The Black Pandemonium

Charles slipped outside to the balcony, seeking a moment's respite from having to smile and greet so many unfamiliar faces. The evening air was cool against his skin, easing his tension somewhat. He leaned on the marble balustrade and let the breeze ruffle his hair, his thoughts already turning toward the investigations he would need to conduct the following day.

From where he stood, Charles could see Joseph deep in animated conversation with Matthew, and Miranda had just joined them with evident interest. Letting his gaze roam across the gathering, he spotted Rebecca chatting with a circle of noblewomen, while Isabel laughed freely with friends her own age.

Observing each member of the Cavendish family, Charles couldn't help noticing how striking they all were—Joseph with his handsome face and sparkling blue eyes, Miranda with her elegant beauty, Isabel whose sweet countenance promised future loveliness, and even Rebecca who, though not born a Cavendish, carried herself with a grace that rivaled them all.

"What are you thinking about, all by yourself?"

A voice jarred him from his reverie, making Charles start slightly. Turning, he saw Miranda standing nearby, holding a glass of dark red wine.

She stepped closer, stopping by his side at the balcony rail. "You're not used to these events, are you?"

In truth, Charles had simply wanted some solitude, but he couldn't very well brush off his best friend's sister. So he forced a polite smile. "Just... a bit unfamiliar."

Miranda's own reason for stepping away from the gathering was similar. She had just escaped a circle of old friends whose conversation had shifted toward marriage and suitable prospects. With well-intentioned hope that she would find an appropriate match—given her not inconsiderable age—they had steered the conversation in a direction Miranda found uncomfortable. Seizing the chance to slip away when she spotted her brother's friend standing alone, she decided to strike up a conversation.

"How about telling me about one of your cases?" Miranda suggested, hoping to find a subject that would ease them both from the evening's social strain.

Charles hesitated briefly, weighing whether he should share potentially sensitive investigation details. But since she had asked, and she was Joseph's sister after all, he decided to speak cautiously.

"I once handled a case," he began, "involving a honey merchant who took revenge on people he disliked in a rather cunning way."

Miranda arched an eyebrow with interest. "Cunning in what sense?"

"He produced honey from meadow saffron—some call it the autumn crocus," Charles explained. "That particular flower contains a toxin that builds up in the body over time. With extended exposure, it can be fatal."

"How interesting," Miranda murmured, taking a sip of wine. "How did he choose his victims?"

"He only sold that poisoned honey to customers he had quarrels with, claiming it was a 'special recipe.' Most of them were regulars who haggled over prices or complained about his product quality. Over time, they started displaying odd symptoms, and eventually died."

Miranda raised her brows. "Sounds like a case that needed quite a bit of investigation."

"Yes. Connecting the victims took time until we realized they all bought honey from the same vendor."

Miranda nodded, her expression showing genuine interest. "And I assume you caught him in the end?"

"We did," Charles answered, turning his gaze toward the night sky. "On a different note... I've been wondering about the recent war."

Miranda raised an eyebrow slightly. "What about it?"

"Since Hydelyn has already defeated Tra-Inclinant, why enter into a peace treaty?" Charles turned to meet Miranda's eyes. "Why not simply annex their territory? It would remove any future threat and expand our borders at the same time."

Miranda studied Charles silently before shaking her head. "It's not as simple as you think," her tone grew more serious. "Fighting until complete conquest, even though we'd likely win... our army would suffer heavy losses."

"Why would that be a problem when we've already won?"

"Think it through," Miranda set her wine glass down on the balustrade. "If our military is weakened, we create an opportunity for neighboring countries to attack us." She paused briefly before adding, "Even the nations that seem most friendly to us now... could transform into enemies at any moment if they perceive vulnerability."

"But our allies—"

"In international relations, there's no such thing as brotherhood or true friendship," Miranda stated flatly, her eyes turning cold. "There's only advantage or disadvantage. If attacking us would benefit them more than remaining allies, they wouldn't hesitate for a moment."

"In other words, continuing the war might mean winning one battle, only to risk losing many others," she concluded. "Sometimes stopping at precisely the right moment is the true victory."

Charles fell silent, contemplating Miranda's words. He was beginning to understand that international politics were far more complex than he had imagined.

Miranda glanced through the balcony doorway, observing her brother still engrossed in conversation with Matthew. "My brother seems quite interested in your friend's case."

"Yes. Matthew is facing a case involving influential people," Charles replied. "He's being obstructed in his investigation from every direction."

Miranda nodded thoughtfully. "Hardly surprising. In a system with concentrated power, confronting influential figures isn't easy—especially if they have networks within the bureaucracy."

