“Heart-Ripping Banshee... a hauntingly beautiful demoness said to prowl the Lower City. On bright moonlit nights, she seduces passersby and drunkards, then lures them somewhere secluded... and eats their hearts.”

“Shadow Butcher... identity unknown. Wears a loose black raincoat and carries a bloodstained butcher’s knife...”

“The Sleepless One... a monster wandering the streets deep into the night...”

“The Lake Monster of the Glein River... a tale popular around the docks. Said to be capable of taking on twenty virile men in a single battle.”

Celicia methodically laid out the legends she had compiled overnight—urban myths of the Lower City, blurry photos, vague accounts—spreading them one by one across the table in front of Viscount Goun, her lips faintly curled in mockery.

“The Lower City’s urban folklore really is something. I only asked you to investigate the Heart-Ripping Banshee, and yet you’ve dredged up all sorts of strange nonsense.”

“Viscount Goun, your Lower City seems far livelier at night than I imagined.”

“H-ha... does it?”

Viscount Goun wiped at his sweat, but his body trembled uncontrollably.

“These are just rumors, mostly hearsay... not exactly credible. Heh... really, they don’t mean anything.”

“Oh? So the recent surge in missing persons reports in the Lower City is also... meaningless hearsay?”

Celicia tossed another file onto the table. It was a report outlining the spike in kidnappings, human trafficking, and even human sales over the past month.

“This...”

Seeing the document, Goun’s face instantly turned ghostly pale. He barely managed a crooked smile.

“There... there’s no concrete evidence yet...”

“Of course there’s no evidence. The people are gone.”

“Well, the Lower City is very populous...”

“What, Viscount Goun—are you suggesting that with so many people down there, a few going missing doesn’t matter?”

Celicia’s eyes suddenly sharpened.

“N-no no no... of course not! I only meant that with such a large population, the investigation is difficult! Difficult! And it’s only been two days—Your Highness, no matter how urgent this is, two days just isn’t enough time to dig anything up!”

His voice was on the verge of breaking. Crushed by the oppressive pressure emanating from the young girl before him, Goun nearly fell to his knees on the spot.

Unfortunately, the cramped carriage offered no room to collapse. Any movement might be seen as disrespectful.

“Difficult or not... you’re still obligated to investigate, are you not?”

Celicia lowered her gaze, flipping through another file, no longer wasting her breath on the terrified man before her.

She hadn’t come to interrogate him. Didn’t even care enough to.

The chaos of the Lower City was tangled in countless threads—far too complex for one petty viscount to unravel.

If anything, the fact that he’d been put in this position at all was proof he was just a convenient scapegoat propped up by those “benevolent and wise” lords above.

Otherwise, how could a mere viscount ever be entrusted with a role as critical as governor of the Lower City?

“Every last one of them... utterly useless.”

Celicia sighed softly and rubbed her temples.

A murdered count’s son.

Unidentifiable, bizarre urban legends.

A flood of missing persons cases.

The Lower City was clearly steeped in a new, unknowable darkness. Even Celicia—the Empire’s Third Princess, someone with access to considerable resources—was beginning to feel overwhelmed.

Most troubling of all was how eerily calm the Empire’s upper echelon remained.

Even if they looked down on the Lower City, this was still Berland. If something exploded here, the fire would surely climb upward, and no one would be left untouched.

When that time came... it’d be too late.

“Or perhaps... something even greater has captured their attention—something so consuming they can’t spare a glance for what’s happening beneath # Nоvеlight # their feet?”

Celicia suddenly recalled the recent incursion by the Evil God at the Academy. What if that and this were not two separate incidents?

What if this was all... part of the same event?

Then the true horror of it might still be far beyond what she imagined.

“How interesting... the death of a single count’s son is unraveling all this filth.”

Her slender fingers tapped rhythmically against the carriage window. The weight of too much thought left her mind aching, and for a moment she longed for the student council’s coffee—laden with obscene amounts of sugar.

At least it recharged her glucose. And tasted great.

But now wasn’t the time for cravings.

Even if Berland truly stood on the edge of a crisis, someone taller would be forced to step in first. Since her father, the Emperor, hadn’t said a word, that meant he didn’t yet need help from his daughter—who was still technically a student.

Her immediate priority... was finding the one who had murdered Tyke Rodd.

If that count kicked up a fuss, it’d be trouble for both the Academy and herself.

“We’ll end things here for tonight, Viscount Goun.”

Feeling she wouldn’t get anything useful from him, Celicia stood to leave.

“Eh—Your Highness is leaving already? Shall I escort you?”

