How to Make a Sinner Sleep - Chapter 95: Chapter 95

In the cobbled alleyway that steered off the common streets, a blue-eyed man crouched down, rubbing his chin as if he had a beard to stroke. He examined the mangled shape—it was presumed to be the remains of a human or other species.
Besides, a young woman whose beauty was hidden by dirt and grime, dull blonde hair left in one long braid on the verge of untangling, scribbled furiously in a notebook.
If one were to peer over, the notes were mixed with the crime scene details and the food she craved.
She patted her stomach as the sky rumbled above her. "See, even the Watchers above know of my hunger."
The man stopped stroking his imaginary beard, grinning. "Hey, I warned you. Our dear Pres even made you a sandwich before we left, despite her busy schedule."
"Don't discriminate against my large appetite. Just as I don't discriminate against your face that can't grow hair."
"I'm trying a new cream that was recommended to me!"
"Haven't you tried three different ones already? No offence." She added, though the woman's words often contained plenty of offences.
"Holly, has anybody told you that you're too blunt sometimes? Not that I don't appreciate it."
She paused, lowering her gaze. "Yeah. Yeah, he told me that. When we first met."
The man paused, expression growing somber. Then, quickly as the gloom came, he chased it away. "That's sort of a taboo topic?"
"Is it honouring the dead to erase their existence?"
"Holly."
"...I know, I know." Holly fiddled with her braid, tangling the loose strands even further. "Anyway. What's your observations?"
"This person is definitely dead."
"Right. I wouldn't have guessed by the twisted limbs and the intestines peeking out from—is that their mouth? Please say it's their mouth."
The man leaned closer, squinting and scrunching his nose as the odour of rot wafted in the breeze. "Let's say it is."
"Seriously, Niklas. How can you get so close and not be disgusted?"
He smiled vaguely. "This isn't the first corpse I've seen."
"Of course, we've seen many. The civilian and Blessed death toll are increasing. It's nothing dramatic, but regular deaths are abnormal to begin with. Let's hurry back. She's waiting!"
Niklas laughed, collecting the samples and quickly scribbling further observations. A professional team would deal with the corpse and cleaning later—their job was to investigate.
Back in the underground of the Academy, a woman with a leather apron and glasses squinted at a small object in her hand, her silky hair tied back neatly without a stand out of place.
Pale cherry eyes carefully observed the sample, placing it back with gentle hands.
"Hey, I think they're coming back soon. There have been more deaths in the city. I hope we have more leads." A man said quietly, a sense of pleading in his voice.
His sister had been part of the deceased several months prior.
The woman gave a reassuring, comforting smile. "Our investigators are thorough. We'll determine the cause and the criminal—if there is one. I promise."
"When you say it, I somehow believe it."
"Let's have faith. All we can do is seek vengeance for the dead."
For a second, the end of her sentence seemed to carry a chilling cold, and the man looked over at the beautiful and reliable woman. However, she had returned to normal, quietly looking over a magical tool.
She graduated from the Academy with excellent marks, raising her star ranking for control over her blessing while simultaneously running charities and supporting the poor.
There were some who believed that she carried the elegance and strength of a queen—though rumours of her relationship between the crown prince were distorted.
The man glanced over and returned to his work.
Whatever the case, she was a brilliant mind, and her alliance was theirs, not the hidden enemies that lurked in the shadows. She was also a respectable leader who could quickly rise in any situation—
—such as the incident that occurred three years prior which had been silenced and buried, but those who witnessed the destruction of the courtyard could not forget it.
The terror in their own insignificance reflected in pools of rich black.
The man sighed, and lowered his head to work again, deciding not to chase after frightening memories.
Far away, in the main city, in the proud castle that overlooked its land, a young soldier stood beside the crown prince. His hands folded behind his back, a solemn and cold exterior that aged his youth, the soldier had recently been appointed the prince's personal guard.
It was nearly unheard of—to have a mere fifteen-year-old boy of unknown origins to defend the future ruler of the kingdom.
