The sun climbed over the eastern horizon, flooding Neue Fiona with a warm, deceptive golden light. Flowers unfurled to welcome the heat, and the moon faded into the pale blue of a fresh morning. On the surface, it was a day like any other: laborers shouldered their tools, vendors raised their shutters, and the streets began to hum with the steady rhythm of village life.
Inside the Village Hall, the machinery of local government began to turn. Amidst the arriving employees, a stout man in the official uniform of the village militia marched toward the reception desk.
This was Ubert Ngetoo, a high-ranking official and a childhood friend of Chief Zamor Camelia. He moved with a heavy, purposeful gait that suggested his news couldn't wait.
Ilona, the receptionist, didn't look up immediately. She adjusted her sharp eyeglasses and the cap perched on her head before finally acknowledging him with a slight, professional bow.
"Where is the Chief, Ilona?" Ubert demanded.
"Mr. Ngetoo, I must apologize," Ilona replied, her voice cool and practiced. "The Chief has not arrived yet. As of this moment, I am unaware of his location."
"For real?" Ubert sighed, leaning his back against the reception counter and scratching his head in frustration.
"I suspect the Chief is at his residence, perhaps doting on his children this morning," she assumed. "It is merely a speculation, but he is quite the family man."
Ubert clicked his tongue. "I checked his house before coming here, Ilona. He's not there. He isn't anywhere."
Ilona's eyebrows shot up. For real? she wondered. "Are you certain? That is strange. It is already 8:30; he is rarely late past eight. Something isn't right."
"Well, he might actually be with the kids," Ubert reasoned. "They have that family business of theirs, right?"
Ilona nodded as the realization hit her. "Ah, yes. Every Monday, the Camelia family gathers herb supplies from the forest. I wonder why he didn't inform me of the schedule change."
Ubert let out a low whistle. "Why would he need to tell you first? It's their tradition. Unless you two have a special relationship I don't know about? Remember the rules, lady: 'Thou shall not covet thy neighbor's husband.'"
Ilona's professional mask cracked for a split second as she reached across the desk and flicked Ubert hard on the forehead. "Shut it, fatass. Now, what do you actually want from the Chief?"
Ubert recoiled, rubbing his forehead and grinning despite the sting. Ilona found his nonchalance infuriating.
"The usual topic, unfortunately," he said, his face turning serious. "A new murder has been reported. This one is... intriguing. Another corpse was found by the riverside in the first district. Sir Uno has requested immediate assistance, and since Zamor is our leader, I came to pull him into the loop."
"Another one?" Ilona folded her arms, her expression darkening. "That is truly unfortunate. Do we have an identity?"
"No idea. I haven't been to the site personally yet, so I don't even know the gender of the body," Ubert admitted.
Ilona flicked him again, even harder this time. The stout man staggered back. "Ouch! There's a limit to my tolerance, Ilona!"
Her eyes turned razor-sharp, a terrifying gaze that pinned him to the spot. Ubert went silent, a bead of cold sweat rolling down his neck.
"The Chief isn't here," she vowed. "I propose—no, I command—that you write down every detail of this case on this paper. You are not authorized to refuse me; I am the Chief's secretary. I want full cooperation. No 'ifs,' no 'buts.' And while you're at it, Ubert, perhaps you should study how to properly handle a lady. You're out of shape and, quite frankly, if the choice is between you and the Chief, I wouldn't hesitate to choose him."
"Man, are you his wife or something?" Ubert muttered, grabbing the pen. He quickly scribbled a short, coded message. "There. Done. Make sure he's the only one who sees this. The existence of the corpse is restricted information."
Ilona's mood flipped instantly back to that of a cheerful receptionist. She adjusted her glasses and snatched up the paper. "Thank you, dear customer! I shall ensure our beloved Chief receives this. In the meantime, try calling Captain Francesco; he should be on duty. Have fun!"
"This chick is too complicated," Ubert grumbled as he exited the building. He tucked his hands into his pockets and walked down the street with a bored, weary expression.
