The jester spoke, his voice filled with shock, echoing through the crimson moonlit sky—a blend of curiosity and fear.
"Where are we? This is London… but it doesn't feel like London at all. It's as if we've entered another world."
"Forget My Name" took a step forward, gazing up at the scarlet moon. A mysterious smile formed on his lips, as if he had just witnessed a secret hidden within its glow.
"As I said, Jester, we are in another world. This is the Second World—London in the Age of Hunters. The hunt does not end until the prey is caught."
The jester's eyes flickered toward "Forget My Name," filled with uncertainty. He spoke hesitantly.
"The Second World? Are you saying we're in a different dimension, or a different version of Earth? This is hard to understand."
"Forget My Name" clasped his hands behind his back, pressing his fingers into his palm.
"We are in the same world, on the same Earth. The difference is only in time, Jester. It's complicated, so you must take the answers piece by piece. A primitive mind like yours wouldn't be able to handle it all at once."
The jester pondered, his thoughts crashing like waves against the shore.
"This man is full of secrets… but I should heed his advice. Rushing in blindly won't get me anywhere. Damn this mission…"
As he looked around, his eyes locked onto a colossal tower in the distance. It was a terrifying sight, its spires piercing the sky at an estimated height of 800 meters each. The crimson moon loomed directly above it, forever aligned with the tower no matter where one looked. The structure leaned slightly, as if threatening to collapse. Something massive circled it—a creature that resembled a giant dragon. Though the tower seemed close, it was approximately 980 kilometers away.
The jester pointed at the ominous structure, his voice laced with unease.
"What is that tower exactly? And what is that thing flying around it? Just looking at it gives me a sense of dread. Also, why is the moon red—no, crimson?"
"Forget My Name" smirked before answering.
"The story of that tower is complicated, a tale woven between reality and fiction, between the lines and the void. But soon, you will visit that tower yourself, and you will question the creature circling it. That is a dragon—one that went extinct centuries ago. Only those who have suffered a rupture in the Thousandth Wall of the Universe can see it. As for why the moon is crimson…"
He pulled out a cigarette and hurled it toward the moon with all his might, laughing.
"It is crimson because of the deeds of Servinius Crown, the Supreme Ruler of the Crimson Moon."
The jester's gaze remained fixed on the moon, curiosity gnawing at him.
"What deeds could have turned the moon into something so dreadful, so suffocating?"
He looked around once more—this was still London. The people walked about their daily lives as if nothing was unusual. No one seemed to care about the ominous moon above or the dreadful tower looming in the distance.
"These people… they act like nothing is wrong. How? Where exactly are we, mysterious one?"
With sharp eyes locked onto the crimson moon, "Forget My Name" answered.
**"Servinius Crown is a man of great importance. In time, you will come to understand just how great. As for these people, they have accepted reality as it is. One must learn to accept the things beyond their control. But there are exceptions—for those who are extraordinary, like yourself.
And you ask where we are?
We are in the year 540 B.C., Jester."**
The jester's eyes widened, his mind struggling to process the words. He repeated them under his breath, as if testing whether they truly made sense.
"F… Five hundred… and forty before Christ? But this place—it has the same level of technology as the London I knew… How?!"
"Forget My Name" placed a hand on the jester's shoulder.
"The ignorant live in bliss, while the fool suffers like a scholar—because their roots are the same.
There is only one answer, Jester: a rupture in the wall of the universe, caused by someone… someone you will soon look upon with bloodied eyes."
He gestured toward a dimly lit Victorian-style pub at the end of the street. It bore no name.
"Let's go there. It's a fitting place for someone like you, Jester."
They stepped inside. "Forget My Name" held the door open, his eerie smile welcoming the jester in. The establishment was of the highest class—patrons played poker, chess, and other games.
Many turned to greet "Forget My Name," addressing him as The Red Raven.
The jester noted this title with silent curiosity. He had never heard it before.
They took a seat at a table. A waiter approached.
"What can I get for you, Red Raven? And for you, sir Jester?"
"Forget My Name" raised two fingers—the thumb and the ring finger—forming a strange gesture.
"Two cups of tea, please."
The jester was taken aback.
"How does he know my name? I've never met this waiter before…"
The Red Raven reached into his pocket, pulling out a cigarette. As he lit it, he fixed his sharp eyes on the jester.
"Oh, but you have met him, Jester."
The jester's shock deepened at the cryptic response.
The tea arrived, along with a chessboard.
The Red Raven took a sip of tea before making the first move—advancing a pawn. The jester, perceptive and clever, recognized his strategy and responded in kind.
A calculated battle unfolded between them, lasting an hour and a half.
