Chapter 100: Mary
October 20th – 7:00 A.M.
Territory of Arcturus – Reme City
Arcturus was not just another province. It was the Empire's spear arm: a dukedom ruled by Joshua Arcturus, famed for its knights and cavalry. Honor and loyalty were their lifeblood, passed down through generations of riders and lancers.
Reme City was one of the six main cities of the Aracturus and had a population of 200,000!
The morning fog clung low to the cobblestones of Dusk Street.
A small blonde girl, no taller than 134 cm, stepped out of the single-story house with her satchel bouncing at her side.
"I'm off to school, Mom!" she called over her shoulder.
Mary, a blonde woman in her late thirties, stood in the doorway of the small rented house and waved until her daughter's figure dissolved into the mist.
"Be safe, Betty," she called softly.
The street fell silent. When she was sure her child was gone, Mary closed the door and leaned against it for a heartbeat. Only then did she turn back inside. She had an hour before work.
It wasn't an office job or anything that paid well. She worked construction at the western gate, hauling and mixing stone and mortar alongside men twice her size. The wages weren't much, but they were steady enough to keep Betty's school fees paid and food on the table.
Her husband had been stationed with the army for over a decade. In his absence, Mary and Betty had carved a routine out of the city's rough edges, counting the days between letters and visits. The house they lived in wasn't even theirs; it was just another rented room on another unguarded street.
So she saved. Every coin her husband sent home went straight into the bank. One day, she'd buy a small house on Merchant Street, where the guards patrolled every hour and the lamps burned bright through the night. Betty would be safe there.
With that picture in her mind, Mary tied her hair back, slipped on her worn gloves and heavy boots, and stepped into the cold morning. She walked quickly through the fog toward the western gate, where the scaffolds and piles of stone waited. By the time the sun burned through the mist, she was already at work, muscles straining, doing the hard labour that kept the city walls standing.
The day passed as usual—until it didn't.
Mary came home at six in the evening. The lock on the front door was still in its morning position!
Betty should have been home, or at least at a neighbour's kitchen table. She called down the street, asked the neighbour's children, and knocked on doors. Every reply was the same:
'No, haven't seen her today.'
Fifteen minutes later, Mary's unease had hardened into panic.
Finally, an old lady touched her shoulder and whispered,
"Go to the police, quick. With these child kidnappings… You know how Arcturus has been for years. No one lets kids out after six." The caring old lady had always helped her.
"I'll drop you at the station, Mary," Her husband tied the horse to the carriage and turned it to drive.
"For Divine sake, that horse is old and poor sight, Harry. He caused two accidents this week. If you end up harming Mary, I'll skin you alive."
Her husband shrank back and urged Mary to hop in before his wife changed her mind.
Mary didn't need telling twice. She hurried to the R-2 Police Station on the next street, skirts clutched in one hand.
As soon as she entered, she saw the station was busy as the voices of different complaints entered her ears.
"I saw it with my own eyes, Sir. Mark. That has to be a magical beast. Please inform the garrison to do a check in the Square woods…"
"I heard a clash between the Red Snake gang and the Rising Lions in the slums. Do you know anything about it, Head Constable?"
"Those thugs always clash over silly things, Sir George. But this time, things seem to have escalated. I heard from the informer that they plan to settle this once and for all outside the city."
"Haa! I hope they all kill each other and give us some peaceful time." George lamented and soon saw Mary walking towards him.
He was a solid man with a lined face, thick mustache, and looked around 40 years old.
"What happened, ma'am? Do you want to register a complaint?" He asked as he noticed the uneasiness on her face.
Mary nodded and told him that her daughter had been missing.
He listened without interrupting, then told a constable to call Detective John Wayne, the special investigator assigned to the string of child abductions and missing cases.
Within minutes, Wayne arrived—a lean, brown-haired man with grey eyes and the calm precision. Two uniformed constables fell in behind him.
"If this is the Mysterious Kidnapper case, we must stop him from leaving the city." He turned his gaze towards the sub-inspector and spoke.
"Mr. Benard, send our people to all four city gates and watch out for suspicious persons. If anyone tries to leave without showing proper ID, detain them. Sooner, the better."
"Yes, Detective." The sub-inspector nodded and left hurriedly.
"Mrs. Mary," Wayne said quietly, "we'll begin at once."
They piled into a waiting carriage bound for Reme Knight School, two streets away. George opened his notebook.
"Tell me about your daughter," he said. "When does she usually return from school?"
"By half past five," Mary answered. "Sometimes, a few minutes later, if she stays with her friend Anna."
"She has close friends? Anyone she visits often?"
