Лилла Сомн – Blood-Stained Pages. Vol. 1 (страница 1)
Blood-Stained Pages
Vol. 1
Lilla Somn
© Lilla Somn, 2025
© Somn Lilla, translation, 2025
© Lilla Somn, cover design, 2025
© DeepSeek, translation, 2025
ISBN 978-5-0067-9254-8
Created with Ridero smart publishing system
Kantinian problem
Kyle regarded the corpse to which the Kantinian Praepostor had led him, the man departing immediately afterward, visibly unable to endure proximity to such a sight for more than a moment.
Emitting a silent, cheerless sigh through his nose, the weary agent of Prime’s VST knelt to examine the body more closely.
Red eyes. Teeth bared in a final, terrible rictus. And that massive hole punched clean through the chest by something unspeakable. The creature looked ghastly… It was difficult to reconcile this horror with the notion it had once been an ordinary resident of this bustling city.
Sent at the request of Kantine’s governing body from the capital, Prime, operative investigator Callix of the Very Strange Things Agency (VST) was here to assist the local Order services in unravelling this grim case. Which was precisely the task occupying him now.
It seemed the Kantinian Praepostor hadn’t exaggerated the sheer horror in his urgent short dispatch. Yet, the fact that the notoriously proud Kantinese had swallowed their disdain to seek help from the most hated “witch city”… that spoke volumes.
Something had gone profoundly wrong. Very. Wrong. Very. Serious.
Kyle tilted his head thoughtfully, not rushing into the detailed examination just yet. He had certainly never encountered anything quite like this… Though, he mused, the roster of events filed under “never seen anything like this” and “never happened before” in his mental ledger had been growing at an irritatingly rapid clip lately.
Plus one. So profoundly annoying… and deeply unsettling. A bizarre corpse that had presumably been… a rather peculiar human being?.. Wasn’t that the logical assumption?
Or… it was something far more terrible, a possibility his mind shied away from, refusing to let the thought fully coalesce.
It must be said, years of service in the VST had exposed Kyle to many things… But right now, he felt suspended in a kind of stunned stupor, unable to even begin formulating an approach. Not just to this specific investigation.
There was simply… too much. Starting with the unresolved vanishing of his partner and closest friend, agent Ingefara, who had, shortly before disappearing, stumbled upon something… deeply unsettling. Bewildering.
Compounded by the prolonged silence from his other colleagues. And the bog dozen of uncanny occurrences still plaguing Omill. That coffee-driven city, his second home, the locus of his previous investigation.
A number of unsettling incidents that led to those destructive, perfectly planned attacks on the Omill Temple Complex by powerful, unidentified witches. On his watch, the Omill Truth Precinct had indeed been attacked. And the criminals just evaporated, leaving no trace behind. No results from pursuits. Kyle had been on the verge of death. And his colleagues’ companions as well.
So… it might seem strange to assume a seasoned VST agent could still be unpleasantly surprised. Yet it had happened.
…With the sheer, cold terror it evoked…
He has some reserves of patience, calm, and that flicker of optimism… but they are finite.
…There was no sense in all of this. No sense at all…
In his point of view. But it’s clear that even the dreadful Omill attack’s cause and motives held *some* discernible logic, though the larger picture remained obscured. Neither motive nor a discernible pattern in the perpetrators’ behavior was visible.
Anyway. This encroaching sense of helpless despair wasn’t reason to cease the pursuit of truth. Just because that seemed the only solid ground left in this chaos. Not the sanest of anchors, perhaps, but options were dwindling.
And truly, where could one run from entities wielding such power, orchestrating these meticulously planned horrors? If Kyle succumbed to panic now, it wouldn’t erase the dangers… or solve the cases… or bring back his partner.
The agent gave a decisive, almost imperceptible shake of his head, a physical reset.
“Pull yourself together.” he murmured to himself. “What do we have here?”
Hm. According to the Praepostor, these… “mad people” had begun emerging from the northern Youlle.
That was how he’d phrased it. “Northerners who come and attack the townsfolk.”
So, the problems came from the North. Again.
But even taking into account the Kantinian bias due to the ancient feud with Joulle.
It couldn’t be coincidence. Or too much coincidences here. Yet, inconsistencies nagged at him…
…Why mount attacks alone? Or in pitifully small groups?
Youlle, by all accounts from Wasteland scholars, is a vast settlement, technologically and witchely advanced. Acting in concert, they could have swept aside relatively small Kantine in an instant.
Naturally, any developed society has more independent individuals. But is this a degree of… independence? It has no sence.
…Why now? Generations of demonstrative indifference toward their neighbor, borders long sealed tight against the entire Mainland… Why remember Kantine *now*?
Why… in such a… profoundly *weird* manner?
So many whys. Answers remained elusive.
The Youllish attackers were unnervingly silent. Near mute. Only guttural sounds. No shouts. No threats. Oddly, threats might have been preferable. This silent assault maybe felt stealthier. More deeply sinister.
So… what purpose did this northern restraint serve? If it was the initiative of fanatical loners? Then. Why attack openly?
What if they were doing it… for “fun”? Then why not simply hunt Kantinese in the Forest or ambush them outside taverns late at night? And if it was a serious business.
Why not employ their famed witch abilities? Or technological might? They could. They really could. Their notorious technological advancement was the result of collaboration with the elves. So. The “whys” piled up, forming an unsettling cairn.
It defied logic. Yet, it undeniably existed, even if this VST investigator couldn’t yet grasp its shape. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be unfolding.
And the strangest things… wasn’t even the initial attacks themselves. It was the aftermath. The victims began exhibiting the same bizarre, aggressive behavior as their attackers. Turning on their own.
Coincidence? Another peculiar coincidence, naturally. Of course.
He definitely hates it here. Best to be swift.
The agent sighed, a sound of weary resignation. The minor good news was he finally was “ripe” enough to begin the examination.
If one could ever truly be ready for such a thing.
Opening his worn tool bag, he pulled on a glove with resolute familiarity, retrieving instruments for tissue extraction. Kneeling once more, he commenced the grim procedure, carefully avoiding the pool of darkened blood already half-absorbed by the thirsty earth.
How unnaturally bluish this poor guy is… Hm.
The Primian carefully turned the townsman’s head. The neck was webbed with bulging, starkly visible veins. And he was already… quite rigid. Onset of rigor mortis? Plausible. Yet, everything felt… off. As if the entire body had been seized by a single, violent spasm before death…
He’s remarkably gaunt. Compared to the typically sturdy, well-nourished Kantinese, this man appeared skeletal.
Strange. People here worked hard and ate heartily.
These spasms… starvation? Illness? Overwhelming stress?
…Not enough data. Questions are multiplying faster than answers.
This is precisely where the Agency’s skilled medical personnel would be invaluable. The locals had likely already performed their own examinations. And Kyle readily admitted his own competence in pure forensics was limited…
So, he would focus on collecting pristine samples for their lab.
Thoughtfully, he drew a long knife and an extra sterile container from his bag, arranging them neatly beside his other tools. He pressed the container’s rim against the ragged hole in the Kantinese’s chest – pierced by something unknown – and, with a focused witchly effort, coaxed a measure of congealed blood into the vial.
One viable sample secured. Good.