"How much money does it take," Charles sighed, "to buy off those who once swore to serve the people?"

Miranda gave a short, humorless laugh. "It isn't money that buys these people, but what money can provide." She paused. "If a pebble could be exchanged for comfort and a bright future, believe me... they would choose that pebble."

Her eyes reflected a cold detachment. "Therefore... justice only goes to those with enough power to negotiate for it."

Miranda's voice softened slightly as her gaze drifted to her brother. "But Joseph... he's trying to change that—trying to make justice available to everyone equally, without requiring anything in exchange." A faint smile appeared on her face. "He believes everyone deserves fairness and consolation when facing injustice."

Charles glanced sideways at Miranda. Hearing her attitude reflected in her words, his apprehension diminished considerably, replaced by growing appreciation for the beliefs and ideals Joseph upheld. He himself had witnessed his dear friend's efforts to create social change, despite facing resistance from many powerful forces.

The woman standing beside him now was another who challenged the old system and created change in society. Charles couldn't help wondering what experiences had shaped her into becoming the Ascendant she was today. Upon reflection, however, he decided against asking what might be an inappropriate question.

As their conversation naturally concluded, Miranda excused herself to return to the party and fulfill her social obligations. Charles remained watching the ballroom atmosphere from the balcony for a while before deciding to re-enter the gathering.

"There you are," Joseph called out. "Someone wants to meet you."

But before Charles could respond, his eyes caught sight of a man moving strangely—heading straight for Christopher, the host of the party. The man's face was unnaturally cold and expressionless. Though people greeted him as he passed, he walked by as if they were invisible.

Charles recognized him as Henry Blackwell, the philanthropist who had been smiling and greeting everyone upon arrival earlier in the evening.

Henry stopped abruptly before Christopher, calling the host's name in an oddly hollow voice. One of the guards standing nearby sensed danger and quickly pushed his employer back.

Then horror erupted. Black fluid began seeping from Henry's eyes. His body contorted violently, as if something inside were jerking him around. Muscle fibers visibly strained against bone beneath his tearing skin before black liquid burst forth, spraying in all directions.

Those nearby were spattered with the fluid. It soaked through skin instantaneously, causing black veins to bulge across their bodies. In places, something squirmed beneath the skin, as if worms were tunneling through flesh and bone.

Screams of agony echoed throughout the banquet hall. The affected victims could no longer maintain the dignified composure of nobility. Tears and saliva flowed uncontrollably as their bodies convulsed agonizingly on the floor, twisting in violent tremors until gradually growing still, their wide-open eyes empty of any spark of consciousness.

Screams and sobbing resonated throughout the hall. Some collapsed to the floor in shock, others clung together weeping. Several highborn ladies fainted, while their husbands tried to steady them with trembling hands. Children throughout the gathering cried, clutching their guardians tightly. Some even vomited at the horrific sight before them.

Some distinguished guests fled in panic, abandoning valuable possessions in their wake. Some stumbled in the chaos but quickly scrambled back to their feet to continue running. The sound of high heels striking the floor mingled with shouts of people calling for each other amid the confusion.

Those who escaped the black fluid rushed forward to check on loved ones—family, friends, or relatives. But before they could touch the fallen bodies, Joseph's voice rang out:

"Don't go near them! Step back! Don't touch them under any circumstances!"

Though the warning came quickly, two or three unfortunate souls had already reached their loved ones. The fallen victims violently grabbed those who touched them, spraying black fluid directly into their faces.

Those newly contaminated began showing the same symptoms—black veins bulging, bodies twisting in unbearable pain.

The sight sent people into frenzied panic. Everyone scattered, desperate to put distance between themselves and the affected victims.

Joseph and Miranda rushed forward to assess the situation, with Charles following closely. Matthew attempted to approach as well, but Joseph ordered him back. "You'll be more help keeping people away from here!"

Joseph quickly pulled out a piece of paper and hurriedly wrote a message, his handwriting rushed but legible. He immediately lit it at a nearby candle, sending the urgent communication to the special unit.

Charles turned to warn Christopher, who had narrowly avoided the black fluid. "You need to step back—and make sure you're not alone," he analyzed the situation rapidly. "Looking at how that man approached, he came with clear purpose, and you're the only one in that group who hasn't been affected."

Miranda nodded in agreement, instructing Christopher's personal guards to exercise heightened vigilance.

Soon after, the sound of hurried footsteps came from the mansion entrance. The special unit had arrived with remarkable speed, likely because the mansion stood in the inner royal district, not far from their headquarters in the outer royal district. This proximity allowed them to reach the scene quickly.