Chapter 17 - Crime scene

Tonight, the night was as cold and sharp as a blade, and an eerie stillness hung over Sunreach City like a shroud.

Outside the Iron Sword School, dozens of guards from the Mayor's Mansion stood in rigid formation, their gazes sharp and focused. Their purpose was clear, to ensure that Han Zhen did not leave the city. Yet, despite their vigilance, they were oblivious to a crucial fact.

Han Zhen was already gone.

Utilizing a concealment technique as natural as flowing water, he had erased his presence, dissolving into the shadows like mist under the moonlight.

His breath was steady, his movements soundless. To the untrained eye, he was nothing more than a wisp of darkness, slipping past the patrols unseen.

With each silent step, he distanced himself from the school, his mind stirring with fragmented memories of the previous night.

A hazy recollection of wandering through the city, stepping into an inn, drowning himself in liquor. And then, nothing. A void. The details were lost in the fog of intoxication.

But one thing was certain. The wine had been tampered with.

Determined to retrace his steps, he moved swiftly through the silent streets, his destination set, the very inn where he had last tasted clarity.

Yet, as he arrived, his hopes were dashed like shattered porcelain.

The inn, once bustling with warmth and merriment, now stood cold and lifeless. Its wooden shutters were locked tight, its lanterns unlit.

The rich aroma of fine wine, once carried by the wind, had vanished entirely, leaving behind only an unsettling emptiness.

Beyond the deserted threshold, the streets remained lively with murmuring passersby.

"How odd… This inn was always bustling. Why would it close so suddenly?"

"I heard the innkeeper is gravely ill. No medicine in the world can save him, so he's shutting down and returning to his homeland."

"His homeland? He wasn't from the Northern Region, was he?"

"Who knows? But what a shame… I'll never taste his wine again."

Han Zhen's gaze darkened.

His first clue had already crumbled to dust.

Whether the innkeeper had been silenced or had truly left of his own accord, it no longer mattered. The trail was cold. He had no time to chase phantoms.

Clenching his fist, he exhaled slowly. The clues he searched would not be found here. If the liquor had been poisoned, then the truth still remained at the scene of the crime.

Without hesitation, Han Zhen vanished into the night.

The further he traveled, the dimmer the lights of Sunreach City became. He was entering Duhe District, the most infamous corner of the city, a place where sin thrived in the shadows.

At its heart stood the Sunspire Tower, a place where the brutal murder had taken place the previous night.

Usually, this place was alive with the sounds of revelry. The wine had flowed freely, laughter had rung through its halls, and the scent of fine incense had lingered in the air.

But tonight it was a husk of its former self.

The building had been sealed by the Mayor's Mansion. The normally vibrant atmosphere had been stripped away.

Faint candlelight trembled within, casting long, distorted shadows that danced against the walls like phantoms reliving the past.

Outside, the streets were silent, the usual murmurs of the night devoured by an eerie stillness.

Yet the quiet did not mean it was unguarded.

The Mayor's forces had locked the tower down, turning it into a fortress. Every ten paces, a guard stood watch, their hands never straying far from their weapons.

Most were cultivators in the Spirit Awakening Realm, their breathing steady, their auras carefully restrained. But among them were a select few, Essence Refinement Realm cultivators.

Above them all, like an unseen mountain pressing upon the air, stood a single master, a cultivator of the Sea Transformation Realm.

His qi was vast and unfathomable, rippling through the air like an ocean in the depths of the night. He did not patrol like the others.

He simply stood, unmoving. For a man of his level, there was no need to chase threats. His very presence was a wall no intruder could cross.

But Han Zhen had long since learned to slip through even the tightest nets.

Motionless in the shadows, he studied the guards' movements, tracking the rhythm of their patrols, and measuring the spaces between sight and blind spot.

A soldier from the Mayor's Mansion, wearied by the night's watch, faltered. His posture slackened, his eyelids drooped, a fleeting moment of weakness.

That was all Han Zhen needed.

His figure blurred. The night embraced him, carrying him past the defenses without so much as a breath of disturbance.

And in the span of a heartbeat, he was inside.

The instant he stepped into the chamber, the stench hit him, a thick, cloying scent of copper and decay. It was overwhelming, sinking into the very walls, a scent that time alone could never erase.

This was the place of death.

The room was in ruin. Shattered furniture lay scattered, wooden splinters littering the ground like remnants of a desperate struggle.

A table had been overturned, its legs broken. The bed, once neatly arranged, was now in tatters, its silk curtains torn apart, hanging limply in the dim candlelight.

But none of that compared to what lay upon the floor.

Dried Bloodstains marred the wooden planks, and streaked across the walls, evidence of a life torn apart in agony. And then worse. Fragments of flesh and bone, poorly cleaned, still clung to the crevices of the floorboards.

Whoever had attempted to erase the evidence had failed. Death still lingered here.

Han Zhen's gaze swept across the room. He had seen brutality before, but this, this was not an ordinary killing.

Near the farthest wall, past the scattered debris, a dark pool of blood had solidified, its color blackened, far deeper than that of an ordinary wound. It stood out.

This was no simple murder.

Someone had been tortured here. And from the sheer depth of the lingering malice, Han Zhen knew this was not the work of a mortal hand.