Chapter 87 – Waiting at the Manor

Just before Croft could pull the trigger, a soft voice whispered beside her left ear.

“If you do that… we will both die.”

Croft froze. Her finger remained curled around the trigger, but the sudden interruption made her hesitate. She slowly turned her head, her eyes widening when she saw Lireina in a half-awake state. The blonde woman looked exhausted, her movements sluggish and unsteady after everything she had endured. Even standing seemed to require considerable effort, and her breathing remained shallow as she struggled to keep herself upright.

Lireina reached for Croft’s wrist with a trembling hand. Her fingers were weak, but she gently guided the pistol away from her temple and lowered it until the barrel pointed toward the floor. The cold metal brushed against Croft’s skin as she loosened her grip, and the tension in her arm finally began to ease. Lireina then looked directly into her eyes, her green gaze filled with concern rather than judgment.

“Croft… You and Shin are my world. I do not want you gone.” Lireina offered her a reassuring smile, although the exhaustion on her face made the expression look painfully fragile.

“Lena.” Croft’s voice cracked.

She immediately threw her arms around Lireina, pressing her face against the blonde woman’s shoulder. She had to be careful not to hurt Lireina, who was still weak and bedridden, but she could no longer hold back the emotions that had been building inside her. Tears streamed down Croft’s cheeks, soaking into Lireina’s clothes as her shoulders trembled with every quiet sob.

“I’m sorry if I was a burden to you,” Croft whispered. Her voice was muffled against Lireina’s shoulder, and she struggled to speak between her sobs. “I’m sorry for everything.”

“You’re not a burden,” Lireina replied softly.

“I’m sorry if I made everything worse.”

“You did not.” Lireina gently stroked Croft’s back, trying to calm her down. “If anything, you made everything better.”

“Lenaaa!” Croft cried, tightening her embrace as though she were afraid Lireina might disappear if she let go.

Lireina smiled faintly and stroked Croft’s head, running her fingers through the detective’s hair with the tenderness of a doting older sister. She did not scold Croft for crying, nor did she demand an explanation for what had nearly happened. Instead, she simply held her close, allowing her to release the pain she had been carrying. For that moment, neither of them needed to say anything more. The warmth of their embrace was enough to remind Croft that, despite all the terrible things that had happened, she was not alone.

And so, the two women spent the night together in Shin’s apartment. Lireina eventually returned to bed, where Croft stayed beside her, keeping her company as the hours passed. The apartment was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of bedsheets and the faint sounds of the city outside. Every so often, Croft glanced toward the entrance, listening for the familiar sound of the front door opening. She hoped Shin would return at any moment, greet them with his usual remarks, and explain why he had taken so long.

But Shin never came.

By the time morning arrived, sunlight had begun filtering through the windows, casting pale golden streaks across the apartment floor. The two women had managed to get some peaceful sleep, and the exhaustion that had weighed heavily on them the previous night had eased somewhat. Croft sat beside the bed, rubbing her sleepy eyes, while Lireina slowly awakened beneath the covers. For a brief moment, the quiet morning made everything feel almost normal.

Then Croft looked toward the entrance again.

There was still no sign of Shin.

“I’m getting worried. Why hasn’t Shin come home?” Lireina asked, her voice still hoarse from sleep. She pushed herself up slightly against the pillows, but even that small movement made her look uncomfortable. “He isn’t in any trouble, is he?”

Croft did not answer immediately. Her gaze lingered on the closed door as an unpleasant memory resurfaced in her mind. Yesterday, Qinglong had spoken to her, and the things he had said now seemed far more ominous than they had at the time. If the former enemy had been investigating Shin, there was a good chance that he had already confronted him.

A grim thought crept into Croft’s mind.

That Qinglong! Did he hurt Shin?

The possibility made her stomach twist. Qinglong already suspected that Shin was an Iron Bandit, and if he had discovered anything that confirmed his suspicions, Croft could not imagine him simply walking away. The man had repeatedly demonstrated how little he valued human life, treating death as an acceptable consequence whenever someone inconvenienced him. He had even been willing to drag innocent people into his personal vendettas.

What if Shin had become his latest victim?

Croft tried to convince herself that she was jumping to conclusions, but the longer she thought about it, the harder it became to dismiss her fears. Shin was capable of handling himself, yet even his abilities had limits as a normal human being. Qinglong was a former enemy of the Iron Bandits, a man whose strength had made him a terrifying opponent even before his recent transformation. If he had decided that Shin was a threat, he might have attacked him without hesitation.

