Oliver gazed at the rows of sophisticated books on the bookshelves. He struggled to come up with a response as he huffed loudly. Nervousness overwhelmed Oliver, and it felt like it had swallowed him.

     Oliver rushes home to the mansion. He passes through the gate and crosses the front yard, hurrying towards the entrance. With each step, his bones ache as if they might shatter under the strain. His feet feel shaky—as if he is a heavy object.

     Trembling with fear, Oliver steps onto the porch. His legs shudder, feeling weak and fragile. As he reaches the front door, he suddenly collapses, his body unable to bear the weight of his apprehension.

Oliver called out, his voice trembling with fear, "Dad!" Oliver knocked on the door while kneeling on the floor.

     As a maid opens the front door, the lights inside the mansion spill out and cause Oliver's eyes to glisten. Frantically panting, Oliver steadies himself and takes a deep breath as he holds onto his chest. He then stands up and bolts inside the lobby.

"Dad!?" Oliver called out with a trembling voice.

"Yes, Oliver?" Frederick responded as he descended the stairs. "Hungry?"

"No, Dad, I... I have something to tell you," said Oliver. "...Important."

"What is it?" Frederick asked as he reached the ground floor and approached his adoptive son.

Oliver took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. "It's just that, uhm..." he paused for a second, struggling to build his words.

Frederick placed a hand on Oliver's shoulder. "Alright, alright, Oliver," Frederick said. "Fear and apprehension won't help us. We must remain calm."

Oliver glanced at Frederick. "...Okay..." he mumbled.

"Now... why don't you sit down and tell me what's been bothering you?" Frederick asked, walking towards the dining room as Oliver followed him.

Oliver took a deep breath and sat on a chair in the dining room. "...I'm terrified about the increasing cases of deaths," Oliver admitted. "It's been happening for months now..."

"Worry not, my son. Even I feel the same fright as you do," Frederick replied, patting Oliver's shoulder as he sat next to Oliver.

Oliver nodded. "I was with Greg earlier, and he told me about an autopsy they did on a corpse found in the woods. The wounds looked like bite marks, but they were too neat to be caused by an animal. And if it was an animal, why would it kill so many people without eating them completely?" Oliver stated.

Frederick listened intently, his concern growing with each passing moment. "In that case, we need to stay informed and keep a level head. Maybe we can talk to Gregory and see if he has more information."

Oliver nodded in agreement. "Greg and his associates also mentioned that the corpses had reddish-violet ink-like marks on them. They speculated that... perhaps... it's part of a cult's ritual?" he said.

"A cult?" Frederick's eyes widened.

"One of the prevailing notions suggested by Gregory's associates is that these abominable massacres are the work of certain cultists engaging in their... sanguinary... rites and offerings," he ventured.

"That's possible. If these heinous murders are done with such finesse... it is not out of the realm of possibility that..." Frederick closed his eyes and sighed before venturing, "...that... they are being perpetrated by... assassins."

"Assassins...?" Oliver's brows bent with worry.

     Oliver's golden amber eyes glistened with tears that threatened to spill over his face. His breathing hastened as an invisible knot choked him. Then, he rose from his seat and slammed his hands on the dining table.

"No...!" Oliver cried out.

"Oliver?" Frederick uttered.

     Oliver could no longer contain his fear and anguish as he felt his heart exploding. He bolted towards the lobby, where maids and servants were brooming and mopping the floors. He stumbled towards them and yelled at them, thrashing his arms around.

"Close the door! Unravel the curtains! Secure the windows!" Oliver shouted frantically, pointing to the entrance and every corner of the room.

Frederick hurried over to his son and patted his back. "Oliver, my son, calm down! Take a deep breath," Frederick urged calmly, trying to soothe his panicked son.

Oliver took a long, deep breath and looked at Frederick. He then lunged towards him for an embrace. "...Dad!" Oliver exclaimed, looping his arms around his adoptive father's neck as he sobbed.

Frederick gently pulled away from the embrace and looked at Oliver with concern. "What's wrong?" he asked with a gentle voice.

"What if those killers are also assassins?" Oliver asked, his voice shaking with fear.

"Assassins...?" Frederick trailed off as his expression turned grave.

"Assassins... they killed my family. It's the assassins that brought me to extreme distrust of society when I was a young boy," Oliver sobbed quietly.

Frederick placed a warm, reassuring hand on Oliver's shoulder. "Assassins or cults. Those assassins that killed your family are in prison, remember? You are strong. You managed to battle them in the grasslands at the age of nineteen, remember? You... you set yourself free and liberated after capturing those ruthless killers," Frederick said, running his fingers across Oliver's silver hair.

"But what if they've escaped and are responsible for these killings?" Oliver questioned.

"No, son. They remain in their secure prison, where they shall stay forever," Frederick assured him.

"Are you certain they're not involved in these recent killings?" Oliver asked sceptically.

"Of course. If you wish, we will investigate and discover the true culprits," Frederick suggested as he smiled.

"When shall we begin?" Oliver inquired as his face hardened and brows furrowed.

"In your days of rest, we shall commence our investigation," Frederick replied.

"...I'll inform my commander that I must take leave from work. We shall conduct our investigation and identify the culprits responsible by the end of the week," Oliver declared firmly.