Chapter 73: Emanuel's Decision
The last guests trickled out through the tall doors of Holmes Mansion. Laughter faded, leaving only scattered conversations from merchants lingering near the hearth. Servants gathered the leftover dishes while others gossiped about the gifts exchanged, the nobles present, and Raven's unexpected rise.
Emanuel stood near the warmth of the fire, posture straight, wearing the polite smile expected of a steward. Across from him, a heavyset merchant—Alfred, owner of a local wagon business—adjusted his gloves irritably.
"How long will your House keep the wagons?" Alfred demanded. "I only have fifteen. Renting out five for more than a week will hurt business."
"You'll be compensated, Sir Alfred," Emanuel assured him. "My Lord has agreed to pay double the rate. And if things go well, he intends to form a long-term partnership."
"Talk to me after your Lord reclaims that ruined town," Alfred said, tone sharp and unforgiving. "I rented them only out of respect for Count Andres. But mark this—if even a single wagon returns damaged, your Lord owes me thirty gold coins per wagon."
Emanuel forced a polite smile, though his stomach twisted. "Understood."
"Good. Then I'll take my leave."
The moment Alfred walked away, Emanuel exhaled softly. The tension didn't leave him—not with what he knew, not with what he carried.
That was when a shadow approached.
A sixty-year-old man in a pristine butler suit—Mateo from Highmere Estate—bowed lightly. "Good day, Mr. Emanuel."
"Greetings, Mr. Mateo," Emanuel replied, voice steady.
Mateo's smile never wavered. "The clock strikes at thirteen."
Emanuel's breath caught.
A coded warning.
Abort the mission.
Before he could respond, Mateo placed a hand on his shoulder, patting once. "The carriage is ready."
Hope flared for a heartbeat—an escape plan?
But Mateo wasn't done.
"Giaris fog is thick tonight."
Cold slid down Emanuel's spine.
Another code.
Danger is close. Proceed carefully.
His pulse quickened. So even Mateo himself was warning him, not relaying orders. That meant something huge had shifted.
As guests trickled out of the mansion and the hall grew emptier, Emanuel wiped sweat from his palms. When the last visitor left, he slipped toward the hearth, finally unfolding the small paper Mateo had slipped into his hand.
A secret message.
02 Willow Lane, North Borough.
Use the 18th password on the 7th page.
Enter. Someone will be waiting.
His throat tightened.
This fast? Did the last report trigger it?
A part of him tried to lift the paper again, to hand it to Raven—to confess.
But his heartbeat spiked, chest tightening painfully.
The spell… it's forcing me to report to Thomas Holmes again.
It hurt, but not like before. The changes Raven made to the bindings had weakened some of the pain.
If I were a Walker… if I had awakened my Sea of Consciousness… this curse wouldn't control me.
He clenched his jaw.
But ignoring the secret order meant death before sunrise.
His only relief was one loophole—he wasn't meeting anyone from the Humphrey Household. The spell didn't interfere with that.
He had to choose.
Ha… time to decide.
He left the hearth quietly, heading toward the mansion entrance.
A voice stopped him.
"What are you doing alone, Emanuel? Shouldn't you be asleep?"
Stephanie stepped out from the kitchen, her expression puzzled under the lantern glow.
"Ah—just getting some fresh air, Madam Stephanie." He forced a grin. "The banquet tired me."
"At this hour?" She narrowed her eyes, then sighed. "Fine. But be back by four. Someone from Lucas Company will visit about the survey."
"I'll return in an hour, ma'am."
Stephanie watched him leave, unease pinching her brow. A chill brushed past her, making her shiver.
"Why is it so cold…? I should rest."
She walked toward the servants' quarters.
Emanuel left the mansion and slipped on a hooded robe, blending into the quiet street. He walked down Bristol Street, heading toward Salford Main Road. The night was deep. Lanterns flickered weakly, and not a single soul walked the road.
He cut through alleyways, crossed a small bridge, and stepped into the Northern Borough. Soon, he reached Willow Lane.
And finally—
RA-02 Police Station.
A guard stationed at the entrance raised his rifle. "Who's there?"
"The tailor has new fabric, sir," Emanuel said, lowering his hood to reveal his face.
