Iron chains spilled from beneath his thick cloak, scraping along the snow-covered ground with a haunting rasp.
The crows perched on the trees spoke in human tongue.
"Tobang, same as usual, I want the eyes."
"Of course, my friend, you may pick first."
The withered hand reached out to open the castle door, shaking the snow from his clothes before he entered.
He lit an oil lamp on the table, its faint glow casting long shadows as he moved toward the basement, dragging two heavy chains behind him.
Tap tap
His footsteps echoed on the old wooden floors.
In the basement, Edson, poised to move forward, suddenly stopped.
"Don't move."
Borkham, confused, froze in place.
Edson removed his shoes, shedding his long coat. With utmost care, he approached the basement stairs, his eyes fixed on the dark above.
Tap tap, thud thud.
Edson's pupils contracted. He crouched next to Borkham, lowering his voice.
"Buddy, we're in trouble."
A shiver ran through Borkham's body. He began trembling uncontrollably.
Edson, a seasoned thief, rarely ever spoke of trouble unless it was serious.
"What do we do now, Edson?"
Edson didn't answer immediately. Instead, he searched the shadows for a suitable weapon. Though time was pressing, a plan had already begun to form in his mind.
Borkham, watching Edson's movements, also searched for his weapon, mimicking his partner's actions.
Tap tap.
A faint light appeared on the stairs.
Experienced, Edson immediately identified it as the glow of an oil lamp. Without hesitation, he hid behind a low table.
An oil lamp, unlike a candle, could not illuminate him as long as he kept low enough
Edson held his breath. In the stillness of the moment, even the slightest sound could bring disaster—a lesson taught by the old thieves he once trained under.
Holding a heavy teacup, once used by nobles, the weight of it brought some comfort to his nerves.
Borkham, armed with a cane, crouched behind a wine cabinet. But the small cabinet was far from enough to conceal the stocky Borkham.
As the light of the oil lamp moved past the cabinet, it halted for several seconds as if trying to discern something. Edson, from his vantage point, clearly saw Borkham's clothes peeking out, an incongruous sight amidst the red wine bottles inside the cabinet.
In the tense silence, the voice pierced through.
"Found you, my dear guest."
The sharp, rasping voice accompanied the swing of chains.
Crash—
The old wine cabinet shattered. Precious red wine spilled across the floor, and Borkham was struck sharply on the back.
In pain, Borkham raised his cane and swung it at Tobang. But to his horror, a twisted smile crept across Tobang's face, a smile that seemed to relish the moment. The smile, illuminated in the lamp's glow, appeared grotesque, like a face covered in crawling centipedes.
"You ugly fool, die!"