"Anna from the bakery on Birch Street, and Tomas from the same class. Only those two."
"Any trouble at school? Anyone bothering her? Has she ever skipped classes without telling you?"
"No. She's… she's a good girl. She's never done that. Her teachers like her."
Wayne added a few more questions. "Does she carry anything valuable—a pendant, a purse of coins? Has she ever mentioned a strange man following her? Is there anyone new around the house or street?"
"Nothing," Mary said. "Only the usual walk to school and back."
The carriage jolted to a halt outside the tall gates of the Knight School. It was already seven in the evening; the last light slid behind the spires. The grounds were nearly empty except for the night watchman.
Wayne moved first. "Constables—now bring all her teachers here and her two friends. Knock on doors if you have to. This is urgent."
While they waited, he walked towards the watchman and started questioning. "Did you see Betty enter the school this morning?"
"Yes, sir," the man said. "She came in just before the first bell. Left in the evening with a boy her age."
Wayne's head snapped up. "A boy?"
"Never seen him before," the watchman said. "Thought he was a new transfer. Dark hair, smart uniform."
By 7:30 p.m., all four teachers had been fetched from their homes: the etiquette and language teacher who also taught Betty, an arts instructor, a swordsmanship master, and the knight-etiquette teacher who had filled in that morning.
The news of the missing girl hit them like cold water.
Wayne's gaze swept the room. "About this transfer student," he said at last. "Did anyone check his paperwork?"
The knight-etiquette teacher rubbed his neck. "I assumed Madame Rova had already processed him."
"I didn't come to school today, Sir Xavier," Madame Rova snapped, glaring at him for his laziness.
Wayne turned to the headmaster. "Bring me the full list of Class Three students. All names, including any transfers."
Minutes later, the headmaster returned with the register. Wayne flipped through it. No such name. No transfer at all.
He raised his eyes. "Did anyone even ask his name?"
"I think…" the arts teacher began slowly, "…his name was Gacy."
The swordsmanship teacher nodded. "I observed him during class. Talented boy—defeated some of our top students in sparring. And Betty was speaking with him after my class this afternoon."
"How does he look?"
The teacher paused. "Black hair. Green eyes. A cat followed him around. I even told him not to bring it inside the academy tomorrow."
Wayne shut the register and moved towards the gate. The rest followed him in uneasy silence.
Two youngsters and their parents were entering the school with the police officers. After quick introductions, Detective John Wayne listened to the two classmates fidget before him. Shoes squeaked on the tiles; eyes darted to the floor.
"They only started talking after lunch break, sir," one boy murmured. "We… we didn't know him before."
"Nothing else?" Wayne asked.
Both children shook their heads. Nothing useful—just that a black-haired boy with green eyes had appeared at midday, friendly as an old friend, and walked out with Betty after class.
"He didn't talk to others?" John asked.
"No, sir. Even when another girl tried to talk to him, he ignored her," the boy added.
"We thought he was someone Betty already knew," said Anna.
Wayne exhaled slowly. This looks more like a targeted kidnapping.
He turned to George. "According to the watchman, they went off in the direction of her house. Only two streets between."
Detective John Wayne stood apart, hands clasped behind his back, eyes half-lidded but alert. His dark overcoat brushed the cobblestone; his hat brim shaded the sharp glint of his gaze. To the staff and parents, he seemed lost in thought. In truth, every detail—scuffs on a shoe, a tell-tale twitch of a hand—was sliding into place inside his mind.
A carriage rolled up. Lantern light spilled across three figures as they stepped down.
The first was a silver-haired woman in her mid-twenties, her coat cut like a duelist's jacket, a faint scent of herbs clinging to her gloves.
The second, a raven-haired woman of thirty, eyes faintly luminous as if lit from within.
The last, a young man of twenty with long snowy hair and bluish eyes like winter rivers.
George leaned in. "Who are they?"
John Wayne didn't answer immediately. Instead, he glanced once at the silver-haired woman and spoke as if to himself. "Ravenshield or Blackwater?"
The woman blinked. "Excuse me?"
"There are only two houses in the Empire that produce an alchemist's hands like yours," Wayne said calmly. "The Ravenshield household and the Blackwater line. But your stance—left foot angled to free the wand holster—marks you as a wind-type wizard. The Blackwaters favour fire and poison. That leaves Ravenshield. Combine that with the crest hidden under your lapel—yes, I noticed the faint threadwork—and you must be Anastasia Ravenshield, manager of the Mystic Cauldron in the capital."
Anastasia's brows knit. "You're frighteningly well-informed for someone who's never met me."
Wayne allowed himself the faintest smile. "You've come to help with the kidnapping case. You may stay."
