Chapter 23: Following up Clues with Agatha

Chapter 23: Following up Clues with Agatha The car was trying to keep the following discreet, but Damian wasn’t stupid. Troy was the first name that came to mind. It was either him—or some high-ranking demon tailing him. But the odds leaned heavily toward Troy. Damian avoided staying in his apartment for the entire day. Knowing Troy had planted surveillance devices to listen in, his absence would definitely raise suspicion. For a moment, Damian considered confronting the tail—finding out if it truly was Troy, or someone else. And if it was Troy... figuring out why he was being followed. But it was too risky. "When I have enough strength," Damian thought, "I’ll confront him." Damian went straight to his apartment. He never thought he’d be happy to return to that tiny, crumbling place—but he was. After the sewer ordeal, simply having a bed felt like a blessing. He collapsed onto it without hesitation. Before falling asleep, he checked his phone. Samantha had messaged him—a simple good night. It was thoughtful. Damian replied, then let sleep take him. * The next morning brought anxiety. Not because of his cleaner job, but the lingering pain from the attack. The wounds had closed enough to stop bleeding, but faint marks remained. Only a few hours had passed since it happened. His high endurance stats weren’t miracle workers. He dug through his closet for a jacket—something to hide the evidence. Hopefully it would be enough. After a rushed meal, he called a driver and headed toward the Hunter building. Looking out the car window, his stomach turned. The black car from yesterday—it was still tailing him. "Why is Troy strengthening the pursuit?" he thought. Things had shifted. If it was Troy, he was no longer keeping his distance. The chase had become relentless. The moment Damian arrived at the Hunter building, the black car vanished. Outside, he spotted Agatha lounging against her vehicle. He walked up to her. "I thought you were supposed to be my driver," he said. "Like, pick me up at my apartment and all." Agatha raised an eyebrow, eyes brimming with mockery. "I’ll drive you where we need to go. I’m not your personal chauffeur." Friendly territory? Not a chance. "And where are we going?" Damian asked. His gaze flicked to the empty building behind her. "Also, why does this place feel deserted?" "Everyone’s out hunting whoever’s behind the massacre," Agatha replied. "A bunch of elite hunters slaughtered at once? That’s no small thing. We’re investigating too." "We are?" Damian asked. "What clue are we chasing?" Last time, Nataly said that Damian wouldn’t be helping much—but apparently, things had changed. "You realized something was off with that supposed dead camper," Agatha said. "So our task is to find out more about him." The body of the killed camper had vanished. Damian didn’t believe demons had eaten it—that didn’t make sense. Now he was investigating the mystery with Agatha. He entered the car, quietly excited. For the first time, he wasn’t just cleaning up corpses—he was doing something different. Something that actually felt like real work. A change of scenery. A change of role. "So what are we looking for first?" Damian asked, adjusting his seat. Agatha already had a plan. "Someone found the camper’s body in the woods and called for the hunters. I’ve got their contact—we’re heading there now." Damian’s excitement seemed to slow down time. He couldn’t wait to reach the place where that person was—to find out more about the camper. They drove through the city, heading to a different district. The man lived in a tall apartment building with many floors. People couldn’t just barge in—someone at the front gate stopped them. "Who are you?" Agatha held out a paper. "We’re here to speak with Mr. Vince. He recently reported a demon-related crime, and we need to follow up." They got access easily. Hunters held a lot of authority these days. The man in charge of building access guided them to Vince’s apartment. When they got there, no one answered. Not a good sign. "Let me get a copy of his key," the gatekeeper offered. Agatha glanced at him. "No need." She kicked the door, breaking it open with ease. Her strength made it look effortless. The first thing they saw was Vince’s body in the living room. He was lying on the couch—covered in blood. The gatekeeper couldn’t stomach the sight. He threw up. "I’ll call the cops," he said before rushing out. At first glance, the murder looked like a human crime—something ordinary. That made it a job for the police. But Agatha didn’t buy it. "This is too much of a coincidence," she muttered. "The man who saw the camper’s body turns up dead the very next day?" You didn’t need to be a detective to know how strange that was. Damian and Agatha stepped deeper into the apartment, inspecting the scene. Vince looked like he’d been stabbed—blunt and brutal. Not the kind of attack demons were known for. Agatha scanned the room for any lingering mana. Nothing. Damian held back—he didn’t want to use his demon eye. "It may look like a normal killing. No mana. No signs. But that’s not it," Agatha said, her voice low and certain. "If a demon wanted to cover its tracks, to make this look clean... it could. We’re not dealing with a stupid demon anymore." "High-ranking demons are involved in this," Damian said. "We have to assume they can blend in—or do things we’d never expect from a demon." "Exactly," Agatha replied. "But now we’re lost. Vince was the only one who saw the camper’s body..." And now, everything was gone. Every clue that could push the investigation forward—vanished. Eventually, the police arrived, along with other hunters hoping to help. But no one found anything. No trace. No witness. It was as if someone had slipped in, killed Vince, and vanished without a sound. Damian was let off early that day. No more crime scenes to clean—every hunter in the company was out searching for the demon responsible for the massacre. But when night fell, Damian returned to Vince’s apartment. He hadn’t used his Demon Eye before, but something gnawed at him. Maybe there were traces no one else could see. He climbed up to the balcony, avoiding attention. The apartment was quiet. Dark. Still stained with death.