Once he was gone, Ilona's smile vanished. Her eyes turned cold. "You should have used that word earlier," she muttered. She opened the note and scanned the contents. "I see. So, they are finally making a move. Interesting. Fufu... I wonder what kind of 'fun' they have planned."
By the riverside of the first district's main water source, a heavy perimeter had been established. Four village militia guards stood at attention, keeping the gathering crowd of onlookers at a distance.
Rafel Uno and Chief Zamor stood at the center of the cordoned area. Both wore their official uniforms topped with jackets bearing the goddess's crest—the flag of Neue Fiona.
"Chief, the victim is a little girl," Rafel reported, his voice grim. "Based on the state of decomposition, she's been dead for two to three days. Her skin is... well, it's rotten. The worms have already started on the organs."
The Chief observed the body as he walked in a slow, deliberate circle around the small, tragic form. He stopped, pointing toward the center of the girl's torso. "What caused that? The jagged cut in her ribs?"
"That?" Rafel leaned down. "She was stabbed directly through the heart. The nature of the wound suggests she died rapidly from blood loss. But look at her wrists and ankles, Chief. There are clear ligature marks. She was fighting the ropes before the end. She didn't go quietly."
Zamor's face remained a mask of silent focus, but his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. The grim reality that Hermes had sensed brewing in the forest was currently lying at the Chief's feet.
The Chief covered his mouth in dismay, his shoulders sagging as he gazed down at the small, broken form. He quickly averted his eyes toward the rushing water of the river. "How savage," he whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of grief and suppressed horror.
"Indeed," Rafel replied, his expression unreadable. "But this is just the beginning. There's more. Please, come with me."
Rafel led the Chief to a nearby transport wagon. Reaching into a storage crate at the back, he pulled out a thick, weathered leather portfolio and handed it to Zamor.
"What is this?" the Chief asked, his brow furrowing as he took the heavy folder.
"Those are photos of every corpse found in this exact location over the past few years," Rafel answered flatly.
Zamor's hands began to shake as he flipped through the grainy, horrific images. His face turned a sickly shade of gray, and he hastily wiped a bead of cold sweat from his temple.
"This is insane," the Chief condemned, his voice rising in a forced display of outrage. "This is an inhumane act of terror! Who on earth would commit such brutal murders?"
Rafel shook his head slowly. "That is something I cannot understand either. Why target innocent lives—specifically young girls? It is a calculated, terrifying pattern. The criminals behind this are far more dangerous than anyone in this village realizes."
"Has anyone else seen these? Does anyone know you've been investigating this?" Zamor asked, his eyes darting toward the perimeter guards.
Rafel sighed. "Thankfully, my personal team and I are the only ones who know the full scope of these cases from the last four years. I've been trying to track the movements of these maniacs, but I'm still far from catching them."
"Thank God," the Chief muttered, leaning his back against the wagon as a visible wave of relief washed over him. He caught himself and quickly added, "If the Godfather or one of the warring mafia Donnas near this island learns of this, it puts us at extreme risk. They'll use this as justification for an intervention—a war to 'stabilize' the island. It wouldn't just ruin the village; it would put the new Don of Archnemesis in an impossible position."
Rafel's gaze sharpened. "An intervention to confine our territory... you think they'd go that far?"
"Exactly," the Chief seconded.
"Do you think the head of Archnemesis is involved in this?" Rafel croaked, testing the air.
"I don't know," Zamor answered honestly. "But if the people even suspect it, the hatred for his family will boil over again. Tell me... where exactly does this river connect?"
Rafel let out a short, mirthless chuckle. "This water flows directly down from the mountainside of Seerside, deep within the Dark Scily Forest, Chief."
Zamor's eyes flew wide. "What did you say?"
"Seerside of the Dark Scily Forest," Rafel repeated, his eyebrows lifting at the Chief's sudden paleness. "What's wrong, sir?"
The Chief's gaze went blank as he calculated the distance. If the body had been in the water for two days, it had drifted from the very area where Hermes and the children were currently supposed to be. "I don't know," he whispered. "But I have a very bad feeling about this."
Before Rafel could press further, Ubert Ngetoo appeared, flanked by Captain Nicolo Francesco.
