Moses moved to his desk and retrieved a thick folder, its edges worn from handling. The leather binding bore the family crest, a detail that surfaced from Vencian's memories with startling clarity.
"This contains everything I've gathered about Father's arrest." Moses held the folder but didn't immediately pass it over. "The charges are based on a intercepted letter. Military intelligence that was supposedly leaked to enemy forces."
Luke's stomach tightened. This was clearly the heart of their family's crisis, the event that had shattered their world while he'd been locked away performing whatever ritual had brought him here.
"The letter was encrypted using our family's cipher," Moses continued. "A cipher that should only be known to us and the royal military department."
The implications hit Luke immediately. If the cipher was compromised, either someone in their family was a traitor, or the cipher had been stolen. Neither possibility boded well for their father's innocence.
"You believe someone stole it," Luke said. It wasn't a question; the logic was clear enough.
"I've spent the last few days investigating how that might have happened. Who had access, when the security might have been breached, what opportunities existed." Moses finally extended the folder. "But I've reached the limits of what I can discover from here. I need to travel to the capital, examine the archives personally."
Luke accepted the folder, feeling its weight. "And you want me to continue the investigation while you're gone."
"More than that. I need your particular talents for this." Moses's expression grew more serious. "You've always been the one who sees patterns others miss. Connections that aren't obvious. If there's something I've overlooked, you're the one who'll find it."
The trust in Moses's voice made Luke's chest tighten with uncertainity. He was accepting responsibility for something far beyond his understanding.
"Who benefits from Father's disgrace?" Luke asked, hoping to guide the conversation toward useful information.
"Duke Ignacio Montaro has been the most vocal in calling for swift justice. But that could be genuine outrage or calculated manipulation." Moses rubbed his temples. "The attack on Monteluz duchy caused significant damage. If our family is seen as responsible, even indirectly, the political ramifications could reshape the entire region."
A memory stirred in Luke's mind, not his own, but Vencian's. The Monteluz duchy, a strategic territory that controlled key trade routes. Any disruption there would send ripples throughout the kingdom's economy and military positioning.
"You said it feels personal. What if that's exactly what they want us to think? While we're focused on defending ourselves, the real traitor stays hidden." Luke asked.
"That's what I keep wondering. Create a scandal around the Vicorra name while the real culprit operates in the shadows." Moses's voice carried a note of frustration. "But I can't shake the feeling that this is personal. Too many precise details, too many coincidences. The southern border territories have always been politically volatile. Our family and the Monteluz duchy have maintained the frontier for generations. If someone wanted to destabilize the region, eliminating both families' influence would be the most effective approach."
Luke opened the folder, scanning the first page.
"I'll find what you missed," Luke said, drawing on Vencian's natural confidence to mask his uncertainty.
Moses smiled, and for the first time since Luke had entered the room, some of the tension left his shoulders. "I knew I could count on you. Despite everything that's happened, you're still thinking clearly."
The phrase carried undertones Luke couldn't quite grasp, references to recent events that remained frustratingly blank in his borrowed memories. But he nodded, projecting the confidence Moses needed to see.
"How long will you be gone?"
"I don't know." Moses gathered papers from his desk, organizing them with practiced efficiency. "General Herrera can only delay the proceedings for so long. Political pressure is mounting."
"And Jeriko?"
"Following leads in the eastern provinces." Moses paused. "We're running out of time, Ven. All of us."
The gravity of the situation settled over Luke like a shroud. A family's honor, possibly their father's life, hung in the balance. And he, an imposter wearing Vencian's face, was being trusted with a crucial piece of their salvation.
"I won't let you down," Luke said.
Moses clasped his shoulder. "I know you won't. But promise me something: don't lose yourself in this investigation. You've been... fragile... since Father's arrest. Since other recent events. Take care of yourself as well as our family's interests."
The concern in Moses's voice was genuine, touching something deep in Luke's chest. This wasn't just about political maneuvering or family honor. Moses genuinely cared about Vencian's wellbeing, worried about the toll recent events had taken.
