Bailonz Street 13

Perhaps it was because his hands were trembling uncontrollably. With his heart pounding so loudly, it was impossible that Jane was dead.

Liam repeatedly tried to suppress the trembling in his hands, checking her neck and wrists, but nothing changed. He squeezed his eyes shut. The ringing in his ears was growing louder.

The shooter, seeing that Liam Moore, who should have been dead, was alive, let out a furious shout.

“No…”

Regardless, Liam could only hold Jane, his mouth opening and closing without sound. He didn’t know whether to be angry or despairing.

The woman was dead, without even a final scream, buried under the gunshot. She had given all her secrets to him and died, taking her dreadful memories with her.

All Liam Moore had was his apology. “I’m sorry,” was all he could say to her.

‘I knew it.’

He had known from the start that she had changed. He should have been honest from the beginning. He should have told her it didn’t matter who she was, that whether she was Jane or not, it made no difference to him. As long as she was there, he was satisfied.

The one who needed to apologise was him, not Jane Osmond.

Seeing his bewildered face, the woman laughed mockingly, pointing at his despair.

“You killed her! She died because she was with you, William Schofield Moore! You should never have kept her by your side. You know very well that we want to tear the bones of those damned Greenwich bastards to pieces!”

Liam murmured darkly, “Shut your mouth.”

The blood soaking his hands, its warmth, seemed to still signal Jane’s survival.

“Originally, I intended to slaughter you both in front of that child. I thought that would finally bring despair. But this method isn’t bad either…. Who would have thought we’d have the chance to trample the noble protector of Greenwich?”

Owen and Jane both lay still with their eyes closed. No, Owen was barely breathing, his face twisted in pain, a testament to his tenacity.

“Jane.”

He called her name once more, but there was no sign of Jane Osmond’s eyelids opening. Liam Moore gritted his teeth.

‘I have to take her to Greenwich.’

He couldn’t leave Jane here. He didn’t know what that woman, who called Jane their hope, would do.

The voices seemed to understand his intention, whispering disgustingly as they grabbed at his arms. Hugging Jane tightly to avoid dropping her, he finally fell to his knees.

Jane was changing in his arms. She showed no signs of death, neither growing cold nor stiffening. Her cheeks were fading, her hair dissolving into light.

A sense of déjà vu washed over him. He had seen this scene somewhere before. Not here. But Jane Osmond’s death felt astonishingly familiar. It felt like it wasn’t the first time.

Liam Moore mumbled softly, lifting his dazed eyes.

“But where?”

He was sure he had seen this before.

He had seen Jane Osmond like this before.

But his memory cruelly drifted away, giving him no answers. Liam Moore sought an answer, but the person who could tell him was melting away in his arms.

Thud.

The world shook. The world was crying out at Jane Osmond’s death.

Simultaneously, something was forcibly altering the world, the axis of the world. The rules were being rewritten, and the truth was being distorted.

It was both a prophecy and a self-evident fact. Something was shouting. A sentence was inscribed in the minds of everyone present.

Hear, all that live. This must continue.

A sensation of being pulled…

“William Moore!”

Owen Cassfire, barely opening his eyes, shouted with the last of his strength. Golden tendrils twined around his grasp, and strength began to fill him. Liam Moore instinctively poured all his strength into tearing his soul, engraving memories into its tattered place.

Jane Osmond’s death and what she had conveyed to him. So that no entity could dare wash it away.

＊ ＊ ＊

And the world was rewritten.

Only for Jane Osmond.

＊ ＊ ＊

A sharp ringing, a body swaying as if losing its footing.

Liam Moore, gasping for breath, knelt. He covered his mouth as nausea welled up, but his body ignored his will.

A dark, sticky mass tumbled out from his lips, followed by thin, red, almost non-viscous blood. The pain of feeling his organs twisting tormented him. The sensation of his insides melting was painful enough to make him wish for opium. He bent over, searching for a remedy he never sought in life.

Owen, seeing Liam collapse while clutching his chest, was startled.

“You used magic with that body?”

Liam whispered hoarsely, “I’m fine. It’s dead blood.”

“What do you mean fine? You vomited enough blood to fill a teapot! Either tell me what hurts or stop overdoing it….”

“Cassfire, shut your mouth….”

Should he block that mouth? The loud voice made his head ring, and the backlash from the shield made his bones ache. Liam genuinely cursed Owen’s open mouth, suppressing his retching. The metallic taste lingered in his throat but dissolved into his saliva.

After vomiting, a sense of familiarity wetted his fingers. He knew the feeling of blood flowing between his fingers. Not just from coughing blood this morning. It felt both recent and ancient, close yet distant.

“…What?”

“What?”

Owen turned from the barrier covering the cathedral site to look at him. Liam shrugged off the question.

But it was familiar.

“Have we been here before?”

Owen’s expression soured further. Hearing such a question after Liam had just vomited blood likely made him think, ‘This guy must be crazy.’

“This is the first time. Unless you visited here because of a case, this is the first time.”

“No… I’ve been here. My memory is accurate.”

“…Are you on drugs?”

Now he was being treated like a drug addict.

Sighing, he stood up. The dizziness and searing pain subsided. Owen was startled as he immediately summoned strength, but Liam Moore had to verify the cause of this strange feeling.

Magic flowed through his veins from the heart. Some shone brightly in place, while others sank to the bottom of a swamp, unnoticed unless stirred. Which was this? When would it reveal the ‘truth’?

Soon, Liam noticed a flaw within his body.

Like a spider searching for prey. Deduction is a hunt. Usually, it involves finding and pursuing prey entangled in one spot. Regardless of what lies at the end of the thread—a dreadful truth or a maze’s light.

A faint voice passed by.

‘I’m sorry.’

Liam Moore questioned as he rewound the thread.

‘For what?’

What had he forgotten? What sought to take this memory from him?

Then he discovered a large tear. An artificial hand that had shredded his soul.

His heart, beating rapidly like a trapped animal, warned him. Going further meant no return.

But Liam Moore was not one to fear the truth.

An imprint, or perhaps a brand. Something that must not be forgotten. His fate was waiting deep in an underground maze. These things were rising one by one, hanging on the thread.

“Jane.”

The warmth clinging to his neck. The gunshot. The weight of a lifeless body. Jane Osmond’s death.

Forgotten things surged like waves. Only then did Liam Moore regain what he had lost.

Terrible and sorrowful memories. What Jane had struggled to hide. Her voice, confessing gently, was pitiful. The kind Liam feared. The fear that, after speaking these words, she would disappear forever.

The memory ended with the voice echoing in his mind. Liam Moore realised.

This was why Jane Osmond had sacrificed herself to protect him. That more important than saving her immediately was fulfilling her request.

Grabbing Owen, who was about to rush in, Liam bit out his words.

“We mustn’t go down.”

Is this a return?

But whether it was a return or a new timeline didn’t matter to the current Liam.

“What do you mean?”

Owen looked at him as if he were mad. But there was no time to explain in detail.

Meanwhile, Liam’s eyes were fixed on the barrier intricately covering the site. He examined the structure woven by magic. It was an old method. It was clear whose power had been borrowed.

‘Not hard to break.’

His coldly calmed mind concluded.

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