Chpater One : Curse upon the murderers

The café was bustling that evening— men playing games, others sipping various drinks. The atmosphere was truly enjoyable.

Ding! The entry bell rang.

Jim looked up and saw a towering man with an imposing presence enter.

"Hey Ian! get over here and play with us" Jim called out.

Ian approached the ominous table, wearing a mask of friendship.

" I haven't seen Smith since his loss the other night " Jerry remarked.

Ian chuckled : " Seems like defeat hit him hard " .

I am serious man, it's not like him to disappear like that 

 " Forget about him. he's probably sulking somewhere " Jim joked.

 Ian laughed heartily while Jerry forced a worried smile.

Ian placed a reassuring hand on Jerry's shoulder and said: " Come on. Stop acting like that and let's play man " 

Ian dealt three random cards to each player from a deck containing various roles:

The Silent Killer – Tasked with eliminating players.

The Guardian – Can protect themselves from murder or theft.

The Merchant – Draws three fake coins per turn.

The Cunning Thief – Steals two fake coins from a chosen player.

The Swapper – Can exchange one of their cards with a central deck card every three rounds.

Each player examined their role before concealing it. A hundred fake coins were placed on the table, with three coins distributed to each player as an initial balance.

In each turn, a player could either draw two fake coins or use their character's ability. Players could also accuse others if they suspected their roles. If an accusation was correct, the accused loose a card chosen by the accuser. if wrong, the accuser will be eliminated immediately. The accused can deny the accusation. If so, the accuser has the right to ask the accused to reveal the role to prove he's truthful. However, if the accused lied and was caught, they will immediately get expelled from the game. if the accused reveals their card in response to the accusation and was telling the truth, they exchange the revealed card for a new one. Whoever reaches fifteen coins could forcibly reveal another player's card. The last person standing wins.

In the first round, everyone opted to draw two coins.

"As cautious as ever, you cowards," Jim mocked.

"Play smart, idiot, or you'll get exposed early," Ian retorted.

"Well then, I guess I should spice things up, right? Ian, give me two coins."

"Over my dead body."

"So, you're the Guardian, huh?"

Ian smirked. "Maybe."

Jim eyed Ian suspiciously before sighing. "Fine, I'll take two from the bank instead."

"I'll leave you two to argue while I grab three coins for myself," Jerry said.

By the third round, everyone had over ten coins.

"Now the real fun begins," Ian grinned. "Jerry, you're dying tonight. Reveal your card."

"Not today, Ian. I'll protect myself."

Ian scoffed. "I don't think so."

"You can accuse me, and I can deny it."

"Fine. Reveal the Guardian card."

Jerry sighed and revealed his card. "Damn you, Ian. You didn't have to be so aggressive from the start."

Ian smirked. "You are an easy target, Jerry. Not my fault."

Jerry was eliminated, leaving Ian and Jim to continue the game.

The café remained lively well into the night. Even as clouds covered the moon and the city lights dimmed, patrons still filled the establishment.

"Allow me to buy you gentlemen one last drink for the night," Ian offered.

"Free drinks after losing? How generous," Jim scoffed.

Ian approached the bartender and ordered three glasses of Dusk Nectar, a well-known mix of carbonated soda, apple chunks, and peach syrup, flavored with fresh mint. But Ian had a special addition in mind.

Stealthily, he sprinkled a fine white powder into one of the glasses, marking it discreetly to recognize it later. He returned to the table forcefully smiling and handed out the drinks. They drank to the last drop while engaging in idle conversation.

Fifteen minutes later, Jerry began to feel an unusual drowsiness creeping into his body.

Yawning, Jerry mumbled, "Well, gentlemen, I think it's time to call it a night."

"You're giving up already? It's only ten!" Jim laughed.

"Defeat seems to hit some people harder," Ian mused.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Get lost, you giant brute."

Jerry stumbled out of the café, his body heavy with exhaustion. As he wandered through the quiet streets of Niradia, his mind fixated on his warm bed and the embrace of his wife.

"What a freezing night," he muttered.

The wind howled as Jerry's limbs grew numb. He leaned against a narrow alley wall, trying to regain his strength. His vision blurred, his eyelids drooped, and he slipped into unconsciousness.

Seconds passed by for Jerry.

Jerry woke up being dragged across a wooden floor, his head pounding, his eyelids heavy. He struggled to open them, 

 it was like trying to lift a boulder.

"Jerry."

A voice called his name, but his mind was foggy.

A sudden punch to his gut jolted him awake, gasping.

"W-What's happening? Where am I?"

He recognized the figure standing before him.

"Ian? Is that you? Tell me what's going on!"

Ian's voice was eerily calm. "Relax. We just want to talk."

"We?"

The wooden door creaked open. A man entered—dressed in formal attire. Was he nobility?

