Black Mist

"Hello, we're here. Forty-five Lu Coins."

"Mm... huh?"

"Forty-five Lu Coins."

"Right."

Naturally, Kallen couldn't carry his little stash of savings around with him, but he usually kept a few hundred Lu Coins in his pockets.

He handed over a fifty-Lu-Coin note.

The driver took it and smiled.

"Thank you for your generosity."

"Huh?"

Kallen could only nod and accept that his five Lu Coins in change had become a tip.

He got out.

The taxi drove away.

That fare was really expensive.

Fifty Lu Coins was enough to cover a day's living expenses for a family of four, with at least a basic, balanced meal for breakfast, lunch, and dinner;

the Crown Ballroom wasn't even that far from Mink Street.

At that moment, Kallen rediscovered the feeling he'd had taking taxis back in college, watching the red digits on the meter climb steadily above the starting fare.

The Immerlis Family's hearse wasn't parked by the road outside, which meant his uncle and the others weren't back yet.

"Sigh..."

Looking at the building before him, the place called "home," Kallen's feelings grew more complicated.

Police station, report, accident, not an Otherworldly Demon...

The key words spoken by the woman in the gray dress kept echoing through Kallen's mind.

Two people had arrived at the ballroom where the accident had just happened, and they could receive reports from the police. That meant they held some kind of official status. And then there was the mention of an "Otherworldly Demon."

This world looked perfectly normal.

At least, that was the conclusion one could draw from its newspapers and books.

But the reality was otherwise.

People instinctively sought benefits and avoided harm. Before the taxi stopped, all Kallen had wanted was to leave this home and live a normal life. Of course, he would have to work to gradually make that life prosperous and comfortable.

Now, however, he suddenly realized that beneath this world's seemingly normal surface, there really was a hidden current.

His grandfather at home had been weighing whether to kill him, but so far, all his grandfather had actually done was confine him. As long as he didn't actively try to flee Rojia City, he wouldn't cross the forbidden line.

Outside, however, it seemed to be a world of witch hunts.

"How could you not be an Otherworldly Demon! How could you not be an Otherworldly Demon!"

Mr. Hoffen's roars from his hospital bed still rang in his ears.

His left hand clenched again.

Although Kallen didn't know exactly what an "Otherworldly Demon" was, his own existence as someone who had come back to life in another person's corpse had stripped him of his confidence from the very beginning.

Because he knew perfectly well that he wasn't the original occupant.

So,

out there,

was it still worth going?

Compared with the dangerous unknown outside,

his grandfather suddenly seemed... much kinder.

The most appropriate time to kill him would have been those first few days after he woke up.

Yet his grandfather hadn't killed him during those days. He seemed to be hesitating and weighing his options, but as time passed, people came to terms with themselves, gradually adapting and growing accustomed to things.

After all, Kallen hadn't behaved like an unruly brat, throwing tantrums at home every day or scowling at everyone as though they owed him ten thousand Lu Coins. Instead, he had been considerate, obedient, and well-behaved.

His grandfather's anger and murderous intent would inevitably diminish over time. In fact, the longer he stayed in this home, the safer he would become.

Just then,

Kallen saw Dis approaching from the west, dressed in his priest's clothes.

Kallen simply watched him, staring without looking away.

Eventually, a trace of puzzlement appeared on Dis's face as well, and he stopped in front of Kallen.

"Grandpa, you're back."

"Mm."

Kallen opened the door and entered the house with his grandfather.

"Father, you're back."

"Mm."

Aunt Mary then turned to Kallen. "Your uncle called from the hospital and asked me to check whether you'd come home. He said hearses from other funeral societies had arrived too, so he drove to the hospital without waiting for you, to keep them from stealing the business.

"I'll give him a good scolding when he comes back. There'd just been an accident on that street, and people had died. It must have been chaos. How could he leave you there alone?"

Normally, Aunt Mary had a sharp tongue but a soft heart when it came to Kallen.

In front of his grandfather, even her tongue softened.

"Aunt Mary, I'm already an adult. How could a grown man not know how to get home? Wherever I am, I can always follow the scent of home back here."

Dis walked over to the sofa and sat down. "What happened?"

Aunt Mary gently patted Kallen's shoulder, then went to the second-floor kitchen to prepare tea and refreshments.

Kallen sat on the sofa opposite Dis and told his grandfather about what had happened at the Crown Ballroom.

When he reached the discovery of the bodies hidden beneath the stage,

Aunt Mary, who had just finished setting out the refreshments, couldn't help covering her mouth to stifle a cry.

It wasn't that Aunt Mary was deliberately trying to present a delicate, ladylike side of herself to her father-in-law.

Yes,

she had become an excellent funeral makeup artist, but that didn't mean she had suddenly grown brave.

She wasn't afraid of those corpses because she had come to see them as another kind of customer. Once she grew familiar with them, she no longer felt that fear of dead bodies, just as someone who raised snakes wouldn't fear snakes.

But who could be certain that a psychopathic serial killer like this wouldn't target them? For all she knew, she might become one of the family's "guests" herself someday.

