At the edge of the sheer cliff, even the smallest shift of one’s foot felt like walking among the clouds.
Frey’s steps seemed to be testing the boundary of death itself as he stood at the precipice.
Looking down, the jagged rock walls resembled the carved body of a giant, scarred only by sparse patches of plants. Far below, glimpses of the valley floor flickered through the mist, entirely consumed by a raging torrent.
A fall here meant certain death—flesh and bone shattered to pulp.
Even if one carried a spell of resurrection, the wounds and immobility would kill them quickly.
Just so.
The detective stood gazing into the abyss, silent, as if studying something unseen—or perhaps as though he no longer knew what step to take next.
But to those behind him, one truth was obvious: there was nothing on this cliff worth studying!
Everything here screamed of cruelty toward the challengers.
Even though Frey had already, back in the library, gathered everyone’s professions in near-private fashion—each written on slips of paper—no usable clue had emerged.The traitors’ disguises were flawless.
If no breakthrough came, they would have to wait until nightfall, when the traitors made their first bloody move in pursuit of their objectives. Only then, perhaps, could a trail be seized upon to advance the investigation.
But in such passivity, if the Detective were killed the very first night, everything would collapse.
And even if he lived, someone was almost certain to die tonight.
Fear seeped into every heart. At last, no one clung to false hope—this Shadow World would indeed be five days and nights of torment.
Two long minutes passed.
The challengers stared at the detective. Why did he still stand at the cliff’s edge?
Could he really be an idiot? Had he no ideas at all?
“Detective sir… what should we do next?”
Finally, the young heir of the Canberra Kingdom’s merchant guild could not hold his tongue.
Truthfully, many had been unsettled by Frey’s earlier behavior—his insistence on efficiency, sweeping through the castle at speed, skipping over countless places that might have contained clues.
At the question, Frey lingered a little longer at the precipice.
Then, as though confirming some suspicion, he turned and asked the group:
“Earlier, you each told me your profession, right? Anyone want to change their answer?”
His words tightened every chest.
Professions, after all, belonged only to non-traitors; they were granted as small tools of resistance.
In the eleven slips collected, two had to be lies, for traitors possessed no identity or ability bestowed by the Shadow World.
But what was Frey planning?
Yes, identities mattered—but their benefits and drawbacks were mixed, riddled with interference. By the world’s own rules, it was impossible to spot contradictions on the very first day!
And yet, from his tone, it sounded as though he already had the answer.
Everyone quickly shook their heads—no, no changes.
Frey removed his coat, tied it at his waist, shouldered his pack.
“The vampires,” he said coldly, “kept human rebellions in check with an iron grip. As the lawyer mentioned, everyone had to register their identity upon entering the city. Which means—before this Shadow World began, each of your professions was recorded in the city’s archives.”
He sneered.
“So here’s what I’ll do. I’ll climb down this cliff, cross the chasm, reach the city, and check your professions against the records. The liars will be revealed.”
The greatest detectives, after all, often used the simplest methods.
With his strength, agility, and climbing skills, he looked anything but joking.
He would scale the cliff, traverse the valley, and bring back the truth.
“???”
That was Huperion.
“???”
That was the rest of the challengers.
“???”
That was the students watching live on the giant screen at Gera Memorial Square.
“What the—Frey!”
“Is muscle-powered detective actually the meta?”
The crowd of students burst into uproar.
Now they finally understood why both Lan Qi and Frey had such unorthodox minds, yet the Shadow World had deemed Frey the one most likely to unmask the traitors!
Because his success rate was nearly 100%—all it required was the time to climb down and back up.
On the screen, the cliffside wind tore at his clothes, as if to carry him away.
“Give me two days,” Frey declared firmly. “I’ll return with the answer.”
Just before turning to scale the cliff, he spoke to Lan Qi and Huperion.
“Mm. Go on, don’t worry.”
Lan Qi met Frey’s gaze, his lips twitching almost imperceptibly.
Their eyes locked, like two still lakes reflecting one another’s trust.
Then, without hesitation, Frey swung over the edge, vanishing into stone, thorns, wind, and fog.
“……”
The challengers stood stunned, words stuck in their throats.
“Truly worthy of the title, Detective sir! Amazing!”
At last, the merchant’s young master broke into praise, almost giddy, as if they’d found their savior.
The others gradually exhaled in relief.
Yes, this detective was strange.
But from this moment, the nature of the deadly game had shifted.
It was no longer the challengers who had to fear.
It was the traitors who now sweated in panic.
In two days, the Detective would return with their identities exposed.
And they could not kill him—he had disappeared from the map itself.
For the remaining eleven, suspicion no longer mattered.
If anyone tried to flee, if anyone stirred murderous thoughts, if anyone acted strangely at night—then they must be traitors.
The death countdown had fallen squarely upon them!
Forced into mental pressure, the traitors would have no choice but to act aggressively, risk everything to complete their objectives before Frey returned. Otherwise, they were finished.
And meanwhile—
In the outside world, at Gera Memorial Square of Iclethe Academy—
Every spectator already knew what the traitors themselves had yet to realize.
The truly terrifying thing was this:
For the next two days and nights, they would have to live under the same roof as Headmaster Lan Qi, in peace and harmony.