CHAPTER 487: CHAPTER 465: THE MYSTERIOUS MASKED PERSON

"Let’s take the same route as yesterday."

Standing outside the Senate, Asle crossed his arms: "Let’s go check out the nice houses there, and pick one that suits my taste."

For now, the Saint Master’s will is set, and although Asle and Sharet have both reservations and support for the new Guild on Autumn Dusk Island, what can they do?

They’re still hoping for the Saint’s Grandson to offer them work, and since changes can’t be made, it’s better to think about how to achieve good results in the upcoming Artisan examination.

Although Sharet still isn’t quite clear about this so-called "examination," it should be similar to the master’s "skills assessment."

Seeing Sharet silent, Asle chuckled: "Don’t worry, if you can’t afford a house in the future, I’ll save a loft for you where you can live with my maid."

"Is our friendship only worth a loft?" said Sharet as he followed Asle down the path, "I’ve told you, don’t think about it, we’d have to work for thirty or forty years without eating or drinking to afford one of those townhouses."

"Who said that? Didn’t you hear the senators talking today? A well-performing workshop can net 20 gold pounds a year. We’ll save up in ten years."

"No way, buddy, the Artisan exam hasn’t even started, and you’ve already won first place?"

The two teased each other, turned a corner, and walked down the fishbone-patterned tiles following yesterday’s path.

With most of the townhouses yet to be completed, only two or three are occupied, which is why this district is sparsely visited, despite being at the north end of Mansion Square.

It was approaching noon, and the scorching sun cast a parallel shadow of the eaves on the gray-white ground.

On this shadowed path, besides the black cat resting atop the wall, there were only Sharet and Asle.

"Hmm?" Walking along, Sharet’s nose twitched and sniffed twice more.

"What’s up?"

"Don’t move from here. I’ll go check over there; there’s a smell of blood." Without waiting for Asle’s reply, Sharet walked toward the small alley, while Asle placed a whistle in his mouth on guard.

The two men had a tacit understanding.

Walking ahead by ten meters, Sharet felt familiarity; wasn’t this the place where he cleared the sewer yesterday?

A temporary wooden fence stood on the alley’s perimeter, tied with ropes and hung with a "No Entry" sign.

Yesterday, there were a few sewage workers here poking Slime with sticks, saying it would take a day to repair, but they were nowhere to be seen now.

The air still reeked, though a bit fresher, yet with a sweet metallic aroma added since yesterday, like rust.

Sharptipped wooden stick for clearing the sewer in hand, Sharet slowly walked toward the secluded alley where the workers had cleaned yesterday.

Poking half his head out from behind the wall, Sharet’s pupils narrowed.

What was this?

In the corner of the alley, a few gray-dressed corpses lay scattered, likely the sewage workers from yesterday.

In the shadows, Sharet couldn’t discern their appearances or wounds, but he was sure these men had stopped breathing.

Murder? In Autumn Dusk Island, the Salvation Army’s core territory?

Sharlet stepped forward two strides, intending to examine the scene closely but suddenly halted.

Yesterday, there were only four sewage workers clearing the sewer. Why are there five corpses here?

"Squeal——"

The sound of metal scraping the ground violently erupted, and Sharet instinctively raised the stick to block, leaning back with reflexes honed in battle.

A black-glinted sword tip slid past his nose, splitting his nostrils into two.

Gritting his teeth, he kicked at the "corpse" suddenly rising from the ground, although the masked figure easily evaded.

Leaning back, Sharet stumbled two steps before stabilizing against the wall, narrowly avoiding falling over.

Looking up in the dingy alley, he saw a man wearing a hood and white full-face mask despite the fierce heat.

Within the wide cloak, a cold gleaming blade emerged from the shadows, still bearing traces of blood.

An assassin? Or gang member? Family revenge, perhaps?

Sharet couldn’t identify his assailant but knew he wanted to kill and silence him.

Damn it, he didn’t bring his sword today.

Autumn Dusk Island had some degree of control over blades but didn’t outright ban carrying them.

In an era where average aptitude was low, carrying weapons was common and necessary.

Autumn Dusk Island’s populace largely consisted of soldiers, with Pope Country fostering robust martial virtues from the start, allowing blade possession.

The Senate claimed a sword for everyone kept the peace.

Yet, the Pope’s Palace mandated that civilians display any swords or blades visibly, forbidding concealment beneath clothes or cloaks and banning bows, armor, or long-handled weaponry.

Sharlet had initially carried a rapier from Rapids City.

But today, heading to the Senate required body searches and weapon confiscation, he opted for convenience over trouble.

The seemingly excellent law and order of Autumn Dusk Island had deceived him; there were indeed bad people out there!

"Blow the whistle, blow the whistle!" Enduring the pain in his nose, Sharet shouted at Asle, his face covered in blood.

"Toot toot toot——"

With puffed-up cheeks, Asle fervently blew, grabbing a short iron-staff from his belt while charging at the white-masked man.

Both men were militia from the Rapids City siege, even undergoing a month’s swordsmanship training, naturally differing from ordinary civilians.

Sharlet brandished his stick, blocking and diverging the masked man’s two thrusts, then crouched and jumped backward, evading his slash.

The masked man stomped on the hard ground, drawing out a handful of throwing knives from beneath his cloak and flinging them at Sharet and Asle.

"Evade the arrows!" Shouting a siege battle command, they simultaneously dodged sideways, though the knives stabbed into Sharet’s thigh and Asle’s shoulder.

"Saint Master above! Die, murderer!"

Rolling once on the ground and standing, Asle swung his iron-headed staff high, disregarding the pain from his bleeding shoulder, his eyes glaring fiercely at the masked opponent.

"Ding——"

Asle’s iron-headed staff clanged crisply upon the ground, somehow missing the masked stranger.

The masked man’s feet seemed spring-loaded, hopping lightly amid flying stone dust onto a nearby wall.

Perched atop the wall, he clutched an eaves for support, his eyes beneath the mask squinting while fixing a gaze on the two artisans.

For some reason, Sharet felt a chill; the masked figure seemed to be contemplating whether to kill them.

However, Asle’s whistle proved effective at last.

"Any robbery going on? Who?"

"Who’s blowing the whistle?"

From nearby townhouses emerged two burly War Monks, bursting through doors and charging like bulls towards the sound.

"Here, here, there’s a murder case!" Overjoyed, Sharet shouted to the approaching War Monks.

Upon seeing the monks’ mace belts and Sacred Arms, the masked man’s motion visibly paused before turning tail.

His speed was extraordinary, leaping between eaves and walls with agility, pursued by lead balls skimming past his flank and shoulder, quickly vanishing from sight.

"Are we letting him escape?"

"Chase!"

The two War Monks slung their Holy Arms backs, striding along the road, chasing after the elusive figure bouncing among buildings.

Clearly, the War Monks possessed breathing techniques, their legs trailing shadows as they doggedly chased the masked figure.

Only after they were all out of view did Asle and Sharet relax, as if spent.

They looked at their bloody selves with wry smiles exchanged.

"What just happened?"

Amidst their glance, a youthful and serious voice spoke from behind them.

Turning around, they saw a blond young man with a gold gear medal pinned on his lapel, seated in a cushioned wheelchair, rolling out from the adjoining townhouse.

"Allow me to introduce myself; I’m Jonar, Secretary Monk for the Military Police." Jonar raised his hand, displaying the Military Police badge before them, allowing them a clear view as he pulled out a lined paperboard.

"Now tell me, what really happened here."