"The killer did it on purpose?"
Sheriff Duke asked, perplexed.
In truth, something else in Orpheus's words had struck a chord in his mind: the word *artwork*.
A young man had just described the victim's body as an *artwork*.
Though Duke knew that Orpheus had spoken from the killer's perspective, the ease with which he had articulated and immersed himself in such a description in such a short time was astonishing.
But he wanted to hear more from the young man in front of him, so he continued to ask, "How did you come to that conclusion?"
"It's obvious; this isn't a crime of passion."
"Mhm." Sheriff Duke nodded.
A crime of passion, as opposed to a premeditated murder, occurs when someone loses control due to provocation or instigation and kills someone without prior intention.
But the way this body was arranged and decorated went far beyond the scope of a crime of passion. The killer had clearly undertaken a series of deliberate post-mortem actions.
Sheriff Duke twisted his pipe, then asked, "What made you think so, given that we haven't conducted a thorough investigation of the crime scene yet?"
Orpheus hesitated for a moment and answered, "It's a feeling."
"A feeling?"
"Yes, the feeling I got when I saw the body."
"Investigating based on feelings?" Sheriff Duke raised his hand, "No, I'd like to hear more about your feelings. Can you describe them in detail?"
"The killer hid the body underneath the stage…"
Sheriff Duke interjected, "So, the killer is familiar with this ballroom's layout. If we add that to what you mentioned earlier, that this wasn't an accident but something orchestrated by the killer, then the suspect is either an employee of the ballroom or, at the very least, a regular patron.
Oh, sorry, I interrupted you. Please, continue."
"I can only go with my gut, Sheriff." Orpheus explained again.
"No problem, go on."
"A ballroom is a lively place, crowded and noisy. Typically, after committing murder, the killer's main goal would be to destroy evidence. But here, it's completely different.
The reason the killer placed the body here and went to such lengths to decorate it was to reveal it at some later point… precisely today, just like a painting is covered by a red cloth after completion, only to be unveiled to the guests at the right moment.
Furthermore, placing it under the stage also has another layer of meaning."
"Another layer?"
"Though it wasn't a crime of passion, the killer clearly harbors intense hatred."
"You can rest assured; once we identify the victim, we'll thoroughly investigate their social circle, especially focusing on those with conflicts or enmity."
"No, no, you misunderstood me. The hatred I'm referring to is different from what you think."
"Different?"
"It doesn't belong to the realm of everyday life—colleagues, relatives, neighbors, friends—where friction turns into resentment, ultimately leading to murder.
The hatred I'm talking about operates on a different level.
You see,
The way the killer treated the victim's body is too meticulous, exuding not just religious undertones but also an artist's emotional expression, akin to a sculptor."
"I understand the words you're using, but putting them together, I'm somewhat lost…"
"Please, follow me."
By this time, Uncle Mason had already left with the injured, and for now, only Orpheus and Sheriff Duke remained in the main hall.
When the body in the central stage pit was discovered, neither Sheriff Duke nor Orpheus had screamed, so in the earlier chaotic scene, no one else even noticed there was an additional body unrelated to the "accident" here.
Orpheus stepped off the stage and headed toward the seating area. The ballroom's layout resembled that of a theater. Before it was turned into a ballroom, it had actually been a theater in Roja City.
So, walking toward the "audience seats" from the stage meant ascending steps; the further back one went, the higher the seats rose, similar to an amphitheater.
Orpheus kept walking upwards until he reached the middle.
Here, there were high, small tables, barely big enough for a few drinks, with no chairs beside them. If one wanted to sit comfortably, they had to pay extra to book the front booths.
This area was simply for holding a drink and chatting with friends. Of course, if you were a woman, you could freely and easily join the people at the front seats to share drinks.
Unlike Uncle Mason, who had long since retired, Ron was a regular at this ballroom, and this was his preferred area because there was no minimum spend.
A song only lasted three minutes, costing five coins. Although Ron's income was decent, he had many expenses, so he couldn't afford to dance all night.
Most of the time, he would sip from his beer, looking around at the scantily clad beauties;
He'd wait until he saw the most attractive one before inviting her for a dance or two. Once they finished dancing, he would immediately pay the dancer, step off the stage, and return to his spot, sipping his beer again, savoring the experience while searching for the next dance partner.
This was what Ron had proudly described on the ride over. He felt he had maximized his pleasure at the lowest cost.
Orpheus turned around, and Sheriff Duke was right behind him.
"Sheriff, please turn around."