"I'll be careful," Luke promised.
The weight of responsibility settled on him like an ill-fitting coat. Moses clasped his shoulder one final time before heading toward the door.
"Things may look cloudy right now, Ven. But don't worry. The sun will shine on our family again." He gave Luke a reassuring smile.
"And when it does, Seris Valemont will regret breaking the engagement with you."
When Luke heard that, he felt that betrayal of Vencian's memory deep once again. The only thought that echoed through his mind he heard this news was: Who?
---
The moment Moses left, Luke's careful composure cracked.
Just like those damn stocks, he thought bitterly, not that he'd ever had money to actually trade them. At twenty-four, he'd been nothing but an unemployed graduate watching others get rich while he scraped by. You spot one rising, jump in without thinking, then watch it crash the moment you buy. The analogy felt painfully apt. That betrayal, that sense of timing gone wrong, felt familiar now. The real Vencian, whose life was supposed to be perfect, had abandoned him alone in what felt like his first real crisis.
The sequence of events consumed his thoughts. One week since Vencian's return from the academy. Three days later, his father's arrest and the broken engagement. Three more days of isolation before today's conversation with Moses.
Luke turned to the ritual materials stuffed in his drawers. He'd hastily hidden them after the initial shock of awakening in this body, but now he desperately needed answers. The blood-drawn pattern meant nothing to him; he couldn't recall anything by looking at it. However, the words in the corner of the parchment looked different now. Less strange than before.
They were written in Urimeth. Not many people in the kingdom of Airantis spoke it. Most used Airan for daily conversation. Fortunately, Vencian's memories included knowledge of many languages, so Luke could read what was written.
Blood, vow, echo, hollow, ascend.
Another dead end. Just because he could read them didn't mean he understood what they meant. Luke had already searched through his memories trying to figure it out, but found nothing useful.
How the hell did Vencian even learn about blood rituals? Such knowledge wasn't simply lying around. Schools certainly didn't teach this material. Clubs didn't discuss it. Even talking about it could be called heresy. This was forbidden knowledge, the kind that required either exceptional circumstances or dangerous contacts to acquire.
The chronology weighed heavily on his mind. Last week, Vencian returned from Airantis Academy for vacation. Three days later, news came about his father's arrest. That same day, Seris Valemont broke their engagement. After that, Vencian locked himself in his room and wouldn't talk to anyone. Then he performed this ritual, and that's when Luke replaced his consciousness.
But Vencian's memories are scattered, unreliable, Luke realized with growing frustration. I can't trust their completeness. Where could Vencian have learned about forbidden rituals?
Schools avoided such topics entirely. The church condemned them as heresy. That left unofficial sources: friends, hidden texts, or perhaps...
A memory stirred, bringing with it the image of a familiar face. Elías, one of Vencian's closest friends at the Academy. They'd spent countless hours in the library together, often discussing subjects that pushed the boundaries of acceptable knowledge.
Could Elías know about this?
The question gnawed at him. Even at the Academy, discussions of such topics were carefully monitored. The church's influence reached into every classroom, every library. For Vencian to have learned about blood rituals, someone would have had to deliberately guide him toward forbidden knowledge. The coincidence of him learning such techniques just when his family faced their greatest crisis felt too convenient to ignore.
Even if Elías had provided information, where would he have found it? Luke's thoughts turned to another possibility, one that made more sense given Vencian's academic achievements.
Qesil Migdol.
Qesil Migdol, the Tower of Disciples in the old tongue, had stood at Airantis's heart since the kingdom's founding. Only worthy students could access its knowledge. Each floor required passing a test created by the tower's consciousness. Success granted access to that floor's information. Higher floors contained more valuable knowledge. An ancient magical phenomenon, created centuries ago by a great Ilvor Therix, even before the foundation of the Airantis kingdom was laid.
