Detective in Another World: Solving Crimes with Necromancer System Chapter 4: Necromancer System

"Huh?" Edward muttered, confusion and disorientation mingling in his mind. The wind whistled softly through the trees, carrying with it the stale scent of the decomposing corpse he had just left behind. He drew in a few steady breaths, forcing himself to calm his racing thoughts.

"Necromancer..." The word felt ridiculous on his tongue, yet there was a strange familiarity to it. Like the novels he had devoured as a child, necromancers could summon the dead. Which ant the shadowy figure hovering before him was... sothing that had once lived. His eyes widened.

He opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated. The figure’s presence was unsettling, its dark green shimr against the shadowy form seeming to pulse faintly, almost as if it were breathing. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and even.

"Who killed you?"

The shadow lingered, still and silent, as though the question had no imdiate answer. Then, a sound erged from its dark form—a whisper, too soft for normal ears, carried on a breeze that seed to flow from the figure itself. Edward leaned in, squinting, listening.

"Scar... Eye... left... Left eye..." The words were thin, broken, barely audible.

"Scar on the left eye," Edward repeated under his breath, committing it to mory. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. His mind already began forming a plan. "That should narrow things down fairly well," he thought.

He turned toward the village, stepping cautiously along the dirt road. But after only a few strides, a strange sensation prickled the back of his neck. The shadow soldier followed, step for step, its dark green shimr tracing his movents like a silent echo.

"You can disappear now," he said, waving a hand in a dismissive gesture.

The figure did not move.

"Dispense."

Still, it hovered.

"Leave. Go."

Nothing. Its form remained unwavering, a silent companion in the fading light.

Finally, after a pause, Edward muttered a single word, clearer, commanding: "Return."

The figure wavered, the shadow lting into faint, smoke-like particles. The green motes flickered one last ti before vanishing entirely.

"Return to dismiss. Got it." he noted.

He headed back to the village, tension still coiling in his chest. The streets were quiet, villagers eyeing him briefly before returning to their chores. Soon, he spotted a soldier patrolling, leather armour creaking with each step, eyes sharp and wary.

"Excuse —" Edward began.

"I told you before, kid, I won’t teach you swordsmanship!" the soldier hissed instantly, cutting him off, stance stiff. Edward noted the familiarity in the response, realising the man must have t Edward—or the boy he now inhabited—before.

"I... I found a dead body," Edward said flatly, hoping to get through. The words seed to register. The soldier’s eyes widened slightly, brows drawing together.

"Show ," he muttered, stepping aside.

Edward led him down the path to the edge of the forest, where the corpse still lay. Even a day old, the body was enough to make most n flinch—the scalp split open, insects crawling, earth stained dark brown from dried blood. The soldier’s gaze lingered for a long mont, taking in the void pattern, the lack of struggle.

"Did you see who did it?" the soldier asked, voice tense.

"No," Edward admitted.

The soldier lingered, eyes narrowing as if weighing his next words carefully. The silence stretched on for a few monts, broken only by the rustling of leaves and the distant chirp of birds. Finally, he spoke.

"Stay here. Do not move until I co back."

He nodded his head and watched as the soldier rushed back to the village.

Ti seed to crawl. Minutes dragged by, then longer. Edward’s gaze wandered to the trees, to the soft brown earth where the older corpse lay, and to the empty road leading back to the village. He waited. Boredom crept in like a sluggish tide, but he kept himself upright and alert.

Eventually, a figure appeared in the distance, approaching steadily. But he wasn’t alone. Two other soldiers flanked him, armour glinting faintly in the afternoon sun. And then Edward’s eyes fell on the third man—a stark contrast to the others.

The third figure wore a pristine white tunic, short black hair neatly trimd, and a beard that frad a strong, commanding jawline. He moved with a natural authority, taller than the soldiers flanking him, exuding the quiet confidence of soone accustod to being obeyed. Even in fragnts of Edward’s mories, the man remained intact—a figure impossible to forget.

