Gripping the sink, he gazed into the mirror with his piercing blue eyes, gently touching the crimson mark beneath his mask. Speaking to himself, he questioned something, saying:
"It seems the persona of 'The Jester' is starting to take control of me. And… who pulled me into that place? And who were those two with masks on his desk?"
He placed one of the chairs he had grabbed close to the window, watching the rain fall. The raindrops reflected Neophillete's true essence. With an overwhelming sense of arrogance, he muttered to himself:
"It looks like the chess tournament's final match is tomorrow. So I can finally say… 'Checkmate' to the Chess Butcher."
Neophillete glanced at the letter left behind by the Chess Butcher. It dripped with mystery and cryptic symbols.
Setting the paper aside, the detective lay down on the couch, speaking softly with calm resolve:
"The day the Jester kills the Chess Butcher."
As he rested his head on the couch, questions cascaded in his mind, one leading to another:
"Am I in a forgotten world? A mysterious dimension? Or just a grain of rice in the vast cosmos? Or… am I the very center of the universe? Shining with the voice of death… for I am Death."
The next morning arrived… the day the Butcher was destined to fall by the hands of 'The Jester.'
Neophillete rose from the couch and headed to the bathroom for a shower. Stepping out with a towel wrapped around his waist, his upper body revealed defined muscles across his arms and abdomen. He stood before his desk and spoke with an intimidating tone toward an unexpected visitor:
"You always show up at the strangest times… 'Red Raven.' What brings you here?"
The Red Raven sat casually on the couch, chuckling softly before responding:
"I like to arrive without causing much trouble… especially for you, 'Ivoryan Telos.'"
Neophillete turned toward him, sitting down with a piercing gaze.
"Who is 'Ivoryan Telos'? Why are you calling me that? Is this one of your new tricks?"
Crossing one leg over the other with a wide grin, the Red Raven replied:
"No tricks, Neophillete. Everything is unfolding according to a specific plan. Everything in this world follows one command."
Leaning forward slightly, Neophillete smirked.
"Oh? Are you some kind of scientist now, Red Raven? You didn't come here just to talk nonsense or discuss trivial matters. What do you really want?"
The Red Raven reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a sharp knife. He examined it briefly before hurling it with full force at Neophillete's abdomen.
Shock flashed across Neophillete's face. Words failed him as he stared down at the blade tearing through his insides. Blood poured out, but in mere seconds, the wound healed entirely.
"You bastard… were you trying to show that I can heal quickly?" Neophillete sneered, pulling the knife from his body.
The Red Raven caught the blade mid-air with ease, grinning mischievously.
"No… I already knew that. I just wanted to test it."
Rising from his seat, the Red Raven stood face-to-face with Neophillete.
"The castle you're heading to is the wellspring of secrets, Jester. Make sure you stay hidden."
Leaning back slightly, Neophillete chuckled arrogantly.
"Playing in the lion's den might wake the beast… but I prefer to play from the shadows. I observe silently, waiting. And when the time is right, I'll pounce on its den without it ever knowing I was there."
Both laughed briefly. The Red Raven sat back down, gesturing toward the pen on the desk with his left hand.
"Never forget this advice, Jester — take that pen and make it your weapon. You never know what might happen in the depths of that castle."
Pulling a folded piece of paper from his jacket, the Red Raven tossed it onto the table between them. A crimson mist swirled in the air, and when it cleared, he was gone.
Neophillete picked up the paper, reading the words written on it:
Wanted: Dead or Alive
"German Nomen"
Bounty: One Billion Pence
He smiled broadly, his voice calm and steady.
"Well, well… it seems I'm a wanted man now. After all those crimes… I don't mind. From detective to devilish jester."
At exactly five o'clock in the evening, Neophillete dressed in the attire gifted to him by the mayor — a white, short-sleeved jacket over a patterned white shirt with a black tie. The outfit belonged to the "Head Butler."
Grabbing the crimson mask, he left his office and began descending the stairs when a guard called out to him:
"Sir, this map should help you find the political castle."
Taking the map, Neophillete felt a twinge of confusion.
"How does he know where I'm going? Did the mayor tell him beforehand?"
Plastering a fake smile on his face, Neophillete nodded toward the guard.
"Thank you for this. Guard the place well in my absence."
As he descended the stairs, his mind swirled with strange thoughts. He called out to his horse, "Cloud of Mystery," which materialized from the crimson mist as if it were part of the very air. Gently patting the horse's head as if comforting a companion, Neophillete carefully hung the mask on the horse's saddle.
He pulled out an old, tattered map with frayed edges, staring at it with determined eyes. Mounting his horse, he guided "Cloud of Mystery" toward the distant castle. The journey began in silence, with nothing but the rhythmic pounding of hooves against the ground.
