On the main street of Hawthorn Village, called High Street, and across from the market square, stood the old library.
Inside, Sikakama sat at one of the wooden tables, flipping through a thick, dark-brown leather-bound book.
Each page displayed the crests and seals of noble families in the kingdom of Solarae—intricate drawings of mythical beasts, birds, crowns, and ancient symbols, all rendered with exquisite detail.
Then… her eyes suddenly stopped on a page bearing a familiar emblem.
It was a crest depicting:
"A black heron standing on one leg, its long neck curved downward above a circle surrounded by three small stars."
Sikakama pulled the silver dagger from her pocket and held it up to the page, comparing the engraved symbol on its ornate hilt to the one before her. It matched perfectly.
"This is the same crest…" she whispered, leaning closer.
She had spent hours poring over books containing information about the kingdom's nobles and aristocratic families. Her goal was to find which manufactories bore the crest engraved on the silver dagger. With so many noble families in the kingdom, each with their own distinct emblem, and having no prior knowledge of this wealthy social class, her search had been exhausting. Yet, her deduction—that this elite class marked their belongings with their family crest—had proven entirely correct.
Her fingers brushed lightly over the illustration as if she could feel the texture.
Beneath the crest, a refined script read:
Sikakama stared at the words.
A noble family…
The Vinterroths.
'So the dagger belongs to the Vinterroth family,' she thought, her eyes narrowing.
She turned the next page and began to read:
"House Vinterroth is one of the oldest, wealthiest, and most powerful aristocratic families in the kingdom.
Their lineage traces back to their first ancestor, Lord Valdegar Vinterroth, who built the family's first fortune through silver trade and private manufactories. Yet their rise to power had begun long before industry and land ownership…
Legend tells that Valdegar, an amateur metals prospector, discovered a massive ancient hoard in his youth. The treasure dated back to the Iron Age.
'Iron Age?' Sikakama thought. 'According to the books, this was the period when people first learned to smelt and shape iron to produce sturdy agricultural tools and lethal weapons. Could he really have found a treasure of such value from that era?'
'And this treasure has never been mentioned in any historical record studied at the Knights' Academy. I suppose the lives of the nobility were never a priority for them.'
Sikakama continued reading.
"It contained immense amounts of gold and silver, including coins depicting birds and herons—the very imagery that inspired the family crest.
The find became known as 'The Vinterroth Hoard,' and it shook the kingdom for years. This discovery laid the foundation for the family's empire.
Valdegar invested the treasure wisely:
Establishing the first silver manufactories
Building the grand workshop in Pendralice, which later expanded to include:
Specialized silver refineries
Production lines for royal military-grade silver weapons
Acquiring vast lands
Their estates soon stretched across the entire Eastern Quarter, where they constructed:
Housing districts for workers
Deep, fortified storage vaults
Private transport channels
Over the centuries, these lands became inseparable from the Vinterroth name.
As the family's influence grew, Valdegar received his first noble title:
'Marquess of Eastern Pendralice.'
Later, as their manufactories dominated eastern trade, his heir was granted a higher rank:
'Duke of Vinterroth.'
The title has remained hereditary ever since."
Another line on the page read:
"All blades crafted in the Vinterroth silver manufactories bear this crest on the hilt."
Sikakama lifted the dagger…
The engraved crest shimmered with the exact precision shown in the book.
"If this dagger truly belongs to the Vinterroth family, and if Milo's roommate was telling the truth, then the noble who killed Milo might be from the Vinterroth family. Otherwise, how else would a silver dagger like this reach Milo?"
The trail was clear now.
There was nothing more she needed to uncover.
Sikakama now knew exactly where she must go…
and which door she must knock on next.
—
Warm steam rose from the plates of food placed on the long table, and Corin had already begun eating when he lifted his gaze from his plate toward Sikakama, who was watching the wall clock. Its hands seemed to move in perfect harmony, ticking softly with each passing moment, now a little past eight o'clock. "Is something the matter?" he asked.
Sikakama quickly averted her eyes from the clock, realizing that Corin had noticed her distraction, and she continued eating with deliberate nonchalance, replying coolly, "No."
After they had finished their dinner, and once exactly two hours had passed, Sikakama descended the stairs with a lamp in her hand, as was her routine, checking the rooms and extinguishing the remaining lamps. She made her way toward the servants' quarters on the lower floor, while Sir Corin had already retired to his bedroom.
