Silence

This tavern was filled to the brim with souls, each one destined for an end far beyond the horizon.

Yet, for many, that end is so far down the line that it becomes nearly impossible to feel pity for them.

Some of these beings have existed for centuries up to a hundred years while others are even older, with the bar-keep himself rumored to be over eight hundred years old.

I knew this from the descriptions in the novel, from a flashback that took place within these very walls.

Not everyone present was a member of the Silent Court, but it was enough.

I slid onto a stool at the counter, the dim glow of the blue-lit candles casting eerie shadows across the room.

The air was thick with the scent of mead, wine, and beer, mingled with the tang of sweat and the faint, almost imperceptible taste of sorrow.

With a hint of blood a touch so subtle it seemed almost ceremonial just how he preferred it.

The barkeep was young and silver-haired, his skin only faintly wrinkled.

At first glance, he might seem no older than thirty, yet I knew better.

His thin, cold black eyes, his black apron, and the slightly formal attire betrayed his age.

This was Albert.

"Hit me with Night Fuel," I said softly, a smile playing at the corners of my lips.

Albert took his time, considering me with a cold gaze. "You don't look old enough to drink."

I chuckled, running a hand through my hair. "Flattery will get you nowhere, my friend. Tell me do you know what blue stands for?"

His expression faltered for a brief moment, the confusion genuine yet hollow. He knew exactly what I was asking.

But he kept his composure, as did the rest of the room.

The dim hum of a radio continued to play, its haunting melody weaving through the silence.

I could feel the weight of the onlookers' gazes, watching intently, as though time itself held its breath.

"Sir, you might be in the wrong place at the wrong time," Albert said, his voice laced with a subtle warning. "Just tell me what you want."

"Ah, but you still haven't answered my question," I replied, spinning the chair lazily. "Though perhaps it's a bit tricky for you. Think carefully."

The air grew tense, and with a sudden motion, Albert slammed a gun onto the table, wiping his hands clean of the action. "Who are you?"

The remaining patrons watched intently, their breaths shallow, as if waiting for the moment the spell would break.

I could feel their gazes piercing my back, but I laughed once more. "Just a scholar, one who wishes to see his king."

It was then that the room erupted in chaos a flash of blood and noise, as the bodies of those not aligned with the Silent Court were torn apart in an instant.

Out of the ten people in the tavern, only five remained.

I had counted wrong.

"Say," I continued, spinning in the chair once more, "don't you all wish to know just who I truly am."

Albert calmly picked up the gun, his movements smooth and deliberate.

The barrel rested against my head, cold metal pressing gently, yet firmly against my skin.

A low growl escaped his lips as his eyes locked onto mine, his expression sharp and unwavering one fitting of a knight's command.

"Your king? I've never seen your face in my life," Albert said, his voice authoritative, laced with suspicion and contempt.

"I am the one who bears no face," I responded softly, reaching into my pocket. Slowly, I pulled out my Bingo Book.

My fingers traced over its familiar script as I began jotting down the appearances of the three men standing behind me.

Each man exuded an air of menace.

The first, a tall, gaunt figure with piercing blue eyes and a sharp, jagged scar running down his left cheek.

His dark cloak flowed behind him like a shadow, and his weapon a longsword, worn but deadly rested lightly in his grasp.

The second was shorter, stockier, with dark hair that curled slightly at the edges.

His hands were thick with calluses from years of combat, and his armor, though not ornate, radiated power.

His cold gaze seemed to pierce through steel, giving the impression that nothing escaped his notice.

The third was the youngest of the trio, but no less dangerous. His silver hair shone in the dim light, his sharp features belying his age.

A dagger rested on his hip, and the slight smirk on his lips suggested a dangerous confidence.

Albert's gaze shifted to the three men behind me, scanning them with the same scrutiny he gave me.

His finger tightened slightly on the trigger, though his expression remained calm.

"You're scribbling something down," Albert said, his voice steady. "What's that book for?"

"It's a record," I replied calmly, slipping the book back into my pocket. "A record of those who stand in my way."

Albert's lips twitched, but his grip didn't waver. "Your threats mean nothing here. You've entered a dangerous place, and if you can't back up your words, you'll regret it."

The three men behind me shifted subtly, their hands hovering near their weapons, prepared for the worst.

But my focus never wavered, my confidence rooted in a certainty they couldn't yet grasp.

"I've faced worse," I said, a soft smile curling at the corners of my lips. "Now, will you tell me the true purpose of this tavern, or will we continue with this little dance?"

Albert's expression darkened for a moment, but his steady gaze remained. "You've made a mistake, scholar. But I respect your resolve."

The room was silent for a beat, the tension almost palpable. Then, without lowering the gun, Albert nodded. "Speak your purpose."

"I'm seeking alliance with the Silent Court," I said firmly, my voice steady. "Surely you've heard of it, considering you're all members, masking your true forms."

