[Mystery]

Clap!

Applause erupted around the bard as his final note faded into silence. The sudden wave of sound made William flinch, but as he lifted his gaze, he found a growing crowd encircling him.

With a flourish, he pushed himself up from the worn wooden stool. As he did, his trousers shifted, rolling slightly up his left leg. A mechanical limb, intricate yet well-worn, glinted for the briefest moment in the sunlight before his trouser leg fell back into place.

He adjusted his coat with practiced ease, then swept off his hat in a grand gesture. "Hah! Thank you!" His eyes flashed with surprise before a triumphant grin took its place. "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen! The Great William has heard your unspoken praises. Your joy, though expected, is still a treasure to behold. Yet, no mere token of gratitude can rival true reward!"

Extending his hat toward the crowd, he let the weight of his words settle. One by one, hands reached forward, dropping coins into the worn fabric. His smile never wavered, but his eyes darted across the sea of faces, searching. A lingering thought gnawed at the edges of his mind.

Where did that strange pair disappear to…?

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Pacing away from the bustling square, Claude's mind churned with questions, thoughts frothing and swaying like a restless tide.

The Heaven Bleed… The name lingered in his thoughts. 'Was it truly just a legend?'

The crimson imagery, the monsters spoken of in the song—it all bore a troubling resemblance to one thing. The Subspace.

Claude shook his head. No. That may just be a coincidence. And besides… there's a more pressing question.

He cast a glance at Evelyn, who walked beside him, her gaze lost in idle daydreams. Softly, he called her name. "Evelyn."

"Huh?" She blinked, light returning to her emerald eyes. "Master? Did you call for me?"

"Yes." Claude's voice remained even, though his mind was anything but. "That song we just heard… it mentioned an empire called Avalon. Have you ever come across such a name?"

"Avalon?" Evelyn tilted her head before her expression brightened with recognition. "Oh! Yes, of course. Avalon was said to be a mighty empire, forged in fire and blood at the orders of the Machine God Cogus. They say its lands stretched from one end of the continent to the other."

She hesitated, then shook her head lightly. "But, of course, that's just the stuff of myths. If Avalon were real, why is there no mention of it in historical records? And if it had once ruled the continent, why has no trace of its cities or ruins ever been found? In my opinion, Master, Avalon is simply the boast of a long-dead drunkard."

Claude barely heard her.

Avalon. Cogus.

The words twisted through his mind like a creeping mist, cold and inescapable. A chill seeped through his body, yet it did not register. It could not.

Avalon. Cogus.

And then—another name surfaced.

The Sacra Machina.

A memory clawed its way into his consciousness. That forsaken land, the ruins where he had spent years. Within the cathedral at its heart, he had pored over every book, every scrap of history the shattered world had left behind.

Among those decayed pages, he had read of the Sacra Machina—an order of machine-worshipping devotees who traced their origins back to a nation called Avalon.

Claude's fists clenched. His lips pressed into a thin line.

This has to be a coincidence.

The Heaven Bleed? He could dismiss it. A mere fable that bore only the faintest resemblance to the Subspace. But Avalon? That name was not so easily ignored.

Evelyn had said no evidence of Avalon had ever been found.

But Claude knew otherwise.

He had likely walked through its ruins and lived within its bones.

A cold dread crept up his spine. The implications were absurd. Impossible. And yet…

He did not want to think about it. He could not.

"I hope this is merely a coincidence."

Because if it wasn't…

"Master Claude?" Evelyn's voice broke through the rising storm of his thoughts. Concern clouded her eyes. "Are you still feeling unwell? Would you like to rest?"

"No, that won't be necessary." Claude forced the words out, shoving the unease aside.

Lifting his gaze, he caught sight of the lingering sun hanging in the azure sky. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, tilting his head as he thought.

"…Evelyn," he finally said. "Would you happen to know of a library nearby?"

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"The path of a Harbinger is an arduous one," Alfred spoke, pacing leisurely before Claude in the open space of the manor's guest room. "Merely awakening one's Vitalis is only the beginning. It may rejuvenate you, bolster your physical strength—but true mastery lies far beyond that."

His gaze flicked toward Claude, who sat in a cushioned armchair, his complexion now a healthy flush.

"Harbingers are divided into three tiers: Initiate, Adept, and Paragon. To become an Initiate, an awakened individual must bind their Vitalis to an artefact."

Claude's brows furrowed at the unfamiliar word. "Artefact?"

"Yes." Alfred nodded. "An artefact. Scattered across our world, these objects may appear ordinary, yet each holds an extraordinary ability."

Reaching into the breast pocket of his shirt, Alfred withdrew a pocket watch, holding it up for Claude to see.

It was silver—polished yet unembellished. Yet, something about it seemed off. The watch face was frozen in time, its hands unmoving.

"This artefact is called The Architect's Watch," Alfred explained. "It once belonged to a famed Mercian architect, commissioned to design a rural retreat for the Mad King decades ago. However, true to his name, the Mad King found the house too small and had the architect executed for the insult."

A brief pause. Then, Alfred continued, his tone light despite the morbid tale. "This watch was the architect's most prized possession, passed down to his firstborn son after his death."

Realizing he had digressed, Alfred cleared his throat. "My apologies, Master Claude—I seem to have gone off on a tangent."

Claude waved off the apology, his attention still fixed on the motionless watch.

"These artefacts, much like Harbingers themselves, fall into three distinct categories: Rebirth, Withering, and Binding."

Tucking the watch away, Alfred smiled, his voice tinged with pride. "Upon binding with an artefact, a Harbinger's Vitalis undergoes a shift, aligning them with one of these three paths. As you might have guessed, this artefact allows me to channel my Vitalis into it, conjuring the life-like constructs you saw earlier. It grants me battle prowess far exceeding that of my fellow Initiates."

Claude's gaze lingered on Alfred's breast pocket. A flicker of thought crossed his mind before he steadied himself. "These artefacts… where would I procure one? If I cannot advance without one, then it stands to reason I must find one for myself."

"Ah…" Alfred's expression turned contemplative. "Master Claude, you are noble-born. Unlike commoners, you need not scour the world for an artefact—you need only inherit the one passed through your family line."

Claude exhaled softly, as if in understanding. "Then my father must currently be in possession of that artefact."

"Naturally. That is how noble titles are passed in Mercia. The heir is not determined by birth, but by possession of the family artefact." Alfred chuckled. "Which means, my dear Master Claude, that unless your father bestows it upon you, you will have to wait for his passing to become an Initiate. Of course… you could always seek out an artefact yourself, though I doubt such a search would bear fruit."

Silence settled between them. Claude's gaze sharpened. There was something in Alfred's tone—subtle, almost imperceptible. But he heard. A suggestion. A whisper between the lines. Perhaps something more?

If the original host of this body had been here—the young man who resented his father—he would no doubt be foolish enough to take the bait, to leap toward drastic action.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Claude's fingers drummed idly against the armrest.

'How fascinating… A man goading his employer's son toward patricide. Now, what could lie behind such absurdity?' Still, he pushed the thought aside. There was something else he wished to learn—something he could ask outright.

Claude stilled his fingers. "Say…" His tone turned casual. "As my tutor, surely your knowledge extends beyond Vitalis teachings?"

Alfred raised a brow, momentarily caught off guard by the shift. Yet, he quickly composed himself. "Naturally. If it is within my knowledge, I will do my utmost to answer your questions."

"Good." Claude leaned forward slightly. "Then tell me—what do you know of the legends surrounding Avalon?"

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