Once she closed her own door and approached the window, she used a piece of paper, wedging it between the frame and the glass, keeping the window slightly open while making it appear closed. With this simple trick, she would be able to return and enter again without difficulty.
Grasping the windowsill, she leapt onto the nearby tree and quietly landed on the ground, her hands brushing the earth before she ran swiftly away from the house.
She boarded the last train passing through Billiham at eleven o'clock, heading toward Pendralice.
___
In the Velvet Swan Tavern, located on Willow Lane in the Eastern side of Dawn Square, Sikakama entered and seated herself at one of the tables in a quiet corner at the back.
The space was modest yet cozy, dimly lit, with wooden beams stretching across the ceiling. Soon, she caught a mix of scents—ale, smoke, and roasted meat.
Her eyes scanned the room. Faces of the patrons at the tables, their lips moving constantly with whispers and chatter, dressed in men's suits and women's dresses with carefully applied makeup. Even the curve of her nose caught the dim light as she observed them.
Her eyes scanned the dim tavern; she was searching for the man she had come for.
Her mind drifted back to the conversation she'd had with the gangster—the notes and information he had gathered about the noble family.
She needed a source of information within these streets, and the gangster was the perfect choice. With his wide network of connections, he formed a true compass in the middle of these alleys; the locals refused to deal with any outsider—especially if they suspected someone was connected to the government or the police—to avoid trouble. His presence among them, and his understanding of the rules of this place, made him an indispensable intermediary.
But his usefulness did not end there — he could monitor many people through his men, gather information on them, and even photograph them, something Sikakama could never do alone; she simply couldn't be everywhere at once.
Three photographs lay spread across the wooden table.
"Here's what we gathered," the gangster said.
Sikakama leaned closer, studying the images.
Three grown men, each captured in a different scene.
The gangster tapped the first photo with his finger.
"Their father, Vinterroth, died leaving behind three sons.
The eldest—Victor Vinterroth."
Sikakama shifted her gaze to Victor's picture.
He had sharp aristocratic features and neatly kept hair.
The longer she looked, the more the image seemed to come alive—
as if the moment captured had started moving again.
His photo, taken by one of the gangster's men assigned to watch him,
showed him leaving a formal gathering in broad daylight—his posture stiff,
his attire refined, surrounded by people of high status.
Unmistakably noble.
"A man like him rarely steps outside without guards,"
the gangster added.
"After inheriting part of his family's wealth,
he focused on running their factories and lands
in the Northeastern and Eastern regions.
Strong connections to influential figures and wealthy families.
But he also owns a secret property—oddly close to the eastern district.
Maybe he bought it as an investment.
Cheap land, no one wants to live there…
the usual trick: buy low, sell high later."
He slid his finger to the second picture, and Sikakama's eyes followed.
"The youngest—Lucen Vinterroth."
Lucen looked the leanest of the three, long hair falling over piercing eyes.
His picture showed him inside a gambling hall,
seated among his companions with a confident tilt of the head.
The gangster muttered darkly,
"He's the worst of them.
Shady deals, money laundering, illegal trade…
runs a hidden crime network.
And he was seen near the scene of the incident
around midnight."
Then he placed his finger on the last photograph.
Sikakama's glassy eyes settled on it instantly.
"And the middle one… Idrian Vinterroth."
The moment she looked at the image,
she noticed how much his build resembled the figure she had seen
near Milo's murder scene.
Not as tall and imposing as Victor,
not as slim as Lucen—a balanced, average frame.
Despite his softer features and lighter complexion.
His picture showed him stepping into a night tavern—a place Sikakama found entirely unfitting for a nobleman.
Which only strengthened her suspicion.
The gangster lowered his voice,
his gaze lingering on Idrian's photograph.
"After some digging, it turned out he was near the area on the night of the murder.
He was spotted walking down Brambleford Alley and entering a tavern.
Not one of the fancy noble-exclusive lounges.
Just a regular night tavern that recently got popular.
If I were a noble,
I'd choose a place where people of my kind go…
not somewhere like that."
'Brambleford Alley? It isn't far from the street where the crime took place,' Sikakama thought.
He added quietly,
"One of them is the noble you're looking for."
Sikakama picked up Idrian's photo, her eyes narrowing with doubt.
Her voice came out low and tense:
"Why would a noble visit a place like that?"
A smirk tugged at the corner of the gangster's mouth.
"Nobles' feet rarely tread these tainted places…
except in two cases:
shady business…
or secret relationships."