The three beings exchanged surprised glances, stepping back slightly, while Albert let out a soft scoff. "So you've been told?"

I laughed softly, rising to my feet and clasping my hands together. "The dark. It was the dark that told me lines etched into the sky, whispers born from the shadows."

Turning to Albert, I offered a calm smile. "I am not someone who's been told. I'm someone who has lived long enough to simply know."

Albert's sharp, calculating gaze lingered on me. He was likely at the final stage of his Order, something Natalie had never disclosed.

That left me uncertain about the extent of his abilities or what they truly entailed.

"Your soul looks young, at best twenty. Your path is still blinded and unclear, yet you dare to lie?"

Before I could reply, the cold edge of a sword pressed against my neck, sharp enough to draw a thin trickle of blood down my chest.

"I'll count to five thousand," I said. "If you can kill me before then, I'll tell you where his crown is."

The blade eased back, and I pushed my head into the man behind me.

In one swift motion, I spun around, unsheathing my sword and driving it through his cloak, pinning him to the ground. "Javier, you should always be ready for a counterattack."

The boy with the dagger charged at me, but I caught his wrist, redirecting the blade before kicking his legs out from under him. He hit the floor hard.

"Matthew, more control," I scolded as he struggled to rise.

The last man, Verlin, tried to punch me.

I took the hit, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the wooden floor before grabbing his neck and slamming him into Matthew.

"And Verlin, next time, don't be so arrogant as to wait for me to drop my guard."

I turned back to Albert, who began clapping slowly, his expression shifting to one of mild admiration.

He drew his gun and, without hesitation, shot the three men before they could get to their feet.

"You are skilled," Albert said calmly, holstering the weapon. "But my point still stands unknown."

"Well, to answer that, I'll ask you this: do you know of the Veil?"

Albert paused, his demeanor shifting as he leaned seriously over the counter.

"Who no, what are you? If you know of the Veil, you must be strong, yet you feel so... weak."

"Ever heard of a mask? Tell me, Albert, do you think you should listen to me first before asking more questions? If my offer interests you, then I'll tell you about myself."

I sat down and folded my fingers together. "I wish to revive Nicholas and bring glory to his name once more."

"And how will you do that? Do you truly know the location of his crown?"

"Of course. Why else would I know that you bear his bloodline?"

Albert smiled softly, his tone calm and measured. "What should I call you, sir?"

"Call me. Inanis."

He extended his hand. I grasped it firmly, but as I did, I felt something an oppressive sensation, like an eye watching over me.

His pathway. Just from this alone, I was certain. It felt exactly as described. He must be a Watcher, one of the highest Orders, known as a Messenger.

In reference to Gabriel.

I smiled softly. "You're peering into my mind. Well, tell me, what did you find?"

He released my hand with a sigh. "Nothing but a fool's life, hidden under a mask."

Transmigrators have an innate immunity to most mind-reading abilities, thanks to their dual souls.

"Now tell me," I said, laughing softly, "do you wish to join forces?"

My plan was working almost too well. I had truly outdone myself what a skilled liar I had become.

Another perk of being a bad person, I suppose. Damn it, Nat, why were you so kind to me?

I shoved those thoughts aside as Albert responded. "I'll have to see. For now, tell me more about the crown's location."

His suspicion was warranted. None of Nicholas's artifacts had been found not his sword, nor his crown.

Sure, his lineage was still known, but right now, Albert must have been questioning everything he'd ever believed.

"It's in the land lost to the world," I said. "In the depths of the sea where no light can breach, it rests on a statue untainted by the weak."

"Is that supposed to be a riddle?" Albert asked, locking eyes with me.

I smiled. "No, it's quite straightforward. I just need to go to the deepest sea in the world to find it. But as you can see, I'm not quite strong enough for that."

Albert studied me carefully. "Why should I believe you?"

"I could swear an oath on my word, or take an unlying vow. I'd even let you read my mind fully but be warned, its shores are beyond your comprehension."

He chuckled, grabbing a bottle of mead and downing it in a single breath.

"Are you saying I'd go insane from seeing your memories?"

"No, I'm saying you'd die from the overload of information."

He sighed. "No need for any of that. I believe you," he said, stepping out from behind the counter.

Albert walked over to the bodies on the floor, raised his hand, and, as though carving a crescent moon in the air, placed his palm on his chest.

Then, kissing his other hand, he pressed it to his chest again.

"Why is it that you believe me so easily?" I asked.

He turned back to me, the bodies vanishing behind him, leaving only the lingering mana from their souls.

"I can feel heartbeats. I can somewhat read your mind. And from the very moment you stepped into the tavern..."

He paused, walking up to me with a softer expression. "I've had the very useful ability to tell truth from lies."

Of course, I had asked him purely out of consideration.

After all, the first ability a person gains upon becoming a Messenger is the ability to discern truth from falsehood.

Albert was indeed a smart man, fully aware that he was nothing compared to me.

Well at least in the art of deception.