Fantasy Writers 1860

"Me?" Dorian looked up, his face blank.

The detective must have come here specifically because of a case related to the Book of Illusions. Even if he needs the assistance of the Academy of Arts and Sciences, why did he call on me, a clerical worker?

Although Lily had previously mentioned that many clerical staff members find after participating in field operations that what they truly like or are suited for is not clerical work.

After the last incident, Dorian felt that he was not in that situation.

It's still a bit too exciting and too dangerous.

The power of the Illusionary Book is unpredictable. Last time when it faced Blackwood, even a seasoned veteran like Lily almost lost. If it weren't for the support of materialism, I would probably be cremated by now.

I didn't feel anything when I was at the scene that day, and even went to work for half a day as if nothing had happened after I got back. It wasn't until I went to bed at night that I belatedly realized that I had almost died and had really been on the verge of death.

That night, the more he thought about it, the more terrified he became. The gruesome image of Blackwood, riddled with thorns, kept replaying in his mind; the realistic texture of the flesh was completely different from anything he'd seen in games or horror movies. The thought that it had almost been his end, and the fact that he had essentially killed someone…

This kept Dorian awake all night.

He didn't want to experience that feeling again.

People should listen to the call of their hearts more often.

Besides, I've been working here for a while now, and I've never seen the director personally handle this case. What kind of case is this? Is it something someone of my level can get involved in?

"Um, Dean, could I...?"

"No." Dislife's tone left no room for doubt. "Relax, it's just a site inspection, there's no danger. My gut feeling..." She seemed to want to say something, but then stopped herself.

Inspector Lesder raised an eyebrow, somewhat surprised by Deslie's decision.

He looked Dorian up and down. The young man in front of him looked refined and had the clear air of a college student. He didn't seem like a reliable investigator at all.

However, since Dean Dislife had personally named him, he naturally wouldn't say anything more.

Maybe they're an expert in some kind of subhuman field?

Seeing this, Dorian picked up a notebook and a pen from the table and followed Disriffie and Reid outside.

The sunlight outside was a bit dazzling. A slightly luxurious black four-wheeled carriage was parked outside the door. It was painted with a layer of clear varnish and covered with a layer of dark green waterproof canvas. Exquisite brass tassels hung from the four corners of the carriage, and a conspicuous brass police badge was hanging on the door.

This must be Inspector Rasde's car.

Upon seeing them emerge, the coachman immediately and respectfully opened the carriage door and lowered the footrest. Disri lifted her skirt, bent down, and got in, followed closely by Inspector Red, while Dorian awkwardly climbed in as well.

The interior of the carriage was more spacious than Dorian had imagined. The seats facing each other were covered with soft velvet cushions, and there were several dark brown leather pockets hanging on the inner walls on both sides.

Disrife remained silent, closing her eyes to rest, seemingly deep in thought. Inspector Red took a pair of glasses from a wall-mounted pocket, put them on, and began flipping through the files he had brought.

Only the idle Dorian lifted the small black curtain by the window and looked through the glass at the street scene rushing by outside.

Rows of densely packed Victorian buildings lined both sides of the street, their tall, pointed gables pointing towards the hazy sky. Various horse-drawn carriages shuttled back and forth, and the clean and tidy road was bustling with gentlemen hurrying along; ladies carrying all sorts of parasols; even the little girl selling flowers on the street was dressed in a simple and clean long dress.

The carriage bumped and jolted its way toward the Mayfair Theatre.

Before the car door was even opened, Dorian could already smell a pungent, acrid smell of burning coals mixed with a smoky, burnt smell similar to that of burning grease.

The carriage slowly came to a stop, and the driver jumped off and deftly lowered the foot pedal.

Several columns at the entrance of the Mayfair Theatre were blown off, the facade was blackened by smoke and covered with spiderweb-like cracks, and all the windows were dark and empty, like a bare-bones house with a newly built structure.

Through the empty doorway, several firefighters in uniform could be seen working inside, extinguishing scattered fires. Outside the cordon, a large crowd of onlookers huddled together, peering inside.

"Detective Inspector Red, was this bombing really the work of extremist demi-humans?"

"Detective Inspector Red, do you think that such a serious incident at this time will affect the environmental bill that is currently being debated in Parliament?"

Was this incident truly an accident?

As soon as Inspector Raed got out of the car, the crowd of onlookers immediately parted, and a large group of reporters surrounded him.

He didn't answer any questions, but simply straightened his collar, which had been disheveled by the crowd, and led Dislife and Dorian into the ruins, escorted by police officers maintaining order.