"Hey, Chief! Good morning," Ubert greeted, his stout frame moving with surprising speed.
The Chief forced a smile, shaking hands with his old friend. "Morning, Ubert. You're just in time."
Ubert's eyes immediately landed on the blanketed shape on the ground. "Oh, man... what do we have here?"
"A new murder case," Zamor replied grimly. "What brings the Captain out here?"
"I asked Captain Francesco to assist personally," Ubert said, gesturing to the man beside him.
Captain Nicolo Francesco, the newly appointed Captain of the Village Militia, adjusted his cap over his short blonde hair. His uniform was crisp, the brown collar signifying his high rank. He offered a respectful nod to both men.
"Hello, Chief. Francesco reporting. Sir Uno, good morning to you as well."
The men exchanged handshakes, but the pleasantries were short-lived. "May I see the victim, sir?" Nicolo asked.
Rafel led them to the body. As he pulled back the edge of the blanket, Ubert and Nicolo both recoiled. Veins throbbed in Ubert's forehead as he clenched his fists. "What kind of monster does this to a little girl?"
Nicolo's jaw set in a hard line. "Pedophiles... there's a special place in hell for people who commit such inhumane acts."
The Chief stepped forward, placing a steadying hand on each of their shoulders before covering the corpse once more. "Listen to me," he said, his voice dropping into the tone of a leader. "I know everyone is furious. But we must stay calm and set aside our emotions. We don't know which motherfucking bastards did this yet, but I promise you, we won't let it happen again."
"Chief, do we have any leads?" Ubert asked.
Rafel coughed, drawing their attention. "My investigation suggests a secret organization is operating within our borders. I haven't found their primary hideout yet, but they are submerged deep in our territory."
Zamor flinched at the mention of a "secret organization."
"Sir," Nicolo added, "I've heard rumors about a group linked to kidnappings over the last five years. The former Captain, Mattia, tried to hunt them down but failed. Do you think they're the same ones?"
"There are similarities, but also key differences in how they operate," Rafel answered. "Regardless, we need to move the body to the clinic immediately."
"The clinic? Why not the morgue?" Ubert asked.
"We need a full autopsy. Even with limited equipment, the professionals there can help us identify her so we can break the news to her parents," Rafel explained.
Ubert kicked at a loose rock, his hands deep in his pockets. "Man, we really need to invest in a proper forensic facility. Maybe we should ask our newly found friend in the third district for a donation?"
"Negative," the Chief replied instantly. "He's on a mission."
"Oh? What kind of mission?"
"I've asked him to escort my children into the forest," Zamor said, his voice tight.
"Oh! I thought you were with them this morning. I guess that receptionist lady was wrong," Ubert chuckled.
Nicolo noticed the way the Chief's expression had soured. "Is something wrong, Chief? you don't look well."
"I'm fine," Zamor vacillated, his eyes tracking the flow of the river back toward the forest. "There is just a matter of things I believe are connected to this case... but I don't know for sure."
Ubert shrugged, giving the Chief a friendly nudge. "C'mon, Chief. Share what you've got. We're all in this together, right?"
The Chief heaved a heavy sigh, his gaze lingering on the dark, rushing water of the river before he turned back to his men. "Ubert, enough with the jokes. Call Richarde and tell him to meet me at the Village Hall immediately. There is something critical I need him to handle."
Ubert's grin vanished. He saw the shift in his leader's posture—the way Zamor's eyes had gone cold and distant. "May I know what it is?"
Zamor's voice was a low croak. "It's confidential. I'm sorry, Ubert."
Ubert didn't press him. He stepped forward and tapped the Chief's shoulder, giving him a firm thumbs-up. "Don't worry about it. We're friends; I understand how this goes."
"Friends, huh," the Chief simpered, a hollow, fake smile touching his lips.
Ubert paused, sensing the lack of warmth. "What? We aren't?"
"Yes, we're friends. Buddies for life," the Chief giggled, though the sound was dry. He slowly removed Ubert's hand from his shoulder. "Now, go. Do your task."
Ubert stepped back and offered a crisp salute. "Affirmative. I'll take my leave. See ya around, fellas."
