Chapter 07: The Call.
Rage was boiling within him. At first, the situation felt surreal, but reality began to impose itself before his eyes.
Overd was truly dead.
Murdered... and in a most gruesome manner.
This realization ignited a fire of fury and grief in Jishi's heart. The words that escaped his mouth weren't a conscious decision.
**"Who killed him?"**
It wasn't just words; it was his body's impulse. He felt like a prisoner within himself, a mere witness unable to control his actions or outbursts. Everything he did came not from awareness, but from the chaos of his emotions.
"We haven't discovered that yet. We are still working the case," Headman Douville replied sternly, his features a mix of harshness and misery.
Jishi stepped out of the office and advanced directly toward Douville. Each step seemed to crush the ground beneath his feet, the sound echoing through the clearing. He clenched his jaw, lunged forward, and grabbed the Headman by the collar, wrinkling the gray suit that symbolized his high office in Morgue Village.
"Then what are you waiting for? Are you mocking me? My brother is murdered, and you stand here motionless! Do your damn job!" he screamed into Douville's face, spittle flying, his eyes locking onto the Headman's as if forcing him to hear.
Deep inside, another voice screamed: *"What am I doing? Stop... wake up!"*
The Headman's gaze shifted instantly. He stared at Jishi with cold severity, then grabbed Jishi's trembling hand and forced it off his chest, releasing his **Spiritual Energy**. A distinct aura erupted around him—the mark of a hardened warrior of the **Second Rank (Middle Class)**.
"Lower your hand," Douville said in a low, razor-sharp voice. "You know my position well, Master Jishi Kantum Monoth. Your brother's death does not justify this. I can arrest you and throw you into a cell to rot for assaulting me."
The words were dark and heavy. Everyone present heard them.
Jishi's rage flared further, and he took a step back. Unintentionally, his own spiritual field exploded from within, forming a misty aura around him: **Second Rank, First Level (Foundation)**.
Silence fell.
The two locked eyes for a long moment. Headman Douville did not flinch. He displayed his authority and power without hesitation. He would not allow an insult; to do so would shatter his reputation. He was the face of the village, the symbol of its law. He had to be unbreakable.
Gradually, Jishi began to snap out of his shock. A strange silence settled within him. His limbs trembled, and he felt as if dozens of ants were crawling over his fingers.
Then, he heard **Rod's** voice.
"Uncle... is... is Uncle Overd really dead?"
Jishi turned to him. He saw pure, unadulterated shock on the young man's face. Rod stood in the dirt, unable to comprehend.
Jishi found nothing to say but the truth. "Yes... Overd has been murdered."
His voice was low this time. He walked slowly back to the office door and closed it quietly, as if trying to bring order back to the chaos.
"This was his fate... what was written for him. To die murdered. We cannot say this is unfair." He paused, clenching his fist. "But I will avenge him. My elder brother did not deserve this end."
Rod froze. He didn't cry. He didn't shake. He felt an absolute void. His first thought was singular: *"We must tell Father... my uncle..."*
"**Forze** is not here right now, you know that," Jishi said, his voice laden with grief. "But he must know. Prepare yourself. You will go to **Rumka**. Find your father and tell him... and make sure he doesn't collapse."
Rumka... a district roughly seventy kilometers west of Morgue, where the Kantum Monoth family's agricultural interests extended. Forze was responsible for that region.
"Before I go to Rumka... I want to attend my uncle's funeral," Rod said in a broken voice, clasping his hands in pain.
"I won't stop you from that."
**Inside Noss's Tavern...**
Baudy music, dancing, and a raucous, joyful din filled the air. The smell of ale was everywhere—a contradictory blend of foul and sweet scents, creating a chaotic scene inside the wooden tavern.
Leeward and Nayer sat on wooden barrels near the bar, drinking from large wooden mugs. Nayer was completely drunk; his face was flushed, and his voice was thick and stumbling.
"So," Nayer slurred, waving his mug, "what have you decided to do now that you're free?"
He drained the last of his mug in one gulp and slammed it onto the counter, the sound echoing through the tavern.
