Chapter 1.1 – The Serial Killer of New Eton Street

It rained every year during this season. 

In the dim dawn, a woman wearing a pure white dress walked down the street. The rain drenched her clothes, but she showed no sign of caring. Eventually, the woman’s steps stopped in front of a small, old warehouse. When she opened the door and entered, a man was sitting in a chair. 

The man’s appearance, illuminated by the lamp, was gruesome. His face was mangled beyond recognition, and his body was covered in light bruises. It was a sight that would have shocked an ordinary person, but the woman simply smiled. 

“Mr. John. Haven’t you felt lonely being here all by yourself?” 

The woman casually spoke to the corpse. She placed a basket of chrysanthemums next to the chair. 

“It took me a little longer to bring the flowers. I’m sorry for making you wait. I invited a guest, but I ended up leaving them alone for too long.” 

The woman picked up the chrysanthemums and began decorating the man’s face with them. The drying blood was slowly absorbed by the chrysanthemum stems. Only after she emptied the basket did she stand up and leave the warehouse. 

Even as she left the warehouse, the woman continued walking. Her steps stopped in a certain alleyway. 

Not long after, *thud!* A dull sound rang out. A man who had been struck on the head staggered, and a shadowy figure was seen running away. The man, collapsing to the ground, tried to turn his head to identify the perpetrator. 

However, the pouring rain and the blood flowing from his head blurred his vision. The woman stood still at the scene, watching the man. He tried several times to get up and chase after the perpetrator, but his body seemed unwilling to obey him. 

He even unsheathed his sword, using it as a support, but by the time he raised his head, the perpetrator had already fled. The lantern he dropped while falling rolled across the ground. The flame that had been illuminating his view was extinguished by the rain. 

The man attempted to rise several times but eventually accepted everything and lay down on the ground. His voice was drowned out by the sound of the rain, and the nearby streets were deserted. 

He sensed his impending death. And at that moment, the woman approached him and spoke. 

“Hello.” 

The two locked eyes. Long, flowing white hair and a pair of red eyes entered the man’s vision. It was an exceptionally rare combination of colors. 

Looking further down, he saw the woman’s white dress becoming stained with his blood. Yet, she didn’t seem to mind and leaned closer to him. Thanks to her, the sound of raindrops noisily hitting his head ceased. 

“Who… are you…?” 

“Someone who knows you, and someone you must know.” 

“…I see.” 

“I have a question for you. Do you want to live, or is it that you don’t want to die?” 

It was an abrupt question. Amid his confusion, the only thing clear to the man was the sensation of his own death approaching. He didn’t have the time to carefully consider her words. All he could do was spit out the answer that came to mind. 

“I must… live.” 

“And the reason?” 

“I… have… a mission.” 

The man’s voice cracked. After a few words, a dry cough escaped his lips. His breathing grew increasingly unstable in the meantime. 

“In that case, don’t die. You mustn’t die here. This time, I will save you, but in return, you must remember me. Do you understand?” 

“Yes… I will… remember…” 

“For now, rest easy and have a pleasant dream.” 

The woman smiled and gently covered the man’s eyes. Only then did he let go of the consciousness he had been clinging to. The unconscious man barely exhaled slow breaths. 

“Have you fallen asleep?” 

The woman leaned closer and listened to his breathing. Once she confirmed that the man had completely lost consciousness, she raised her head again. She softly stroked the man’s wet hair. Blood stained her hands, but she paid no attention to it. 

“Azrael. What kind of dream are you having right now?” 

Azrael Hyacinth. 

That was the man’s name. He was a person with many titles: Duke Hyacinth, Knight Commander, and Investigator. 

There was a case he was currently handling as an investigator. The case involved serial murders—specifically, the ‘Newethen Street Serial Murder Case.’ It was the case that garnered the most attention in the Empire. 

The identity of the perpetrator was unclear in every aspect: gender, age group, status—everything was unknown. Some even questioned whether the perpetrator was truly human. There were those who referred to them as a demon. 

“Miss. Have you finished today’s ‘flower arranging’?” 