And if things had gone particularly badly, Qinglong might have killed him.

The thought sent a chill down Croft’s spine. She could not afford to sit around waiting for Shin to return while imagining the worst. She needed answers, and the only way to get them was to investigate what had happened.

Croft immediately rose from her seat and crossed the room. She grabbed the coat hanging beside the cabinet and slipped it over her shoulders, the familiar fabric brushing against her arms. She then reached for her fedora and placed it firmly on her head, adjusting its brim until it partially shadowed her eyes. Within moments, her usual detective appearance had returned, giving her a somewhat shady look that suited her line of work.

“Croft, where are you going?” Lireina asked.

“You stay here, Lena. You haven’t recovered your mana yet,” Croft replied as she straightened her coat. She tried to sound casual, but the urgency in her movements betrayed her anxiety. “I just have to check on something.”

Lireina frowned, her expression growing concerned as she watched Croft approach the door. She knew the detective well enough to recognize when she was hiding something, and the way Croft avoided her gaze only made her more suspicious.

“Wait, what if something happens to you again?” Lireina asked.

Croft paused with her hand resting on the doorknob. For a moment, she said nothing. She remembered how Lireina had risked herself to save her, even when the blonde woman had barely possessed enough strength to stand. The memory filled Croft with guilt, and she could not bear the thought of putting her friend through the same ordeal again.

“Then please don’t save me.” Croft turned around and gave Lireina a reassuring smile, forcing herself to maintain a calm expression despite the dread gnawing at her chest. “I wouldn’t want to see you get hurt because of me again.”

“Wait, Croft!” Lireina called out, desperately reaching toward the detective as she approached the door.

She wanted to get out of bed and run after her, but her body refused to cooperate. Her legs barely moved beneath the covers, and even lifting her arm required more strength than she could muster. Her fingers trembled as she stretched her hand toward Croft, but she could not keep it raised for more than a few seconds before it fell limply onto the bedsheets. Despite having enjoyed a peaceful night's rest, her body remained completely exhausted, and her mana had yet to recover sufficiently for her to move around without difficulty.

“Croft, please!” Lireina tried again, her voice growing weaker.

But the detective had already made up her mind. Croft gave her one last reassuring smile before pulling the door shut. The soft click of the lock echoed through the apartment, leaving Lireina alone in the quiet room with nothing but her worries for company. She stared at the closed door, her fingers curling against the sheets as she silently prayed that Croft would return safely.

Meanwhile, Croft made her way through the streets of Luminous City. She knew its alleys like the back of her hand, having spent countless hours investigating crimes, tailing suspicious individuals, and tracking down people who would rather not be found. The narrow passageways between buildings were familiar territory, and she navigated them with practiced ease, keeping her head low whenever she heard the approaching footsteps of patrolling soldiers. The smell of damp stone, rotting garbage, and stagnant water filled the air as she slipped past abandoned buildings and concealed herself in the shadows.

She eventually reached a sewer entrance and climbed down into the darkness. The stench of sewage immediately assaulted her nose, forcing her to hold her breath for a moment as she descended the slippery steps. Beneath the city, the sound of dripping water echoed through the tunnels, mingling with the distant scurrying of rats. Croft ignored the unpleasant surroundings and continued forward, carefully avoiding the deeper pools of filthy water as she followed a route that would take her beyond the city's outskirts. It was not the most comfortable way to travel, but it was certainly safer than walking through the streets where the patrols might recognize her.

After a while, she finally emerged from another sewer outlet beyond the city limits. The air was considerably fresher out here, carrying the earthy scent of grass and the faint sweetness of wildflowers. Croft brushed the dirt from her coat and checked her surroundings before proceeding across the open terrain.

Ahead of her lay the manor.

This was the very place where Qinglong had supposedly set up a trap for Shin. Croft remembered the conversation from the previous day, and the longer she stared at the distant building, the more convinced she became that something terrible had happened there. She had no intention of leaving without finding out what it was.

Fortunately, there were no guards stationed along the outskirts. The surrounding grasslands stretched into the distance, their tall blades swaying gently beneath the morning breeze. Croft crossed the open field without encountering anyone, her boots crushing patches of grass beneath each hurried step. As she approached the manor, however, she began to notice that the building looked nothing like the quiet residence she might have expected.