Leeward replied calmly, "I haven't decided yet. I only got my freedom today. I want to live in this moment happily."
Leeward wasn't drunk, despite the amount he had consumed. He was using his spiritual energy to isolate the alcohol's effects in his stomach, remaining fully conscious. Yet, he allowed himself to feel a light buzz of euphoria.
Nayer laughed and stood up, swaying so hard he nearly fell.
"I'm going to dance! I'll dance until I drop! My feet want to move, and I shall grant them this with honor! Bahahaha!"
Leeward whispered to himself mockingly as he watched him:
*"And do you even possess any honor to speak of?"*
Nayer regained some balance, his feet beginning to move to the sharp, rhythmic screech of the violin that filled the tavern. He danced near a table, swaying erratically, until he suddenly lost his footing and slumped onto the back of a man seated there.
Drool stained the man's shirt before Nayer pushed himself upright, leaning heavily on the broad back to steady himself. Nayer shouted, barely conscious of his words:
"You! Why are you ruining my dance, you bastard?! Don't like it? Then get out of this tavern! This is no place for gloomy faces like yours, you moron!"
These were the words of a man drowned in alcohol, utterly oblivious to the danger he had just invited. Without intending to, Nayer had placed himself in a catastrophic situation.
The man rose slowly. His skin was dark, his beard thick, and his physique massive—twice the width of Nayer. His height made Nayer look like a mere child in comparison. He spoke in a gravelly voice:
"Let's see… who is the real fool? A man who can't handle a few mugs of ale? Or me? Obviously, it is you. And I believe I should reward you for your fine upbringing."
Leeward burst out laughing:
"It seems troubles just flow one after another… Hahaha!"
He didn't care if Nayer was beaten; it wasn't his problem, and he had no intention of intervening. The massive man heard the laughter and turned toward him with mounting rage:
"No, I won't reward him alone… your friend is coming with you."
Nayer tried to speak: "What? Who do you think you—"
His words were cut short. A crushing punch landed squarely on his face, breaking his nose instantly and sending him into semi-unconsciousness. Nayer collapsed, blood pooling from his nose. He muttered, drifting between awareness and a void: *"What happened…? Am I dreaming? Damn it… back to sleep I go…"*
The man stepped over Nayer's body and moved toward Leeward.
"Do you dare mock me, slave?"
A heavy silence fell over the tavern. Leeward turned to him, his calm unshaken.
"I believe you are miscalculating. First, I am no longer a slave. Second, I wasn't laughing at you. And I want no trouble, please."
He knew he was in a bind and needed to avoid side conflicts, yet he would never allow anyone to insult him. The man roared, clenching his fist: "I see! You want to escape the lesson your friend got? That will never happen!"
He lunged with a direct punch. Leeward raised his hand and parried the strike with ease. He spoke coldly:
"In the end, you are no warrior. You possess no spiritual energy. That is the difference, isn't it?"
Leeward caught the man's fist with one hand and reinforced his other with **Spiritual Energy**. Despite being shorter, the shock was visible on the massive man's face. *Impossible… he stopped it with one hand? A slave mastering spiritual energy?*
In the next instant, a punch landed in his gut. A pain like nothing he had felt in his life. It felt as if his insides were being shredded. He was propelled like an arrow toward the double doors, shattering them and flying out onto the street. He rolled on the pavement, gasping for air, foam at his mouth.
This was the gap between one who had awakened his spirit and a common man without power.
At that moment, a guard arrived at the tavern, searching for the runaway slaves, Leeward and Nayer. He saw the massive man being thrown out and hitting the ground. The guard muttered indifferently: "What in the world…? We really need a law to punish these drunks for their noise."
Inside, a stifling silence reigned. The only sound was the clock on the wooden wall:
*Tick… Tick…*
Leeward sat back down on his barrel and said quietly: "Another cup, please, barman."
This time, he truly wanted to feel the buzz.
But a voice cut through the silence:
**"Leeward Kashin and Nayer Kad… both of you are coming with me right now. You are suspects in the murder of Overd Kantum Monoth."**
Leeward's eyes widened in shock. He whispered to himself:
*"So he truly is dead… this is a real disaster."*
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