Chapter 3: The Room of Death

 The sun's golden rays filtered through the wooden shutters, caressing Ren's face with an almost unreal gentleness. He turned over in bed, stretching slowly.

"Mmh... Is it morning already...?" he murmured, still numb from sleep.
Unexpectedly, he had slept soundly. Perhaps it was the first time since... well, since he had died.

When he got up, he found the elderly man who had greeted him, already awake, sitting at the table intent on eating a steaming soup with an inviting aroma.

"Good morning, boy. Finally awake, eh?" said the elderly man with a gentle smile.

"By the way, may I ask your name? To keep calling you “boy” seems a bit...impersonal."

The boy scratched the back of his head, still a little embarrassed.

"A-ah... Yes! My name is Ren..."
"Ren, huh? A short name but full of strength. Nice to meet you. I am Zaro, the chief of this village."

"P-nice to meet you..." he made a small bow, a little awkwardly.

After a quick breakfast together, the two went out into the fresh morning air. The village already seemed to be buzzing, but the atmosphere was...tense.

Zaro paused to look at the sky, as if searching for answers in the clouds. Then, in a more serious tone, he said:

"You know, Ren... tonight there were three more murders."

Ren opened his eyes wide.
"w-what?! Again?!"
"Yes. Three of our best guards. Experienced, trusted men..."

Zaro shook his head slowly, his eyes veiled with a shadow of bitterness.
"It's all so... silent. No traces, no witnesses. It is as if the killer is a ghost."

The boy lowered his gaze. Those words had frozen his blood. The word murder still resounded in his mind, like an echo from the past....
- Just like when I died... -

But he forced himself to remain lucid. He clenched his fists, then looked up at the elderly man.

"U-up! We cannot give in to fear! We'll find him-whoever he is. And we'll make him pay! "

Zaro looked at him with a mixture of surprise and relief." Ren... do you really think you will help us?"

The boy nodded with conviction, although in his heart he was still trembling. "You welcomed me as one of your own...it's the least I can do to reciprocate."

The elderly man smiled. A slightly tired smile, but a sincere one.
"I thank you, Ren. I really do. I only hope...that you never have to see the darker side of this world."

There was no response from Ren. But inside, he knew that side-he had already seen it.

They walked in silence until they stopped in front of a building completely different from the others. Built entirely of stone, it exuded a coldness that seemed to pierce the skin. It had no decorations or signs, and only one narrow, high window opened on each side, too high to peer inside.

He swallowed, a strange uneasiness crawled down his spine. "Mr. Zaro...where are we?

The elderly man looked at him earnestly, the tone of his voice grew darker."Ren, this is... the place where we store corpses. Come."

The boy froze instantly. - Co...corpses? - Those words had paralyzed him. His breath caught in his throat and his feet seemed to be nailed to the ground. His heart hammered as if he wanted to flee instead.

But... Zaro had already entered.

He clenched his teeth. - Breathe. Just... breathe. It's not like back then. It's not like my old life.... - And he took a step. Then another. Until he crossed that stone threshold.

The air inside was heavy. Dense. A pungent, nauseating smell hit them like an invisible wave, forcing them to plug their noses.

"Tsk... It's worse than usual today." murmured Zaro.

The room was dark, lit only by a few flashlights on the walls. And inside it... The boy saw something that made his blood run cold.

Dead bodies. So many of them. Lying side by side, covered only with dirty cloths, some still with their faces uncovered. At least thirty or so. Maybe more.

"These...all these...died...in such a short time...?" he thought, trembling.

- Two weeks...? Or maybe three...? How could it be possible...? -

In the middle of the room, a tall man with broad shoulders and sculpted muscles under a long white coat turned toward them. His face was partially covered by a white band that protected his nose and mouth.

"Oh, Zaro. Have you come to take a look?"
"Yes. Michael, how's the analysis going?"

Ren stood motionless near the entrance, avoiding looking at the bodies.

"They are progressing. Tonight's three victims were also shot in the heart." Michael's voice was firm, precise.
"Single stabs, deep...lethal. Whoever he is, he has surgical precision."

"So it's not just about violence--it's about technique. Of experience."

"That's right. If it is really someone trained to kill in this way...he could become an impossible danger to stop."

As the two talked, Ren remained turned away, his shoulders stiff, his hands clasped along his sides.

Fear had enveloped him like a fog. But it wasn't just the fear of dead bodies. It was the memory. It was the past whispering in his ear.

"Ren?" called Zaro, noticing his silence.

"S-I'm here..." replied the boy, without turning around. His voice was trembling. Each syllable seemed to come out with difficulty.

"Does it scare you? Does it disgust you...?"

The boy nodded, barely perceptible. "S-yes..."

So the elderly man slowly approached and laid a hand on his shoulder. Warm. Human.

"All right. Stay outside. You don't need to see these things if you don't feel like it. I'm going to talk to Michael some more."
"V-v-goes well..." he replied, gliding back to the exit like a shadow.

As the cool morning air caressed his face, Ren let himself fall down sitting against the outer wall, his heart still in turmoil.

"What kind of world...is this...?" he whispered, looking up at the sky.

But in the depths of his eyes, a small spark of determination was beginning to shine.

Zaro and Michael continued to talk in the dimness of the room, their voices low and grave as chimes in an empty cathedral.

Ren, meanwhile, was still outside, sitting against the cold stone wall. Pretending not to listen. Or perhaps, simply hoping not to have to.

But the words reached him anyway.

"In my opinion...the person who did all this is not limited to just precision. He must have something more."
"You mean... magic?"

Michael nodded slowly."That's right. There is, or rather...it is said to exist, a magic called Surgical Manuality. It is an advanced magical technique that allows the user to analyze the human body as if it were a mannequin, visualizing its vital points, organs and energy flows. With it, directly striking the heart ... becomes almost trivial."

Zaro crossed his arms."I thought it was just a legend passed down in ancient medical texts...but instead...it seems to be real."

"And that changes everything. Because if indeed someone out there possesses it, we are not only facing a murderer. But to a magical killer."

...Magic?

 Hearing those words, opened his eyes wide. His heart gave a jolt. So... does it really exist? It's not just a strange world...is it a magical world?

Until that moment he had thought he was simply in an isolated village with strange customs and different laws. But if magic really existed ... then that world was not "similar" to his own. It was completely different.

But then-why doesn't Zaro use it? Why didn't he cast a single spell to find the culprit...?

The idea struck him like lightning.

But the real question is. does this village possess magical power? Or is it a secret reserved for the few?

Thoughts began to buzz in his head like a mad swarm. Theories, questions, possibilities. Too many. He didn't even notice Zaro's footsteps approaching.

"Ren. Let's go."

The man's voice snatched him from that mental vortex. The boy jerked back.

"y-yes!"

He jerked up, trying to hide the upset behind a tense expression. But his gaze, for a moment, rested on the door he had just stepped out of. And on the bodies he knew to be inside it.

Something inside him told him that it was not over there. In fact-it was just beginning.