The Nightmare Recurs

This morning, Joseph came to Jorgen's room.

"Jorgen," he said, "we have a problem."

"What is it?"

"One of our surveillance targets and the night watchman responsible for keeping an eye on him have both disappeared. His name is Mohnitz," Joseph handed over a stack of files, "he's a jeweler, at least that's what he claims. He was one of Tunnadus's clients. This man, at least during our initial investigation, didn't possess any weapons capable of murder."

Jorgen skimmed through the documents and didn't find anything particularly noteworthy. This person had only purchased some smuggled tobacco leaves from Tunnadus. Even though Jorgen personally reviewed and approved all out-of-town individuals who needed to be placed under surveillance, this unremarkable man had slipped his mind.

"You mentioned that the person watching him has also disappeared."

"Yes. Mohnitz's level of suspicion wasn't high, so there wasn't a dedicated tracker. We just had the nearby night watchmen keep an eye out during their routine patrols. This man would go out for drinks every night and return to the inn, but after he left yesterday, he never came back. There was a night watchman stationed around the inn, and he's also gone missing now. We only discovered this during the shift change. I've had my people searching for two hours."

"They might have left Darkshire Town?"

"Impossible. After Tunnadus was attacked, I ordered an increase in border lockdown measures."

"So, do you trust the missing night watchman's background?"

"Absolutely. The night watchmen are just as thorough in their background checks as the Royal Guards. Do you think I should order a search of nearby houses? Darkshire Town isn't a good place to hide. If they're hiding, it would have to be inside a building."

"Missing, missing," Jorgen muttered under his breath, then raised his voice. "If the missing night watchman can be trusted, he might be in trouble now. This Mohnitz may not necessarily be the person we're looking for, but... Whereabouts did he disappear?"

"Near the Mistrmantle Manor. The Staven estate, perhaps the hardest place to hide in town. The so-called gardens have been neglected for too long, and the grounds are too open."

"Maybe he's hiding in one of the rooms on the estate."

"We've searched carefully, except for all the securely locked rooms. Now, Staven is in class, and I plan to ask him for the keys after his lecture for a second search."

"Chances are slim. Even if he did disappear with a night watchman, it's unlikely he'd choose to hide in... Wait. You mentioned Staven is in class?"

"Yes."

Jorgen stood up. "Joseph, how many people can you gather right now?"

"If I don't compromise the routine patrol work, about thirty."

"Get all of them, and let's head to the manor. I'll go with you."

"All thirty? Why?"

"Regardless of whether we can find this Mohnitz or whether he's connected to our case, we need to provide maximum protection to the manor as soon as possible. The killer's first act was to kill Bower using a ritualistic method, and because of his connections to the night watchmen's weapon supplies, this murder served as a comprehensive warning. If the killer strikes again, they'll likely follow this pattern—seizing a point to strike comprehensively. The only place in all of Darkshire Town that fits this description is the classroom where the children are. First, gather your men and take them over. I'll spend some time briefly questioning Tunnadus to see if he has any recollection of the name 'Mohnitz'."

"I'm going right away," Joseph turned around. Jorgen noticed that the usual Captain of the Night Watch, who often liked to thoroughly investigate his investigative suggestions, didn't raise any objections this time.

"Joseph."

"Yes, any other orders?" He stopped by the door.

"Did Althea go to school today?"

"I don't know," Joseph replied as he disappeared through the door. Jorgen could hear his footsteps gradually quickening.

He struggled to recall the appearance of "Mohnitz," with little success. Since only he and a night watchman had disappeared, deploying thirty people seemed like overkill. However, he understood that the numerical comparison wouldn't automatically equate to the balance of power between the perpetrator and the defenders. The current evidence indicated that Bower's killer was a lone individual, at most two. Even with thirty soldiers about to face war, they might not match the aggressive aura this killer emanated. Nevertheless, regardless of the connections he'd made in his mind about the killer's modus operandi, the thought that the children's classroom might be the only target arose suddenly in his mind, thanks in large part to the memories stirred up by the orphanage's story. The connection between the events of ten years ago and the current suspicions rested primarily with Althea.

Yesterday's interrogation of Abercrombie had yielded no practical results, so Jorgen quickly released him. If even Tunnadus, who had encountered the assassin face to face, couldn't provide useful clues, there was little hope that Abercrombie would provide anything constructive.

Jorgen was still pondering the significance of the attack on Tunnadus. The knife wound was shallow, piercing a glass vial, and the assailant left immediately. It sounded like someone drunk had suddenly decided to seek revenge but, because of the alcohol's effect on their courage, their hand shook, causing them to miss. It was hard to say if this incident was related to Bower's death, and the available answers, like the old man's collaboration with others to punish Tunnadus or it being just a failed attack by a drunkard, were, if not absurd, at least insignificant. In fact, from the results, it was merely an insignificant attack, no more noteworthy than a thug brawling with a bottle. Jorgen decided to set this matter aside for now, confirm Mohnitz's whereabouts first, and then reconsider it.

