Chapter 9: Brave New World (VIII)
The underground city was bustling with activity, with mice and ants living in harmony.
Above ground, the sun rose and set as usual. The ancient castle, like a silent beast, had moss-covered teeth with traces of yesterday's blood.
A three-kilometer radius around the castle had been cordoned off. The Security Headquarters' "Heavy Matters Team" had taken full control of the lord's castle. Everyone from the castle steward to the gardeners and security guards had been detained for questioning.
Agent 36 was the youngest and least experienced member of the group, with thirty-five senior members who could order him around. His daily tasks involved delivering messages, running errands, and photocopying documents, sometimes so busy that he didn't have time to understand the details of the case.
However, this time Agent 36 dared not be careless. The head of security, the sheriff, was personally overseeing the case. A gag order had been issued for everyone involved.
The incident in the castle wasn't a theft; it was a murder case. The victim was the lord himself.
A local lord murdered in his own home—this incident had not been reported but had already secretly shocked the central district of the capital.
Agent 36 was tasked with compiling a list of everyone who had entered or exited the castle in the past three months. This was a massive task, considering the steady stream of socialites who visited daily, not to mention the lord's more than twenty officially known lovers, let alone his fleeting and underground affairs. Besides the regular staff, the castle also hired temporary workers for tasks like grass cutting and pet care to save costs.
Having been on the job for over half a year, Agent 36 was seeing the sheriff in person for the first time. The sheriff, mysteriously appointed to the Security Headquarters of Starlight City, had barely been seen in the building since taking office over a year ago. Rumors circulated that he was sent from higher-ups to weaken the lord's influence.
Only the team leader, Number 1, had spoken to the sheriff.
Hurrying to the temporary conference room at the Security Headquarters, Agent 36 nervously straightened his clothes against the door when he heard a lazy voice from inside: "Record this: the murderer, male, a gifted individual, was personally invited by the victim to the small study on the second floor on the night of the incident. The murderer arrived late... probably usually ignores the victim as well. In any case, the victim, who had dressed up specially that day, waited from midnight until dusk, pacing irritably on the carpet, growing increasingly angry, and thus decided to do something. The victim personally ordered the removal of all security personnel from the west garden opposite the window of the crime scene on the second floor of the castle, providing the murderer with the perfect opportunity."
Agent 36, still fiddling with his collar, was captivated by the vivid description: It was as if he had seen it happen firsthand!
Then, he heard his usually sharp-witted team leader speak in an awestruck tone, much like his own inexperienced wonder: "How... how did you know, sir?"
The sheriff, annoyed, shot back: "Don't ask stupid questions."
"Yes, sir, sorry," the team leader replied obsequiously, "Then, the murderer's method..."
"A type of assassination-oriented attack called 'Shadow Phantom.' This type of gifted individual can manipulate their shadow within a certain range. The victim was caught off guard, strangled by the shadow from a distance, and killed instantly."
Agent 36 heard the team leader typing away.
"But sir," the team leader cautiously added after a moment, "There are no recorded 'Shadow Phantom' gifted individuals in this district, and although 'Shadow Phantom' sounds practical, it is only a Level 1 talent. The lord was a Level 2 talent holder. How... how could a lower-level gifted individual have killed a higher-level one? Especially considering the lord's talent was..."
There was a click, likely the sheriff lighting a cigarette: "'Shadow Phantom' talent originates from the back district and is extremely rare. Only four have ever appeared in the entire back district, and three are already deceased. The remaining one was a colonel from the second military district of the back district."
"A colonel?" The team leader looked confused. "What connection did this colonel have with the victim?"
"No connection while alive," the sheriff said vaguely through the cigarette in his mouth, "The 'Shadow Phantom' colonel was murdered three and a half months ago, like your lady-killer lord, the murderer also extracted the colonel's brain—and now they have it."
Both the team leader inside the room and Agent 36 outside were stunned.
"Last August, a magistrate in the Corner District was found dead in his apartment, poisoned, his body sewn into an egg with his brain stolen; early this year, Judge Third Court of Gold Diamond City in the Capital District was found dead in a hotel, stuffed into a bear costume with his brain missing; in March, the administrative director of Lilyth Airlines in the Central District 'turned into' a brainless dog in the swimming pool changing room; in June, our 'Shadow Phantom' colonel lost his brain in his car and gained a pair of cat ears—all victims were gifted individuals, and the talent of the previous victim became the cause of death for the next. The murderer uses a Level 1 talent because it belongs to someone else; he may not be a Level 1 talent holder himself. Do you understand, idiot?"