After describing the details of the bodies, Kallen also revealed everything he and Chief Duke had discussed and analyzed.

Originally, he had intended to keep that part to himself. After all, he wanted to quietly develop some connections and contacts. But after encountering the man and woman who had stepped out of the taxi, Kallen had changed his mind.

Grandpa,

look,

your grandson could not only cook and provide psychological counseling, but help the police solve cases too.

"My goodness, Kallen, you thought of all that yourself?" Aunt Mary exclaimed beside him, her face full of admiration despite not quite understanding. "How did you do it?"

"Simply put, I put myself in his shoes." Kallen tried to make the complicated subject as simple as possible. He was explaining not just to his aunt, but to his grandfather as well.

After all,

Dis couldn't possibly ask the way his aunt had: "My goodness, my grandson, how did you do it?"

"I put myself in the killer's position and use the clues and details he left behind to work backward to the... psychological reasons for his actions."

Dis took a sip of black tea.

Then he said mildly,

"You find it easy to put yourself in a killer's position?"

"..." Kallen was speechless.

That remark came dangerously close to "birds of a feather flock together."

Kallen immediately explained,

"Grandpa, Aunt Mary, it's actually like this. Generally speaking, the more a killer thinks of himself as an artist, the easier his thoughts are to guess, and the easier it is to put yourself in his shoes.

"Some people think they're very special.

"For example, they enjoy solitude and dislike socializing.

"But more than ninety percent of people dislike socializing. Of the remaining ten percent who are very good at it, most would also prefer to spend some quiet time alone if given the choice.

"Or they're sentimental, full of melancholy, quick to empathize with people and things, and always feel an urge to express themselves, to record something and leave it behind.

"But most people around thirty who haven't accomplished anything, whether men or women, mistakenly believe they're born writers.

"The more people seek attention and uniqueness, and the more they believe they deserve to stand out and be special, the more ordinary they actually are.

"So it's actually quite easy to put yourself in their frame of mind.

"Once they break out of the cage of humanity and begin killing for pleasure, they've already changed from people into beasts. And how many beasts are truly intelligent?"

Kallen explained a great deal in one breath, then took a long drink of tea.

Dis seemed thoughtful after hearing this. "A very novel theory."

"So those really formidable villains in the films and novels I used to watch and read were all lies?" Aunt Mary asked.

"There are exceptions to everything, Aunt Mary. But to heighten drama and conflict, works of fiction generally portray villains that way." Kallen picked up the teapot and half rose to refill his grandfather's cup first, then continued,

"A truly wise person knows to restrain the urge to kill."

Aunt Mary patted her chest. "Yes, yes. Most clever people must be good people."

The telephone rang, and Aunt Mary went over to answer it.

"All right, all right. I understand, I understand. Mm."

She hung up.

Her face glowed with a smile.

But when she saw that her father-in-law was still sitting there, she tried her hardest to suppress it. That heartfelt joy was difficult to control completely, however, leaving her expression somewhat stiff.

"Father, Mason just called from the hospital again. The injured man they took in for emergency treatment couldn't be saved. His family has already agreed to let us handle the funeral.

"Mason and the others will bring the body back toward evening."

"So late?" Dis asked.

"They're still waiting for the family of another deceased man, the one who had half his head sliced off. When the hospital contacted his wife, she still firmly believed her husband was away on business in Vien.

"Mason wants to wait for her at the hospital a little longer and finalize that job too."

When someone had just died, the minds of their loved ones were usually somewhat numb, as though they had suddenly become puppets and lost the ability to think.

There was also the ingrained desire to arrange a dignified funeral quickly so the deceased could be laid to rest. As a result, whichever funeral society managed to make contact first at a time like this stood a very good chance of securing the job.

Dis nodded. "All right. Make the preparations."

"Yes, Father."

Aunt Mary went to the basement to begin preparing to receive their guests.

Seeing that Dis was still seated on the sofa, Kallen hesitated and didn't dare leave.

"Weren't you afraid?" Dis asked. "Seeing a scene like that?"

"Not very," Kallen answered. "I've gotten a little used to it lately."

"You seem to have something else to say?"

"No, Grandpa. What could I possibly have to say that I couldn't tell you?"

"Oh."

Dis stood up.

"I'm going back to the study."

"All right, Grandpa."

Kallen rose and watched Dis disappear up the stairs before sitting back down on the sofa.

In truth, he had wanted to ask Dis about Otherworldly Demons, and take the opportunity to ask about the man and woman in the taxi as well.

But on second thought, he felt it wasn't the right time.

Some paper barriers, even when they were so thin they were almost transparent, still served an extremely important purpose.

Kallen was very worried that after he asked outright,

his grandfather would patiently explain the concept of "Otherworldly Demons,"

carefully introduce him to the other side of this world, the one unknown to ordinary people,

and then help him analyze which organization that man and woman belonged to, what responsibilities they bore, and what powers they possessed.

Then, once he finished explaining,

his grandfather would sigh and stand up.

"Now that everything is out in the open, I'll stop deceiving myself. Otherworldly Demon, prepare to die."