Jorgen stepped out into the hallway and spotted Dalia by the window. Her body had mostly recovered, faster than the doctor had predicted. However, two maids still guarded her, their nervousness palpable. Her spirit hadn't suffered a genuine blow from that conversation — like Jorgen, she had drawn more strength from all the lost pieces than she had lost in a few drops of blood from pricked fingers.

"What's happened?" she asked. "I saw Joseph rush out looking very urgent."

Jorgen had initially thought of saying it was nothing. In the past, he would have carefully avoided involving Dalia and used this sentence to keep her out of the matter. "You don't need to know; it's for your own good" – a deception that didn't need to be exposed but inevitably hurt mutual trust while pretending to protect others. But today, Jorgen said:

"We're going to investigate Staven's estate. If anything happens, I'll inform you."

"Alright," she replied. "Please be careful."

After Jorgen left, she stood quietly, gazing out the window, her fingers caressing the sapphire ring on her right index finger.

Althea didn't know how many nightmares she had experienced in the past year.

She had never revealed this to anyone, not even Morticia.

The nightmares had similar content, or rather, a crucial common element.

Her foster father, Gondore.

In Althea's dreams, he sometimes appeared as a living person and sometimes as a dead one.

Most of the time, he was dead.

In her dreams, she would casually converse with Gondore, who had a scar encircling his neck, engage in sword training together, step onto some unknown land, and so on. The scar was so deep that the skin around it had rotted away. In the dream, she would try to avert her gaze but couldn't. Only upon waking could she recall how terrifying the scene had been.

However, these dreams didn't jolt her awake in the middle of the night. It was the following type that did:

She would walk down a corridor beneath the earth. Sometimes it was a dungeon, sometimes a castle's underground chamber, and sometimes walls entwined with black, slimy vines. She didn't know what emotions she carried; she just kept walking downward.

She had walked for a while when she involuntarily glanced to the side. Through the bars in front of her, she could see Gondore inside a house. Something like a torn piece of cloth, perhaps a torn piece of clothing, was wrapped around his neck, one end was entangled around his neck, and the other end was tied to a skylight, suspending him.

Then Gondore might open his eyes, or maybe close them. Perhaps he would open his mouth to speak to her, or just open it without making a sound. In any case, the phantom in this dream could not confirm its vitality, nor could it truly cease to exist. It remained in Althea's mind, neither alive nor dead.

Every time this dream jolted her awake, even if it was only three or four in the morning, Althea couldn't fall back asleep. Regardless of whether her eyes were open or closed, she couldn't erase the images she had just experienced. This fear would persist until dawn, then temporarily release its grip on Althea in her groggy state of mind. If it happened to be a school day, she was destined to be unable to wake up fully refreshed. At such times, she often chose to skip classes.

But today, Althea still came to the classroom; she told herself that she couldn't do anything to make her mother worry anymore. It was still a child's simple promise, but at least she managed to keep it today.

However, that didn't mean she could resist falling asleep. She had already started to doze off during Staven's history class, and by the time the next teacher began their lecture, she was almost asleep. Neither the students around her nor the teacher had the inclination to wake her up. Based on past experience, doing so would only lead to trouble.

Lying with her head on her desk, in a half-dreamy state, she heard some noises. There were footsteps, thudding sounds, whispers suddenly rising in silence, and unabashed shouts. All of this happened within a minute. Then a sound, something falling to the floor, jolted her awake.

She opened her eyes and the first thing she saw was Staven, on his knees, on all fours beside her desk. Then she heard a voice:

"Is she the daughter of the Everlock family?"

Following that voice, Althea spotted a man standing behind Staven. He was tall, holding a long knife in his left hand, and his gray-blue eyes were fixed on her. The gaze sent a sharp chill down her spine, just like what she felt every night when she awoke from her nightmares. She had to turn her face away, escaping that terrifying stare. With that, the entire situation in the classroom entered her view.

There were over twenty strangers standing in the room, each armed. Their attire was haphazard, lacking a uniform organization, but they all seemed agile. These people, along with most of the students, were looking in this direction, and some students were crying silently but dared not make a sound. The teacher who had been lecturing moments ago was lying on the lectern, blood overflowing onto the tabletop and trickling down along the wood grain. There was so much blood, but he hadn't died yet—one of the strangers had pierced his mouth with a short knife, nailing his head to the lectern; blood foamed on the cold blade.

The man with the gray-blue eyes kicked Staven's head. Althea heard the thud of Staven's forehead hitting the ground first, followed by his trembling words, like the bark peeling off an old tree:

"Yes, she's the one. Althea. Please don't... don't kill me. Ah, I'm bleeding..."