Chapter 151
The moment Daniel and Melgil emerged from the shimmer of the transfer gate, the dormitory erupted into chaos. The Eastspire wing of the Royal Academy had barely settled after its last reconstruction, and now splinters of stone and wood scattered as a massive shadow fell over them.
Daniel barely had time to react before a monstrous figure crashed through the ceiling, shattering beams and sending dust spiraling into the air. The formless armor flared across his body, its smooth, shifting surface absorbing the impact, shielding him from the brunt of the strike. Melgil was pressed close beside him, her own reflexes honed to perfection, yet even she felt the shockwave knock her off balance.
The creature that had launched itself at them was unlike anything the students or professors could have anticipated: a towering Death Knight, nearly ten feet tall, its armor black as night, glinting with cursed runes. In its gauntleted hands it wielded a long, jagged sword and a massive shield, carved with the unmistakable insignia of Karion. Its presence radiated raw, unnatural authority, the unmistakable mark of an administrator's intervention.
"An administrator," Daniel muttered under his breath, already scanning for strategy. His instincts kicked in, honed by years of survival, chaos-engine mastery, and battlefield experience. There was no time for hesitation.
The students scattered in terror, their classes abandoned, while professors rushed forward, shouting incantations that fizzled against the Death Knight's enchanted armor. Sparks flew where its sword met spells, but the creature advanced relentlessly, forcing Daniel and Melgil backward toward the debris-strewn courtyard.
"Melgil, follow my signal," Daniel hissed, his eyes narrowing. The Death Knight swung its sword in a wide arc, narrowly missing Melgil as she rolled beneath the blade. Her boots struck the shattered stone, sending shards flying like lethal shrapnel. Daniel countered with a strike of his own, the formless armor flowing seamlessly with his motion, deflecting a strike that could have cleaved him in half.
The Death Knight roared, a sound that rattled walls and shook the ground beneath their feet. Its shield slammed into Daniel, sending him skidding, but the armor absorbed the blow, preventing serious injury. He twisted, launching a counterstrike with his chaos-enhanced gauntlet, scoring a hit across the knight's chest plate. Sparks burst from the impact, but it barely staggered the monstrous foe.
Melgil's eyes glinted with calculation. She leapt into action, her legs coiling like springs. "Now, Daniel!" she shouted, kicking off the shattered courtyard floor with all her strength. Her foot connected with the Death Knight's midsection, and the force sent it staggering back, right into the shimmering edge of the transfer gate Daniel had already opened.
"Through the gorge!" Daniel commanded, his voice carrying over the dust and chaos. The gate's vortex swirled violently as he directed it toward the chasm beyond the Academy's grounds. The Death Knight, relentless and enraged, struggled against their combined assault, swinging its massive sword in wide, sweeping arcs that cleaved through stone and splintered timber.
Daniel darted to the side, narrowly avoiding the strike, then unleashed a concussive blast from the chaos engine core embedded in his armor. The force knocked the Death Knight backward, and Melgil's next strike, a precise, devastating kick, propelled the administrator-spawned knight squarely into the swirling transfer gate.
The vortex shuddered violently, energy crackling and screaming, drawing the Death Knight closer. With a final heave, Daniel's gauntleted hands pushed, directing it over the edge of the gorge. The creature let out a final, reverberating scream as it fell into the darkness below, the gate collapsing behind it with a thunderous boom.
Silence descended for a heartbeat. The students, wide-eyed, gawked at the destroyed courtyard. The professors were frozen, mouths open in shock. Then, the Academy's magical network pulsed, and a voice, resonant and omnipresent, echoed across the grounds:
"The Empire of Grave Quest will commence as soon as the sun rises above the west horizon."
Daniel's gaze swept the horizon, the first light of dawn creeping over the mountains. Beside him, Melgil's shoulders relaxed slightly, though her eyes remained alert, scanning for any sign that the administrator might strike again. Daniel's armor shimmered faintly in the morning light, the chaos core humming with restrained energy, a reminder that this battle was only the beginning.
He exhaled, fists unclenching, and for the first time since the fight began, allowed himself a fraction of a smile. "Prepare for war," he whispered, echoing Emmit's warning. And now, it was no longer just a warning; it was a reality.
