“Lifeless husks,” Ben mutters, his face pale.

“Every drop drained out.”

A chill settles over the room, but Anna’s face remains stone.

“Cause?” she asks.

Ben shakes his head.

“No wounds deep enough for such loss. Whoever did it wasn’t human—or at least not ordinary.”

He rubs the back of his neck, voice dropping lower.

“The only way I can imagine it is… someone put them in a tub, drained the blood, then laid the corpses back on their beds.”

Mark grimaces.

“That’s insane.”

Thomas’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t correct him.

Nora presses her lips together, as if she knows more but refuses to say it aloud.

Anna leans back, fingers drumming against the desk.

“Whatever the method, the fact remains—an entire family dead, and their blood gone.”

Mark exhales sharply, breaking the silence.

“I checked witnesses near the castle grounds. All confirmed Finn’s group entered with the Earl’s papers for the timber business.”

He leans forward.

“But none saw him leave. He vanished with the storm.”

Anna nods slightly, turning her gaze to Thomas and Nora.

“Your side?”

Thomas removes his hat, setting it down with care.

“We questioned Mr. Weston. He was calm—too calm. Almost like he’d rehearsed his answers.”

Nora adds, her tone edged, “And whenever Finn’s name came up, his reaction was… careful. He claimed not to know the man, but he measured every word.”

Mark mutters, “Measured, or hiding?”

Thomas ignores him.

“He swore no involvement. Claimed Finn was no threat to him, so no reason to kill.”

Ben asks quietly, “Do you believe him?”

Thomas’s jaw tightens.

“I don’t think he did the killing. But he’s hiding something.”

Nora nods once, eyes narrowing.

“He knows more than he admits.”

Anna’s voice cuts through, steady and precise.

“So—before the tablet vanished, the archaeology department sheltered in the castle during the storm. Minutes later, another group entered—Finn among them. By dawn, the tablet was gone. And so was he.”

Mark leans forward, voice sharp.

“I suspect Lin Yu Weston. Through most of the storm, he wasn’t with the group.”

Anna’s gaze fixes on Thomas and Nora.

Thomas says evenly, “Mr. Weston claims he was in a first-floor room. Professors and assistants confirm it. He couldn’t have taken the tablet himself.”

Nora shakes her head slightly.

“But he likely knows something about the incident.”

—-

At midnight,

The carriage slows, wheels crunching over gravel, before stopping at the gates of Everwood Manor.

Lin Yu steps down first, offering his hand as Elise follows gracefully, her touch lingering against his palm.

He looks up at the towering estate, its windows aglow, the sound of violins and chatter spilling into the night air.

“I like the location,” Lin Yu murmurs, gaze drifting to the shadowed treeline that encircles the manor like silent sentinels.

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“Who owns the Everwood Manor?”

“The Cromwell family,” Elise replies smoothly.

“The second son is hosting tonight’s gathering.”

Lin Yu nods, eyes narrowing slightly in thought.

As they walk hand in hand toward the entrance, the music swells—laughter, clinking glasses, the illusion of nobility and leisure.

Elise leans closer, her voice low.

“Most here are not extraordinary. They are enthusiasts, admirers, collectors.”

Her lips curve faintly.

“In a separate room, the true exchange will take place.”

Lin Yu’s gaze flicks toward the glowing windows, then back to her.

“Hidden in the ordinary,” he says softly.

Few of the countless ordinary lives suspect the extraordinary world intertwined with their own. Fewer still ever step across the threshold.

Elise slips her hand onto his elbow, and together they ascend the stone steps.

At the great doors of the manor, light spills over them, and the murmur of revelry grows louder.

They are stepping into two worlds at once.

Inside the hidden chamber, the noise of the manor fades, replaced by hushed voices and the faint burn of incense.

Most gathered are nobles, their family crests stitched discreetly into sleeves and collars, while only a handful of civilians are present, their posture more careful, their eyes sharper.

After a few minutes of murmurs and greetings, the exchange begins.

Chairs are drawn into a wide circle, and one by one, participants step forward into the centre, offering items, artefacts, or knowledge in trade.

Lin Yu sits quietly at first, listening, studying what others bring forth.

When his turn comes, he rises with deliberate calm, carrying three small veils.

Uncorking them, he introduces the contents—potions meant to refine and strengthen the body.

A young man, an apprentice along the alchemist’s path, examines them carefully.

After a slow nod, he confirms, “They do indeed aid physical improvement.”

Lin Yu accepts the acknowledgement with little reaction, then states clearly, “What I seek are extraordinary resources or knowledge aligned with shadow.”

