The mysterious captain sat on a dark leather couch, his long black hair falling over his shoulders, a light beard framing his sharp features. His piercing blue eyes locked onto the detective as he wiped his hat with his right hand. His black coat, long and elegant, concealed a matching black shirt beneath it. Beside him, resting against the couch, was his cane—a silent witness to the unfolding conversation.
He chuckled, his voice carrying an eerie amusement as he gazed at the detective.
"Well… how are you, Detective Neuvillette? It has been quite some time since we last met. It seems that the great ones have an instinct for sensing when someone lurks nearby."
Neuvillette turned toward the mysterious captain, speaking in a noble, composed manner.
"It seems that those who dwell in mystery share a common trait—their first concern is always to ask about one's well-being before addressing the real reason for their visit."
The captain stood before Neuvillette, their gazes clashing like titans measuring each other's strength. A fake, wide smile stretched across the captain's face.
"It seems that a great deal has transpired during your time in this world. Sit down, let us discuss a matter that will be of interest to both you and me."
The detective leaned back in his chair as the captain sat across from him. Neuvillette's tone carried a distinct lack of interest.
"So, Captain… what brings you here? I'm all ears."
The captain placed his left hand on the desk, his expression turning serious.
"There is an asylum for the mentally ill located in Tildwan. I need you to investigate every inch of that place… until you find someone inside."
Neuvillette burst into laughter, his voice echoing through the room.
"What a bizarre request, Captain. And you expect me to accept such a task? Find someone else to do your dirty work."
A cryptic smile appeared on the captain's face as the entire room suddenly turned scarlet. The walls, the furniture, the air itself—everything was drenched in red. The ceiling dripped with blood, and above them, a crimson moon shattered through the roof, casting an ominous glow upon the detective.
Neuvillette remained unfazed, his gaze steady as he observed his surroundings.
The captain spoke, his voice carrying an undeniable weight.
"I will offer you two things—things you cannot refuse. First: I will give you one million pence. Second: I will reveal the truth behind the 'Wakeir' family and the case surrounding them in full detail."
Neuvillette clenched the table so tightly that it splintered under his grip. A dark, knowing smile played on his lips.
"You certainly know how to make an offer, Captain… Fine. We have a deal."
The captain raised his index finger.
"However, you must first complete the Triangle of Death before you dive into this mission."
Neuvillette's eyes narrowed in intrigue.
"The Triangle of Death? What do you mean?"
The captain's grin widened as the crimson illusion remained, watching Neuvillette closely.
"Three tasks. If you complete them perfectly, you will reach the final stage—the investigation of the Scarlet Asylum."
Neuvillette leaned back in his chair, his gaze locked onto the captain.
"And what are these tasks? Didn't we agree on just the asylum?"
The captain let out a soft chuckle. Neuvillette sighed in annoyance.
"What? Did I say something amusing, Captain?"
The captain responded, crossing one leg over the other.
"The million pence I'm offering covers all three tasks. However, the investigation of the Scarlet Asylum—that is your true reward. As I mentioned, I will reveal everything about the Wakeir family to you."
Neuvillette rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"So that's how it is… What is the first task?"
The captain's expression darkened slightly as he explained.
"There is a man known as 'The Half-Faced Butcher.' He does not discriminate—young or old, everyone is equal in his eyes. His method of killing is… unique. He uses a blunt instrument, ensuring his victims suffer before they die. His killing spree has lasted for fifty years, and not a single piece of evidence has ever led to him. There was, however, one person from the public who saw him and gave a full description… but two days later, that person committed suicide under unclear circumstances. Can you handle this task, detective?"
A wicked smile spread across Neuvillette's face, his crimson eyes gleaming with intensity.
"I'll bring you his spine… with his head still attached."
The red hue vanished instantly, the warm light of the sun returning to the room. The captain smirked.
"Then we have a deal."
As he stood up, preparing to leave, Neuvillette spoke again.
"Do you have a description of this killer? His weapon, his clothing?"
The captain took a moment, recalling what the witness had described before his untimely death.
"He has only half a face—the other half is missing. He wears a half-mask that appears to weep blood. His coat is long, black, and soaked in the blood of his victims. His height is estimated between 3.20 to 3.76 meters. That is all we know."
Neuvillette clasped his fingers together, staring at the captain with pride.
"That is all I need, Captain."
The captain placed his hat on his head, walking toward the door. Just before leaving, he tossed a folded paper onto the desk before vanishing into thin air.
Neuvillette picked up the paper, unfolding it with curiosity.