The dust of the Eastspire courtyard had barely settled, yet the echo of the ominous announcement lingered in every corner of the Royal Academy. The Empire of Grave Quest was set to begin at sunrise, but not everyone would step into the chaos at the same time. Melgil quickly realized her predicament: because she had not participated in the recent clearing of the Evolve Drake, the system's reward had barred her entry.
For the next two weeks, the gates of the Empire of Grave would be closed to her, reserved for those guilds who had earned first passage, the East Lazarus Guild, the High Strategy Guild, the White Devil Guild, and the Netherborn. All other hunters, rankers, and players were relegated to waiting, forced to observe while the first wave carved the path through the empire's deadly trials.
Melgil's sharp eyes narrowed as she surveyed the horizon, the Academy's damaged spires casting jagged shadows across the grounds. She refused to idle. Two weeks of inaction were unacceptable, not while Daniel, Dane, and those who entered first faced the perils alone.
If the Empire sought to test every soul, she would ensure she was ready when the ban lifted. She began quietly, methodically, establishing her own force: recruits who had survived early challenges, veterans she trusted implicitly, and those whose loyalty was unshakable. She trained them rigorously, crafting strategies, building contingencies, and fortifying bonds. Each day, her force grew stronger, sharper, and more synchronized.
Even as the Empire of Grave Quest unfolded without her, Melgil's mind remained focused, watching for every ripple of change in the Tower, noting every development in the first wave's progress. She would wait, yes, but she would not wait helplessly. She would be a storm ready to strike when the two weeks ended, a force capable of turning the tide for Dane and ensuring that, when the doors finally opened to her, she could step into the Empire not as a spectator, but as an equal, a protector, and a vanguard.
She made a vow in her silence that no one she cared about would have to face the Empire's wrath alone and that she would face whatever horrors lay ahead.
Daniel arrived at the Rothchester mansion with a weight on his shoulders. The possibility of war had never seemed so imminent, and he carried with him a gnawing suspicion: the people responsible for orchestrating the deaths of his husband and his real son might still be hiding in the shadows. He was certain, however, that the scenario tied to the Duches did not involve his son's death or kidnapping.
This detail made the situation even more dangerous the scenario in motion seemed unyielding in its use of children, and the potential for manipulation was high.
He considered the recent attacks: death knights striking seemingly out of nowhere, connected to the Empire of Graves quest. They were not random occurrences. Someone—a Tower Administrator was testing the waters, tweaking probabilities in subtle ways to evade detection by the main system. The stakes were rising, and Daniel knew that careful preparation was the only defense.
The meeting with his mother, the Duchess Elleena Rothchester, concluded with her understanding of the gravity of the situation. "It seems the deaths of these so-called enemies were not enough," she said quietly. "Something is missing."
Her mind had already begun turning. Orders were given to her most trusted knights: gather the three guilds who had successfully completed the Evolve Drake Quest. Meanwhile, she instructed her head steward, Custodia, to secretly extend invitations to Sylveth Melriel and the Crescent Magus.
Like Queen Nimriel Cererindur, the Duchess knew Sylveth's secrets and intended to use them strategically. Sylveth held the quest contract that Neatherborn had recovered from the remains of the Evolve Drake, and within that contract were details supplied by the Cathedral Tower a structure known to be linked to the old gods who governed the world.
Daniel recalled the origins of the Cathedral Tower. In the past, it had been integrated into the system as a central relay for quest delegations. Its role was simple in theory but complex in execution: receive quest requests from the main system, establish connections across multiple scenarios, and ensure that these missions could eventually link back to the overarching story. Once the Tower confirmed a mission, it would pass it on to the king for approval, and only then would the guilds receive orders for implementation. The entire process had been designed with precision, ensuring that only those prepared or willing could take part.
As Daniel outlined these intricacies, the room fell silent. Finally, he spoke, his voice calm but firm.
"If the situation worsens, these guilds and anyone involved must be ready. I don't expect surprises, but the unexpected has a way of finding us."
The Duchess inclined her head, her eyes sharp. "And you believe the danger comes from someone manipulating the system?"
Daniel nodded. "Yes. Someone is testing limits, seeing how far they can push before the main network notices. We must be prepared for anything—even attacks that seem impossible to anticipate."
Custodia, standing quietly to the side, interjected with a careful tone. "Then we will ensure the guilds are fully briefed and ready. Sylveth and the Crescent Magus will be instructed discreetly."
