Jarvis looked at the items Matthew had found. "Try them one by one." Matthew didn't get it. "Try what?" Jarvis shot him a look of impatience. "Oh!" Matthew suddenly realized. "You mean your tracking technique!" He'd almost forgotten—Jarvis' tracking technique was incredible. As long as he had something related to the person he was looking for, he could sense the general direction they were in. Of course, it only gave a rough direction, not a precise location. If the target was nearby, it might not work at all. Like before, Jarvis knew Zyrell was somewhere in this camp, but he still couldn't say which tent exactly. Even so, usually knowing the general area was enough. Jarvis first picked up the diary and rubbed it gently. Then, he closed his eyes, forming a hand seal and murmuring a few words. Then he snapped his eyes open. Matthew tensed. "Well? Which way?" Jarvis looked a little disappointed. "Right here." Matthew froze. "Right here?" Then it clicked—the diary's owner had died in this camp. This item wasn't linked to the killer. After all, they'd already checked the area and hadn't seen anyone alive. Worried Jarvis might panic or overreact, Matthew quickly handed him a wine glass. "Try this one."Jarvis nodded and repeated the process. Matthew, eyes wide with anticipation, asked, "Well? What now?" Come on, just find something! I don't want to freeze out here any longer. But again, the result was disappointing. Jarvis' face darkened. "Still here." Matthew clicked his tongue, unsure what to do. Jarvis was stubborn. If he couldn't find a clue, he wasn't leaving. He scanned the area, but the bare tents offered no suspicious objects. Across from him, Jarvis had already picked up the last feather and performed his tracking technique once more. Matthew had no hope for this random feather. He muttered, "If the killer didn't leave a single trace, are we stuck with this case forever? "Honestly, that's normal. It's the apocalypse. Most people kill others. Even someone as nice as me—" Before he could finish, Jarvis' eyes snapped open, blood-red and intense. Matthew jumped. "Hey! I was just talking! Don't get mad!" Jarvis shouted, "Southwest!" "Huh?" Matthew couldn't believe it. "You actually found it?!" So that molting bird didn't die here—it had flown southwest? Jarvis nodded firmly. "Yes." He grabbed the feather and headed out. Matthew glanced at the half-burned fire reluctantly. Then, he grabbed another wooden nightstand to carry along in case they needed to restart the fire. Then he followed Jarvis. He couldn't believe a random feather might actually lead them to the killer.Walking along, he muttered, "It's lucky this bird didn't get eaten." Jarvis quickly reached Zyrell's corpse and casually said, "Looks like a chicken feather." Matthew clicked his tongue. "Jarvis, you've been training in shadow arts too long. You've lost all common sense! No chicken has colorful feathers!" Jarvis ignored him, lifted Zyrell's body, and marched forward. Matthew shut his mouth and followed. After a while, he asked, "Why is the bird still alive? And how does it help us find the killer?" Then he joked, "It couldn't have killed your brother, right?" Jarvis glared, annoyed by the noise. Still, he replied casually, "Probably a pet." Matthew's eyes widened. "A pet?" Jarvis nodded shortly. He couldn't think of any other reason. Judging by the snow depth and the condition of the bodies, Zyrell had died on the first day of the Frostfall. Days had passed, and the bird wasn't eaten. It had to be a pet. Matthew sighed. "That killer is loaded. He even has food for a pet!" Thinking that made him more determined. Once Jarvis got revenge, maybe they'd be rich enough to keep pets as well. Soon, they left the camp. Matthew pulled out a compass and eagerly checked the direction.