Even in broad daylight, the manor seemed unnaturally silent. No servants moved around the grounds, no guards stood watch by the entrance, and not a single voice carried through the open windows. The only sounds were the wind sweeping across the grasslands and the occasional creak of damaged wood shifting against itself.

Croft slowed down, examining the building more carefully. Several sections of the outer walls had collapsed, leaving jagged heaps of stone and masonry scattered across the ground. Broken windowpanes glittered among the debris, while other windows had been shattered so thoroughly that their frames hung crookedly from the walls. Deep cracks ran across portions of the structure, and the surrounding grounds bore signs of a violent confrontation. Whatever had happened here, it had caused considerable damage.

Croft narrowed her eyes and activated her Sixth Sense Skill.

A faint sensation brushed against her awareness, subtle but unmistakable. Radiation lingered in the area, its presence fresh enough for her skill to detect despite the time that had passed since the battle. She could not determine exactly what had produced it from a distance, but the energy left behind was enough to make her increasingly uneasy.

She focused on the life signatures within the manor.

There was only one.

Croft frowned. If Qinglong had been here with his subordinates, she would have expected to detect more than a single living presence. Perhaps the guards had already left, or perhaps Qinglong had never intended to keep anyone else around in the first place. Either way, the absence of additional life signatures meant she did not have to worry about being surrounded by a group of enemies the moment she entered.

She decided not to bother unsheathing her pistol. Instead, she rushed toward the entrance, her boots thudding against the damaged stone pathway. Her mind was already racing ahead, imagining the possibilities. Qinglong must have captured Shin and locked him inside the manor. Perhaps Shin was injured, or perhaps he was being held somewhere in the basement. Whatever the situation, Croft intended to find him before it was too late.

She crossed the threshold and entered the manor.

Then she saw it.

Croft stopped so abruptly that her boots scraped against the dusty floor. For several seconds, she could do nothing but stare at the grotesque mass lying directly in front of her. It was an enormous, disorganized blob of flesh, its uneven surface glistening beneath the daylight filtering through the broken windows. The creature's body had lost any recognizable shape, resembling a grotesque heap of living tissue rather than anything that should exist in nature.

Eyes bulged from different parts of the mass, some staring blankly at the ceiling while others seemed to twitch in Croft's direction. Rows of teeth protruded from patches of flesh that had no business possessing mouths, and twisted fingernails jutted out between folds of skin. Strands of hair clung to the creature's surface, mixed with exposed organs and misshapen limbs that appeared to have fused together in a nightmarish tangle. A wet, squelching sound came from within the mass whenever it moved, accompanied by the faint stench of blood and rotting flesh.

Croft's stomach lurched.

She had investigated murders, witnessed the aftermath of brutal battles, and encountered enough horrors to know that the world was capable of producing things far worse than ordinary criminals. Yet nothing in her experience had prepared her for the sight before her. She could not even begin to identify what kind of creature she was looking at, much less understand how something like this could have come into existence.

Her eyes widened as she took an involuntary step backward.

“Shin!?” Croft muttered.

For one terrible moment, she wondered whether the mass of flesh was what remained of Shin. The thought sent a cold shiver down her spine, and she struggled to breathe as her mind desperately searched for some explanation that would spare her from that possibility.

Then the creature spoke.

“Kill… me…”

The voice was faint and strained, as though every word required an agonizing amount of effort. It sounded as if it were coming from somewhere deep within the mass, muffled by layers of flesh. Croft froze, listening carefully, but the voice did not belong to Shin.

She stared at the creature again, forcing herself to look beyond the grotesque arrangement of organs and limbs. Something about its appearance seemed familiar, although the twisted body made it difficult to recognize anything that might have once belonged to a human being.

Then she noticed the hair.

Green.

Croft's eyes followed the strands scattered across the mass before moving toward the scales embedded in its flesh. Several sections of the creature's body were covered in hard dragon scales, their surfaces dulled by grime and blood. A pair of malformed wings protruded from one side, while thick claws emerged from another, their curved tips scraping weakly against the floor.

The realization struck her like a hammer.

“Qinglong,” Croft muttered.

There was no longer any doubt in her mind. The green hair, dragon scales, wings, and claws could only belong to one person. The mighty warrior who had once possessed enough power to terrify his enemies had been reduced to this grotesque, barely recognizable mass of flesh.