Daniel allowed himself a small, grim smile. "Good. Then we act before the system forces our hand. Everything depends on preparation, not luck."
The conversation settled into a tense silence. Outside the windows, the evening light faded, casting long shadows across the grand hall. The wheels of strategy had been set in motion, and there was no turning back.
Daniel's words tapered off, leaving the hall wrapped in silence. The nobles, knights, and attendants present waited for him to elaborate, but he hesitated. There was truth he could not reveal—not openly. To admit that everything around them was once born of a game he had created in another life would not only shake their trust but perhaps shatter their very sense of reality. The consequences of such knowledge were impossible to predict.
He folded his hands behind his back, eyes drawn to the tall windows where dusk deepened into night. His mind churned. If this realm truly followed no digital script, then there should be no trace of glitches, no broken seams to betray its nature. Yet he had seen the Hollow Tree with his own eyes. It had not withered through time or rot it had been taken apart. Its branches, leaves, and bark carried faint traces of having been broken down into a kind of raw code, stripped of individuality, and rewritten from the inside out.
Daniel's jaw tightened. That is no natural decay. That is a forced deconstruction—a line of script rewritten while the rest of the program continues running, hidden under the guise of system maintenance.
The thought disturbed him. The Tower Administrator, whoever they were, had discovered a loophole. By targeting creatures without personality soulless constructs, empty of self they could bypass the watchful Gatekeepers. The creatures' code could be pulled apart, their functions rewritten like variables in an old project file, all while the system read it as nothing more than routine anomaly correction.
It was like debugging in plain sight, slipping malicious code into a patch update, then watching as the world accepted it without question.
Daniel exhaled slowly, steadying his thoughts. "What we face is not simple," he finally said, breaking the silence. His tone was careful, measured. "It is not only the enemies we see that concern me. It is the… adjustments behind them. Someone is rewriting what should not be rewritten."
Duchess Elleena's gaze narrowed, but she said nothing. Custodia's brow furrowed, his quill scratching faintly as he noted every word.
Daniel continued, speaking as if in metaphor, though every phrase carried double meaning. "Imagine a castle wall unchanging, eternal. Now imagine that a skilled hand removes a single stone, reshapes it, and places it back without anyone noticing. The wall still stands. The guards see no difference. But the foundation has already shifted."
He paused, watching their reactions. "This is what I fear: that the foundations of our reality are being altered, piece by piece, disguised as natural changes. And the more subtle the alteration, the harder it becomes to resist."
Inwardly, he thought of functions and variables, of scripts rewritten without permission. Non-sentient NPCs. Background assets. Decorative objects. Anything without a player-like soul is vulnerable. If this administrator keeps testing, it won't end with hollow trees or nameless beasts. They'll move closer to the core, rewriting storylines, manipulating cause and effect until the whole narrative bends to their will.
But he dared not speak these thoughts aloud. To them, this was life itself. To him, it was a system that should have been untouchable. And now, someone else had found the backdoor.
The Duchess broke the silence at last, her voice low. "Then the threat is deeper than war."
Daniel inclined his head, his eyes shadowed. "Deeper than war. We are dealing with an enemy who knows how to hide their hand while changing the board itself."
The long table in the Rothchester mansion's council chamber gleamed under candlelight, its polished oak surface set with quills, parchment, and untouched goblets of wine. The air was taut with expectancy. Seated on one side were the guild representatives:
Charlotte Lazarus, leader of East Lazarus Guild, a woman with a calm but sharp presence, sword and dagger strapped at her hips.
Mary Kay, strategist and leader of High Strategy Guild, whose measured eyes gave nothing away.
Natasha Sokolov, the vice-captain of the White Devil Guild, an awakened human player with an aura of ruthless discipline.
On the other side sat the Duchess, her trusted steward Custodia, and members of her household staff, residents of the tower who, unknown to most, had once been mere non-playable characters. Sylveth Melriel, the Crescent Magus, occupied a quiet seat near the Duchess, her hood drawn low, yet the weight of her presence was undeniable.
At the head of the table stood Daniel, his mismatched eyes catching the light—one gold, one blue. The heterochromia gave him a striking, almost otherworldly intensity.
He began without flourish, his tone calm but unyielding.
