Luwens set his gaze on Lucimia, hoping to draw answers from her like water from a deep well.

After a quiet pause like a held breath, Lucimia said, “It’s possible they held a Duel before the kidnapping. These people are regular staff, fixtures like posts in a fence. Rather than forcing them to lie, I think the duelist likely rewrote their memories, neat as a brush over wet ink.”

“I haven’t tested it, but think about it,” she went on, voice steady as still water. “If A uses a Duel to make B lie, and C uses a Duel to make B tell the truth, with death as the penalty either way, then whatever B says, he dies. That’s a noose that tightens no matter how you turn—too easy to expose.”

“And I think the end for violating a Duel is death, right? You said that too. If the consequences were light, people would simply ignore them. A Duel is a blade at the throat—coercive by nature.”

“So A duels B and wins the right to edit their memories. That’s the clean outcome, like wiping tracks in fresh snow.”

“I see…” Luwens drifted into thought, his mind sinking like a stone in deep water. He weighed the idea, then asked, “If that’s true, what about the kidnappers? Even if we know the method, we can’t nail the culprit. It’s all fog.”

“Mm…” Lucimia tapped the tabletop twice, crisp as rain on a window. “It depends on how you untangle ‘kidnapper.’”

“What do you mean?” Luwens blinked, lost, his confusion rising like mist. Again he marveled—an Investigator is an Investigator; to earn that title wasn’t simple.

“I mean, are you chasing the hands that grabbed, or the shadow that ordered them?”

She picked up the file, flipped a few pages like turning leaves, stopped, and laid one open on the table.

She pointed to a case. “Look. Case No. 300: two kidnappers snatched a rich man’s child, demanded ransom. You caught them easily and they were sentenced. That’s the lowest rung—straight rope, straight climb.”

She flipped back to Ouli’s case. “This is clearly different. In a case at this level, the mastermind is the key. The ones who did the grabbing may be small fry, driftwood in the current. They might even be among the people you questioned.”

“The people I questioned?”

Led by her thread, Luwens saw the weave. “You’re saying the mastermind directed dockworkers, tavern staff, tavern regulars, and a shop owner to coax Ouli along. Ouli followed, got taken, then the mastermind edited memories so clean the gods wouldn’t notice. That way, our Duel-based interrogations check out, and bystanders don’t see a struggle to report—because from the street, Ouli walked into the shop himself?”

“Yes.” Lucimia nodded, light as a falling petal.

“Hss—” Luwens drew a sharp breath, his heart pounding like a war drum.

After a long moment, he spoke, voice low as dusk. “Then this case runs deep.”

Lucimia heard that phrase again and frowned, baffled as a traveler at a fork. Annoyed, she thought, Fine—later I’ll have Rexi read his memory and see what he means.

“I remember right, you can’t restore someone’s memory through a Duel, correct?” she asked, her words cool as moonlight.

“Correct.” Luwens nodded. “A Duel isn’t a miracle. Its result must be a price paid and a thing gained. That trade is the Duel’s marrow.”

He hesitated, concern rising like a warning breeze. “Are you going to investigate this case? If so, be careful.”

“…Not necessarily. But I do have another guess.”

“Another?” Luwens was stunned, mind rattled like a struck bell. Their enforcement squad had wracked their brains dry; this girl walked in, skimmed a few pages, and sketched a method. And now she had another line?

“Let’s hear it?” he urged, leaning in like a hunter to a faint track.

Lucimia didn’t answer at once. Her eyes flicked to him, then slid toward the woman nearby, a silent lantern signal.

Luwens understood. He waved a team member to escort the woman to wait in the lobby, moving her off the board like a chess piece.

“Now?” he asked.

“Mm.” Lucimia nodded. “There’s a chance the woman is the killer.”

“Her? The killer? Not a kidnapper? You mean, she might’ve had a conflict with her husband, killed him, then faked a disappearance and filed a report?” His words stumbled like stones on a path.

“Yes.” Lucimia nodded. “But it’s a bold guess without reason or proof. She had no need to report. If she truly killed him, she could run and vanish into the reeds. Who would find out? It’s possible no one would even notice Ouli died.”

In this era, population counts are patchy; household registration is like a net with wide holes. Black households are common; a death can sink unnoticed, like a pebble in a river.

Only in her original world did that tactic make sense—reporting to clear oneself by ritual. Here, the woman’s report feels like an extra arrow shot into empty sky.

“Mm. It’s reasonable, but the footing is thin,” Luwens said, nodding thoughtfully. “We can check that direction. If it’s the case, we can resolve it. But if it’s the first scenario, we may not be able to move. The water’s too deep—unless we net them all at once, it’s dangerous.”

“Okay. Either way.” Lucimia was unconcerned, her tone light as drifting smoke. She slipped both files into her Storage Ring, papers vanishing like seeds into earth, then stood.

“By the way, is it fine if I take these files?”

“No problem. They’re backups.”

“Oh. One more thing—do you know where Kalan Village is?”

“Kalan Village?” Luwens thought for a moment, gaze clouded like a sky before rain. “No idea. Maybe under Karan City’s jurisdiction. Sorry—you know how it is. Villages are fog to ordinary folks unless you’re a geographer, historian, or adventurer. Most people only know cities and towns. And villages file their reports in the town, so the case files might not even name them…”

“It’s fine.” Lucimia nodded, finding his answer reasonable, solid as common sense.

It’s like her original world: most people know the larger places. Ask about a specific village, and many will shrug—a dot lost in the wheat.

Lucimia looked to Rexi. “Let’s go.”

“Oh—finally, we’re done talking!” Rexi stretched, catlike, a long arc after cramped silence.

She hadn’t said a word, just listened, coiled like a spring. It almost killed her.

The three walked back to the hall. The woman hurried over, anxiety fluttering like sparrow wings. “Well? You’ve got a new direction, right? You’ll help me investigate?”

“…I’ll give it a try first,” Lucimia replied, her voice misty, leaving room like twilight.

“Two directions,” Luwens said, firm as a posted notice. “Please cooperate with our follow-up. The Investigator will conduct a solo investigation.”

“Okay, okay—I’ll fully cooperate!”

After goodbyes, Lucimia and Rexi stepped out of the enforcement station, the street air cool as river shade. Rexi finally voiced the knot in her chest. “Hey, Lucimia, didn’t you say the thing you want to check is mostly uncheckable? Why take the files?”

“Mm… It’s likely I can’t check it. But there’s still a chance,” she said, hope like a thin thread.

“Why?”

Lucimia sighed, breath drifting like a long cloud. “Let’s talk as we walk.”