Horror Apartment

Vanason's heart hammered like a drum, his feet felt as if they were filled with lead, and the rising panic in his heart made him want to bolt out the door and flee this place.

But his concern for Jeffrey's safety forced him to take one step after another toward that door, until his trembling fingers finally gripped the brass handle.

The door was unlocked, revealing a gap as dark as an abyss, and as he gave it a gentle push—

The sight before him made him freeze in place, his blood nearly turning to ice.

The study.

Or rather, what used to be the study.

Everything that met his eyes was a thorough, heart-stopping darkness.

The walls, the ceiling, and the floor were all covered in a thick, scale-like layer of carbonization, shimmering with the matte finish of a disaster already passed.

The original bookshelves, desk, and chairs had all been scorched into charcoal, making it impossible to imagine what kind of terrifying heat could have existed here to allow these pieces of furniture to retain their original shapes.

The mountains of books and papers had now turned into a pile of fluffy, black ash that would crumble at the slightest touch.

And behind that charred desk, on the floor, curled a corpse that had also been completely carbonized, its human outline only barely discernible.

It was similar in size to Jeffrey, but all details had vanished, like a failed pottery figurine frozen in its final moment of pain and struggle.

Fire! A fire had occurred here!

But... why?

Vanason looked around in horror.

The fire had been so violent, the temperature so terrifying that it had carbonized everything in the study, yet... it was confined solely to this room!

At the edge of the study's door frame, the carbonization marks stopped abruptly; the carpet in the hallway outside was completely intact, without even a trace of smoke.

It was as if an invisible boundary had perfectly imprisoned this horrific hellfire within this tiny space.

This was absolutely not a normal fire! This defied all reason!

A massive sense of dread seized Vanason, and he stumbled backward, his stomach churning violently.

He had to call the police immediately; he had to get away from here right now.

He inexplicably thought of Gallo's divination from earlier; Gallo had claimed his divination had a very high accuracy rate, even when done by flipping a coin.

Jeffrey was indeed in a dangerous situation, but he was already dead—he had arrived too late!

Just as he retreated from the study and returned to the living room, still shaken, his movements came to a sudden halt.

In the living room, three people had appeared silently, as if from nowhere.

They wore dark gray long coats of a similar style, standing tall with cold expressions, like three statues cast from steel.

Their gazes fell squarely on Vanason, and in those eyes, there was no surprise, no questioning, only a cold, scrutinizing look that observed every detail.

Vanason felt a chill shoot from the soles of his feet to the top of his head.

"Who... who are you? How did you get in?"

He was certain that when he had just entered, the door had been ajar, but these three had not been in the living room; it was possible they had entered long ago and were simply hiding in other rooms.

Could Jeffrey's death be related to these three? Were they the murderers?

Vanason was using every ounce of his courage and strength just to remain standing.

One of the men, standing in the center with the coldest demeanor, slowly stepped forward.

He did not answer Vanason's question, but instead took a black-covered document with a silver emblem from his inner pocket and unfolded it in front of Vanason.

The emblem was of an archaic design, a combination of a sword and a long shield, with the black iron cross emblem of the Empire on the blade of the sword.

Vanason felt the mark looked familiar, but he couldn't place it for a moment.

"Professor Vanason." The man's voice was steady, without a ripple, carrying an unquestionable authority.

The fact that the other party knew his name made Vanason feel even more alarmed.

"We are members of Clovin, and from this moment on, we are officially taking over everything concerning Professor Jeffrey Gito."

"Clovin!" Vanason's mouth hung open, as if the name itself held some kind of magic that sucked the remaining air from his lungs.

His hands trembled as he removed his hat, revealing his thinning, balding head, and pressed the hat tightly against his chest, performing an almost instinctive gesture of humility and submission.

He bowed to them, his voice filled with uncontrollable tremors: "Apologies... officer... I didn't recognize the emblem on your credentials just now."

He remembered it now.

The sword piercing the long shield, and the striking black iron cross at the hilt...

This was the emblem of the Iron Glory Empire's Imperial Security Committee, and its internal core executive department—the name that truly froze one's marrow—was "Clovin."

In the Iron Glory Empire, you could complain about prices, you could privately mock some office workers in the government, and you could even express slight criticism of certain government policies.

But as long as you were in your right mind, you would never easily mention the word "Clovin" in any public setting, or even in front of your most trusted friends and family.

It was the Sword of Damocles hanging over the head of every imperial citizen, an invisible ghost wandering the skies above every city in the Iron Glory Empire.

They were omnipresent, spreading throughout all the Empire's territories and even its colonies; they possessed the supreme power to arrest before gathering evidence and to dispose of people without trial.

People whispered terrifying legends about them in private: their silent appearances in the dead of night, and the methods they used in interrogation rooms to break a person's spirit.

And those who walked into their headquarters, Lepest, and never came out again.

They not only eliminated external enemies but also purged internal threats, defining what was "loyalty" and what was "treason."

Anything they deemed a threat to the stability and secrets of the empire... whether it was a person or a book... would be ruthlessly erased, like chalk marks on a blackboard.

Now, they had appeared here, in Jeffrey's apartment, a place that defied logic and was filled with bizarre deaths.

Vanason was lost in a daze, recalling a former colleague who, for reasons unknown, had broken some "taboo" and was taken away directly from the school by Clovin's men, never to be seen again.

Everyone at the school consciously avoided asking about it, as if the colleague taken by Clovin had never actually existed in the first place.

They didn't care whether he was dead or alive; they only feared and worried about being linked to the person who had been taken, becoming the next one Clovin dragged away from the school.

Vanason's Adam's apple bobbed, and he felt as though he couldn't even swallow the saliva in his mouth.

That cold, stern man was likely the leader of the three.

He remained indifferent to Vanason's respectful posture, merely putting his identification away with a blank expression.

"Understood, Professor Vanason. We generally prefer not to be easily recognized." His words were calm, yet they carried more weight than any threat.