Inside were chairs burned to their frames, twisted and deformed stage equipment, and ashes scattered on the ground, charred beyond recognition.

"Any preliminary conclusions yet?" Disrife's voice sounded somewhat ethereal in the now empty theater filled with flames and explosions.

"From what we can see, it was indeed an accident." Reid's expression was somewhat grave. "The gas pipeline system had been in disrepair for years, and magic crystal dust leaked inside. Then the boiler overpressured and exploded, and the resulting flames ignited the magic crystal dust that filled the entire space, causing a chain of explosions."

"A preliminary inspection of the pipe debris did reveal signs of aging and corrosion. The theater manager also admitted that they had not conducted a full overhaul of the gas pipeline system for five years... This appears to be an accident caused by improper facility maintenance."

"We have also questioned Miles Vaughn, the theater's boiler operator, and he admitted that he did not regularly check the boilers according to the management system, and that the inspection records were all made up by him."

Inspector Leeds led the group past several officers who were still investigating the scene, and straight to the edge of a central pit.

The crater didn't look very big, but looking down you could see the broken floorboards of the floor below, and looking up you could see a patch of gray sky—clearly, the force of the explosion had penetrated directly upwards through the roof.

"This is the theater's steam boiler room, which was also the epicenter of the explosion," Inspector Reid pointed to the crater below. "This area used to be the main stage of the grand theater, but it's all been blown up now."

Dorian looked around and found an even larger crater behind him, with some strangely shaped remnants of chairs along the edges, which looked like the original steel frame had melted and then solidified again.

The pit was larger, and the surrounding ground had sunk deeper, but it didn't penetrate the roof; it only penetrated to the second floor slab.

If the stage is in front, this should be the audience seating area... but why is the audience seating area here...?

"I have a small question," Dislife asked, directly voicing Dorian's doubts. "Since the boiler room under the stage was the epicenter of the explosion, why does the audience area appear to be more severely damaged? Shouldn't the epicenter be the most damaged area normally?"

Inspector Reid walked over to the audience and picked up a lump of solidified iron from the ground. "We consulted some experts in magical technology, and they said there were two explosions. First, the boiler exploded, then ignited the magic crystal dust that filled the space, causing a second explosion, which was more powerful."

"If that's the case, the theater is an enclosed space, and the stage is also in this space, right? The stage also experienced two explosions, so how can there be such a big difference?" Dorian asked.

Inspector Reid tossed aside the solidified iron block in his hand and wiped his hands on his overcoat: "So I suspect there's another bomb under the stands, planted by the Demi-human Liberation Organization, or someone else."

"This was not an accident, but a premeditated murder." Inspector Reid's eyes suddenly sharpened. "Come down with me."

Deslie and Dorian followed Inspector Lesder to the bottom of the pit in the stands.

Some pipes remain in the underground corridors, some of which have been broken into neat but irregularly sized square openings.

It's likely that the high-pressure gas ruptured the pipe, leaving an opening from which the magic crystal dust leaked.

"No body was found. According to the theater's statement, no one was here that day, except for the boiler room workers who came down to inspect it the morning before," Inspector Reid said slowly.

"This means that if there really was a bomb, it wouldn't have been manually controlled here; it must have been detonated remotely using some method. I know such magic exists, but here..."

Inspector Lesder paused slightly, then raised his arm and waved it around twice: "But right now this place is full of magic crystal dust, and the flow of magic is chaotic. Normal traces of magic can't be found in the short term—and maybe never will be."

"So I'd like to inquire whether there are any magical books that can achieve a similar effect of remote control? If so, could you trace whether there are any traces of magical books being used here?" Inspector Reid looked at Deslie.

That was the real purpose of his trip.

Instead of answering Inspector Lesder's question immediately, Deslie curiously tiptoed and looked left and right, examining the blackened and deformed pipes on the remaining wall.

A moment later, she picked up the hem of her skirt, ran to her seat in the audience, and looked up at the empty space above.

"Detective, I'd like to ask, if there really were two explosions, did anyone at the scene hear both explosions?" Disrifee ran off on her own, while Dorian stayed by Detective Lesder's side, accompanying him as he walked around.

"No." Inspector Leeds shook his head. "We've already questioned those who were nearby and are unharmed. They all said they only heard one loud bang, and there was no second explosion."

"Putting aside the bomb, didn't the experts say there were two explosions?"