Recognition flickered. The guard lowered the weapon and unlocked the gate. "Second house. Go."
Emanuel walked through the courtyard toward the row of small single-storied buildings. He stopped at the second door, knocked twice.
"Who is it?" a deep voice asked.
"A letter has arrived."
"The door is open."
Emanuel pushed it open slowly.
Inside, a dim lantern glowed over a cluttered desk. Papers and case files lay scattered everywhere. Inspector Bennett, a young man with red hair and amber eyes, sat hunched over the desk.
"An informer at this hour?" Bennett muttered, not looking up.
"The eagle has landed with a golden feather, sir."
Bennett's eyes lifted sharply. "Report. Quickly."
"Lady Anastasia Ravenshield and Daley Findlay came to the Holmes banquet," Emanuel said.
Bennett froze. "The report said his connection with the Ravenshield family was a bluff. Explain."
"I—I didn't know—" Emanuel's chest tightened suddenly. Pain like a fist clenched around his heart. He gasped.
Bennett straightened. "A curse spell?"
He watched Emanuel convulse slightly, hand clutching his chest.
It was obvious—the man was bound by a restriction spell.
But Bennett noticed something more: the pain increased only when he began to mention Thomas Holmes.
"So he cursed you not to speak about his house… or personal matters." Bennett exhaled sharply. "Fine. Don't say anything that triggers the spell. Just tell me who attended and what you overheard."
Emanuel forced himself to breathe and nodded weakly.
"Count Andres spoke with Viscountess Rowena about fully supporting the Holmes House… and he gifted the Knight's Sword."
"Samuel's artifact?" Bennett muttered. "That Count never gambles on a losing side…"
Pieces clicked in Bennett's mind.
Holmes House must have the strength to counter an Expert Wizard…
"Did the Ravenshield alchemist give him anything?"
"A potion, sir. And Daley gifted him a rare Guardian's Bracelet."
Bennett's jaw tightened.
The intel they received about Holmes's newly recruited knights—possibly all fake.
"Did he restrict you from leaving permanently?"
"No," Emanuel said. "I only die if I talk about his house or personal matters."
Bennett grabbed a Gladstone bag from a drawer and handed it to him. "You've done well. The storm arrives at dawn. Leave."
Emanuel blinked. "Sir?"
"There are fifty platinum coins and a Common Knight Technique inside. You are dismissed. We won't contact you again."
Relief flooded Emanuel as he bowed deeply. "Thank you, sir."
He left the station quietly, walking back into the cold night air.
Willow Lane was empty.
The city asleep.
Lanterns barely flickered.
It was 3 A.M.
Emanuel pulled his hood tight and headed toward a narrow alley, planning to reach the station and take the earliest train to the South Borough.
He needed to get out of Giaris.
Before dawn.
Before the storm Bennett warned him about.
Before death caught up to him.
Emanuel had barely walked a few hundred meters when he noticed a man sitting alone on the roadside. The darkness made him look like nothing more than a beggar—slumped posture, unmoving silhouette.
Emanuel kept walking.
Then a voice—cold, amused, and painfully familiar—cut through the night.
"I warned you many times, kiddo. But here you are… playing hide and seek."
Emanuel's breath hitched. He spun around—
No one.
The street was empty.
"You underestimated our Young Lord far too much."
The voice came from behind him.
Before Emanuel could scream, a sharp, burning pain bloomed in his neck.
His vision jerked—tilted—spiraled.
He saw himself.
His own body.
Headless.
Staggering forward before collapsing.
Then darkness swallowed everything.
…
Marcellus wiped the blade clean with a cloth and slid the sword into its sheath. With no emotion on his face, he stored the headless corpse into his spatial ring.
"The rose has wilted," he murmured, stepping into a narrow alley that swallowed him whole.
…
Back at RA-02 Police Station, Inspector Bennett sat hunched over his desk, scribbling a report under the dim lamplight.
"Damn it… everything's getting messier," he grumbled. "I need to send a warning—"
A wave of drowsiness struck him so abruptly he almost dropped his pen.
"What…? I'm not… tired…"
His eyelids fought against him. His head dipped.
And then he collapsed face-first on the table.
