Chapter 81: Beneath the Federation’s Paper Shield

Returning to the Federation Police building, Minerva did not relax in the slightest.

Thoren’s words echoed relentlessly in her mind.

She clenched her fists.

She refused to believe him.

And yet… Elric’s actions lingered like a thorn buried deep in her chest. The hesitation in his voice.

The delay in arresting the Ghost Scream Bounty Hunter after their inhuman action.

His action of looking for a fall guy.

Everything screamed at her…

Why would a Federation Police officer betray the people they had sworn an oath to protect?

That single question gnawed at her, refusing to loosen its grip.

Upon returning to her office, Minerva did not bother sitting down. She crossed directly to the metal filing cabinet against the wall and yanked open the drawer containing Thoren’s case files.

This time, she forced herself to be methodical.

No assumptions.

No prejudice.

No blind faith.

She combed through the documents one by one, rereading reports she had once skimmed, reexamining conclusions she had previously accepted without question. The room was silent except for the rustling of paper.

Minutes passed.

Then she froze.

Her fingers stopped mid-motion.

“…Where is it?” she murmured.

Her eyes scanned the cabinet again, slower this time. The file she was looking for, thicker than the others, marked with a faded red stripe was missing.

The file containing the full data on the last batch of awakeners that had descended into the abyss.

Her heart skipped a beat.

She straightened abruptly, the chair scraping softly against the floor as she pushed it aside.

A frown etched itself deeply across her face as unease settled in her chest.

She distinctly remembered that file.

Elric had handed it to her personally the first time she had been ordered to arrest Thoren.

Yet now, it was gone.

With long, urgent strides, Minerva exited her office and headed toward the record department.

She ignored the greetings of fellow officers, her focus narrowing into a single sharp point.

The record department was quiet, as always. Rows of reinforced shelves lined the walls, each one filled with meticulously cataloged files.

Behind the counter stood Ursula, a somewhat chubby girl with round glasses perched on her nose. She looked up in surprise when Minerva approached.

“Ursula,” Minerva said, keeping her tone controlled, “I need the file for the last batch of awakeners.”

“Hm?” Ursula blinked. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing,” Minerva replied quickly, forcing a small smile that did not reach her eyes. “I just need to check something.”

“Alright,” Ursula said, nodding as she turned toward the shelves.

Minerva watched closely as Ursula navigated the rows with practiced ease. Moments passed.

Then Ursula slowed.

“…Hm?” she murmured.

She frowned and checked the label again. Then she searched once more, more carefully this time.

“I… can’t find it,” Ursula said softly.

She knitted her brows and retraced her steps, scanning adjacent shelves, even checking for misfiled documents.

After several tense moments, she turned back toward Minerva, confusion written plainly on her face.

“I can’t find it in the archive.”

Minerva’s expression darkened.

“Has anyone requested that file recently?” she asked.

“Let me check.” Ursula hurried back behind the counter and opened the request logbook, flipping through the pages at speed. “No… there’s nothing. No one signed it out.”

Silence fell between them.

Ursula frowned, clearly troubled. “That’s strange. Apart from me, only the captain has access to this place.”

“And if the captain took it?” Minerva pressed.

“I would have been informed,” Ursula said slowly. “And there would be a record. But there’s nothing.”

Minerva inhaled deeply, steadying herself.

“Who else could access the archive?”

“The captain,” Ursula repeated, then shook her head. “But I don’t believe the captain would steal a file. Maybe… maybe it wasn’t returned?”

Minerva’s gaze sharpened. “Who was the last person to request it?”

“The captain,” Ursula answered. “But he returned it. It’s logged.”

Minerva nodded once and turned to leave.

As she walked away, her mind raced.

She remembered clearly now.

The file had been with her.

She had never returned it to the record department.

Which meant…

The captain had come to her office.

He had taken the file himself.

He had returned it to the archive… and sometime afterward, it had vanished.

Someone else had taken it.

Someone with access.

Her steps slowed, then halted entirely.

A sudden thought struck her with chilling clarity.

Minerva turned sharply on her heel and strode back into the record department.

“Ursula,” she said firmly, “get me the files for the last five batches of awakeners who descended into the abyss.”

Ursula blinked but nodded immediately. She moved quickly, retrieving the requested files and stacking them neatly on the counter in less than three minutes.

Minerva didn’t leave.

She opened the first file and began reading.

Then the second.

Then the third.

At first glance, everything seemed normal. Each batch consisted of roughly fifty awakeners, dispatched according to standard protocol.

Professions, talents, and initial survival reports were all properly documented.

Nothing stood out.

Yet the unease in her chest refused to fade.

“Give me the Survival Records for these five batches,” Minerva said suddenly.

Ursula hesitated only briefly before nodding and retrieving another thick set of files.

The Survival Record was one of the Federation’s most closely monitored documents.

Although surveillance devices failed within the abyss, the Federation maintained constant observation through indirect means—rumors, hunter reports, informants, and emergent incidents.

Every confirmed death.

Every disappearance.

Every rumored survival.

All of it was recorded.

Minerva opened the first Survival Record and began reading.

Then she paused.

Her eyes narrowed.

“Aster…” she murmured.

Status: Missing in Action.

Final Assessment: Killed in Action.

Aster was a boy from a commoner family. A Druid with an F-Rank talent. No notable achievements. No special background.

Declared dead after two weeks.

Minerva swallowed and continued.

Another file.

Another name.

Another Killed in Action.

This one was a girl.

Same pattern. Same vague details. No body recovered. No eyewitness accounts.

Her heart began to pound.

She moved faster now, flipping through file after file.

Then she saw it.

In every batch.

Two. Sometimes three.

Always commoners.

Always low-ranked.

Declared dead without confirmation.

Bodies never found.

No clear cause.

Her fingers trembled.

Her muscles tightened.

Cold sweat drenched her spine.

Her lips parted, but no sound emerged.

Even a fool could see it now.

This wasn’t coincidence.

This was systematic.

And whatever was happening in the abyss…

It was far more terrifying than she had ever imagined.

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