Chapter 2: Peculiar Suicides

"You're late, dear—Wait, what happened!?" cried a quite lovely lady with deep purple eyes and pristine white skin that appeared to lose its shine at the sight of her husband's garments that had been dyed scarlet.

"An accident happened at the train station; let me take a bath first," responded the sleep-deprived guy.

***

After washing up, the gentleman explained everything to his wife, and stillness ensued as her demeanour went grave. The lady sighed softly, her stunning purple eyes moist with emotions as she shook her head.

Right as they were about to talk about breakfast, a bang on the door interrupted them.

The sleep-deprived gentleman got up and headed to open the door. What greeted his eyes was the sight of two cops donning plain clothes and black trousers. The higher-ranking cop was wearing a filthy leather jacket, reeked of cigarettes, and spoke loudly—exactly the sort of person Kyle despised.

"Kyle Cohen?"

The way the cop addressed him by name only—so directly and impolitely—made Kyle uncomfortable. Adding to the insult, the man lit a cigarette as he addressed him without even lifting his head to show his face. Before Kyle could answer, the man nodded at the younger cop, who showed Kyle his badge.

Having lit the cigarette, the older cop moved to enter Kyle's apartment.

Kyle stood in his way and urged, "Please don't smoke in my house."

"Oh, sorry, Professor Kyle." The young police officer smiled. "This is Captain Ace Jackson." He gave Ace a pleading look.

"Fine, we can talk in the hallway," remarked Ace. He took a long drag. Not much puff was breathed out and nearly half the cigarette had turned to ashes. He inclined his head towards the younger police officer. "You ask him, then."

"Professor Kyle, we want to know if you've had any recent contacts with members of the Seers," said the young cop.

"Do the seers have any connection to the train accident?" Kyle had anticipated the inquiry to be about today's collision but this question utterly confounded him.

"Why can't I have contact with a legally authorised organisation?"

"Watch your words!" Ace continued. "Did we mention anything about it not being legal or anything about you not being permitted to contact them?" He finally let out the lungful of smoke that he had sucked in earlier—directly at Kyle's face.

"All well then. Please respect my privacy. I'm not obliged to answer your questions."

"Your privacy? You're a mystic. You have a responsibility towards the public welfare." Ace threw away the butt and took out another cigarette from a flattened pack.

"Professor Kyle, please don't misunderstand." The young cop stepped forward. "There's an important meeting this afternoon, to which several specialists are invited. The higher-ups sent us to invite you."

"I'm busy this afternoon." Kyle lied.

"Please try to understand, sir. We'll have to reschedule the meeting if you're unwilling to come today," replied the young cop politely.

"At the very least, tell me what this is about."

"Those bastards have even kept us in the dark for a week already but I can tell that it's definitely related to the train accident today," Captain Ace replied in a hoarse voice.

"What have the churches got to say on this?"

"They've merely been watching and keeping quiet. It's obvious that they know something." Captain Ace's gruff voice expressed a feeling of frustration.

"We'll need to leave immediately; it'll take us a few hours to arrive there." Ace Jackson added.

"Alright..."

***

Kyle was taken to a vast compound in the scrubs by the carriage they sent for him. All of the rooms were marked with the symbol of two radiant swords, which represented the royal forces of Peloin. The Peloin navy and armed forces were under the jurisdiction of the Highmore royal family. Even though Peloin was a democratic country ostensibly, it was a commonly known fact that it was still ruled by the Highmore royal family.

The scene inside the large meeting room, which seemed to be in a state of absolute chaos, shocked Kyle. Around him were tables and chairs scattered everywhere with no signs of symmetry as one would expect from such a high-end place. Printing paper was scattered everywhere. In various corners of the room, a few blackboards protruded at odd angles like gipsy tents.

A cloud of smoke hovered over the room; everyone seemed to be too occupied to care about the newcomers.

One thing became clear to Kyle: the matter was significantly more grave than he had initially assumed.

Documents and odds and ends were stacked up on the conference table, which was formed by joining several smaller tables together. The attendees appeared exhausted; their clothes wrinkled. Those wearing ties had all pulled them loose. It seemed as if they had been up all night.

A major general named Drake Quinn presided over the meeting, and half the attendees were military officers. After a few quick introductions, Kyle found out that many of the others were police. The rest were researchers in the field of mysticism like him.

He found four outsiders in attendance as well. Their identities as quasi-high ranked archbishops from the church of Snow, Stars, Sun, and Time astounded him. They were apparently acting as observers.

Despite that this police officer, Ace Jackson, had been impertinent to him, Kyle still took a seat beside him. At the very least, it gave him a sense of familiarity.

"Comrades," General Drake asserted, "let's get started. We are all aware of the tragedy that transpired today; our investigations have revealed they were indirectly accountable for initiating this incident."

Kyle noticed that the general didn't appear to want to go into depth with newcomers like him about the background of what they were dealing with. This backed Ace Jackson's point. The general did not address the archbishops as "Your Holiness" and simply used the phrase "comrades" did not go unnoticed by Kyle either.

Ace Jackson murmured to Kyle, "That's how everyone addresses each other here," and with his eyes he made a subtly gesture towards the archbishops.

Kyle was startled by Ace's acute observational abilities.

"Ace, put out your cigarette. The smoke here is enough already," General Drake noted as he flipped through some documents.

General Drake lifted his head. "In no military operation has there ever been information parity. I have to apologise to all the scholars but any more background cannot be given to you."

"We are not the same as these nerds." Ace refuted. "The police have been part of the royal family from the start. But even now, what this is all about still eludes us."

Drake gave a hoarse chuckle. "Ace, your suspension from the military was due to that attitude of yours."

"In any case, this is the time of war; we can't afford to be too upright."

"It's a game of life and death," continued the archbishop from Sun Church in a way that did not befit his status.

"War? Hasn't it ended already?"

"No... it can't be that cold war; why would the two opposing sides be seated on the same table if that were the case?"

The opposing side was being referred to as the Sun Church, which resided in the southern country of Solus. The Snow and Sun churches were at odds. In the country of Peloin, the three Churches—the Church of Stars, the Church of Time, and the Church of Snow—shared power with the royal family and their ostensibly "democratic government."

"Professor Cohen, do you know that the researchers in the field of mysticism are committing suicide or are being assassinated?" General Drake asked in a raspy voice.

"What!?" Kyle was rendered speechless.