"We are gathered here because the battles you fought are only the surface. There are currents moving beneath, hidden, reshaping the field before we even step onto it. What we face is not only swords and sorcery. It is the hand that moves unseen, altering the rules of the field itself."
He let his gaze sweep the table.
"Think of our world as a grand tapestry. Every thread represents a life, an event, or a place. The weave appears seamless. But if someone with clever hands begins to remove single threads and replace them with new ones of near-identical shade, the picture slowly changes. At first, no one notices. Yet in time, the entire image is different—and no one remembers what it was before."
Mary Kay leaned slightly forward, her voice smooth. "And you believe someone is… weaving new threads?"
Daniel nodded. "Yes. But they do not touch the figures with souls the warriors, the kings, the guildmasters. They target the background: the trees, the nameless creatures, the forgotten ruins. Elements that no one questions if they change. Like a builder replacing foundation stones one by one beneath a castle, until one day, the whole structure shifts without warning."
Charlotte tapped the hilt of her dagger, thoughtful. "You mean… they tamper with what we consider unimportant. The details that pass unseen."
"Exactly," Daniel said. "And such changes pass the notice of the watchmen who guard balance. For what is a tree but wood and leaves? What is a nameless beast but flesh and bone? No alarms ring when they are rewritten."
A murmur passed through the room. The Duchess remained silent, her eyes sharp, measuring every word. Sylveth's lips curved faintly, as if she already suspected truths far deeper than the rest could grasp.
Daniel continued. "If left unchecked, such hands will grow bolder. Today they rewrite trees and nameless monsters. Tomorrow they may rewrite outcomes, twist quests, alter the very path we walk without our knowing."
Natasha Sokolov's cold eyes narrowed. "Then the enemy we face is not the knight before us, but the one moving pieces from behind the board."
Daniel inclined his head. "Precisely."
A silence stretched. The weight of his metaphors sank in too layered to expose the origin of this reality, yet clear enough that all understood the peril.
At the far side of the table, Charlotte Lazarus studied Daniel's face with quiet intensity. His golden-blue gaze caught her off guard. So much like him… she thought, a flicker of memory rising unbidden. Dane Lazarus. Their estranged relative, the name that had only recently resurfaced with the weight of revelation. The resemblance was uncanny so uncanny it bordered on impossible.
Mary Kay noticed it as well, though her expression remained impassive.
The cheekbones, the way he holds his jaw… it is too close. But how could this noble son of Rothchester be linked to Dane?
Their questions pressed against their tongues, but neither spoke. For the kingdom itself had announced by royal decree, confirmed by binding magic, that Daniel was the Duchess' blood son. And Duchess Elleena's heterochromatic eyes, one gold and one blue, mirrored his own. The seal of legitimacy was unquestionable. To voice their suspicions would be to challenge both crown and law.
So Charlotte and Mary Kay remained silent, their doubts coiling within.
Daniel's voice drew their attention back. "This is why I called you. Not to fight the war we see, but to prepare for the one we do not. Each of you holds strength not only in arms but in awareness. If the tapestry shifts, I need you to notice the smallest frayed threads. Report what others dismiss. For in those threads lies the proof of the hidden hand."
The Duchess spoke at last, her tone crisp. "Then the guilds shall be our eyes as well as our swords."
Daniel met her gaze and gave a single nod. "Yes. And if we fail to act before the weave unravels, no sword will matter."
The room settled into a tense hush. The stage was set, and though the quest had yet to begin, the war beneath the surface was already underway.
The council dispersed slowly, chairs scraping against the polished floor as guild leaders and household staff drifted toward the wide doors of the Rothchester hall. Daniel remained behind with the Duchess, speaking quietly with Custodia, his mismatched eyes catching the candlelight like jewels.
Charlotte Lazarus lingered at the threshold, her hand resting lightly on the pommel of her dagger. She glanced back once just once at Daniel, and her stomach tightened. The resemblance was impossible to ignore.
Beside her, Mary Kay stepped into the corridor, her robes brushing softly against the stone floor. They walked in silence for several paces, the echo of their footsteps swallowed by the long hall, until Charlotte finally exhaled.
"You saw it too," she murmured.
Mary Kay did not look at her. Her gaze was fixed ahead, cool and steady. "I saw enough."
Charlotte's brows drew together. "The eyes, Mary. The way he carries himself. He is—" she caught herself, lowering her voice even further, "—he is too much like Dane. I thought I was seeing a ghost."
