In the gathering hall, only the bodies of the cultists lay scattered about, and there was no evidence to prove the attackers' identities, making the investigation quite difficult.
But one thing was certain: the ones behind this attack were definitely not ordinary people.
A strange, pungent smell lingered in the air, a sign that "fire" had once been contaminated here.
Vanna carefully examined the oil lamps left in the basement. Next to her, a priest took out some special powder and potions from his toolkit to analyze whether there were any unnatural substances left in the lamps.
Fire is the most special thing in this world.
Fire represents visible order, the mark of the gods' covenant with the world, and proof that "civilization still exists"—in the flames, everything that changes leaves its mark.
If a battle of extraordinary levels had taken place here, there would definitely be traces left in the fire.
After the priest got busy, Vanna returned to the center of the basement and looked at the body of a solar heretic that had fallen there.
"The skeleton has dozens of fractures, as if it were hit directly by a rampaging bull. It's hard to imagine what kind of weapon could cause such damage," a coroner said nearby. "There are no signs of any magical attacks, just sheer brute force."
"Brute force… to break dozens of bones at once? What is this, a one-meter-wide mace?" Vanna frowned slightly.
The coroner shook his head. "Compared to this, the ashes at the end over there are more suspicious."
Vanna walked to the end of the basement and saw what the other had referred to as "ashes."
A complete set of clothing lay scattered on the ground, surrounded by fine, dark gray ashes, easily suggesting that someone had once been lying here.
"Without a doubt, this is some kind of extraordinary power. From the traces, it might be a type of mutated flame," Vanna quickly assessed and said to the coroner beside her, "Normal fire would struggle to turn a person into this kind of ash, and yet the clothing remains intact after the burning."
"The wall shows signs of being hit. It seems this cultist was first slammed against the wall by a great force and then burned by the flames," another priest at the scene said. "This is the only cultist here who was killed by extraordinary power—and it's a type we've never seen before."
"Additionally, we found a section of the floor in the corner of the basement that has been severely corroded by an unknown force, but no residual material was found. This could also be a result of extraordinary power."
"It could be a spell cast by a person or an abnormal object," Vanna casually remarked. "Was this discovered due to a report from a citizen?"
"Yes, a concerned citizen heard strange noises coming from the abandoned factory and reported it to the patrolling officers and guards during the shift change," the priest nodded. "These cultists are quite cautious; they erased their traces after entering the city and successfully hid in the lower district without being discovered. If it weren't for this attack, they might have continued to remain hidden."
"Now that one hideout has been exposed, it likely means there are more lurking in the shadows," Vanna said solemnly. "The sewers and alleys of the lower district are now the focus of our search…"
Just as she was about to continue, a guard hurriedly approached her, holding something in his hand. "Judge, take a look at this!"
Vanna immediately looked up and saw the guard holding a small tray with several bloodstained, slightly deformed copper bullets.
"We found two revolvers that had been fired at the scene, and these bullets likely came from those guns," the guard reported. "The blood on the bullets probably belongs to the attacker!"
Vanna's gaze fell on the bullets, and she quickly noticed the deformation of the bullet heads—having blood on them indicated they had been shot into flesh, but the state of the deformed heads… was not something soft and fragile flesh could cause.
Unless each bullet had hit a bone directly, or… the person shot had an extremely tough body.
And how did these bullets, which had already been lodged in a body, end up at the scene?
Vanna thought carefully and concluded there were only two possibilities: either the attacker performed surgery on themselves to remove the bullets, or the attacker had some special physical ability to force the bullets out of their body.
Regardless of which possibility it was, one thing was clear: this powerful attacker had taken down all the cultists here without any delay, even after being shot multiple times, and calmly removed the bullets from their body afterward.
Vanna looked at her own hands.
She could do such a thing, but because she could, she understood how difficult it would be for an ordinary person with a flesh-and-blood body.
"The one who killed these cultists must be an extraordinarily enhanced individual, using some kind of large blunt weapon," Vanna thought. She turned to a follower and said, "The attacker has rich combat experience, a strong will, and extreme strength. Considering the weapon used, they are likely tall and may possess some kind of flame power. My initial judgment is that they are in opposition to the solar heretics, but we can't confirm if they're on our side yet…
"Notify all levels of guards and officers to pay attention to individuals matching these characteristics. If any suspicious targets are found, report them immediately and do not approach recklessly."
The guard serving as her follower immediately bowed his head. "Yes, Judge."
Vanna let out a soft breath, mentally sketching the possible appearance of the attacker who had caused chaos at the gathering: a two-meter-tall man wielding a giant spiked club or mace, skilled in combat, calm and resilient, who could summon flames.
That should be about right.
…
Duncan smiled as he sent off his second customer, watching the plump lady walk away slowly, feeling quite pleased.
That lady was a regular customer at the shop. Today, she had her eye on a pair of vases to give as a gift to her new neighbors.
The vases were sourced from the wholesale market. Although they were made last week, they were actually eight hundred years old. Originally priced at over two hundred thousand, they were now selling for twenty-six, and came with a pair of stone sculptures from the Solande Dynasty that had just been produced last Wednesday.
The regular customer knew the items were fake, but she believed Duncan, the store manager, was genuine from start to finish.
After tossing a few crumpled bills into the drawer, Duncan sat back behind the counter, feeling his restless mood settle a bit.
At least for now, running this antique shop was still a somewhat novel and interesting experience for him.
Of course, making money from this small business was quite limited. The profit from selling the two vases and the two sculptures was only a little over six Solados, and in the half of the day that had passed, only two customers had come into his shop—he had no idea whether this "customer flow" was considered a lot or a little on average, but it was obviously not as promising as reports of cultists.
Duncan divided some of his attention to keep an eye on Ayi's situation.
The pigeon was flying low over the fourth district, but unfortunately, the solar amulet tied to its back had not reacted so far.
Of course, this was normal—although many cultists had flooded into the Prand City, they were not at the point of being everywhere. Plus, they intentionally dispersed to hide in various forgotten corners, making them hard to find.
Hunting requires patience.
Duncan leisurely enjoyed this peaceful time, occasionally checking the pigeon's movements while also glancing at the situation with the Lost Homeland. He controlled his body on the ship to walk around the deck, watching Alice fight with the strange things on the ship, running around with her head in her hands, and suddenly felt that this wonderful life wasn’t so bad.
Just then, a clear, pleasant ringing sound suddenly came from the direction of the door, interrupting his idle thoughts.
"Welcome."
Duncan casually said this while looking up at the door, where he saw an elderly gentleman with graying hair pushing the door open.
This was a well-dressed old man, with a brand new, neat dark brown coat and shiny leather shoes. He held a black cane of unknown material, and his hair and bow tie were impeccably arranged.
This outfit was not something you'd expect to see in the lower district; it looked more like someone from the Crossroads or even the upper district.
Duncan had no real concept of what a "decent person" was in this world, but he could tell at a glance that this old man was not an ordinary customer.
"Have you found anything you like?" he smiled, acting like a true antique shop owner. "If it's fate, take it home."
(End of Chapter)