“No need.”

Her gaze alone froze Viscount Goun mid-movement. She pulled open the curtain and stepped out of the carriage.

He knew it was improper not to accompany her, but his legs were jelly from fear. All he could do was poke his face through the window and force a pitiful smile.

“Take care, Your Highness... safe travels...”

Celicia ignored him.

She walked straight into the shadows.

The night fog shifted.

A man in a black trench coat appeared before her—his face pale, as though it hadn’t seen sunlight in years. Upon his chest, pinned to his coat, was a strange emblem that gleamed coldly beneath the moonlight.

The emblem depicted a blade-like finger raised to a pair of black lips.

A symbol of absolute silence.

The Silent Ones.

Celicia recognized him instantly and showed no surprise at his arrival.

“The analysis results are in.”

The man looked at her without any trace of deference. His face remained blank.

“It was indeed a scale from a Serpentfolk.”

“So Tyke Rodd really was killed by one of the moon-worshipping cultists?”

“Without a doubt.”

He continued, “The so-called Heart-Ripping Banshee is very likely a Serpentfolk. Their kind possesses an instinctive hunger for the hearts of the opposite sex.”

“Can you capture her?”

“It’s difficult. In fact, we’ve been planning her capture since half a year ago. But she’s cautious. Escaped us every time. Worse, two months ago, she abruptly ceased all activity. That’s made things even harder.”

“Two months?”

Celicia’s eyes narrowed.

Maybe she was being too paranoid, but that timing... that was exactly when the Academy reopened.

“So in the end, we still have nothing concrete?”

“No. In fact... we received this.”

The man pulled out a sealed metal box.

It looked heavy—thick plating and etched with magical runes. Celicia immediately recognized a high-level sealing spell.

Seeing how seriously the man treated it, her own expression grew more solemn.

After a complex series of verifications, the box finally opened.

Inside... was a letter.

Celicia’s lips twitched. “A letter?”

“As Your Highness can see—yes, a letter.”

Wearing gloves woven from mithril thread, the man carefully picked it up. “It was delivered five hours ago by a mailman to one of our branch drop boxes.”

“...And what’s the issue?”

“Issue one: That branch has never sent or received any mail.

Issue two: We have no leads on the sender. The mailman has no memory of delivering it.

Issue three: You’ll understand once you read it.”

He handed over the letter. Celicia hesitated briefly, then coated her fingers in a thin frost before accepting it.

She opened it.

Nothing happened.

She quickly scanned the contents—then her brows lifted instinctively.

“This is... a tip-off? And the subject is...”

“Exactly. That’s why I came to you, Your Highness,” the man said. “The target is a fellow student of Saint Maria. I believe you may have some insight. At the very least, we need to verify if this letter is credible.”

“If it’s real or not... wouldn’t finding the person answer that?”

Celicia pondered for a moment, then raised her hand and curled her finger.

Flapping wings sounded above. A white dove flew in from nowhere and perched on her arm.

“Find someone for me,” Celicia said coolly.

“Who?” the dove asked.

“Anna Kaplin.”

...

...

“Have we dropped the bait yet?”

Two figures—one tall, one short—stood in a deserted street under the vast, moonlit sky.

The moon, just past full, was still bright and round. Only a faint shadow dulled its edge—rendering it ever so slightly imperfect.

But the two remained spellbound by its cold, lonely beauty.

Until the shorter one asked the question.

The taller said nothing. He was chewing something. Crunch, crunch—the sound sharp and unceasing.

“Ah... so it’s done, then?”

The shorter one stretched out both arms, as if to embrace the moon. Her figure, wrapped tightly in leather, curved seductively like a serpent—tempting and dangerous.

“Then let us begin...”

Her body writhed, her voice solemn and fervent. She danced like a prophet, chanting like a lover in prayer.

“Oh, moon... shine upon me.”

“I shall tear away the world’s lies and reveal your glorious truth.”

“I shall watch for your descent, and herald your arrival as divine gospel.”

“I shall forge your new body from ice and silence—your crown adorned with jewels of blood and hatred.”

“I shall live forever in your divine kingdom!”

When the ritual ended, the shorter figure lowered her head in reverence.

She was stunning—every glance, every smile, enough to steal a soul.

“Let’s go,” she said.

“Let us welcome the return of our god’s child.”

The taller one grinned silently.

His large hand—hidden beneath his black raincoat—tore off a piece of a writhing, twisted shadow and shoved it into his mouth.

Crunch. Crunch.

“Tasty,” he said, grinning wide.