Croft stood motionless, her expression hardening as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. Whatever had happened to Qinglong, it was not an ordinary injury. His body had been transformed into something that barely resembled a living organism, yet he was still conscious enough to beg for death.

And there was only one group she could imagine capable of inflicting such a fate on someone like him.

The Iron Bandits.

Croft's gaze swept across the ruined manor, taking in the collapsed walls, shattered windows, and lingering traces of radiation. The evidence pointed toward a violent confrontation, and the method was disturbingly consistent with the Iron Bandits' usual approach. They had repeatedly demonstrated their willingness to use brutal, unconventional methods to overcome opponents who seemed invincible, particularly those protected by the Goddess's Blessings.

The Celestial Wardens had already learned that lesson at a terrible cost. Their supernatural abilities, which had once made them appear untouchable, had failed to protect them against the Iron Bandits' ruthless countermeasures. Croft had seen enough of their handiwork to recognize the pattern.

She clenched her fists, her fingernails pressing into her palms as a troubling possibility took shape in her mind.

If the Iron Bandits had done this to Qinglong, then Shin might have been involved.

And if Shin had been here when the battle took place, Croft needed to find out what had happened to him.

<><><><><>

Qinglong had come from an eastern family of warriors, a clan that had dedicated generations to mastering the martial arts. In the eastern part of Empyrea stood Mao Village, a settlement surrounded by rugged mountains and dense forests, where the ancient traditions of the dragon warriors were preserved. Its inhabitants trained from an early age, learning to wield their bodies as weapons and to channel their inner energy into devastating techniques. For the people of Mao Village, martial arts were more than a means of fighting. They were a way of life, a source of honor, and a legacy that every generation was expected to uphold.

However, Qinglong had not been born a genius. As a child, he was an honorable but physically weak boy who struggled to keep up with his peers. Despite his determination, his sparring sessions almost always ended in defeat. He would stumble across the training grounds, his body bruised and his breathing ragged, while the other students stood over him with their practice weapons raised. Even when he managed to land a few hits, his opponents would eventually overpower him through superior strength or technique. Yet Qinglong never complained about his losses. He would simply get back on his feet, bow respectfully to his opponents, and return to training, hoping that one day he would become strong enough to protect the people he cared about.

Unfortunately, fate had other plans for him.

When Qinglong was still a teenager, demons descended upon Mao Village. The peaceful settlement was engulfed in flames as monstrous creatures poured through its streets, slaughtering anyone who stood in their way. The sounds of collapsing buildings and desperate screams filled the air, while the acrid stench of smoke spread throughout the village. Qinglong fought desperately with the martial arts he had learned from his clan, but his strength was nowhere near enough to stop the invaders. He watched helplessly as the village that had raised him was reduced to a battlefield, and before long, his parents and sisters were killed during the invasion.

The loss shattered him. His family had been everything to him, and now their voices had been silenced forever. The familiar faces that had once greeted him every morning were gone, replaced by the lifeless bodies of the people he had sworn to protect. Grief and helplessness threatened to overwhelm him, but Qinglong refused to surrender. Even when his body trembled from exhaustion and his hands struggled to maintain their grip on his weapon, he continued fighting. He had already lost his family and his home. He would not allow the demons to take his life without a struggle.

But his determination alone could not overcome the enemy before him.

At the brink of defeat against one of the demon generals, Qinglong found himself facing an opponent whose power far exceeded anything he had encountered during his training. His attacks barely inflicted meaningful damage, while every blow from the demon sent waves of pain through his battered body. His breathing grew labored, and his legs threatened to give way beneath him. With the village already destroyed and his strength nearly exhausted, he could do little more than prepare himself for the inevitable killing blow.

That was when two heroes arrived to save him.

Alexander Goldheart and Lireina Ashford appeared on the battlefield, their presence bringing a glimmer of hope to the desperate young warrior. Alexander advanced with his enormous sword and shield, while Lireina moved with the graceful precision that had earned her the title of the Untouchable Windwalker. Yet even these legendary heroes struggled against the demon general, Abaddon. The monster's overwhelming power forced them onto the defensive, and the clash of their weapons sent shock waves through the ruined village. Dust rose from the shattered ground as the three combatants exchanged devastating attacks, but even the combined efforts of Alexander and Lireina were not enough to secure victory.