"So this is..."
"A serial killer targeting talent holders across districts. With each district enforcing independently and too many self-important fools in charge, he's managed to kill his way from the Corner District to the Tail District—" the sheriff chuckled, "The fool outside, not coming in yet?"
Startled, Agent 36 quickly pushed the door open: "Y-yes, sir!"
"Give it here." The sheriff didn't even look at him, snatching the list from Agent 36's hand and flipping through it with astonishing speed.
Suddenly, he paused, his hand hovering over a resume.
Whether it was 36's impression or not, he felt a flash of silver light in the sheriff's iris.
"Retrieve all the information on this person," the sheriff ordered, pulling the resume out and tossing it to the group leader. "This person is connected to the case, and there's a nine out of ten chance they're the real culprit."
The group leader scrambled to catch it and examined it carefully. "A student who came to work a part-time job? He applied for a three-month position as a pet caretaker and has already resigned after completing his term."
The sheriff, looking exhausted, blew smoke at his incompetent subordinate. "If he were still in the castle, I wouldn't be wasting my time with you. I would've already caught him."
"So, where is this person now…?"
"He's hiding in the underground city, which is why I told you not to alert the snake," the sheriff said mysteriously, jumping straight to the conclusion. "Now, have someone contact the underground city's local bosses in the name of the lord. Tell them the castle has lost millions worth of berries, cash, and jewelry, and they need to cooperate with the investigation. Remember, under no circumstances can the underground scum learn that the lord is dead—dear god, do I really need to teach you this?"
The underground "scum" ratmen were in the middle of a lively scene.
In the center of their territory stood the "Prosperity Plaza," which housed a giant fertility god statue. The ratmen usually held their ceremonies and large gatherings here. When there were no major events, the open space around the statue would be occupied by mobile vendors, making the plaza a sort of commercial district.
At the moment, quite a few berry farmers had gathered in the plaza, surrounding several fat pigmen.
The pigmen—"Pig Lords"—were large and broad, speaking with a deep, muffled voice. Standing among the ratmen, who averaged less than 1.5 meters in height, the pigmen looked like a group of giant spirits who had descended to earth. They made a living smuggling berries between the districts of the underground city. This time, they had lined up ten carts of goods in the plaza for the ratmen farmers to choose from.
When Sophia and Charles arrived, the plaza was alive with the sounds of "squeaking" and "muttering," as intense bargaining was underway.
Charles struggled to make his way through the bustling crowd of ratmen, poking a path with his sharp beak. But after looking around, he felt a little disappointed.
"They're all female, and their appearance isn't fashionable anymore. Our own are better," he commented to a white ratman beside him. "I heard there were some limited-edition goods. Where are they?"
The white ratman replied, "You're too late. The Pig Lords just said there are some special goods, but they're non-sellable. They'll only show them to the three biggest buyers today. If you want them, you'll have to bid against other clans. Those fat pigs are really slick… See that cart? The one surrounded by a circle of trucks? They said it's in there."
Charles asked, "What's so special about it?"
The white ratman said mysteriously, "They're calling it a diamond pet-grade, B9, the best of the best."
"Absurd," Sophia said, holding onto her hat to keep it from being knocked off. "Let's go, uncle. It's a scam."
Only berries bred in high-level breeding facilities above ground, could participate in "pet grading." Their appearance, bloodline, and temperament had to meet the aesthetic trends of the surface. Pet grades ranged from B1 to B9, with B9 being the highest.
"B7 berries cost hundreds of thousands and are individually numbered, more expensive than our houses. Only nobles can afford B9," the well-read Sophia said, educating her ignorant clansmen. "In Starlight City, there's only one titled noble—the lord. Where would they even get a B9? Did they steal it from the castle? The lord would roast them alive. It's nonsense! Let's go home."
Charles wasn't ready to give up. "Ah, let's wait a bit. We're already here, and there's nothing to do at home…"
Sophia snapped, "I still haven't written the introduction to my thesis, okay?!"
However, at that moment, the young miss didn't know that her thesis introduction wouldn't get written.
In Sophia's room, seven or eight rat children were screaming and running around, playing wildly.