As Ubert departed, the Chief turned his attention to the high-ranking militia official. "Captain."
"Captain Francesco here, sir," the man replied, standing at attention.
"As the new Captain—a high rank for our forces—I want you to provide full support to Sir Uno for this case," the Chief ordered, gesturing toward Rafel.
"Yes, sir," Francesco stood firm.
Rafel, however, sensed the underlying tension radiating from Zamor. "Chief... is there something truly wrong?"
The Chief shook his head, his face a mask of official neutrality. "Nothing, Rafel. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have business to attend to. Good luck with the investigation. Good day."
"Good day, Chief," Rafel replied, saluting as he stepped aside to let his leader pass.
The Jacket and the Discovery
Meanwhile, deeper in the forest, the masked young Don and the Priestess were finishing their cleanup by the riverside. On the opposite bank, Mambo was keeping a watchful eye on the twins as they hunted for the final few herbs.
Hermes assisted Venus in packing away the remains of the lunch. His steady, efficient presence brought a visible delight to the girl's face, though she tried to remain composed. However, the moment a sharp, cold breeze swept off the water, Venus let out a sneeze as dainty and sudden as a cat's.
She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering. "Oh... this isn't good. It's so cold."
"Good grief," Hermes muttered, not looking up from the picnic basket. "It's your fault for wearing that. Why are you even in a summer outfit during this season?"
"Because... because I wanted to!" she huffed, her hands waving up and down as she explained. "I thought it was going to be a picnic! And... and I really, really wanted to impress someone here."
Hermes tilted his head. "Who?"
Venus pouted, her eyes narrowing. "Are you dense?"
"No, I'm human. Snap out of it," he replied. He handed her a folded blanket. "You need to be more honest with your feelings if you actually want to impress someone. Though, I am impressed you didn't hire a maid to help you with all this."
"How rude!" she snapped, raising her eyebrows. "I can do things myself, you know. I don't need a maid."
"At least you won't get tired as easily. Never mind," Hermes said. He paused, looking at her more closely. "What's wrong with your face?"
Venus, who had been staring at his Mask of Destruction, jumped slightly. She covered her mouth to hide a growing smile. "You'll grow old so quickly with that personality of yours. Anyway... I'm fascinated by how you express yourself even though you're hiding your face. May I ask... could you show me how you smile?"
Hermes stared at her for a beat. Then, he slowly nodded. He took his gloved fingers and used them to manually push the "lips" of his mask upward. "Like this?"
Venus erupted into giggles. "That's... that's a little bit scary!"
"Why are you laughing if it's scary?" Hermes asked, his mood souring.
She wiped a stray tear from her eye with a silk handkerchief. "Oh, goodness... my apologies. I didn't realize you had a sense of humor."
"Thanks for the compliment, but it wasn't meant to be funny," Hermes said, folding his arms across his chest.
"I don't know," she teased, giving his chest a playful, light punch. "It's funny that you can still look so intimidating with a mask on. Relax. You're not actually scary."
"Oh, really? Hmm... I guess I need to customize this mask again," Hermes murmured to himself.
Venus finished packing the last of the supplies into her dimensional pocket. "Hey... please don't get mad, but I'm curious. Why are you hiding your face, Sir Aljen?"
"Protection," Hermes answered instantly.
Venus tilted her head, pressing her index finger to her lips. "Is that the only reason?"
"Yes."
"Then... why are you so interested in our village?" she quizzed.
Hermes pressed his own finger against the mouth of his mask. "Secret."
"Come on! Spill it!" she teased, leaning in.
"Venus, I don't want to," he said, lightly flicking her forehead when she tried to grab the edge of his mask.
She rubbed the spot, her eyes daring him. "The God of Fate will punish you for being so secretive!"
"Do you really think I believe in that?" Hermes sighed, turning his back and walking toward where the children were playing.
"Hmph!" Venus pouted, then quickly chased after him, trying to outrun him as a small act of revenge.
As she ran past, Hermes noticed her body was still trembling. She was rubbing her arms vigorously, trying to stave off the chill. He realized she wouldn't last much longer in the damp forest air if he didn't intervene. He stopped, shrugged off his outer jacket, and caught her by the wrist as she tried to dash by.