“Yes, Adam. Call for the carriage. We have a guest at the mansion for the first time in a while.” 

Approaching the two was a man dressed as a servant. Adam handed the woman an umbrella and promptly called for the carriage, as if he had been waiting for her command. The woman boarded the carriage with Adam’s escort. Shortly after, Azrael was loaded into the seat opposite her like luggage. 

“Call for a doctor and take care of the arrangements. Oh, and starting tomorrow, could you bring me the newspaper every morning?” 

“Of course, Miss. Is that all you need for now?” 

“This will do for the moment. As always, I’m counting on you.” 

“Understood. Then let’s head back to the mansion first.” 

As the carriage door closed and it began to move, the sound of rain could only be heard outside the window. Beatrice slightly pulled back the curtain and gazed beyond the glass. Heavy rain was pouring, enough to wash away all traces of blood overnight. She kept her gaze fixed outside as she spoke. 

“Sir Azrael. Now that I think about it, I’m late in introducing myself. My name is Beatrice. From now on, we’ll be seeing each other quite often.” 

Beatrice stepped down from her seat and knelt before Azrael. The two were now close enough that their faces were near each other. His faint breathing quietly filled the air. Despite the uncomfortable position, she remained still, staring at Azrael for a long time. 

Blood continued to seep from his head, unable to clot, flowing between strands of black hair. Beatrice tore off part of the curtain and wrapped it around his head. 

“I intend to love you from now on. Until you love me wholeheartedly.” 

She had never believed in love before. Yet, Beatrice willingly spoke of love. 

“Love is a surprisingly effective tool. Isn’t that a common tale? Stories of people blinded by love. I hope you’ll be like them, loving me so deeply that you’ll blind yourself to the truth… even just a little.” 

Beatrice became an actor on stage, a puppet moving for the audience, strings hanging behind her back. 

The curtain had already risen. Holding the crimson fabric in her hand, Beatrice smiled. 

Rain poured outside the window. Beatrice touched Azrael’s cheek, wet with blood and rain. His skin felt as cold as a corpse. Her hand moved slightly downward, resting on Azrael’s chest. She felt his heartbeat. 

“And when that time comes, would you die by my hand?” 

Beatrice spoke those words with a smile. A smile so serene and peaceful. 

Her name was Beatrice Delphinium. She was the ‘Newethen Street Serial Killer.’ 

***

Beatrice devoted herself to caring for Azrael for two full days while he remained unconscious. He lay motionless on the bed. 

She rested her chin on her hand, staring at Azrael. The wait for him to awaken was unbearably tedious. Morning sunlight streamed through the window, tickling her cheek. 

The rain had stopped the previous night. Now the sky was bright and clear. 

“Azrael, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you.” 

A newspaper and a sheet of paper lay on the bedside table. Beatrice unfolded the front page of the newspaper. Her gaze naturally landed on the first article. She skimmed the paper lightly before placing it on her lap. 

She began to hum a light tune. It had been a long journey. A long time until she finally met Azrael Hyacinth. And now, at last, he was right before her eyes. She reached out and brushed back Azrael’s black hair. 

Twitch. Azrael’s fingertips slightly curled. His tightly shut eyelids trembled faintly. 

Beatrice adjusted his hair and smiled. Though her smile appeared in an instant, it was remarkably natural. She had practiced smiling until her cheeks hurt, so this much was effortless. 

Soon, Azrael lifted his heavy eyelids. A strange ceiling came into view. 

He tried to sit up, but his body felt as heavy as soaked cotton. Even lifting his head was a struggle. The next thing he felt was a terrible headache. Pain throbbed both inside and outside his skull. 

Azrael slowly pieced together what had happened to him. April 1st—he had been on a dawn patrol as part of his duties with the Knight Order. It had started raining, and then… 

‘I was attacked during patrol. I’ll have to write a report when I return.’ 

He didn’t know who the perpetrator was, but they were likely an amateur. He instinctively formed a hypothesis about the assailant. The reasoning was simple: Azrael wasn’t dead. Judging by the lack of a proper check on his life status, the attack was likely impulsive.