"Experts say the two explosions occurred almost simultaneously. The instant the boiler exploded was enough to ignite the magic crystal dust filling the space, triggering a secondary explosion. The two explosions had almost no time interval, so the sounds merged and were indistinguishable."

Dorian nodded. "In that case, assuming your theory is correct, and there's a bomb under the stands, then there's a question: what happened to the sound of it exploding? Why didn't anyone hear it?"

"It's possible that the people we're currently questioning are too far away to hear it. We'll have to wait until those who were sitting inside at the time wake up before we can ask them. Another possibility is that the explosion under the audience was smaller and was masked by the loud noise of the boiler explosion."

"That raises another question: how was the timing so perfect? ​​Even if the bomb was detonated remotely using magic, at least one person would need to be nearby to observe and time it precisely so that the explosion is silenced by a larger blast the moment the boiler explodes..."

Inspector Reid frowned slightly, both wondering how this young man could be so argumentative and agreeing that what he said was a reasonable speculation.

Maybe this guy has a talent for being a detective.

"What is that?" Dorian suddenly felt as if he had stepped on something strange.

He lifted his foot and discovered that beneath the ashes he had stepped on, something was shimmering with light.

Kicking away the ash and charred debris covering the reflective spot, Dorian discovered it was a small, round dial with a small piece of glass stuck to it. The hands were gone, and the abbreviation for the concentration of magic crystal gas could be faintly seen on the bottom.

"A dial on the pipe? I thought it was something else." After saying that, Dorian casually put the small piece of debris into his pocket.

It was at this moment that Dislife finally returned, shaking her head solemnly: "Unfortunately, I did not sense any trace of the Phantom Book appearing."

"The power of the Phantom Book is fundamentally different from magic; they are completely unrelated systems. Therefore, the chaotic magical environment here cannot disturb the traces of the Phantom Book. However, I still haven't sensed any trace of the Phantom Book's presence. At least not in the last week," Dislife further explained.

In the last week? In other words, the traces of power left by using the Illusion Book usually last for a week?

"No trace of the phantom book?" Detective Reed sighed. "Alright, I understand. Thank you for your cooperation. We'll see what happens after the technical team's detailed report. If, in the end, there's still no substantial evidence, then we'll have to close the case as a security incident..."

Dorian looked at the large and small square gaps on the twisted and deformed pipe remnants, and suddenly remembered something. He turned to Inspector Reid and said, "If it really was a safety accident caused by years of disrepair, it certainly wouldn't have suddenly exploded like this without any warning. There must have been some inconspicuous accidents before."

"...There have been at least 29 minor accidents and 300 safety hazards that did not result in injuries before this serious accident. If nothing had happened before and then it suddenly exploded like this, then it would be somewhat suspicious."

Inspector Leeds paused for a moment upon hearing this, and instead of replying immediately, he began to ponder.

Yes, there are always signs before anything happens, but people often don't notice them.

As a detective, his job in solving cases is to pay attention to the subtle clues that ordinary people might miss.

He recalled the cases he had handled before and realized that the young man was right, but he had never expressed this feeling in such clear language before.

"This is also a direction for investigation. I'll arrange for someone to investigate the theater's technical staff and previous maintenance records."

At this point, a pointless and strange thought popped into Reid's mind:

Why was that young man so certain that he had been in at least 29 minor accidents before? If it was just a casual remark to express that idea, a normal person wouldn't casually say such a precise number...

Inspector Lesder then led Dorian and Disliffe to the second and third floors, chatting about other things along the way.

However, aside from gaining a deeper understanding of the power of the explosion, no other valuable clues were found regarding the case itself.

Further details will depend on the results of the technical department's analysis of the on-site magic situation.

After a day of inexplicably busy work, Dorian returned to his newly rented apartment and was surprised to find an envelope lying in the mailbox by the door.

I've only been here a short time, so why is someone writing to me?

Dorian took out the envelope and found it was from Editor-in-Chief Clancy.

I did write him a letter when I first moved in, telling him my new address. I didn't expect to receive a reply so quickly; local emails are quite efficient.

He took out the envelope, pulled out his key to open the door to his new home, and sat down in the living room on the left, ready to read the first letter he had received since moving into his new house.

There's really nothing to see; it's just a bunch of congratulatory messages and the like.

Dorian casually unfolded the letter in his hand, only to find that the contents were not what he had imagined:

"...I have enclosed the Morning Star, the leading newspaper in this public opinion incident. If you need to publish an article to clarify and refute it, you can also mail it to me. Our newspaper has enough space and will publish it as soon as possible."

"Your friend Clancy."