Kallen was a professional when it came to understanding people's minds. He didn't want to personally remove the barrier keeping Dis from killing him just to satisfy his curiosity. That would be far, far more dangerous than his last trip to the basement to have a "heart-to-heart" with Mr. Mossan.

Kallen could still tell the difference between tempting death and asking for it.

"Meow..."

Kallen looked down and discovered that Puer had crouched beside the sofa at some point.

Over the past few days, Puer had looked listless, as though she were ill.

Kallen reached out and picked her up.

Puer didn't resist, nor did she show her former haughty attitude. Instead, she seemed dejected and resigned to whatever happened.

As Kallen remembered it, this cat had always been very expressive.

"Whine..."

In the corner by the living room doorway, Big Golden Retriever rested his chin on the floor tiles, looking envious.

Mr. Hoffen hadn't been discharged yet, so he was still staying with the Immerlis Family. But neither the adults nor the children seemed particularly enthusiastic about pets. They didn't dislike him, but they couldn't be bothered to pet him either.

Only Kallen took a little time each day to walk him around the neighborhood.

Kallen beckoned to Big Golden Retriever, who immediately stood up and happily came over with his tongue hanging out, eagerly placing his head beneath Kallen's palm.

With a cat on his lap, a dog leaning beside him, the lingering fragrance of black tea rising from the coffee table before him, and his surroundings his family's large detached villa,

Kallen suddenly felt that days like these weren't so bad.

Although he lacked the ability to change the reality that existed around him, reality was merciful. At least it allowed him to choose a comfortable position to sleep in.

Ability...

Kallen suddenly sat up.

Puer, who had been lying on Kallen's lap, raised her head in confusion.

Deprived of his head pats, Golden Retriever came over too, nudging his head back under Kallen's palm.

Jeff's dream.

Mr. Mossan's tears.

Did he also have the ability to make the victim beneath the stage react somehow?

If the victim could say something, could the killer be identified outright?

There had always been a saying about forensic pathologists: they could make victims "speak."

And if victims could actually speak in the literal sense,

that would be every killer's worst nightmare!

But...

Kallen looked at his left palm again. He had already forgotten how many times he had deliberately examined that scar today.

Leaving aside the fact that he still hadn't figured out this "ability," even if he really possessed it and mastered it, would he use it to help the police solve cases and catch killers?

"Police station, report, accident, not an Otherworldly Demon..."

That would be insane, heh.

"Kallen."

"Aunt Mary?"

Aunt Mary came back up from the basement with a box in her hands. She handed it to Kallen, keeping her eyes on the stairway.

"What's this?"

Kallen took the box and opened it to find a watch. The brand was Monroe. It wasn't a luxury brand, but it wasn't cheap either. This particular watch cost around two thousand rupees.

Office workers liked wearing watches like this.

"Thank you, Aunt Mary."

Kallen thought his aunt had bought him a watch, but she shook her head immediately. "It's not from me. Mrs. Hughes sent someone over with it and specifically asked that it be given to you."

Mrs. Hughes?

The woman who owned the Crematorium Society.

Aunt Mary lowered her voice again. "Although Mrs. Hughes and I are very close..."

Kallen had noticed that the other day. Mrs. Hughes had teased Uncle Mason to his face, saying he had fallen while climbing through another woman's window. In a way, she had been helping her best friend warn her husband.

"But I still have to remind you that Mrs. Hughes is a little... a little too free with her affections. You shouldn't get too involved with her, understand?"

Like Uncle Mason, Aunt Mary was very worried that the young, hot-blooded Kallen would be reeled in with a crook of Mrs. Hughes's finger.

For Mrs. Hughes, it might simply be a little amusement to relieve her boredom and loneliness, but for a boy, the price would be having his innocent feelings toyed with.

After all, Kallen was fifteen, an age when his erection could punch through an iron plate.

How many Young Men his age could resist the temptation of a mature young woman?

For her nephew's sake, Aunt Mary was willing to speak ill of her best friend.

Earlier, because Kallen had returned with Dis, Aunt Mary hadn't dared bring out the watch in front of him.

"I understand, Aunt Mary."

Mrs. Hughes was trying to hook herself a sucker.

"Then could you have someone return this watch for me?"

"There's no need to return it. Just keep it, as long as you understand what's going on. I'll handle the return gift. We'll treat it as an exchange of gifts between us friends. But you should call her now and thank her, just to be polite."

"All right, Aunt Mary."

"Her number is in the address book."

"Got it."

Kallen picked up the telephone and opened the address book beside it.

Because they did business together, the Hughes Crematorium's number was near the front and easy to find.

The call went through.

He waited for quite a while, but no one answered.

Maybe she was busy?

Kallen hung up, then dialed the number again.

Click...

This time, someone answered quickly.

Kallen deliberately lowered his voice, adopting a serious, businesslike tone. "Hello, is this the Hughes Crematorium?"

There were sounds on the other end, but no one spoke.

Kallen tried again. "Hello?"

"You've interrupted my artistic creation..."