"Hey. Hold up. Take this," he said, his tone firm yet surprisingly gentle.
The moment their eyes met, time seemed to slow. A stray leaf drifted between them as the silence of the forest deepened. Venus's face flushed a deep crimson as she felt the lingering body heat from the jacket. Her lips trembled as she took the heavy fabric from his hands.
"Y-y-your smooth moves won't work on me! Hmph!" she stammered. She spun around and began walking even faster, her face buried in the collar of the jacket to hide her embarrassment.
Inside her head, she was screaming: 'Kyaaaa! I can feel his warmth! I'm never taking this off! Kyaaaa!'
Hermes scratched his cheek, watching her go. "What the heck is wrong with her? I just gave her a jacket."
He turned back toward the riverbank, but as he moved, something caught his eye—a thin, soggy material snagged on a low-hanging branch near the water's edge. He reached out and pulled it free.
It was a fragment of a newspaper, dated just a few days ago. His eyes scanned the blurred ink, and a chilling realization struck him. This wasn't just trash. It was a piece of the same paper he had seen in the Chief's office—and it was stained with something dark and rust-colored.
'No, no, no... this can't be happening right now!' his mind exploded.
"Newspaper!" he hissed, his grip tightening until the paper tore.
Hermes stared at the shredded, water-logged fragment in his hand, but he wasn't looking at the ink anymore. A series of translucent, crimson windows flickered into existence before his eyes, cutting through the forest's gloom with a cold, digital glow.
[URGENT MISSION OBJECTIVE]
Target: Protect the children from the Rooters hiding in the Cave of Seerside. Constraint: Do not allow a single child to be captured by the thugs.
Penalty: Failure is not an option. A heavy penalty will be applied to the user's stats.
Reputation is at high risk.
"Seerside?" Hermes hissed, his heart hammering against his ribs. "That's the exact coordinate we're heading to. They aren't just wandering; they're being herded into a trap."
Before he could process the tactical layout of the cave, a second notification pinged, more violent than the first. It pulsed with a dark, sickly violet light.
[FORCED EVOLUTION OBJECTIVE]
Goal: Upgrade the Demon Box to Level 2 and the
Slime Armor to Level 10.
Requirements: Souls of the Sinners (0/10) and the Blood of a Warlock (0/1).
Time Limit: 24 Hours.
Penalty: Severe physical corruption of the user.
"No, fuckin' way!" Hermes growled, covering his head with his hands. The sheer absurdity of the requirements—souls of sinners—made his stomach churn. The system wasn't just asking him to be a bodyguard anymore; it was demanding he become a reaper.
But the final window was the one that truly pushed him over the edge. It popped up with a pink, flowery border that felt like a mockery of his current situation.
[HIDDEN AFFECTION MISSION]
Target: High Priestess Venus Aphrodite.
Current Affection Level: 50/100.
Goal: Increase Love Affection to 100/100.
Time Limit: 5 Days.
Penalty: [LOCKED] — Something truly embarrassing.
"Bullshit! This is insane!" he denounced, his voice echoing across the riverbank.
The weight of the Mask of Destruction felt heavier on his face. He was being squeezed from three sides: the village militia was closing in on a murder case that led straight to him, a group of high-level thugs was waiting to snatch the twins, and his own system was forcing him to play the part of a romantic lead while collecting souls.
"Sir Aljen?" Venus called out from a distance, her voice muffled by the collar of his jacket. She was looking back at him, her eyes wide with worry at his sudden outburst. "Is something wrong? You look... frantic."
Hermes took a deep, shaky breath, forcing the windows to minimize. He looked at the twins, who were happily skipping toward the trailhead of the Seerside path, and then at Mambo, who was professionally oblivious.
"Nothing's wrong," Hermes lied, his voice regaining its pragmatic edge. "We just need to move faster. The weather is turning."
Inside, he was screaming. 'Rooters, warlocks, and a love-struck Priestess. Justin, if I survive this, I'm doubling your workload for a century.'