Chapter 70: Clues
“One more,” Raven murmured.
The pen touched paper.
“Fragnt of Death…”
Once Raven finished writing the description of the Fragnt of Death, the world around him blurred. His vision dimd. His thoughts quieted.
The trance ca again.
His hand began to move without instruction, the silver pen gliding across the paper with eerie precision.
When awareness finally returned, Raven blinked and read the new prophecy:
“In the halls of the silent domain,
where death is but a doorway, the past stirs.
Beneath the blood-stained sigil of an ancient house,
a hunger long sealed bares its fangs.
When its true na is spoken and the veil thins,
the dead shall answer—not with voices, but with steps.”
Raven tapped the page, brows narrowing.
‘An ancient house… Necromancy. The Viser Royal Household practices it, but so do other ancient lines. Which one fits this clue?’
A lead—finally.
He closed the notebook and connected his mind to the Phantom Compass.
A soft hum.
A pull.
Then the darkness peeled away, and Raven stood in the colossal Ruler’s Throne Hall.
He walked toward the iron throne and sat. Solis appeared on his shoulder in owl form, hooting once like a greeting.
Raven’s gaze moved over the twelve great chairs arranged in a circle. Only three glowed faintly.
‘Still nothing from Jovie… I expected her to find the Fragnt of Death long ago.’
A chill ran across his spine.
He didn’t want to et her again. Not yet.
Not with this strength.
He pushed the thought aside and activated Ruler’s Domination, sending a silent summons to Elizabeth and Noel through their fragnt-engraved seats.
A few minutes later, two illusionary silhouettes materialized—Shadow and Whisperer—each wearing black masks. Fragnts floated behind them like quiet spirits.
Noel had grown lean and tall—no longer a child.
“Shadow. Whisperer,” Raven said. His voice echoed faintly through the hall. “It’s been a while.”
“Greetings, Prince,” they responded together.
“It’s almost been a year since the last eting,” Whis grumbled. “A fixed date would be nice.”
“Waiting nearly killed ,” Levinthar added with a dramatic flick of its reptilian tail.
Raven nodded. “Then we’ll make it the 18th of August every year.”
Elizabeth chuckled. “Isn’t that your birthday?”
Raven smirked. “Didn’t expect you to rember that, Miss Shadow.”
Her aura shifted slightly—more refined, more radiant. Her skin looked even smoother, faintly luminescent.
Raven noticed imdiately. “How’s your progression?”
“I reached Radiant Wizard,” she admitted with a proud smile. “But I still have no spell models. If I ask the rlino Family, it’ll raise suspicion.”
“I’ll help with that.” Raven nodded, then leaned forward. “And the matter from last ti?”
Elizabeth placed a hand on the table. “About Azmar Town and Crest rchandise… I couldn’t uncover the current situation inside Azmar. But I discovered that Crest rchandise invited a Wizard from the Viser Kingdom about ten years ago. He entered the Zenith Empire legally through immigration. His purpose was to help their ‘archaeological team.’”
Raven’s eyes darkened. “Archaeology? They’re using excavation rights as an excuse to take Azmar legally?”
Elizabeth nodded.
“Count Andres Spade approved the excavation after your disappearance. But excavating land with an existing owner is illegal. That must be why they tried to kidnap Thomas Hols.”
Raven frowned.
‘If they wanted the land, killing Thomas would have been simpler. Why kidnap him?’
“And why would a Viser Wizard help a Zenith-rooted rchant guild?” he asked.
Elizabeth exhaled. “Crest rchandise isn’t actually a rchant guild. It’s a branch of the Sparrow Guild.”
Raven froze.
“The Sparrow Guild?” he repeated. “One of the Empire’s five major guilds?”
“Yes. And it has existed for over five hundred years. No known origin. No known owner.”
“A guild running for five centuries… quietly?” Raven whispered.
Pieces moved in his mind—dark, dangerous pieces.
‘I’ll need Franco. This is far bigger than bandits.’
“Thank you, Miss Shadow. This is invaluable.” He turned toward Noel.
“How’s Nyaxra Domain?”
“No major incidents, Prince,” Noel replied, expression flat.
Raven nodded—relieved.
“Prince,” Whis piped up, “isn’t it ti Noel learned survival techniques?”
“Magic is banned in Lower Land,” Levinthar answered imdiately. “Only Middle and Upper Land citizens can use spells.”