"Okay."
Sheriff Duke turned, standing at mid-height, facing the stage below.
Orpheus's voice came from behind him.
"Sheriff, use your imagination. This is no longer the ballroom where the stage collapsed; it is operating normally.
Listen, the music is playing. It's the lively 'Roya Elf.'"
This cheerful tune was one that Aunt Mary loved to play in her studio.
"Look, the lights are dimming, the guests have chosen their partners, and they're stepping onto the stage.
Look, in the center of the stage, there are hundreds of couples, dancing together.
On the periphery, a few couples are properly dancing ballroom style, their moves not perfect but still respectable.
But in the middle, male customers and dance girls are pressed tightly together, hands slipping where they shouldn't, groping continuously.
Listen, the sound of hormones crackling and rolling across the stage;
Look, everything before you is a concentrated manifestation of primal human desire. Everyone's leaning close, using each other's bodies as cover to shed their pretense, even seeking a sort of thrill from doing it in public.
Look up,
The glass stage above is yet another spectacle of stimulation.
Morality, ethics, modesty—all cast off the stage, leaving room for money and raw desire to take over, brazenly flaunting what should be hidden. This scene, on these two stages in front of you, has become unashamedly overt."
As Orpheus spoke,
Sheriff Duke seemed to really see such a scene unfold before his eyes, as light and shadow intertwined and shifted.
"Now, focus on the stage, the center, and slowly lower your gaze, slowly, until it reaches beneath the stage.
Tell me,
what do you see?"
Sheriff Duke replied, "A corpse, a body with a Berry Church Bible on its chest, posed in a mocking stance."
"Then, please tell me, what position is it in?"
"Lying down."
"Oh, really?"
"Isn't it?"
"Now that you're standing here, take a closer look. Is it really lying down?"
Sheriff Duke's eyes narrowed. Due to the angle, as his perspective shifted, he suddenly gasped:
"No, it's not lying down; it's standing. And those dancing people on the stage, they're actually lying down!"
In an instant,
Sheriff Duke clenched his fists tightly,
because he suddenly realized something.
This spot was an observer's place—no, an appreciator's position.
Sheriff Duke slowly turned his head to the left,
And in his "vision," a dark figure appeared, standing there, right beside him, smiling as he admired the dynamic scene before them.
He… was the killer!
Sheriff Duke instinctively reached out, trying to grab him;
But as his hand touched the shadow, it dissipated, and all the surrounding light and shadow vanished as well, returning to the chaotic reality.
No sound remained, except for his own heavy breathing.
Sheriff Duke turned back to Orpheus and said, "That's a man who takes pleasure in killing; he's appreciating his work."
This is serious.
Accidents are unpredictable. The deaths and injuries they cause will sadden loved ones;
But a psychopathic serial killer is different. His existence can plunge the entire city of Roja into terror.
"He doesn't even see himself as a killer. To him, he's painting; he believes he's presenting an art form."
"The Berry Bible, the flowerpot on the belly, the middle finger, the naked body, these…" Sheriff Duke frowned slightly, "these all seem… seem…"
"Sheriff, you mean these details seem to lose importance, don't you?"
"I… I do have that feeling."
"Because the imagery is enough—not exactly. More accurately, these setups are just supporting roles to make the artwork more elegant."
"So, investigating the flowerpot, the middle finger, the 'Song of the Soul'—it's actually pointless. They aren't deliberate expressions by the killer but casual arrangements?
It's even possible that this corpse, whose identity I don't yet know, wasn't even a Berry Church follower?"
Orpheus nodded but reminded him, "But the Berry Church reveres nature, and nature is a kind of instinct."
Sheriff Duke: "Yes, some Berry Church
followers love to organize orgies, believing such behavior to be a way of connecting with nature, and this element happens to echo the scene on the stage.
So, the killer isn't from the Berry Church, nor does he hate it. His hatred comes from an attitude, no, his hatred stems from something contrary to the principles the Berry Church advocates."
"The Sheriff is right; an artwork without emotional release is just an empty, refined pile-up. It cannot bring joy to the creator. Hatred, too, can be a form of pleasure, and pleasure requires immersion.
This body wasn't here to be punished; it wasn't the object of the killer's punishment but rather a vessel for the killer to immerse himself in.
When the killer stood here, watching all of this, he could imagine himself standing there, and those men and women dancing indecently on the two stages were his objects of hatred and mockery.
He stood, while they lay. He was like a god, overlooking the filthy mortals. This is a kind of hatred beyond the ordinary."