By the end, the match reached a stalemate.
The Red Raven leaned back, smirking.
"Impressive, Jester. You were a formidable opponent."
The jester remained unfazed, his dead black eyes locking onto his rival's.
"You will never defeat me, Red Raven. Not even if you break every rule in the book."
The Red Raven's gaze turned cold, yet intrigued.
They left the nameless pub and wandered through the dim streets of London, bathed in crimson light. A soft, eerie melody played in the distance—calm yet unsettling.
As they walked through the shadowy alleys, a question formed in the jester's mind.
"Do crimes happen often here?"
The Red Raven glanced up at the blood-red moon before answering.
"No world exists without murder or theft. Everyone believes their actions are justified."
The jester contemplated these words, eerily similar to his own thoughts when he had once slaughtered the Vein-Cutter.
They arrived at an abandoned park—forgotten by time, suffocated by neglect. Rusted swings creaked, doors of old restrooms groaned in the wind, and the faint laughter of unseen children echoed in the emptiness.
The two sat on a decaying wooden bench, as the shadows of London watched in silence.
The clown took out a cigarette, intending to light it with his lighter, but the Red Raven ignited it instead. The clown spoke about a matter.
"Can you solve cases, Red Raven?"
The Red Raven was astonished by this strange question but answered nonetheless.
"I can see everything clearly, find solutions to all problems, and even alter reality. We live in a vast world, and it doesn't end with just one. Every catastrophe will affect another."
The clown placed both hands behind his back and raised his head, gazing at a crimson moon.
"So, we live in multiple worlds, not just one. Life is like a game of blackjack; you can choose to settle at a certain number or take the risk and seize everything before you."
The Red Raven reached into his pocket and pulled out an ordinary pen, handing it to the clown. The clown took the pen.
"Keep it well. The day will come when you'll need to use it," he spoke with arrogance and great pride, as if he knew everything.
A few minutes later, Neophyte was struck by an intense headache. The pain was so severe that he collapsed onto the ground. Then, he awakened, sitting in a high-backed chair in his private library. Rising from his seat, he quickly turned to the window.
He saw the moon in its usual white color, with dark clouds accompanied by lightning, thunder, and heavy rain.
"That place… was it parallel worlds? Or have I gone back in time? There are strange and unknown things in this world," he murmured, placing his thumb and index finger on his chin.
The detective picked up the files of the Chess Killer Case and began speaking about the findings of his investigation.
"Now, let's arrange the facts. The killer is highly intelligent—perhaps even a genius. He also possesses great speed and a sharp focus when using knives, striking vital points with extreme precision. His attacks are never random."
The detective sat on the couch and continued analyzing the case.
"I also noticed that when he throws a knife, he releases it with his right hand but lets his left hand take over. There must be a reason for that. His gruesome methods, the terrifying way he assembles and swaps body parts—it's as if he's a skilled surgeon. He knows exactly how to reconnect arteries with perfect accuracy."
A brief silence followed before he resumed speaking about key details.
"Is this a doctor who became a killer, or a killer who became a doctor? And now, let's analyze the message. He states that he will strike in the fourth month of the third era. Additionally, there is a meeting of the mayors of the main cities: London, Liverpool, Manchester, and Birmingham."
Placing his fingers on his chin, he pondered over the killer's deranged logic.
"The madman chose the mayors of the main cities in order to complete the board."
After prolonged contemplation, the detective suddenly vanished from his office. He reappeared at a table, surrounded by the same individuals playing chess.
A mysterious woman looked at Neophyte with a sweet smile and said,
"Clown, it seems you've understood what I was trying to convey."
The clown returned a cryptic smile, replying in a calm voice,
"That's right. I've figured it out. The killer has spent all these years trying to fill the squares completely by murdering people."
A shadowy man moved his knight, putting Neophyte in check, and said,
"Clown, begin your journey to capture the killer. Also, play the knight wisely to eliminate him quickly. Leave the rook for later."
The clown reached for the knight and moved it strategically—breaking the rules, exploiting the open spaces. The king was trapped. Checkmate.
Neophyte rose from his chair and addressed them all.
"The ruler of the board has arrived at the appointed time. Checkmate."
As he spoke these words, Neophyte vanished from the table and reappeared in another place—the Imperial Palace of Britain. The palace hall was vast, with towering doors on either side, mysterious portraits of unknown figures hanging on the walls. At the far end of the hall, a grand staircase ascended upward. A window at the top of the stairs cast the glow of the crimson moon.
From above the staircase, a mysterious voice called out, smooth and beautiful,
"Welcome, German Nomen, the eldest hunter."