Garin spent the next hour moving purposefully through the sprawling mansion.
A small leather notebook rested firmly in her hands as she carefully spoke with the household staff—servants, security guards, gardeners, and maids.
She took her time, pausing to write down every single detail, no matter how minor it seemed.
Most of the conversations, however, quickly fell into the exact same repetitive pattern:
“N-No, I haven’t seen anything unusual around the eastern corridors, Miss,” a senior footman murmured.
Or:
“N-Nothing suspicious happened near the grounds before the alarm went off,” a gate guard offered, adjusting his cap.
Or:
“I was asleep in the staff quarters when the actual attack happened,” a laundry maid admitted nervously.
Garin politely thanked each person, bowed her head, and meticulously wrote everything down in her neat, precise script.
Meanwhile, several uniform police officers had somehow become her unofficial, permanent escort.
Officially, they were assigned to help secure the perimeter and assist with the investigation.
Unofficially, they were just sightseeing, entirely captivated by the sight of the legendary Devil Huntress’s new daughter tackling her very first real case.
The exact moment Garin wasn’t looking, the officers huddled closer together and whispered eagerly among themselves.
“She’s actually taking full bullet-point notes,” one patrolman muttered, a massive grin on his face.
“Look at how hard she’s trying.
She’s checking the window hinges and everything,” a female officer whispered back.
“That’s just plain adorable.”
Eventually, Garin’s investigation reached the massive, industrial-sized kitchen.
The kitchen staff immediately welcomed her, treating her with a mixture of awe and gentle curiosity.
Several head cooks and maids stopped their prep work to answer her questions, but nothing seemed unusual.
At least, not at first.
Then, Garin suddenly stopped mid-sentence.
Her nose twitched.
“Hm?” One of the nearby maids tilted her head, noticing the girl’s rigid posture.
“Is something wrong, Miss Garin?”
Garin sniffed the air.
Then she did it again, her eyes narrowing as her hunter-in-training instincts flared.
“There is a b-bad smell.”
The kitchen staff looked around, completely puzzled.
“A bad smell?”
“I don’t smell anything out of the ordinary,” the head chef muttered, checking his stockpots.
“Neither do I,” a kitchen prep hand agreed.
Garin frowned.
The smell was definitely there.
It was weak, heavily masked by the rich aromas of roasting spices and simmering broth, but to her sharp senses, it was noticeable.
Foul.
Rotting.
She slowly followed the invisible scent line through the wide kitchen, her eyes scanning the floorboards.
The trailing police officers exchanged curious, alert looks and quietly followed right behind her, their hands instinctively dropping closer to their utility belts.
The smell became stronger.
And stronger.
Until Garin finally stopped dead in her tracks near a massive, heavy wooden storage shelf filled with dry ingredients.
The scent was leaking directly from behind the dark wood.
Garin pointed a finger.
“C-Can we move this, please?”
The kitchen staff looked confused, but given the armed police entourage standing right behind the tiny girl, they quickly obeyed.
Several strong kitchen workers stepped forward and carefully shifted the heavy wooden unit aside, its base scraping loudly against the tile.
The moment the shelf cleared the wall, a small, jagged hole became visible near the baseboard.
Everyone stared.
The foul odor was definitely venting from inside the cavity.
One of the maids crouched down, squinting into the shadows.
“Oh.
Look at that.
there’s a dead mouse.” The maid let out a sigh of relief.
“Well, that explains the smell.” She began rolling up her sleeves.
“I’ll go get a plastic bag and remove it.”
Before the woman could reach into the recess, Garin spoke up, her voice surprisingly firm.
“I-I’ll do it.”
The maid blinked in surprise.
“What?”
Garin didn’t say another word.
She quietly reached into her pockets and pulled out a pair of thick, professional tactical gloves, sliding her hands into them with practiced ease.
The police officers watched with growing curiosity, their eyebrows arching.
Then, Garin knelt down on the cold kitchen tile.
Without a single hint of hesitation or disgust, she reached deep into the dark, dusty hole.
A few seconds later, her fingers closed around the tiny form, and she smoothly pulled the dead mouse out into the bright light.
Silence.
The bustling kitchen suddenly became completely, entirely quiet.
Garin ignored the room, focusing entirely as she held the tiny body and began to carefully examine it.
The officers stared.
The maids stared.