Mary Kay's lips pressed thin. She speaks aloud what I tried to bury, she thought. Her voice, when it came, was measured. "And yet the kingdom confirmed his birth. Magic leaves no room for forgery. The Duchess' own eyes mirror his. Would you dare question a royal decree sealed by the crown itself?"
"No," Charlotte admitted, though her fingers drummed restlessly against her dagger's hilt. "Not aloud. But…" She hesitated, searching for words that could frame the unease clawing at her chest. "Dane was our blood. A Lazarus. To see another who mirrors him so perfectly, born of another house"
"is dangerous to think about," Mary finished for her. She finally turned her head, her gaze sharp as a blade. "Dangerous even to whisper."
Charlotte swallowed. The silence stretched between them, weighted with memories they both tried to suppress.
Mary Kay's thoughts churned, though her face betrayed nothing. If fate has woven Daniel into the Duchess' bloodline, then either the threads were always tangled… or someone has begun weaving anew.
She shook her head slightly, as if to cast the thought aside. "Do not linger on resemblance. He is Rothchester's son. That is the truth we must hold to, whether we like it or not."
Charlotte let out a low breath. "Perhaps." Her eyes drifted back toward the council chamber, now distant behind them. "But truth or not, I cannot look into those eyes without feeling Dane is staring back at me."
Mary Kay said nothing. She only walked on, her silence heavier than denial.
The two Lazarus women parted ways with the other, as they both casually walked at the outer steps of the Rothchester estate courtyard, each carrying with them the silence they dared not break. The night air was cool, fragrant with the scent of the Duchess' gardens, yet heavy with things left unsaid. Their guild members waited beyond the gates, torches flickering in the dark like watchful eyes.
Charlotte adjusted the strap of her blade, forcing her thoughts into order. A leader cannot return shaken, she reminded herself. Yet every step away from Daniel's presence left her feeling as though she had abandoned a ghost in the council chamber.
Mary Kay, ever composed, walked with the measured pace of a strategist already thinking three moves ahead. Resemblance or no, we have a quest to fulfill. The rest… the rest must remain buried.
It was there, at the gate, that the Duchess' head steward Custodia intercepted them. His cloak bore the Rothchester crest, and in his hands were sealed envelopes. He bowed low before extending one to each of the three guild leaders.
"The Duchess bids me deliver this message on her behalf," Custodia said, his voice even, carrying the weight of official decree. "You are to open them upon your return to your guild halls."
Charlotte and Mary Kay exchanged brief glances before taking the letters. Natasha Sokolov of the White Devil Guild accepted hers without a word, eyes narrow with the suspicion of one accustomed to hidden motives.
Later that evening, within the quiet of their respective guild chambers, the seals were broken. The words written in Custodia's precise script were the same for each:
By order of Duchess Elleena Rothchester,
Let it be known that Daniel Rothchester, heir to this house and disciple of the being called only as the Netherborn, shall assume the helm of his master's charge. The quest contract authored by Sylveth Melriel, the Crescent Magus, remains valid and binding under Cathedral Tower policy. Its continuity shall not falter with Netherborn's absence.
Furthermore, in recognition of your victory over the Evolve Drake and your loyalty to the realm, the Rothchester estate pledges full support to the East Lazarus Guild, the High Strategy Guild, and the White Devil Guild. All available resources—supplies, armaments, and intelligence—will be made accessible to ensure the successful completion of this quest.
Signed,
Duches Elleena Laeanna Rothchester
Charlotte set the letter down, her fingers lingering on the parchment. Daniel's name stared back at her, sharp as a blade. Disciple of Netherborn. Rothchester heir. And yet…
Her guild members whispered questions, but she silenced them with a firm gesture. "The Duchess supports us," she said. "That is all that matters. Ready the blades, sharpen the supplies. Tomorrow, we move."
Mary Kay folded the letter neatly, her face unreadable to her guildmates. Yet her thoughts twisted beneath the mask of calm. The system ensures the contract stands. The Duchess ensures the guilds are armed. All is in order. And still… still those eyes burn in my memory.
The torches guttered low as the guild halls settled into night, but the unease remained. The quest would begin with strength behind them, yet in the hearts of two women, a silent question lingered.
Was Daniel truly Rothchester's son alone… or was the tapestry being rewoven before their very eyes?