The Bizarre Detective Agency

Chapter 565: The Strings of Fate

The dim light of the streetlamps seeped through the window.

An oil lamp stood on the nightstand, its glow illuminating Lu Li as he quietly paged through an old history of the Principality of Saint Mark. Anna was a silent presence beside him, her gaze fixed on his profile.

At some point, while Lu Li was lost in his reading, a distorted black shadow crept out from beneath Anna's feet, coalescing into the shape of her dark twin. Like the Shadow Stealing Fire, it peeled away from its source, slid through a narrow gap in the window, and slipped out of the room.

Anna remained by Lu Li’s side, serene, as if nothing had happened.

...

The shadow of a girl in a long dress "walked" along the road.

It looked like someone's shadow, but it was merely an illusion, a projection without physical form. Whenever it encountered passersby, the shadow would retreat into dark corners or melt into other shadows on the ground.

The shadow seemed to wander aimlessly, drifting through the streets. The roadside buildings were no obstacle; it could "pass" through them with ease, regardless of whether they were lit or dark.

After a few minutes, the shadow reached a bustling street. The air was filled with the sounds of people passing by and the faint aroma of liquor.

Perhaps because it had strayed too far from its origin, the shadow's color began to fade, turning a murky gray, like a phantom glimpsed through a thick fog.At last, it found its target—a homeless man slumped against a lamppost, a bottle clutched in his hands.

"Hic!" Tommi let out a belch, the taste of cheap malt coating his tongue.

He considered himself lucky tonight. Some rich fellow had left a nearly full bottle of beer on the street. A real find!

Leaning against the lamppost, bundled in a warm, albeit tattered, coat, admiring the nighttime scenery with a beer in hand—what could be better?

Suddenly, Tommi saw a shadow slip into a dark alley nearby. He rubbed his eyes and stared, but when he saw nothing there, he just shook his head.

"I only had one sip... Must be this damned cheap booze again. No wonder they threw it out."

Despite his grumbling, Tommi had no intention of parting with the bottle, even if the beer was just a concoction of cheap alcohol, questionable flavorings, and dirty water. He just hoped his head wouldn't spin too badly later.

Two people walked past him. As soon as they were a safe distance away, the shadow slid out from the alley and merged with the unsuspecting Tommi's own shadow.

Still holding the bottle, Tommi watched in confusion as his left hand rose into the air all on its own.

"What the?" he muttered, bewildered.

He tried to lower the bottle, to force his disobedient arm down, but his right hand had stopped listening to him as well.

The bottle of beer clattered to the ground. It didn't break, but its contents spilled out across the pavement.

"My beer!" Tommi cried out, but the words caught in his throat. The slight buzz from the alcohol vanished instantly, yet he was too horrified to even scream. He was watching, with his own eyes, as his body lurched to its feet and took a clumsy step forward.

Tommi staggered down the street, lurching like a drunkard. Passersby gave him a wide, disgusted berth, but if any had bothered to look closely at the "drunk's" face, they would have seen an expression of pure, frozen terror.

And if someone even more observant had followed his path, they would have noticed that he seemed to be avoiding the dark patches of the street, the areas untouched by the lamplight. As he passed these unlit stretches, his body would twitch and jerk unnaturally, as if two separate wills were wrestling for control.

Stumbling onward, Tommi wandered into a dark, damp alley. A tavern was close by, and the air was thick with the stench of vomit and filth. He suddenly slammed hard into a brick wall and crumpled to the ground, unconscious in the grime.

The shadow of the girl in the long dress detached itself from the homeless man's shadow, skirted the filth, and "walked" up the wall before slipping over the fence.

It was the tavern's backyard, used for storing goods and parking customers' carts.

"Squeak-squeak!" A rat peeked out from a crack beneath the wall.

The shadow on the wall turned its "head," as if looking at the rat, and drifted toward it.

The unsuspecting rat was instantly overwhelmed by the shadow's influence.

A rustle! The normally timid creature scurried from its hiding place and darted toward a wooden barrel of kerosene standing in the corner.

Its sharp teeth gnawed through the lid, releasing the pungent smell of kerosene into the air. Kerosene was not on any rat's menu, not even the most famished. Yet this rat plunged its head inside, took several gulps, then scrambled out of the barrel and ran to a cart parked in the yard, disappearing inside.

A moment later, the rat emerged from the cart and scurried back to the barrel.

In this bizarre fashion, it shuttled back and forth, carrying mouthfuls of kerosene from the barrel to the cart.

After several trips, the rat, having just climbed out of the cart, suddenly lifted its head and stared at the back door.

A young man holding an oil lamp stepped into the yard.

The shadow "exited" the rat's shadow and, keeping out of the young man's line of sight, drifted toward him.

Released from its control, the rat staggered and collapsed. A foul liquid, mixed with kerosene, dribbled from its mouth.

The young man, on his routine check of the backyard, noticed nothing amiss. The shadow silently "entered" his own.

The youth's behavior didn't change, but a thought suddenly surfaced in his mind: "Who would bother stealing from a tavern's backyard? There's nothing to check here. I'd rather be resting..."

Once planted, the seed of laziness grew quickly. The young man promptly convinced himself that since nothing had ever happened before, nothing would happen tonight either. He turned and went back inside the warm tavern.

Click! The door shut, leaving the girl-shaped shadow alone in the yard.

...

Meteor Street.

It wasn't named for a fallen star, but because some ruler centuries ago had simply decided to call it that on a whim.

Fule, Muffin, and Rod emerged from the Nightflower Tavern.

"Don't forget about our business tomorrow. If you need a hand, just call us," Fule said to Rod.

"Will do."

The friends said their goodbyes. Fule departed in Muffin's carriage.

A tavern servant brought Rod's cart around. Rod placed his lamp on the seat beside him, climbed aboard, and pulled away from the entrance.

"What's that smell?" Rod turned his head, a familiar scent wafting from the back of the cart. The seat beneath him felt strangely sticky.

He ran his fingers over the wooden planks and brought them to his nose. A sharp, pungent odor hit his nostrils.

"Kerosene?.."

The thought had barely crossed his mind when a homeless man stumbled out of the alley beside the tavern. Lurching as if drunk, he slammed directly into the side of the cart.

The vehicle tilted. The lamp, resting precariously on the planks, fell, and its glass chimney shattered. The wick, which should have been extinguished by the fall, instead brushed against the wood. The cart erupted in an instant, a massive torch that engulfed the entire frame in fire.

"Neigh!" The terrified horses bolted. Caught completely by surprise, Rod had no time to jump clear and was thrown into the heart of the blazing inferno.

...

"Rod died in terrible agony. They say he screamed for almost half a minute before he went silent," Fule said, his voice heavy with sorrow.