"Mysterious men always leave cryptic notes and disappear theatrically… Damn them."
His eyes scanned the note.
"From Mayor Ivan Collins: Due to certain circumstances in London, your award ceremony has been postponed until further notice. Additionally, discussions regarding the murdered mayors are ongoing. Once again, thank you, Detective."
Neuvillette lit a cigarette, setting the note on fire, watching as it turned to ash on the desk.
"To hell with you and your meaningless ceremony, Mayor. There is something far more interesting ahead of me."
Meanwhile, as the mysterious captain walked through the illuminated streets, he halted at a dark, narrow alleyway. A figure, shrouded entirely in black, stood within the shadows, speaking in a hushed yet firm voice.
"It seems you are willing to take a risk, Captain. A single word out of place could result in your body being torn into tiny pieces."
The captain—now revealed as Greyston—laughed, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he looked at the shadowed figure.
"Hahaha… First, he must complete the Triangle of Death. Only then can we discuss the Scarlet Asylum."
The figure spoke from behind the veil of darkness.
"Be careful, Greyston. Dealing with the great ones is far more dangerous than dealing with the Scarlet Ones."
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched Greyston's lips, laced with a hidden fear.
"I am well aware of that… but someone like me… longs for eternal rest."
—————-
"What a beautiful night for murder."
That was how Detective Neuvillette expressed his inner thoughts as he watched the slow, scattered raindrops fall from the sky. He took his coat, stepped out of his office, and descended the stairs leading outside the building.
Lifting his head, he let the rain wash over his face, feeling the cool streams slide down his skin. He looked around before speaking to himself, contemplating his next move.
"Where is the best place for a murder? Killing the innocent holds no thrill at all… So the best path is toward the dark corners where gangs reside. There, I'll find plenty of prey… and perhaps I'll gain the killer's memories in the process."
Neuvillette walked toward the shadowed parts of the city, his steps steady, his mind sharp. Soon, he arrived at a building that reeked of blood, with distant screams echoing from within. He stopped and observed from a distance.
The structure stood in a vast, dark alley, shrouded in blackness from all sides. At first glance, it appeared to be three stories tall, with two open windows while the rest were covered with old newspapers.
Reaching into his coat pocket, Neuvillette pulled out a small note—details he had gathered while investigating the "Vein Cutter" case.
"It seems this place is the most wretched and crime-infested of all in London… That makes it the perfect target to cleanse of these vile scum."
As he muttered to himself, a thought struck him.
"I have the visual description of the killer… but how do I transform into him? That bastard gave me the information but not the method."
He placed his thumb and forefinger on his chin, lost in thought. Then, a memory resurfaced—something the mad butcher Amkshurar had once said.
"We are one person… both insane, both born for slaughter."
A grin stretched across Neuvillette's face—so wide that it nearly reached his ears. His expression twisted into something inhuman, something monstrous. His killing intent surged to its peak as he envisioned the murderer in his mind.
And then… his body began to change.
His face reshaped—one half remained, while the other vanished into the void. A mask covered the missing side, its surface streaked with blood. His black coat became stained with crimson. He grew taller—much taller than before. His fingers curled around the blunt cleaver that now rested in his hand.
Neuvillette ran his hands over his altered form, feeling the shift in his body, the raw hunger for death burning within.
Then, he stepped forward—toward the building, trembling with anticipation.
A group of guards lounged at the entrance, their laughter mingling with the distant cries from inside. As Neuvillette approached, they raised their heads.
One of them sneered, eyeing his grotesque form.
"Half-wreck, where do you think you're going?"
Neuvillette did not answer. He simply stared at them.
Another guard stood up, circling him like a predator sizing up prey.
"Never seen you around here. Are you one of those lunatics that escaped an asylum or what?"
The second man suddenly hurled his wine glass to the ground, shattering it into jagged shards. He picked up a sharp piece and drove it into Neuvillette's side, twisting it with force.
"Looks like this little shard buried in your guts will send you straight to hell."
Neuvillette did not flinch. He did not move. He merely stood there, his eyes locked onto them.
Then, without warning, he grabbed the man's arm.
The guards' expressions shifted from amusement to horror.
With an effortless twist, Neuvillette snapped the man's arm like a twig. A sickening crack filled the air as bone tore through flesh, white splintered against red.
Before the others could react, he reached up and wrenched the man's head from his shoulders. The body crumpled, blood pooling beneath it.
Neuvillette turned his gaze to the remaining men, his voice a cold whisper beneath the rain.
"Whoever wishes to be next… step forward."