Sheriff Duke nodded and then shook his head: "I feel like I've grasped something, but I have no clear lead. The killer, immersing himself, then there might not be any enmity between him and the victim… they might even have been very close, because only in that way could the killer…"
Orpheus smiled, "Find the sense of immersion."
Sheriff Duke tapped his head with his pipe,
laughing self-mockingly:
"Ha… ha…"
Then, he exhaled a long breath and said, "I think everything you just said is baseless, pure speculation and fabrication, yet somehow it all seems to make sense."
"I'm just fulfilling my duty as a good citizen, maintaining the goodness and order of this city."
"In the next investigation, I'll focus on people close to the victim. The closer, the more I'll focus."
Orpheus didn't respond.
"You're from the Immerlyth family? What's your relation to Mason?"
"He's my uncle, and I'm his nephew."
"Oh, I knew it. You're not just some hired hand in his family. With your looks, if you wanted to make money, you could easily stand here and wait for the ladies to pay you to dance."
After saying this, Sheriff Duke burst into laughter, thinking he was very funny.
Orpheus just politely smiled in response;
He had become somewhat accustomed to this world's particular malice toward attractive people.
"I'm Duke Marlow. You can call me Duke the Pipe."
"Orpheus Immerlyth."
"Orpheus, how old are you this year?"
"Fifteen."
"Tsk, Mason has quite an extraordinary nephew. What just happened was a first in my years of investigating."
At this moment, officers started to arrive.
"If there's any progress in the case… no, regardless of whether there is any progress, I'll come to find you again. Chiswick Street… Number 13, right?"
"Yes, Sheriff."
Sheriff Duke turned around and shouted to the arriving officers:
"There's a murdered body under the hole in the center of the stage. Secure that area and request additional police reinforcements from the station."
As he continued descending the steps, he mumbled to himself:
A nephew who can resonate with a psychopathic killer.
After descending a few more steps, Sheriff Duke suddenly stopped and looked back at Orpheus:
"One more thing."
"Yes?"
"When I examined the body, I noticed it had undergone some degree of embalming, and given that it's winter, decomposition would be slower. The killer could have continued to enjoy this sense of immersion or hatred.
Why did he choose to present the body… the artwork this way?
I can understand his desire to display it, but I think he could have played with it a bit longer, couldn't he?"
Orpheus looked at Sheriff Duke and answered, "Perhaps the killer got bored."
Sheriff Duke's pupils contracted slightly, "You mean the killer has already picked a new target?"
"No."
"Oh…" Sheriff Duke exhaled in relief.
Orpheus continued:
"The killer may already be enjoying it."
…
Orpheus walked out of the ballroom and saw two ambulances parked there, with many injured people being carried in. The earlier chaotic scene had regained some semblance of order.
But what embarrassed Orpheus was that the Immerlyth family's "Shell" brand modified hearse was nowhere to be seen.
Had Uncle Mason been so preoccupied with transporting "clients" that he didn't notice his nephew wasn't in the car?
With no other option, Orpheus decided to hail a taxi home.
Earlier, he had proactively helped Sheriff Duke with the criminal profiling, not because he was itching to play detective, but because he had an urgent need to socialize. Although he didn't dare "run away from home" just yet, there was no harm in making preparations for the future—like getting to know more people.
There was no need to hold back; when you have a grandfather constantly weighing whether or not to kill you, what's there to hide?
At this moment, a taxi stopped in front of Orpheus.
A man wearing a peaked cap, with a hooked nose and a sharp chin, stepped out of the taxi.
After he got out,
Orpheus naturally got in. But after sitting down, he realized that a woman in a gray dress was leaning her head against the window, asleep in the back seat.
The taxi driver turned around and called out:
"Ma'am, ma'am, we've arrived."
The woman woke up, grumbling as she got out and muttered:
"Boss, really, the police said it was just an accident, how could it have anything to do with demons? And yet you insisted on coming to take a look. Hey, boss, wait for me!"
"Sir, where to?"
"Sir?
Sir?"
"Huh, uh?" Orpheus snapped out of his daze.
"Where are you headed, sir? You need to tell me where to take you."
"Chiswick Street, Number 13."
"Okay."
The taxi started up.
Orpheus slowly opened his clenched left hand, looking at the cross-shaped burn scar.
She had just mentioned demons?
At that moment,
Orpheus suddenly felt a pang of guilt and a deep, uncertain fear.
The world outside his home
seemed not so wonderful after all…