Even the head cooks stood frozen, their knives hovering over cutting boards.
One patrolman slowly leaned over and whispered to his colleague: “She…
she just picked it up.
Barely flinched.”
The second officer nodded slowly.
“She did.”
The first officer looked completely baffled.
“I thought the kid was terrified of her own shadow.
She stutters every time we look at her.”
“So did I.”
Garin continued examining the mouse, completely locked into her task.
The dead, decaying animal didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest; the shy, anxious little girl had vanished, replaced by an intensely focused investigator.
The female officer who had been trailing her folded her arms, a look of profound respect washing over her face.
“That’s actually damn impressive.”
Several others nodded in silent agreement.
A dead mouse wasn’t inherently dangerous, but most normal people—especially a shy young girl—wouldn’t want to touch one, let alone inspect it.
Yet Garin had done it without a single word of complaint.
One of the older, veteran officers smiled faintly, crossing his arms.
“Looks like Lady Diana’s kid has a hell of a lot more courage than she lets people see.
The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
Garin, meanwhile, was completely unaware of the growing wave of admiration around her.
She was too busy staring at the mouse.
Something about the tiny corpse felt profoundly, deeply strange.
Garin held the dead mouse steady in her gloved hands.
The kitchen staff watched her, a mixture of confusion and growing concern written across their faces.
Then, to everyone’s absolute surprise, Garin leaned forward and lightly sniffed the tiny body.
The nearest female officer nearly jumped out of her skin, reaching forward.
“Whoa, easy there, kiddo!
Hands off!”
Garin didn’t react to the outburst.
“That’s a dead, wild animal,” the officer warned gently.
“You shouldn’t put it that close to your face.”
Still, Garin didn’t pull back.
Her analytical eyes remained completely fixed on the gray fur.
“What’s the matter?
It’s just a common house mouse.”
Garin’s brow furrowed deep.
Slowly, she shook her head.
“N-No…”
The entire room fell into a dead hush.
“This mouse didn’t die normally,” Garin murmured, her voice steadying.
The female officer blinked, crouching down right beside her on the floor.
“What do you mean by that?”
Garin carefully turned the tiny body over in her gloved palm, exposing its underbelly.
“It was actively killed.”
“Killed?” Several kitchen workers moved closer, straining to see.
Garin nodded firmly.
“The wounds…” She pointed a precise finger at a series of microscopic, jagged black marks near the rodent’s neck.
“They’re strange.
The flesh is completely cauterized, but there’s no heat source.”
The officer squinted at the tiny marks.
“You can seriously tell all that just by looking?”
Garin didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, she slowly turned her head back toward the dark hole in the baseboard.
For a few silent seconds, she simply stared into the pitch-black darkness inside the wall.
Then, she stood up straight.
The officers immediately noticed that her entire expression had fundamentally shifted.
It wasn’t fear holding her features.
It was absolute, unwavering focus.
Garin pointed a finger toward the hole.
“T-There was a demon inside.”
The kitchen instantly erupted into a flurry of startled, anxious voices.
“A demon?!”
“Inside the actual mansion walls?”
“A tiny one?”
Garin nodded rapidly, her logic flowing.
“It must have been really, really small to fit in there.
The mouse probably discovered it and attacked to defend its nest.”
The female officer’s expression turned dead serious, her hand resting on her sidearm.
“And the demon killed it to stay hidden.”
Garin nodded again.
The officer looked toward the dark baseboard hole, her jaw tightening.
“If that’s true…” A visible wave of tension rolled through her posture.
“Then that means a demon could still be actively crawling inside the internal walls of this mansion.”
The terrifying realization spread through the room like wildfire.
The kitchen staff suddenly looked far less comfortable, their eyes darting nervously toward the ceiling vents and corner gaps.
Garin’s eyes suddenly widened as a thought struck her.
“M-Miss Diana!”
Without another syllable, she thrust the dead mouse into the hands of the stunned officer beside her, spun on her heel, and bolted straight toward the kitchen doors.
“Wait!” the female officer yelled, quickly handing the rodent to a cook and giving chase.
“Garin!
Hold on!”
But the young girl was already gone, her small boots pounding wildly against the floorboards.
She raced through the maze of mansion corridors as fast as her legs could possibly carry her.
Only one singular, driving thought filled her mind.
She had found a real, tangible clue, and she needed to tell Diana immediately.