Three rise from the circle.

The first, a nobleman with a heavy ring on his hand, says, “I have the runic bone of a Shadow Owl.”

The second, a thin man with narrow eyes, announces, “Ten shadow crystals, pure and condensed.”

The third, a veiled woman, lifts her chin slightly.

“I offer a technique—Shadow Bolt.”

Lin Yu weighs them silently.

The technique is most valuable, the bone second, and the crystals last.

Yet after a pause, he speaks evenly, “I want the shadow crystals.”

A murmur passes around the circle at his choice, but no one questions him.

He and the narrow-eyed man exchange items without further word.

Half an hour later, the trades wind down, the air thick with satisfaction, envy, and calculation.

Then Jacob Cromwell, the second son and host of the night, steps forward.

He raises his hand for attention.

“I have arranged for someone to present a relic from the past era.”

Every face turns toward him, curiosity sharp.

He leaves the room briefly, then returns with a stocky man in a dark coat.

The man clears his throat and bows faintly.

“My name is Frank Whitmore,” he says.

“I have come across a stone tablet. I believe it is from the past era.”

At the word tablet, Lin Yu and Elise exchange a sharp glance.

A woman to the left folds her arms, her tone sceptical.

“So you aren’t sure it is from the past era?”

Another man leans forward, his gaze flicking once toward Lin Yu and Elise before fixing sharply on Frank.

“Show us the stone tablet first,” he says. “Then we’ll decide if it’s genuine or fake.”

Murmurs stir around the circle, voices overlapping as the demand grows.

Lin Yu and Elise remain silent, eyes steady, giving nothing away.

A woman’s voice cuts through the noise. “Mr. Whitmore, show us the stone tablet.”

Frank clears his throat, unease showing in the tightness of his jaw.

“It is not with me now,” he admits. “I will bring it tomorrow.”

Discontent simmers, but no one presses further.

Glances pass around the circle, a silent agreement forming.

One by one, nobles and civilians alike rise from their seats, cloaks sweeping, boots echoing against the chamber floor.

They file out, already planning to return the next night.

Soon, only Jacob Cromwell and Frank remain.

Jacob’s voice is calm, but the weight in his words is iron.

“Frank, I brought you here. Do not fail me. Bring the stone tablet tomorrow, or you and your family will not withstand the anger of those people.”

Frank nods stiffly, his face pale, unease gnawing at him.

He knows most of the nobles by sight, but what unsettled him more was the presence of civilians speaking as equals among them, as though sharing a hidden world he had no part in.

With a strained, “I understand,” he turns and leaves.

Minutes later, his carriage rattles away from Everwood Manor into the midnight silence.

The city is still when he arrives, the streets empty under the dim glow of lamps.

Frank steps down, climbing the stone steps to his grand house.

He rings the bell once.

No answer.

Twice.

Still nothing.

He frowns, mutters under his breath, and fishes out a key.

The door creaks open into silence, the air inside heavy and cold.

He vanishes into the house.

Moments later, a scream rips through the night, raw and desperate.

Frank staggers back out the front door, terror hollowing his face, his eyes wide as though he had seen death itself.

He stumbles toward the carriage, shouting at the driver, who is unhitching the horses.

“Call the police!”

The driver freezes, the reins slipping from his hands, his face draining of colour.

An hour later, Anna steps out of the Whitmore house, her coat tugged tight against the midnight chill.

Behind her follow Ben, Mark, Thomas, and Nora, their boots heavy on the cobblestones, eyes shadowed with fatigue.

The house behind them is silent now, but the stench of bloodless death clings to the air.

Mark exhales harshly, his voice rough.

“They died like the Finn family. Every last one—servants, masters, all the same. Nothing left in their veins.”

Anna’s face hardens, though her eyes betray weariness.

“Yes. It’s the same hand… or the same kind.”

Nora’s gaze shifts to the corner of the courtyard, where Frank Whitmore crouches against the wall, arms wrapped around himself, trembling.

Her voice cuts through the silence.

“One member is still alive.”

The others follow her eyes, the sight of the broken man casting a heavier weight over the night.

Anna nods once, decisive.

“Take him—and the driver. We’ll question them both at the station.”

The team moves, the carriage waiting in the dark, wheels creaking as the horses stamp against the stones.

The Whitmore estate looms behind them, its windows black and lifeless, a house emptied in a single night.

The chapter closes with the door of the carriage slamming shut, and the wheels rolling into the shadows of Grenton City.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep