Chapter 06: Who Killed Him..
The Village Head froze in his tracks, then took a few steps back, exiting the room before pulling the door shut firmly. He closed his eyes for a moment, a heavy sorrow etched into his features. His hand trembled as he gripped the doorknob.
"The crime scene must remain untouched until the investigators arrive... any interference could ruin vital evidence that might reveal the criminal," he whispered in a rhythmic tone, as if the words were spoken out of habit rather than emotion.
At that moment, Overd's wife let out a piercing, agonizing cry.
"My Gods... he's been murdered! He's dead! How could they do this? He was just an ambitious farmer..."
She was a woman in her late forties. Her body could not withstand the shock, and she collapsed to her knees, her grief profound. Tears flowed without pause, and a hollow daze weighed down her gaze.
"Lady Rishi, please, calm yourself. I know this is difficult, but you must hold together. You will be a witness in this crime... and according to your word, you were the first to find the body."
The Village Head moved toward her, attempting to offer a shred of comfort. He took her by the shoulders and lifted her gently.
"For now, go and rest in your room until we begin the investigation. Try to process what has happened. We need you, Lady Rishi Kantum Monoth."
The Village Head knew what had to be done. All that was required now was calmness and routine to prevent the situation from spiraling. He handed Lady Rishi over to his deputy, the General Overseer.
The Overseer was a strikingly tall man.
"Jonki, take her to the headquarters. Put her somewhere quiet until we start the investigation."
"Understood, Headman Douville."
Jonki gripped her shoulders, trying to keep her upright. She was incredibly frail; had they not held her, she would have crumbled to the ground. Throughout those moments, her screaming never ceased. Her entire body felt numb, yet there was a dark glint in her eyes—a look that made her grief seem... incomplete. Or perhaps, not entirely pure.
The Overseer led her toward the legal headquarters with heavy strides. The farm slaves and guards cleared a path for him; he seemed to move through the crowd like a giant, his head towering over everyone due to his exaggerated height.
The Special Overseer, **Ogi Noor**, moved directly toward Headman Douville.
"Sir, should we begin precautionary measures? Any delay might give the killer more time to escape."
"It's not that simple, Ogi. Overd's murder is mysterious, and it won't be solved easily. I am certain the criminal is no ordinary person."
Douville placed his hands behind his back and began to walk along the wooden corridor stretching between the lined huts.
"Overd was well-liked among the villagers, and his farm is a cornerstone of Morgue's economy. That alone draws many eyes—both hateful and envious—toward him."
He passed Overd's office, near the bedroom where the man occasionally slept, and beside it, a third hut: the farm's main kitchen, the largest of the three rooms. His footsteps produced a distinct creak on the wooden floor, while shock was plastered across the faces of the surrounding slaves.
Glances were exchanged among them.
Some felt a sting of pity, despite a hidden joy they tried to mask:
*"Perhaps I'll finally get my freedom... but it's complicated. I could have entered his room and shredded the papers that prove my bondage. It was my chance, but I didn't even know Overd was dead..."*
Another murmured internally:
*"This is truly unfortunate... just yesterday I saw him alive, walking before me. Now he's a corpse. Fates are truly unpredictable. You plan for one thing, then a destiny written since your birth arrives and shatters everything."*
Many whispers swirled in the minds of the slaves, entirely contradictory.
Some were shocked and mourning, while others saw Overd's death as an opportunity to break the chains that had bound them for years.
Hearts are not identical
.
There were those who were cold, devoid of visible emotion, seeking only their own interest—a realistic mind untouched by sentiment.
And there were those who, despite their servitude, felt genuine sorrow for Overd's end, following their hearts rather than their logic.
Ogi Noor understood this well. He also knew, to some extent, of the seeds of an ancient conflict between the **Kantum Monoth** and **Refil Monoth** families. This was the only conclusion he had reached so far.
"Yes, it is mysterious... especially with that old family feud between the Kantum Monoths and the Refil Monoths," Ogi said, recalling what he knew. "This complicates the case further and points the finger directly at the Refil Monoth family."
At the same time, Ogi Noor recalled the history of the Monoth family—the version studied in books and the one whispered in local folklore.
The Monoth family was split into two factions, a fact known to everyone in Morgue Village. Their forefather, **Monoth**, was one of the village founders and a prominent figure in the **Wealth War** a hundred and fifty years ago. He had two sons: **Refil Monoth** and **Kantum Monoth**. Both held the right to inherit the rule of Morgue and the right to establish an independent entity from the Sharman Clan.
However, Father Monoth had other ideas. He chose to remain under the Sharman family's rule, refusing to found the nascent state everyone expected. This decision ignited a fierce conflict between the brothers; Kantum supported his father, while Refil opposed him bitterly.
From that moment, a deep-seated hatred was born—a feud that stretched across generations, reaching the children and grandchildren. One clan, one blood—the Monoth lineage—yet divided into two clashing wings.
Overd belonged to the **Kantum Monoth** side. He was an influential farmer, the eldest of his siblings, and well-loved for his reputation and generosity. But in the shadows, members of the **Refil Monoth** family harbored a silent, festering resentment.
"What should we do now?" Ogi asked.
"Gather all the slaves in one place within the farm," Headman Douville commanded with cold confidence. "We will begin an internal investigation first. Any contradiction in their stories will turn the suspicion toward them. The likelihood that the killer is one of them is high. As for the family feud... we will look into that only after we are certain the situation here is clean."
He added without hesitation, "Go now and summon **Investigator Org**. He will be a vital element in this case."
As the guards began herding the slaves toward the cattle pen, a man with mid-length blonde hair and hardened features burst onto the scene. He was running with every ounce of strength he possessed.
It was **Jishi Kantum Monoth**, Overd's younger brother, forty-three years old.
He breathed heavily, moving like a hurricane across the dirt. Behind him ran a younger man, his face showing he had yet to experience the harshness of life: **Rod Kantum Monoth**, Jishi's son.
"Uncle, slow down! It hasn't been confirmed yet!" Rod shouted, panic and exhaustion written on his face.
Guards moved to intercept the older man. "Stop, Master Jishi!"
But Jishi heard nothing. His ears were closed by shock. "Impossible... my brother wasn't murdered... impossible!" He collided with the guards, knocking them aside with immense physical strength, revealing himself to be a warrior and a user of **Spiritual Energy**.
Headman Douville realized force wouldn't stop him. He tried to contain the situation with words. "Jishi, wait! Let us discuss this first!"
He approached with raised hands, but Jishi shoved him aside with such power that the Headman was sent reeling backward.
"Don't open that door!" Douville yelled.
Jishi didn't listen. He threw open the office door, and there... he froze. The scene was gruesome. His eyes welled up instantly, his pupils trembling. "Brother... this can't be... Brother..." He stepped into the office, toward the mangled corpse.
"Jishi, listen to me," Douville moved quickly. "Don't touch anything! You'll ruin the evidence we need to catch the killer."
At that moment, Jishi turned his head. A hellish rage burned in his eyes—a vortex of conflicting emotions and raw fire.
**"Who killed him?"**
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