Elizabeth leaned forward. “Then how does one qualify as Middle Land?”
Levinthar flicked its tail. “Middle Land residents are born without deformities. But Lower Land children—even healthy ones like Noel—develop tumors from pollution over the years. Only a few escape this fate with help from Slum Leaders.”
Noel finally spoke. “I don’t want to leave my grandma.”
Levinthar’s tone softened only slightly. “The old woman is dying, kid. Winter won’t be kind.”
Raven lifted a hand. “Let him decide. Not now.”
He turned to Elizabeth. “I’ll send spell books soon. Wait for them.”
Light rippled across the hall. The illusionary bodies of Elizabeth, Noel, and the fragnts dissolved into streaks and vanished.
Raven, too, let the room fade.
He woke in his bedroom with a dull throb behind his eyes.
He washed, stretched, and moved to the training hall, checking on the young knights’ progress. When he sparred with Lorelai, he realized she had surpassed him in technique, even though his stats still overwheld her.
He trained with them until dusk, returned ho, and slept early.
The next morning he repeated his routine—exercise, ditation, then back into the illusion world.
This ti, when the blue-skinned warrior appeared behind him, Raven dodged the instant his Mind Eye scread its warning.
He landed lightly and faced the humanoid warrior.
The being’s spear lowered into a stance. Its gaze was cold and sharp—the eyes of a predator.
Raven adjusted Frozen Ender in his grip.
The warrior struck first—an explosion of movent. Air cracked.
Raven twisted aside, the spear barely missing his ribs. He countered, his spear dancing in a tight arc.
The clash shook the air. Sparks scattered.
The warrior followed with a sweeping attack, slicing at Raven’s midsection.
Raven ducked low, deflecting with the shaft. The vibration numbed his hands and shoved him backward—
And the warrior was already there.
They exchanged a storm of blows—ten seconds of pure combat.
Then Raven fell.
He exited the illusion, breathing hard but smiling faintly.
He morized every movent and spent the afternoon replicating the warrior’s footwork, rotations, and timing.
Training consud him entirely.
anwhile—
Emanuel raced across the city, visiting the best furniture shops in Giaris. He hired carpenters, painters, decorators, glaziers, plasterers, and polishers to renovate the mansion from top to bottom.
By the end of the week, invitations had been sent to every major household, noble, rchant, and even select governnt officials.
And across Giaris…
A new rumor began spreading:
A Ravenshield has arrived.
…
September 29, Year 1428 – Hols Mansion, 6 P.M.
Horse hooves clattered against stone before a glossy black carriage rolled to a halt at the Hols Mansion’s entrance. Gilded lanterns flared in the twilight, their warm glow dancing across polished wood and catching the gold-embossed crest of House Humphrey etched on the carriage door.
A footman stepped forward imdiately, opening the carriage door with a practiced bow.
A young man erged—blonde hair perfectly parted beneath a bowler hat, amber eyes sharp with practiced pride, round face deceptively soft beneath noble arrogance. He wore a pristine black tailcoat tailored to precision.
Adolf Humphrey, scion of a Knight Household.
“Welco to the Hols Mansion, Young Master,” the footman said with a deferential bow.
Adolf stepped down smoothly, his gaze sweeping the estate with a mixture of suspicion and thinly veiled disdain. The Hols na, to him, ant insignificance—a house sliding toward irrelevance, burdened by financial ruin and a kidnapped heir who had beco a joke among nobles.
He turned toward the carriage house—and his brows knit together.
Only a handful of carriages.
A proper Knight Household banquet should’ve drawn dozens.
“This way, please, Young Master,” the footman offered.
Adolf inhaled, squared his shoulders, and walked inside.
Two maids bowed as he entered.
“Welco, Young Master Adolf,” they chid in unison.
He brushed past them with a dismissive hum.
But the mont he stepped deeper into the mansion, his stride faltered.
The entry hall was… magnificent.
Polished dark oak walls glead beneath the bright radiance of crystal chandeliers. The carved railings of the grand staircase spiraled upward with elegant craftsmanship. Soft candlelight flickered across rows of frad oil paintings hung with museum-like dignity.
Adolf’s eyes widened.
Red Girl?
Flaming May?
Lady of the Dark?
His breath caught.
These paintings… they were auctioned at the Royal Museum. How did the Hols Household acquire them?
He wasn’t the only one staring. Ladies and gentlen nearby paused mid-conversation, srized by the artwork.