In response to the complaints, the quiet boy had drawn his sword, flipping the hilt in scar-covered hands. He challenged the royal guards—and silenced them too. And the captain of the knights could not deny it; that the boy's amber gaze were eyes that could kill.
A disposition prepared for murder. That unique quality made it hard to keep denying the boy's post, especially after the crown prince had accepted his new guard.
He stood as still as stone, gazing ahead.
Three years.
In the second, the boy had found the person he was looking for—and seeing the state of that man, a shell of what he once was, he was determined to dedicate his body and soul.
He was a boy that could've become anything, granted the opportunity to live his life as he pleased. He chose to shackle himself once more.
Even if he gave up those silly dreams, the delicious lunches at the Academy and the laughter or teasing that filled his ears, the promise of a future with the same warm atmosphere, it didn't matter.
Because home was a person, and Arlo would sacrifice all his dreams to protect that.
The crown prince glanced up from his paperwork and the expressionless youth, sword hanging at his waist. A boy shaped by his own hands, the rounded cheeks melted into sharpness and the innocent gaze chilled by the years.
If the boy had it his way, he'd been prepared to kill Reed Chauvet years ago. Life had a way of toying with the living, however.
Prepared to kill and now required to protect.
Reed laughed, eliciting no response from Arlo except silence, as he continued to read through reports from the city.
Within the city streets, a small cafe opened early in the day, already bustling with customers. A quaint store with loyal customers, located just to the corner of the main street.
Newspaper crinkled, pressed shut by a pair of slender hands, covered in black gloves that hid the secrets that wrote themselves over skin. A man sat with a straight back by the corner of the cafe, a tall top hat obscuring his face.
The newspaper was wrinkled and yellowed, as if it had been kept from years prior.
"Here lies the sinner who has reaped dozens of their lives, Kaden Chauvet! And here he will remain, buried and executed for the sake of protecting our country—!"
Dressed in a long black coat, a cup of steaming tea sat beside the paper. He was smothered by the chattering crowd in the lively store of a waking town.
He remained there, seated in a wooden chair, reading the same page.
An hour later, the steam had settled and the tea had grown cold, left half-finished in the cup. He seemed to regard it for a second—lukewarm tea wasn't as pleasant as a hot one—before he suddenly tilted his chin back, downing the liquid.
It slid back into his throat in an instant, and without as much as a word, the man pressed a coin on the counter and disappeared, as swift as a ghost.
The barista didn't realize until they looked up to return the man's change, but he was already gone.
"Ah! This is way too much—god, should I just keep it as a tip, or run after?" The freckled and young boy sighed, carefully picking up the gold coin. It was a hefty sum, but he didn't enjoy earning more money than he deserved. "He comes by sometime... but it's so difficult to speak to him, geez."
"Keep it."
A low voice came from the side, a well-dressed man in his early 20's with sharp black eyes that seemed to contain both dreams and misfortunes alike. The man carried two books in his arms, and papers tucked within the pages.
He calmly walked forward, placing his books on the counter neatly. The boy flushed—it was difficult not to when faced with such a charming figure, both intimidating and alluring in a way that humans could never be.
Of course, knowing the regular customer for so long, the boy knew that it was because the man was not human.
"Well, I guess there's no helping it. I'll return the change if he ever returns. What can I get for you today—your regular? Or do you want something new?"
"Butterfly tea."
"Haha, of course. I suppose that's the only thing keeping you coming back to our small cafe, since none of the others have it. It is quite aesthetically pleasing, especially with the little lemon trick you showed me! You like it pink, right? Extra lemon? Anything else?"
"A bowl of fried rice."
It was an odd addition, but the cafe's unique feature was its flexibility in food. If they didn't have it one day, they could prepare it for another instead.
"Coming right up!"
The man nodded, paying for the items before moving to settle on the table in the corner where the other mysterious figure had been. He paused for a second and placed his books down as an odd furrow creased the space between his eyebrows.
A lingering warmth remained on the chair, yet to be pushed in from an earlier haste.