He was the Village’s Chief—Thoren Blackwood.

The group approached in near silence, only the Chief daring to break it.

"Is that the boy?" the Chief asked, voice calm but carrying weight.

"Yes, sir," the soldier replied swiftly, eyes lowered.

Thoren Blackwood’s gaze lingered on Edward, piercing and asured. Several long monts passed as the Chief’s dark eyes scrutinised him. Finally, he spoke again.

"What is your na, boy?"

"Edward," he answered, steady despite the scrutiny.

"Thank you for coming to us with your findings, Edward. You may take your leave now."

Edward opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak, one of the soldiers interjected.

"Leave? How do we know he’s not the one that—"

A single glance from Thoren froze the soldier mid-sentence. His mouth opened, then closed. The weight in the Chief’s eyes conveyed everything the words could not.

"It’s clear, you fools," the Chief said, his tone sharp, almost disappointed. "Look at the wound, and then look at the size of the boy."

Edward’s eyes drifted to his own scrawny arms. Tiny in comparison to the corpse before them, weak compared to the blunt force that had struck the man. I can’t argue with that, he thought, forcing a tight-lipped smirk.

He turned to step away, preparing to leave the scene, when he caught a fragnt of conversation. One of the soldiers muttered sothing about a sword.

"A hamr," Edward interjected, unable to contain the correction. All four n froze, turning their gaze toward him, eyebrows raised in questioning.

"Listen, kid—" one soldier began, but Thoren raised his hand, silencing him imdiately.

"A hamr?" the Chief asked, voice even, asuring.

"...Or a mace," Edward added quickly, crouching beside the body. His fingers hovered over the indentation in the skull where the blunt trauma had landed.

Edward traced the edges with careful precision. "See here?" he said, pointing. "The mark is too wide for a sword. A sword leaves a thin incision, usually with a slight curve along the impact. But this indentation is broad, flat, and slightly concave. The force needed to create this would require a solid, blunt object, swung with a controlled, deliberate motion."

He shifted slightly, scanning the surrounding area for supporting evidence. "No signs of struggle, no defensive marks in the soil. Look here—footprints leading up are regular, consistent. Whoever did this struck from behind. The angle of impact, the depth of the depression, the scatter of the dried blood—all indicate the attacker approached from this side and struck once, maybe twice. The first was enough."

Edward looked up at the Chief, eyes bright with the thrill of analysis. "A sword would’ve cut differently. Edges are too narrow. The attacker needed to use weight and apply blunt force. A hamr or mace fits the profile perfectly. One strong blow from soone experienced and deliberate."

Thoren Blackwood nodded slowly, though confusion was clear on his face. "I see. You do have a good eye, kid. But anyone in this village could’ve wielded a hamr. That alone isn’t enough to identify the killer."

"Another person dead without justice," one of the soldiers muttered, voice tinged with frustration. The other two soldiers nodded solemnly, the weight of the unsolved cri pressing down on them. Even Thoren’s expression held a trace of discontent, brows knitting slightly in concern.

Edward’s mind raced. Their frustration was palpable. The lack of leads, the unresolved death, the despair in their eyes—it was the sa feeling he’d experienced countless tis in his previous life as a detective.

"I can find him," Edward said, voice steady, almost daring. "I can find the killer."

All four n turned to him, surprise flickering across their faces.

The Chief’s gaze softened slightly, assessing. "You? A boy?"

Edward nodded. "I have... my ways. If you trust , I can find who did it."

Thoren’s eyes flicked toward the body once more, lingering on the dried blood and the empty void of evidence left behind. He exhaled slowly, as if considering whether this boy could be of any use.

Then, he nodded.

"Very well," he said. "You will report to directly, and you will stay out of any confrontations. Understood?"

"Understood," Edward replied.

The soldiers exchanged glances, mutters of doubt and disbelief passing between them, but none dared to challenge the Chief’s decision.