A moment later, an illusionary figure materialized behind him—a translucent silhouette that slowly condensed into the shape of a blonde-haired woman in her thirties.
Selene.
"Let's see what you're hiding," she whispered, placing a hand over Bennett's head.
"Dream Walk."
Her body dissolved into mist.
And vanished.
…
Selene opened her eyes and jerked upright.
A bedroom. Not hers.
Lavish, too large, unfamiliar.
"What…?" Her voice came out deeper—masculine.
"Are you awake, My Lord?" a man called from outside.
She froze.
Her hands—broad, thick—weren't hers.
She stumbled toward the mirror.
A middle-aged man stared back. Blackish-brown hair. Brown eyes. Slightly overweight. A thick mustache. A triangular face that carried aristocratic arrogance.
She wasn't a woman anymore.
She was him.
A knock sounded. "My Lord?"
Selene schooled her expression. "I'm here."
She opened the door.
Inspector Bennett stood outside—but younger. In a butler suit. His hair neatly combed, his eyes sharp and respectful.
So he once served here…?
"Shall I prepare your usual tea?" he asked.
"Yes," Selene replied, matching the man's deeper tone. "And bring today's paper."
When Bennett left, she scanned the room—mahogany furniture, crimson drapes, dust hovering in the chilled air. Letters sat neatly stacked on the desk.
Each sealed with a crest.
House Duskbane.
Selene skimmed them, eyes widening.
They're addressed to a man named Jared Duskbane… second son of a Duke from the Viser Kingdom? Why would so many nobles flatter a second son?
Another knock. Bennett returned with tea and a newspaper.
"Lord Duskbane requests your presence in the main hall within the hour."
Selene unfolded the paper.
Silent Quill
1st January, 1384
Thirty years ago? And… this is a Viser Kingdom newspaper.
"Wait outside."
After Bennett left, Selene rifled through more letters, piecing together the noble hierarchy and Jared's status.
Then she called Bennett back and listened to today's schedule—dense, packed with meetings.
When he mentioned:
"Meeting with the Heinrich Excavation Team regarding the Agith Ruins…
…and at 5 P.M., the Linguistic Scholars will analyze the Stone Tablet…"
Selene's heart tightened.
They were involved in Holmes House's downfall.
"I want to visit the treasury," she said.
Bennett blinked but bowed. "This way, My Lord."
They moved through dim corridors into a stone stairwell. The underground treasury awaited—sealed behind a reinforced iron door guarded by two men bearing the sigil of a serpent coiled around a dagger.
"Lord Jared," one guard said, bowing. "Your visit wasn't scheduled. May we ask the purpose?"
"I will inspect something. Open it."
The guards obeyed, unlocking the heavy door.
The treasury smelled of old parchment, oil, and preserved relics. Torches flickered along the stone walls, casting long shadows over glass cases filled with weapons and artifacts.
Bennett guided her to the back.
The Stone Tablet waited there—massive, etched in an ancient script, its edges chipped and bottom stained like dried blood.
"Why do you want to see—"
He froze mid-sentence.
His eyes trembled.
"Wait… wasn't I in my police quarters… just now?"
Selene's smile sharpened.
His sealed memories were unraveling.
She placed her hand on the Stone Tablet, pulled it into her Dream Storage, and whispered:
"I'd love to explore your dream longer… but I'm in a hurry."
Bennett gasped as Selene's form turned to sand, falling to the floor.
"My Lord?!"
He reached for the sand—
But the treasury shook violently.
Columns cracked.
Ceiling split open.
Artifacts shattered as stone rained down.
A massive boulder crashed onto his head.
Everything went black.
…
In the real world—
Inspector Bennett jerked upright, gasping for air.
"What… what was that dream?"
He rubbed his face, trying to regain his thoughts—
Then two invisible hands closed around his skull.
He choked—eyes bulging.
Even as a Radiant Walker, he couldn't break free.
A sickening crack echoed through the room.
His head twisted unnaturally.
His limbs spasmed.
"Lord Holmes sends his regards."
The silhouette behind him dissolved like smoke and faded into nothingness.
The room fell silent.
Only the corpse remained—slumped over the desk, eyes glassy, neck bent at an impossible angle.
…