In the chaos, Sophia's cosmetics were spilled all over the floor, with spray bottles rolling around. A rat child stretched out its furry paw and grabbed Crow's bedsheet cloak. The one-meter-tall toddler had the strength of a grown man, and Crow stumbled from the tug, the bedsheet tearing with a "rip" and floating down near the scented candle stand.
Crow "accidentally" knocked over the candle stand, herding the rat children as he slipped out through the door crack. He seemed to be panicking, running around the corridor for a couple of laps, and somehow, he closed Sophia's door along the way.
Hearing the commotion, a large ratman rushed out to catch berries and scold the children. In Sophia's room, now empty of living creatures, the toppled candle stand's flame leisurely licked at the bedsheet fragments before quietly crawling along the fabric to the spilled cosmetic liquids. The flammable materials caused the flames to leap up, quickly spreading to the curtains and wooden bookshelves.
The nearby smoke alarm, which Crow had knocked out with his iron helmet, stood silent and useless, watching the fire spread without a sound.
Until——
"Boom!"
The flammable and explosive items he had casually piled together blew up.
Thick smoke finally triggered the smoke alarms on other floors.
The trading was in full swing in the square when a team of armed ratmen suddenly rushed over.
"Stop gathering! Everyone, leave! Disperse!"
Mr. Charles was nearly shoved to the ground by the crowd. "Which rat-ass bastard snitched on us?"
"Not a snitch, it's a fire alarm."
The fire alarm broadcast echoed over the underground city: "A fire has broken out on the 14th and 15th floors of Grayrat Tower. Residents in the vicinity, please follow instructions, do not linger for possessions, evacuate in an orderly manner."
"Oh, it's just a fire." Mr. Charles breathed a sigh of relief and asked the person next to him, "That scared me… Where did the broadcast say it was?"
"Grayrat Tower."
"Gray… what?!"
Crow bent his knees and hunched over, wrapping himself in Miss Sophia's pillowcase and bedsheet, blending in with the nearsighted ratmen and getting "evacuated." He slipped along the wall to the back door.
The back door was locked, but fortunately, it wasn't a high-tech lock. After a quick observation, Crow took out a pen he had swiped from a tablecloth-made bag, removed the ink cartridge, and poked it a few times to open the lock.
He couldn't quite remember where he had learned this skill. It felt like it had been a long time since he last used it, and his hands were a bit rusty.
After prying open the door, the "chicken thief hero," with a pillowcase on his head and a bedsheet draped over his body, strode out, following a narrow path.
If even domesticated creatures like Bread could go there, it couldn't be too far. Since all the nearby ratmen had been evacuated, Crow followed the winding path without encountering a single furry creature.
At the end of the path, the pedestrian trail intersected with a vehicle road.
In front of Crow was a large yard enclosed by an iron fence, with a sign that read: Prosperous Slaughterhouse.
Crow's eyes passed over the fence: there was a warehouse near the entrance, likely a cold storage, with the door locked and a stack of insulated boxes outside. The cement ground was slick, as if it had just been hosed down.
In the center of the yard were several workbenches and iron racks holding tools, including various knives... and a row of children's heads.
Crow found Little Six in the second-to-last row.
The first person he had met and truly seen the world with, the ever-talkative 'Big Brother' had finally shut up.
Only the head was here; the body was likely already prepared and stored in the cold room.
The unfamiliar character on the sign, not taught in literacy books, was "slaughter." This small path stretched from the Berry Circle to the Prosperous Slaughterhouse.
Only the best-quality berries in the Berry Circle got a name and were kept as "means of production"; the rest were "fat ones," products.
The little "fat ones" followed the rules, ate diligently every day, and anxiously listened to the machines report their body data, hoping to become slaughter-ready soon. Then they happily lined up to come to the slaughterhouse and complete their berry life task.
What was the task? No one had told them, but good fat ones should sing more and talk less, avoiding questions——the little ones only knew that the task was glorious.
After completing this glorious task, they probably believed they would go to a better place. They could run free in a vast enclosure, much like the one where the studs and breeding females lived, and maybe even get a name other than a number.
Canned fruit juice poured out.
They came in high spirits and left in confusion, probably without having time to figure out what happened.
Of course, there was no time to be afraid.
Crow couldn't help but wonder if he had been raised as a "stud" as a child, would he have lived a life full of purpose and died of old age at six or seven?
"The happy farmer counts his harvest..." Crow hummed the ratmen's pastoral song softly, savoring the carefree life of the fat ones, feeling an inexplicable envy.