A deep voice jolted Adolf from his trance.
“How much did he spend on these? Didn’t your father say the Hols House was finished?”
Adolf snapped his head left.
A fifty-year-old man—with grey hair, blue eyes, and a pince-nez—was observing the paintings with quiet interest.
Adolf straightened. “It is an honor to et you, Sir Gunner!”
Gunner Montclair nodded and began walking.
“I almost skipped this banquet,” Gunner said, stepping up the staircase. “But the rumors intrigued .”
“Rumors?” Adolf echoed—then rembered. “Oh… about Lady Anastasia appearing in Giaris? Please ignore such nonsense, Sir. She must have co for unrelated business.”
Gunner shot him a look full of aning. “You wouldn’t say that if you’d attended the Spade Council eting a few years ago. Well… let’s see whether Thomas Hols is a foolish child or a tiger cub.”
They entered the grand banquet hall as a guard announced:
“Young Master Adolf of Humphrey House has arrived!”
“Sir Gunner of House Montclair has arrived!”
A black-haired young man with azure eyes—dressed in an impeccably tailored coat—greeted them at the entrance.
“Welco, Young Master Adolf. Sir Gunner. We are honored by your presence.”
Both nodded politely and stepped inside.
Soft music drifted through the air.
Chopin’s Nocturne—light, elegant, enchanting.
A pianist, violinist, cellist, and flutist played at the far side of the hall.
The banquet hall was stunning. Velvet-draped tables, polished silverware, glowing sconces on marble walls. Aromas of roasted ats, spiced wine, and warm bread filled the air.
Adolf spotted familiar faces—sons of Knight Households in fine formalwear, gathered in clusters, whispering, smirking, watching.
“It seems your friends are here,” Gunner murmured. “Go on. This old man can manage.”
Adolf smiled slightly and approached the group.
Their conversation hushed as he arrived.
“Adolf,” Leonard Fairburn said, lifting his wine glass. “We thought you went blind and missed the scale of this place.”
Adolf snorted softly. “Even I didn’t expect this… spectacle.”
Gilbert Vance scoffed. “Spectacle indeed. The Hols House was a joke, and now they’re flaunting wealth like this.” His eyes darkened in jealousy. “Imported wine, priceless art… either Thomas Hols found a benefactor—or he’s gambling everything.”
Ever-asured Theodore Elwood adjusted his coat. “Regardless, the rumors stirred interest.”
“The Ravenshield rumor?” Adolf asked sharply.
“Yes,” Theodore replied. He nodded toward the corner.
A young woman in a royal blue empress gown stood alone, pale-skinned and poised, her presence quietly commanding. No one dared approach her.
Adolf inhaled sharply. “Lady Daisy?”
But his eyes drifted past her—to soone else.
The sa black-haired young man from the entrance walked toward her.
Raven.
But Adolf didn’t recognize him as Raven.
He recognized the quality—the coat, the shoes, the accessories. Not the attire of a fallen household.
“Who is he?” Adolf muttered.
Gilbert raised a brow. “You really don’t rember? That’s Thomas Hols.”
Adolf froze.
That is Thomas?
The laughingstock?
The kidnapped heir?
The young man who once hid behind his father’s na now moved with the ease of a seasoned noble.
At the sa mont, Raven reached Daisy.
“It’s an honor to et you, My Lady,” he said with a smooth bow.
He adjusted his monocle, scanning her information silently.
Radiant Walker already.
Good. She hasn’t slowed down.
“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Hols,” Daisy replied, expression cool. “We were hesitant to attend… but your arrangents surpass expectations.”
She sipped her wine, eyes shifting to the art and décor.
“You invested heavily.”
Raven smiled. “If my guests enjoy the evening, it was worth it. I heard you enrolled in the Zenith Knight Academy—and beca a Radiant Knight. Planning to beco a Royal Knight?”
She shook her head. “I haven’t decided.”
She began walking away, expression unchanged. Exactly her style.
Raven followed and took a sealed letter from his coat.
“My Lordship asked to deliver this to you.”
“Your Lordship?” she asked, suspicious.
“Open it when no one is around,” Raven said, then turned toward the entrance as new arrivals stepped in.
Daisy blinked, stunned.
Before she could call out, another announcent echoed:
“Young Master Finnegan of Spade House has arrived!”
All chatter ceased.
Every head turned toward the entrance.
Reviews
All reviews (0)