A memory struck him suddenly. Three weeks ago, Vencian had cleared the fourth floor's test. He'd become one of the youngest ever to reach that level.
The tower holds the most logical answer for where Vencian would have discovered mystical rituals, Luke concluded. It seems like my best lead.
Yet the scattered nature of his inherited memories was becoming a critical problem. It was like awakening from a coma: he retained fundamental skills, language, motor functions, even most of Vencian's general knowledge. But specific memories, crucial moments, seemed to exist behind a veil he couldn't penetrate. The missing details about Seris Valemont proved that significant portions of Vencian's life remained inaccessible to him.
Through all of Vencian's scattered memories, apart from the last week's details, one thing remained constant: he couldn't recall any memory about Seris. As if she never existed in his world. Moreover, they were engaged to each other. From the way Moses had talked to him, it felt like he was trying to console Vencian about what happened. It was as if Seris was the love of Vencian's life.
This emotional trauma could easily have driven Vencian to attempt the ritual.
However, Luke couldn't be too sure. He was only able to identify a missing character from Vencian's life after Moses mentioned her. What if there were more missing characters? Those who were supposed to be important?
I need to verify the reliability of my memory somehow. It can't continue like this.
This charade felt like balancing on the edge of a cliff in a windstorm. How long could he maintain this facade? What would happen when someone expected knowledge he simply didn't possess? Luke pushed the anxiety aside. He had no answers, only hope that his careful observation and Vencian's inherited mannerisms would carry him through. Every conversation was a test he couldn't afford to fail.
Luke searched through documents until he found basic information about Seris Valemont. She was the daughter of the late Duke Justus Valemont and Lady Dimnah Valemont. As heir to the duchy of Angante, she commanded significant political influence.
Her status as heir to Angante duchy explained Moses's consoling tone. The broken engagement wasn't just personal; it was political abandonment when the Vicorras needed allies most. This led to two possible explanations for the broken engagement: either the Valemont family believed the Vicorras wouldn't survive their current crisis, or Seris had never favored Vencian and used the scandal as an excuse to escape.
The possibility that the Valemonts were involved in orchestrating the Vicorra family's downfall can't be dismissed, Luke mused darkly. The timing seems too convenient.
After indirect questioning and probing the mansion's servants and staff, he pieced together the broader situation his family faced.
The evidence seems overwhelming, Luke thought, reviewing what he'd learned. But something doesn't add up. The precision of the attack, the convenient timing, the perfect alignment of circumstances: it felt orchestrated.
But how would they have managed it?
Luke understood Moses's position now. The careful way his brother had spoken, the slight tension in his shoulders; Moses was operating under siege conditions. Someone had betrayed their family, stolen their cipher, orchestrated their downfall. In such circumstances, trust became a luxury reserved only for blood relatives. Moses needed someone he could rely on completely, and despite his concerns about Vencian's recent fragility, he had no choice but to depend on his brother's proven analytical abilities.
As the full scope of his situation crystallized, Luke confronted a fundamental question: was he planning to find a way back to his old world?
Hell no.
He'd always cursed his birth into poverty, always longed for wealth and comfort. This situation was a dream come true, literally. Nobody on Earth would miss him. He had no desire to return to his previous depressed existence.
I'm not going back to that miserable life, he decided firmly. Not when I finally have everything I've ever wanted.
But luxury meant nothing if the family fell. Without the Vicorra name and wealth, he'd be worse than before: a disgraced noble with no connections in an unfamiliar world.
I can't let that happen, he realized, desperation creeping into his thoughts. Not after finally escaping that hellhole of a life.
The comfortable mansion, the servants who bowed respectfully, the fine clothes, the education at a prestigious academy: all of it hung in the balance. Without the Vicorra family's protection and status, he'd be worse than when he started. At least on Earth, he'd known the rules of survival. Here, as a disgraced noble with no connections, he'd be completely helpless.
It's about protecting my investment. There's no going back.