Qinglong knew that he could not simply stand aside and watch the two heroes fight on his behalf. Despite his injuries, he forced himself back into the battle. Drawing upon the martial arts passed down by his clan, he searched for an opening in Abaddon's defenses, observing the demon's movements and waiting for the precise moment to strike. His physical strength might have been inferior, but his training had taught him patience, discipline, and the importance of exploiting an opponent's weaknesses.

When the opportunity finally presented itself, Qinglong acted without hesitation. His martial arts allowed him to disrupt Abaddon's movements and create an opening for Alexander and Lireina to unleash their attacks. The three fighters coordinated their efforts, combining their strengths until the demon general was finally overwhelmed. Abaddon fell beneath their combined assault, bringing an end to the battle that had devastated Mao Village.

For Qinglong, the victory was bittersweet. The demon responsible for so much suffering had been defeated, but the people he had wanted to protect were already dead. No amount of revenge could restore his family or rebuild the home he had lost. As he stood amid the ruins, surrounded by the lingering smoke and the remains of his village, he understood that there was nothing left for him in Mao Village.

Having lost his family and home, Qinglong decided to join Alexander and Lireina's party. He wanted to become strong enough to ensure that no one would ever suffer the same tragedy he had experienced. Under their guidance, he continued honing the skills and martial arts he had inherited from his clan, pushing his body through increasingly brutal training sessions. He learned to endure pain, refine his techniques, and turn his weaknesses into strengths. The boy who had once been defeated in nearly every sparring match gradually disappeared, replaced by a warrior whose movements became faster, whose strikes grew heavier, and whose mastery of martial arts surpassed that of his former peers.

Years of relentless training and countless battles eventually transformed Qinglong into the Ultimate Dragon Warrior. His name became synonymous with overwhelming martial prowess, and his enemies learned to fear the devastating techniques he had perfected. The weakness that had once defined his childhood seemed like a distant memory, buried beneath the strength he had acquired through suffering and perseverance.

For his valor and contributions to the party, the Goddess eventually blessed Qinglong with Autonomous Regeneration. The blessing allowed his body to recover from injuries that would have killed an ordinary warrior, enabling him to survive even the most punishing battles. Yet Qinglong did not use this gift solely for his own benefit. During their adventures, he often endured attacks meant for his companions, allowing himself to be wounded so that the others could escape harm. His extraordinary regeneration made him an ideal shield for the party, and he willingly bore the pain that his friends would otherwise have suffered.

Back then, Qinglong had been a man worthy of admiration. He had known loss, understood the value of protecting others, and fought to ensure that innocent people would not have to experience the same tragedy that had destroyed his childhood. His strength had been built upon suffering, but his purpose had been to prevent others from suffering as he had.

However, everything changed after the party defeated the Demon King.

Unbeknownst to Qinglong and his companions, the Demon King had unleashed a curse that corrupted their minds. The effects were insidious, twisting their thoughts and desires without immediately making them aware that anything was wrong. For Qinglong, the corruption gradually transformed his understanding of strength and heroism. The discipline that had once guided his martial arts gave way to an insatiable hunger for battle, while the compassion that had driven him to protect his companions faded beneath his growing obsession with violence.

The man who had once fought to protect human life eventually became someone who barely valued it at all.

Qinglong began to seek out increasingly dangerous opponents, no longer because he needed to defend the innocent, but because he craved the exhilaration of fighting powerful enemies. The sound of clashing weapons, the rush of adrenaline, and the sensation of overpowering another warrior became his greatest pleasures. Battles that once carried the weight of life and death gradually turned into sources of entertainment, and the suffering of those caught in his path became an inconvenience he rarely bothered to consider.

His desires also became increasingly selfish. Beyond the battlefield, he indulged in the pleasures of the flesh, pursuing whatever satisfied his appetites without giving much thought to the consequences. The honorable young warrior who had once bowed respectfully after losing a sparring match had been replaced by a man who believed his extraordinary strength placed him above ordinary people.

Eventually, Qinglong became a hero who bathed in his own glory. He reveled in the reputation he had earned, basked in the admiration of those who praised his accomplishments, and treated his divine blessing as proof of his superiority. He no longer fought because he wished to protect the weak. He fought because he enjoyed the violence, and he lived as though the world existed to satisfy his desires.

The tragedy was that Qinglong had not always been this way. Before the curse twisted his mind, he had been a boy who understood what it meant to lose everything. He had once fought so that others would never have to endure the same pain. Now, he had become the very kind of person who could inflict such suffering without a second thought.