She stared at him. "Just like that? You don't know me. How can you take in strangers?"
"On the contrary," Wayne said mildly. "I know you perfectly. You're an expert alchemist and a wind wizard trained under the Margrave's house. If you meant harm, you wouldn't walk through the front gate under escort."
His eyes flicked to the young man beside her. "And you, sir. Daley Findlay of the Northern Territory. Judging by the stiffness of your left shoulder and your habit of watching window ledges rather than faces, you're the one rumoured to have dropped out of the Crow's Misery academy. A loser, they say—but the way you moved just now when that door slammed in the wind tells another story. Quick reflexes. You're not a failure; you're a man who left on his own terms."
Daley's lips parted in astonishment.
Then Wayne's gaze shifted to the raven-haired woman. His eyes dipped briefly to her wrist as she adjusted her glove.
"A scorpion tattoo crossed with an X," he murmured. "At first glance, Red Sepoy Army—their mark is a single-tailed scorpion. But yours has two tails. No one adds that unless there's a reason. Meaning: you were a Sepoy once, but now you're outside their ranks. There's only one mercenary group operating independently under their shadow these days. You must be one of the Sepoy mercenaries who made her own badge."
The woman stiffened. "How—"
"—did I know?" Wayne's tone stayed mild. "Because no serving Sepoy would risk drawing attention with a false mark. Only someone on the periphery would. The two tails are your own cipher."
For a heartbeat, all three stared at him, courtyard noises fading.
John Wayne finally turned back toward the gate, eyes sweeping the street beyond. "Now that introductions are over," he said, "shall we catch a kidnapper?"
Selene's answer was clear. "You are an amazing detective, Sir John. Yes, we're here to help catch the Mysterious Kidnapper."
George gave a humourless laugh. "We've been trying for nearly a decade. Not a single clue."
He folded his arms. "And this isn't one of his cases. We've always believed the Mysterious Kidnapper was some goblin that steals children at night. But this—this is a boy. They probably went to his house."
Wayne shook his head. "Inspector, we've never seen what he can truly do. We've caught him red-handed twenty times. He still slipped away and took over a thousand children in two decades." His gaze lifted to the darkening sky.
"Why only children between ten and fifteen? If he's so skilled, he could take adults in broad daylight. He could kidnap from small villages, but he doesn't. He knows if he follows the same pattern, we'll surround him. That man is smart and lucky."
"We suspect there's a reason," Selene said quietly. "Our lord once said what happened at Azmar Town was the result of a sacrificial ritual. That's why not even a corpse was left. He also said the goblin might have taken human form to infiltrate the town before sacrificing the people. What if this kidnapper is like that—taking human form?"
"Thomas Holmes?" John raised his eyebrows.
George snorted. "Demons? Madam, there's no such thing. More likely a magical beast. Stop believing old tavern stories."
Wayne didn't answer. He'd read the same stories, and in them, demons always traded souls for power. Selene's words slotted too neatly into his own private theories.
"What do you suggest we do?" he asked at last.
Selene's reply was crisp. "Lock down the entire city. Station guards and police on the walls. If it's the same entity, it'll hide until after ten, then try to escape with the girl."
Daley's voice was softer but steadier. "He's only struck villages and small towns before. This time, he's come to a city with walls. That's why we think this is no ordinary abduction."
Selene added, "High chance he's evolved—maybe even gained shapeshifting."
Wayne's eyes widened. He turned sharply. "Sub-Inspector, inform the City Mayor. We need full lockdown clearance."
Anastasia stepped forward. "Include our names in the request. With Ravenshield and Findlay backing, the City Lord will grant it."
The sub-inspector saluted and ran off.
"We'll also search separately." Mary decided to look for her daughter on her own.
Meanwhile, Wayne began issuing orders. "Inspector George, take the constables to the garrison. Muster every available patrolman in the city square. I want fifty on each gate and two dozen mounted riders ready to sweep the inner streets. Anyone leaving after dusk must be questioned."
"Yes, Detective." George strode off.
More orders rolled from Wayne's tongue. Messengers sped to the watch posts. Bells clanged.
By 9 p.m., the city square churned with motion: police in dark coats, city guards in steel caps, and a column of night-watchmen with lanterns swinging from their poles. Horses stamped and blew clouds of breath in the cold air.
"Divide them," Wayne instructed. "North, South, East, West walls—no gaps. Send squads through the alleys, door to door if necessary. Tighten the ring. No one gets out unseen."
A sergeant barked the commands; squads peeled off, boots striking cobblestones. Within minutes, the city was a living net, its walls bristling with guards and its gates barred. Lanterns winked on along the parapets.