The young boy walked up with the tea, delivering it personally due to their regular interactions. "Your tea and shrimp fried rice. Is something the matter?"
The newspaper still remained, but the headlines were printed in bold.
The boy peered around curiously. "That's the case from several years back, right? My friend's older brother knew of him since they attended the same academy. It's such an old paper though, I wonder why he was reading it."
"Who?" The man turned around with a lost look woven in his gaze, searching. "Who was it?"
"Ah, well, it was the customer who left just now. I didn't get his name."
At the words, the man spun around and strode to the door with hurried, long strides of his long legs. His speed increased until he almost broke into a run.
The man threw the door open, white-black hair falling around the sharp edges of his face wildly.
He searched the cobbled streets with his eyes, every person or window, for even a shadow of his lost past. There he remained in a daze for ten minutes, not daring to move in case he missed what he was seeking.
Finding nothing, his shoulders dropped a fraction and he returned to his table inside, tracing a hand over the papers.
The boy, named William, looked at the man with concern. "Are you alright? What were you looking for?"
"A ghost." said the man quietly, taking a slow breath. "A ghost that refuses to come haunt me."
"Isn't that good? That would mean they're resting in peace."
"Impossible. That fool never knew peace."
And while there was a harsh scrape to the man's voice, there was a drawl of melancholy and affection so buried, William almost missed it. It was only because he admired and knew the man well enough that he heard.
The man shook his head, and he stared to the side, out the window as if hoping for a chance of finding what he couldn't earlier. His profile was like a painting, a masterpiece of perfect brush strokes to paint tragedy in a humanoid form.
William felt there was no further place to intrude, nodded politely and stepped back behind the counter. He didn't really get it—maybe he was too young.
Or too human.
Because that patron of his was something far grander, a being that humans could only worship and admire from afar.
And William knew of the rumours from his friend's older brother—of the destruction in the Academy caused by a dragon's rage. The grounds overturned, trees fallen and the collapse of a portion of the Academy walls.
He remembered the sheer terror pulled from merely recalling. There had been limited injuries, and many students had hurriedly left for home after an earlier event within the Academy.
Then, over the spiked walls, a large shadow cast over the Academy's grounds.
A monstrous beast with large black-white wings spread out, talons sharpened and gleaming a rich black. A single twisted horn that curved atop a scaled head, and sharp and pulsing dark eyes.
Fury that prickled over the scales, rage that radiated from every curved spike along the tainted wings.
"It was like nothing I'd seen before," his friend's older brother had said. "And, although it was... incredible. I hope to never run into him again."
"He was in control though, right? He knew what he was doing?"
"...sometimes, a person without control is more frightening than one with control. But a beast in control that knows their ability and is prepared to use it?"
A hesitant pause. "I think that's the most frightening. I think at that moment, if somebody had died, their corpse wouldn't even be worthy enough to be reflected in his gaze."
William peeked over at the silent profile, gazing out the window. Later, the fried rice would be half-eaten, the other half packed and given to a child from the slums.
Then, he would ask for more lemon to turn his tea even pinker, despite the bitterness it brought. He did not appear to be a wild or fierce beast, so William wasn't scared of the rumours he'd heard.
Regardless, handsome people were motivating to look at!
At the table, the dragon's gloved hand trailed over the headlines, and the faded and low-quality image printed on paper. One hand pressed against the table and his jaw set, a flicker of resentment in his eyes.
An hour later, the dragon walked up and left a gold coin. William, knowing the other more personally, yelled out, "Hey! You already paid! And this is way too much, anyway!"
The beautiful man shook his head quietly, black-white hair falling over his eyes. "It's enough."
"What are you—"
The door closed and the young man stared in disbelief. He scratched the back of his neck and walked over to the table to clean up, only to pause in his steps.
The table, which had been in perfect shape an hour ago, had a large dent that created a long crack against the wood. He stared at it, scratching his head again and muttering to himself.
"Ahhh. At least he paid for it."