He wore a long black coat over a velvet black suit, black gloves, and polished Oxford shoes. A bowler hat obscured his hair, and a wooden mask hid his face.

The masked man.

He approached Jerry, who was tied to the chair, with steady steps, looking at him from behind the mask with eyes filled with hatred and resentment. He stood in front of Jerry and said:

"You know, Jerry, Smith told us a lot about you—from this very chair."

"Smith?" Jerry felt a pit form in his stomach. Were these men responsible for Smith's disappearance? What did they want from him?

"I don't know anything, I swear!"

The masked man began circling around Jerry with slow steps, saying:

"How can you not know? Weren't you there? Didn't you take part in the crime?"

The masked man stopped in front of Jerry, bringing his masked face closer to Jerry's until Jerry could see his eyes—but all he saw was darkness.

Black eyes, as dark as a pitch-black night with no light. Eyes that abandoned compassion and mercy, knowing only pain and suffering.

"Tell me. Who ordered you to kill her?"

Jerry swallowed hard, his breath quickening. "I-I told you, I don't know! Smith planned everything! He paid us to help with the job! Please, I didn't know it was a woman! I have a family! Please, don't kill me!"

The masked man's voice was laced with pure malice.

"Your death won't be as swift as hers. I'll make sure you lose your mind before I take your life."

The masked man sat on the chair while Ian placed a gag over Jerry's mouth.

Ian pulled out a hammer and nails as sharp as war swords.

He grabbed Jerry's hand and pinned it against the wall.

Jerry tried to pull his hand away in despair, but it was useless. Ian's hands were as strong and solid as iron.

He began hammering the nails into each of Jerry's fingers, one after the other.

Jerry let out muffled, desperate screams as the nails pierced through his fingers with force.

"This pain is nothing compared to what's coming, Jerry. Get used to it." Ian smiled at Jerry's face.

The masked man kept staring at Jerry, now crucified on the wall, writhing in agony.

His muffled screams were like a musical symphony to the masked man—the sound of hammering, followed by the sight of skin being peeled away slowly from Jerry's flesh.

His blood streamed down his body, mixing with his sweat like a rushing river.

The masked man was lost in his thoughts, as if he was floating on clouds, enjoying Jerry's pain.

He smiled behind his mask, his grin turning into soft laughter.

Was it Jerry's pain that pleased him? Or something else?

What a monster.

Jerry twisted and turned in pain. He had lost hope in life.

He recalled his happiest memories—his wife, his children, his job, his friends—his whole life flashed before him as if in a final reel.

Was this… the end?

Jerry's mind blurred for a moment until he felt a burning liquid pour over his body.

Jerry convulsed in pain, his eyes nearly popping out of their sockets.

"Don't pass out, Jerry. This will help you focus." Ian said, squeezing a fresh lemon over Jerry's wounds.

Jerry let out muffled screams, his body shaking violently.

But it was futile—the pain didn't stop.

Jerry started hallucinating.

The sound of his blood dripping onto the floor grew louder in his mind.

The voices grew, multiplied.

He recalled his wife's voice—her gentle whispers in his ear:

"Jerry, I love you."

Then, his hallucinations screamed in his mind:

"YOU ARE A MURDERER!!!"

Jerry lost his sense of identity.

Who was he? The loving husband and father? Or the cold-blooded killer who deserved punishment?

Jerry felt despair and doom.

His emotions fluctuated between regret, sorrow, anger, and madness.

The pain persisted, but he felt numbness in his limbs.

He had lost too much blood.

Jerry started feeling weak and cold.

Everyone around him blurred, faded away.

Jerry surrendered to his fate, closing his eyes slowly as his body went limp.

Then—silence.

Ian grabbed a sharp knife and plunged it straight into Jerry's heart, piercing through his flesh and the wooden wall behind him.

The knife remained embedded in Jerry's chest.

Jerry became a tragic painting, carved into the wall.

"One down," Ian muttered, wiping his hands clean.

"This is just the beginning. Get rid of the body and erase all traces of the crime. I'm leaving." The masked man declared.

"Leaving? To where?" Ian asked.

"To start a war."

The masked man mounted his horse, galloping toward the city.

The dark night was as dark as his heart.

At the Edge of the City…

Jim woke up to the sound of a door creaking.

Had he forgotten to lock the doors?

No. Jim never forgot to lock his doors.

Slowly, Jim stood up, heading toward the closet.

He opened it quietly, but the old wood creaked under his touch.

Carefully, he pulled out his revolver—loaded and ready to kill.

Jim moved cautiously out of his room, scanning left and right.

Nothing unusual upstairs.

As he headed downstairs, he heard footsteps in the reception room.

Jim continued his slow descent, gun in hand, ready for anything.

He checked the room.

Nothing.

Then, as he turned toward the kitchen—a sound.

Jim spun around, gun raised—but saw no one.