"Little Five" was the name of a fat one, meaning the fifth child of a certain breeding female. The "Little Five" that Bread cared about might have been born to a nanny. The caged berries didn't know what "mother" or "siblings" meant, but just like Pearl had a special concern for Little Six, they seemed to instinctively know who they were close to.
Perhaps it was also a time nearing the year-end when the pregnant Bread was taken back to the rat's nest by the on-leave Miss Sophia. One day, Miss Sophia went out, and Bread sat by the window waiting for her owner to return as usual, but unexpectedly saw her owner leading a group of fat ones past the path below the back window, including Little Five.
Bread knew they were being "sent for slaughter" and was happy for them like Pearl. She probably felt a bit spoiled—like other children whose parents dropped them off at the school gate on the first day—and suddenly had an idea to follow and send Little Five a little further.
At worst, she would get scolded if caught, but nothing more, since she was a precious breeding female.
Unexpectedly, she saw him off all the way to the end.
Given Bread's experience, she likely couldn't make sense of it, so she developed "brain cancer"—a disease berries get from overthinking.
Still a bit dizzy from the toxin mixed in the canned food, Crow leaned against the wall for a moment before prying open the gate of the slaughterhouse and entering. His left pupil flickered for a moment, then returned to normal.
Little Six and the others were anesthetized before being slaughtered, unaware of it themselves.
Those who haven't experienced life and death cannot truly communicate.
"Good evening, little one." Crow rubbed the sparse and dry hair of the little fat boy.
Even though he was somewhat prepared, he couldn't really understand this matter either.
It wasn't that Crow believed humans were too noble to eat; it just didn't make logical sense. Chickens and ducks are ready for slaughter in just a couple of months, and pigs and sheep are considered old after a year of raising. In comparison, the growth cycle of humans is too long, and the cost of raising them is too high. Besides, given the water content in the human body, what would their meat be good for? The energy is much lower than beef, and the taste is reportedly not superior to mutton. With the ratmen's great fertility rate, relying on humans for food would likely lead to famine.
Bread had been raised as a pet by Sophia and lived in the rat's nest since childhood. She wasn't stupid. If the rats ate human flesh, she couldn't have been unaware of it for over a decade.
So, is this a horrific fantasy version of the old saying, "Those who wear silk are not the ones who raise silkworms"?
Berries are not on the ratmen owners' menu. They raise "berries" for sale.
Then, who and why would someone pay a high price to buy human flesh? Exotic consumption for status? Possible, but not very likely. Almost every ratman household raises berries, and trends of exoticism often fade quickly, not enough to form an industry of this scale.
"Or does our berry meat have some special properties? Like, not for strength… but to promote hair growth or something?"
As Crow wandered around the slaughterhouse, he had a one-sided conversation with Little Six.
Unfortunately, this time he could only talk to himself.
After searching, he returned the lock-picking tool and tore off a delivery note from the slaughterhouse.
"To Miss Sophia," Crow carefully wrote down the characters he had just memorized, "Did you ever love Bread?"
Then he hung the note next to Little Six, as if delivering a message for his sister.
The moment the note was hung, the contract left by Bread dissipated from Crow's palm.
The contract simply required him to ask Miss Sophia if she ever loved Bread at the place where Little Five was taken. Whether it was asked in person, left as a note, or whether Miss Sophia heard or saw it, and how she might have answered, none of it mattered.
Everyone already knew the answer.
Closing his eyes for a moment, Crow gently sighed and reached into the tablecloth bag, pulling out an old harmonica. "Strange, how did you know I took Miss's harmonica?"
He had learned how to play the harmonica from Bread.
Crow wiped the harmonica with the bedsheet he was wrapped in, muttered "smells like rat," and then brought it to his lips.
As he recalled, the notes and melodies came back to him, and his muscle memory took over. A beautiful yet melancholic tune flowed from the harmonica, the same one Sophia had once played for him.
Little Six, along with the others, listened to the tune, as if it were their own funeral song.
When the song ended, Crow tucked the harmonica away and stepped back, examining the entire rack of fat ones.
His bright smile had faded, and his expression grew solemn. Like the fading light of a winter sunset, his face lost its warmth, revealing the sharp contours beneath—a face that now reminded Crow of a black marble tombstone.
Crow kissed his fingertip and pressed it to Little Six's forehead.
"Goodnight."
Suddenly, a sound echoed from the road, a faint vibration traveling through the ground, and Crow turned his head.
A car?
No, it was a heavy-duty truck.