After half an hour, he had covered half the distance. The journey seemed to be going according to plan, with just another half-hour to go. But suddenly, he found himself in a strange place — a small, nearly abandoned village with old, weathered houses, as if time itself had forgotten them.
No people… only faint shadows moving quietly through the narrow streets, like ghosts of the past.
Nuvillet halted and pulled out the map once again, contemplating the next route. But before he could determine the direction, a mysterious figure ambushed him, knocking him off his horse and into the mud. Dirty droplets splattered his clothes — garments that were supposed to reflect the dignity of a chief butler. Rising steadily, anger flared in his chest. This wasn't a mere accident; it was another challenge on his path to the manor.
The masked assailant lunged forward, attempting to stab Nuvillet in the chest. With swift reflexes, the detective dodged the attack as if it were passing mist. The figure wielded a long, razor-sharp knife, but his face remained obscured by a mask, concealing his identity.
Reaching into his coat pocket, Nuvillet drew his dagger, immediately adopting an offensive stance. He struck first, and the assailant countered in an instant. The two clashed violently. With a powerful kick, Nuvillet landed a blow to the attacker's leg, forcing him to stumble back. Yet, in the scuffle, the detective sustained a cut on his right arm, tearing his sleeve.
Without hesitation, Nuvillet launched another attack, landing a solid punch to the assailant's face, shattering the mask. In a desperate response, the assailant drove his knife into Nuvillet's abdomen.
But Nuvillet's eyes burned with fury. He grabbed the attacker's wrist, forcing the blade aside, and with brutal strength, plunged his dagger into the man's chest, tearing through flesh until he felt the beating heart stop.
Leaning heavily against his horse, Nuvillet glanced down at his torn, dirtied clothes and muttered under his breath.
"Damn it… That bastard ruined my clothes. No choice now but to keep going — I might find something clean at the manor."
Mounting his horse once more, Nuvillet pressed on. After forty-five minutes of riding, he reached the gates of the manor. Before approaching, he donned his mask.
As he neared the entrance, two guards blocked his path, raising their weapons toward him.
"Stop right there! Hands in the air! Are you lost, stranger? Answer me!" one guard barked.
Nuvillet calmly raised one hand in the air while keeping the other in his pocket. He handed them a folded paper. The guard glanced at it, then scoffed, laughing before throwing it to the ground and stomping on it until it ripped apart.
"And you expect me to believe this nonsense? Get out of here before I blow your damned head off!"
With eerie calmness, Nuvillet replied, "Inform the deputy mayor that a masked man carrying an official entry permit is here."
One of the guards approached, glaring at him in anger. He spat on the ground near Nuvillet's feet.
"If you're lying, I'll cut your head off and feed it to the pigs," he growled.
Nuvillet offered no reaction, smiling faintly behind his mask.
Ten minutes later, the same guard returned, this time flustered and tense. Opening the gate, he stammered, "I'm sorry, sir… We weren't expecting you. We can't let just anyone in — orders from the mayor."
Nuvillet bent down, picked up the torn paper, and patted the guard on the shoulder. "No problem at all," he said smoothly.
As he entered the manor's vast gardens, his eyes widened slightly. The place was grand and imposing, with a dark, Victorian-style mansion rising gloomily at its center.
Deputy Mayor Anglok McFord awaited him near the entrance. He was an older man with white hair and a long, matching beard. Greeting Nuvillet with a noble tone, he extended his hand.
"Welcome, sir. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it was a security precaution. I'm sure you understand. But… what happened to your clothes? They're torn and covered in blood and mud."
With a tired sigh, Nuvillet recounted his journey. "I was attacked on the way here — someone tried to kill me. The fight got a little… messy."
Anglok smiled politely. "No matter, sir. We'll provide you with fresh clothes. The mayor is waiting for you in his study before he joins the other officials."
Nuvillet followed Anglok to the second auxiliary kitchen at the back of the manor. After changing into clean clothes, Anglok gestured forward with his right hand, placing the other behind his back. Bowing slightly, he smiled.
"From here, sir. The mayor is waiting."
They left the kitchen, stepping into a vast hall filled with prominent figures and noble families. As Nuvillet entered, all eyes turned to him. His towering height and strange mask made him look more like a phantom than a man.
Ascending the stairs, they approached the mayor's study. Deputy Mayor Anglok knocked on the door. A voice called from inside. "Come in."
They entered the room where a servant was adjusting the mayor's clothing. The servant quickly finished and left the room, leaving only Nuvillet and the mayor, Ivan Collins.
The mayor smiled as he looked at Nuvillet, gesturing for him to sit. He ordered everyone else to leave.
"Welcome, detective. I didn't expect you to arrive so soon."