"Am I going insane?" Jim muttered to himself.

Suddenly—

A sharp blow to the back of his head.

Darkness consumed him.

The masked man stood over Jim's unconscious body.

The strike was fast, precise, hitting a critical point.

Without struggle, he dragged Jim upstairs.

Jim wasn't particularly muscular, making it easy to lift him.

At the top, the masked man dropped Jim onto the floor and pulled out a rope.

A noose.

He tied it securely to a stair railing, fastening the other end around Jim's neck.

Then—

He lifted Jim's body and let it drop.

Jim's body convulsed, struggling for breath.

His limbs shook violently, his breath choked.

His body swaying in the air like a dying branch.

Within a minute, Jim's body went still.

The masked man left the house… as if nothing had happened.

Four Days Later…

It had been four days since Smith, Jim, and Jerry were murdered.

Smith's and Jerry's wives went to the police station to report their husbands missing.

"When was the last time you saw your husband, ma'am?" the officer asked.

"Four days ago, officer…" Smith's wife responded nervously.

"We thought they went hunting as usual, but this time, they've been gone too long!" Jerry's wife added.

"Alright, don't worry, ma'am. We will do our best to find them. Do you remember where your husband went before he disappeared?"

"Yes, I remember… he went to the café. He goes there almost daily," Smith's wife said anxiously.

"Can you tell me the name and location of the café?"

"Yes, it's Café LateNight, it's on Silentwatch Street, across from the public bank."

"Alright, ma'am, I will send a team to investigate the matter, and we will update you as soon as possible."

Jerry's wife grabbed the officer's hand, pleading,

"Please… find my husband. He is the love of my life."

"We will do our best, ma'am."

She nodded, and both wives left, their hearts filled with fear and uncertainty.

The officer headed to the captain's office. Knocking on the door, he was given permission to enter.

"What do we have, Officer Ashwood?" the captain asked.

"We have two missing persons cases. The first man left his home four days ago, heading to a café in the south of the city and never returned."

"Alright, you know where to go, don't you?"

"Understood, sir."

Officer Ashwood and his partner Joe left for the café.

The city of Niradia wasn't large compared to the capital, spanning no more than seventy square kilometers.

For two men to disappear without a trace was unusual, even for the officers.

At the Café…

As usual, the café was lively—men playing games, others drinking.

"A black coffee, please," Ian said to the bartender.

"Right away."

The bartender prepared the coffee and then asked, "Tell me, haven't you seen Smith, Jim, or Jerry? It's not like them to miss coming here."

"I don't know, man. Those fools are probably wandering around somewhere." Ian replied casually.

Ding! The entry bell rang as two officers entered the café, scanning the room.

"Welcome, gentlemen. How can I assist you?" the bartender asked.

"Yes, we are looking for two men named Smith and Jerry. A missing persons report was filed for them today, and they seem to be missing for a few days. The last place they were seen was this café. Do you know anything about this?"

"Yes, they come here frequently, but nothing seemed strange this time. They came as usual and left that night."

The bartender continued pouring coffee for the officers as he added,

"But Jerry came the next day, and nothing seemed unusual then either. Here you go."

"Thank you. Do they have any close friends?"

"Yes, Jim was a friend of theirs, but I haven't seen him either since that night. However, there are people they usually play with."

The bartender then pointed at Ian.

"Ian is one of them."

Ian paid no mind to the situation and continued sipping his coffee.

One of the officers approached Ian and asked,

"Sir, do you know these two men?"

"Yes, we play together, but I'm not really their friend. I come here, play with whoever's around, and leave." Ian replied calmly as he took another sip.

"When was the last time you saw these two men, sir?"

"I saw Smith four days ago. He left early that night, and I stayed with Jim and Jerry. Haven't seen him since. As for Jerry, he also left early the next day and never returned."

"So you're saying they left one night and didn't return the next day?"

Ian smirked and said, "That's exactly what I said."

"Thank you for your cooperation, sir." the officer said, surprised by Ian's composure.

The officers continued questioning other customers, but no one had useful information.

The disappearances were strange even to the café regulars—as if they had walked out the door and vanished into thin air.

"You mentioned a third man who didn't return that night either. Do you know where we can find him?" the officer asked the bartender.

"Jim? I only know where he lives."

"That will be helpful."

"It's on English Street, a large white house with a brown fence. If you get lost, just ask for Jim's place."

"Thank you."

The two officers headed toward Jim's house, hoping to find any clue to the case.

But they had no idea they were about to uncover a mystery far darker than they imagined.

Reaching Jim's house, both officers stepped up to the front door and knocked.

But they found it wasn't locked.

The officer slowly pushed the door open, calling out,

"Mr. Jim? Is anyone home?"

Then—

Their eyes fell upon a horrifying sight.

A man, hanging from the ceiling.