Monster Evolution System: I became a Rat-Chapter 78: First time?

Night had fallen upon the land of Caesar. Deep in the midnight hours, Rosacer was jolted awake, his eyes snapping open.

Kirata was moving out of the tent, seemingly in the process of sealing it shut.

Rosacer carefully stepped back, hiding himself from sight, his gaze fixed firmly on Kirata.

Unbeknownst to presence of Rosacer, Kirata remained focused on closing the tent. He placed several artifacts and strange effigies at the entrance and scattered a few around it. Only after that did he glance sideways. When he appeared satisfied, he left, a suitcase clutched in his hand. The night sea breeze lifted the tent slightly, and Rosacer caught a glimpse of someone still inside.

That person looked directly into his eyes.

Rosacer shuddered. His intuition screamed at him as he quickly dashed back. But before he could get any farther, a hand seized him and violently yanked him into a darkened alley.

With a loud thud, he was slammed against the wall.

His back broke, and with it, his ability to walk.

Lying on the ground, he turned frantically. His attempted escape had been cut short, and for a moment, confusion clouded his senses. He had been unable to perceive who had attacked him until a familiar voice reached his ears.

"Dear customer, what might be the reason for such a nightly visit?"

Kirata stood still at the entrance of the alleyway, his face concealed by darkness. Rosacer could only guess the expression the merchant wore.

"Who are you?" Rosacer cried out, his voice filled with fear and hesitation.

Instead of replying, Kirata tapped his suitcase. The sound resonated through the narrow alley.

"Why do you care, mister?" he said at last after a long pause, his voice trembling with something buried deep within.

He continued, not allowing Rosacer to speak.

"Why are you following me?"

This time, a clear threat lay hidden in the question. The killing intent was unmistakable, carried through the deep growl of his voice and the force behind every word.

Rosacer was not foolish enough to lie now. He could feel it. The man before him was trained, at least for decades. Something about him felt familiar, reminiscent of head hunters and that he was a predator.

Nodding his head slowly, he signaled his surrender. In a low, squeaking voice, weakened by the numbness creeping up his legs, he spoke.

"I am a traveler, a poor one at that. I came across your shop wanting to buy something, perhaps a hidden item that could help on the adventurer’s path I wish to walk from now on. But during my first visit, I felt a strange disturbance, something I could not fathom. I grew curious, so I followed you."

Shrouded in darkness, Kirata’s face remained hidden. Rosacer could not see his expression.

His eyes strained to stay open. Suddenly, the silhouette before him turned away and began to walk off slowly.

Rosacer let out a heavy sigh. Just as his breath escaped, a narrow blade appeared from nowhere and struck his jugular. He heard it crunch, followed by the repeated sawing motion as his head was severed.

"So, he indeed was a head hunter..." Rosacer thought as his consciousness slowly slipped away.

Kirata calmly shoved the severed head into his bag, then lifted the body and placed it into another, larger one. He crouched down and began cleaning the blood from the floor. His eyes flickered toward the wall Rosacer had been slammed against earlier. A crack ran through it.

He clicked his tongue in frustration and continued cleaning with care, removing every trace of blood and evidence.

When he finished, he vanished from the alleyway.

Walking back to his tent with two bags was far too suspicious, and roaming the streets risked running into the night patrol. With no better option, he objectively decided to take the risk and return to the tent.

It was the closest and safest choice. Fortunately, his luck did not run out. He encountered no one except a few homeless figures sleeping along the way. He checked several of them, ensuring they were truly asleep and not pretending. After careful observation, he moved on and returned to his tent.

He whispered as he entered the tent, "It was nobody. I’ve taken care of him."

A voice in the darkness, hoarse and grim, replied, "Good."

"I’ll have to deal with the body. Some of the neighbors have started to grow suspicious of me." There was a pause. Then Kirata sighed. "We have to move."

Kirata slipped toward the back. A single lantern lit the rear of the tent. He shoved the body bag into a crate. The bag containing the head went into a mechanical grinder, and he flipped the switch.

The machine started with a hiss and a clanking grind. Smoke rose as the noise echoed through the night, but he didn’t care. By the time anyone came to investigate, the head would be reduced to paste, human or animal, no one would be able to tell.

The pulp oozed out the other side, dark and wet, strands of hair still tangled inside. Bits of teeth and hair gave it the look of a crude, amateur attempt.

Kirata exhaled in grief at the sight.

For him, a precious trophy lost, but keeping it would have meant getting caught.

Footsteps approached the tent. He quickly covered the container of ground flesh and hurried to the front.

The flap was pulled open as a man stepped inside, another following behind. Both wore black uniforms with white cuffs and long sleeves.

At the sight of them, Kirata’s pupils returned to normal. He rubbed his hands as he stepped forward.

"How may I help you, officers?"

The two exchanged a glance before looking back at him.

"We heard the grinder. Everything all right?"

Kirata adjusted his clothes. "Yes, officer. I was getting a bit hungry and decided to grind some meat. I hope that’s not a problem." He lowered his voice politely.

One of them waved a hand. "That’s fine. Just don’t disturb the neighbors with that machine."

They turned and left.

Kirata watched them go from behind the counter. "Will do, officer," he said with a smirk.

He switched off the lantern at the front and returned to the back. As the light hit his eyes, his head swam.

"Damn it, they were here because of the machine," he muttered.

From the darkness, the voice replied softly, "The head is gone."

"What do you mean?" Kirata snapped.

"It turned into black ash and was carried away by the sea breeze."

"An immortal?" Kirata whispered.

"Seems so."

Kirata rushed to the crate and pried it open. The bag was still there, but it was empty. The body was gone.

"Where?" he shouted.

The voice did not answer.

After a moment, Kirata steadied himself. "What kind?"

"Flowers."

He repeated it under his breath. "Flowers... a flowerman."

"So what do we do now?" the voice asked.

"What else?" Kirata replied. "We run."

Out at sea, waves and wind churned as the sun crept above the horizon. Cold ocean air pushed inland while warm air rose from the city.

Within the breeze, blackened ash drifted, moving with strange intent, as if guided by a will.

It reached the western wall where the city met the wilderness. When it settled on the ground, the ash began to sprout. Dark flowers bloomed without sunlight, growing quickly, then withering. From their remains, a hand pushed upward. Then another. Then a head.

"Damn it. I died again," Rosacer muttered as he slowly pulled himself free.

His body felt numb, unresponsive, but strength returned bit by bit. At last he stood and turned toward the rising sun. Light spilled across the city, washing it in gold. The great library coiled through the skyline like a serpent, its vast windows glinting like shifting scales.

Rosacer straightened and turned toward the police station.

Being resurrected was always a little painful. For Rosacer, this was his first time since leaving the Mist City, so it wasn’t too bad, yet. Still, he knew it would get worse if he kept dying.

For now, he decided not to bring Arcis out. She would only create chaos. That might have been acceptable in the Mist City, but in Vermis he didn’t want to unleash destruction of any kind.

So Arcis would stay hidden.

Instead, he would do something simple and almost absurdly ordinary: file a report, like any citizen, against the one who killed him.

He asked for directions as he walked, following the winding streets until he reached his destination.

The police station loomed before him.

It was massive, even by Vermis standards. Wide, blocky, and built with thick stone pillars, it had only a few narrow windows for ventilation. The structure looked less like a civic building and more like a bunker planted stubbornly above ground.

For a moment, Rosacer wondered if he was in the wrong place.

He turned to someone exiting the building, a man in a black uniform with white cuffs.

"This is the police station, right?"

The officer nodded. "Yes. This is the Vermis Police Station."