The Mystery of Black Dagger?!
The rough linen sheet clung to my skin, a clammy counterpoint to the sweat beading on my brow.
Sylvana and Elanor, goddesses carved from moonlight and shadow, slept beside me, their naked bodies a breathtaking, disturbing tableau under the thin blanket.
The air hung heavy, thick with the scent of their skin, a perfume both alluring and unsettling.
Sleep, a merciful oblivion, evaded me.
My restless hand reached for the system menu, a cold, metallic glow cutting through the oppressive darkness.
The Black Dagger pulsed faintly in the inventory—a viper coiled in digital code.
I snatched it from the system, the cold steel biting into my palm, a phantom echo of Rhaegar's triumphant strike.
That cursed blade, a key to both my humiliation and my victory over Cassian.
Its power wasn't overt magic, but something subtler, a chilling disruption of lifeblood and arcane energy, a silent whisper of death.
A deeper magic clung to it, a hidden enchantment the system couldn't fathom, a secret whispered only to the blade itself.
It screamed of my father, its former wielder, a man who could have ended me with a single stroke, yet chose… what?
Mercy?
A twisted game?
The dagger, a venomous caress, a ghost of his intent.
Its presence burned a question into my soul: why?
My defeat, orchestrated by this obsidian shard, had hurled me to the Abandoned Tower's summit, a place I never knew existed, a place Cassian somehow inhabited.
Was the dagger a key, unlocking forbidden pathways, twisting fate itself?
A gut feeling, a cold certainty, settled in my chest.
It wasn't reason; it was the primal scream of instinct.
Then, the system's harsh, white glare cut through my thoughts: a notification, stark and unforgiving.
*Evaluation Commencing.*
The words hung in the air, a cold judgment upon my very existence, a harbinger of something far more sinister than sleeplessness.
The air itself seemed to vibrate with anticipation, a silent, lethal hum.
> Evaluation Process had been finished: You had failed on one quest!
> Your reward achievement will be halved due to punishment of Quest's failure!
> You lost 750.000 Monster Diamonds due the punishment!
Damn it all to hell.
Failure.
The System's cruel jest—a butchered reward, the bitter taste of loss clinging to the back of my throat.
The phantom ache of what's gone claws at my gut, a wound as raw as the betrayal.
Rhaegar.
His power, a venomous mockery of my own inadequacy.
He holds a key, a horrifying secret I can only glimpse, but to even touch that darkness, I need to be his equal—at least.
The Miracle Potion, stolen by that viper, Rhaegar. Its theft burns brighter than any sun, a searing injustice that fuels my rage.
The Black Dagger, cold steel against my palm, a futile comfort as I shove it back into the System's abyss.
Then, the jarring shriek of a notification.
Not the System's sterile pronouncements, but the chilling blare of my Knight Application.
A ghost of a notification, a silent scream in the digital ether.
Lisa's alarm.
My mother.
Arlene.
Terror, icy and swift, rips through me.
The nakedness of my body is a forgotten detail.
I snatch the phone, the alarm's red pulse mirroring the frantic beat of my heart.
Intruders.
Multiple, the notification hints.
My mother's hospital room, besieged.
The System's automated dressing feels like a suffocating shroud as I equip my gear.
The Teleport Item—my only lifeline—a beacon of desperate hope.
"Alstair, you're leaving?" Sylvana's voice, a whisper through the haze of my panic.
Her eyes, wide and filled with a potent mix of concern and something…else.
A lingering sadness that cuts deeper than any blade.
Elanor stirs, the sight of her half-bare breast a fleeting distraction, a stark contrast to the turmoil within me.
"Emergency," I growl, my voice raw with urgency.
The words feel inadequate, insufficient to express the maelstrom of fear and determination that consumes me.
Sylvana's smile is a fragile thing, a desperate attempt at composure. Elanor's question hangs in the air—will we meet again?
I force a smile, the Lythandor's necklace, a cold weight against my skin, my promise of return.
The light of the Teleport Item explodes, a blinding white fury, throwing me back to Earth.
Lisa's alarm is a cryptic riddle, but its message is clear: danger.
Mother.
Arlene.
Wait for me.
I'm coming.
No matter the cost.
***
The Gaia Endowment spell ripped through me, a raw, visceral surge of power that tasted like iron and burned like wildfire in my veins.
I was a blur, a human projectile tearing through the town's stunned populace – their gasps and whispers a frantic chorus swallowed by the pounding in my ears.
The hospital loomed, a monstrous white edifice ringed by a sea of anxious faces, the glint of steel a cold premonition in the sickly sweet air.
Knight armor, a bristling wall of obsidian and polished plate, blocked the entrance – their hushed, urgent tones a chilling counterpoint to the frantic beat of my heart.
My Knight's Application screamed its silent alarm – a phantom pain in my chest.
Lisa's name, a strangled prayer on my lips, met only silence.
The unanswered call, the unread message, were daggers twisting into my gut.
Panic, raw and suffocating, choked the breath from my lungs. Mother. Arlene.
The thought was a physical blow, a crushing weight threatening to shatter me.
Monster invasion?
No.
Worse.
Far worse.
My past whispered of Knights, their shadowed intentions more lethal than any beast.
"Alstair!" Stella's voice, a lifeline in the storm, cut through the chaos.
The familiar timbre, usually comforting, was brittle, strained.
She stood before me, her face etched with grim determination, the hospital's reek of antiseptic and fear clinging to her like a shroud.
"Aggression. Patient room. No monster. Knight attack suspected," she gasped, her words a hammer blow to my already fracturing composure. My gut-wrenching suspicion, a cold dread that had snaked through me since the alarm, solidified into icy certainty.
This wasn't a monster; it was betrayal, cloaked in the authority of the Knight Association.
"Alstair, wait—" Her warning was lost in the maelstrom of my terror.
I was a phantom, fueled by primal fear, my only compass the desperate need to reach my family.
The hallway reeked of copper and death – the metallic tang of blood thick enough to taste.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird, a frantic rhythm against the heavy silence of the approaching doom.
Then, I saw Lisa.
She stood between my mother and Arlene, their breathing shallow but steady, a fragile reprieve in the storm.
But Lisa... bathed in the crimson puddle at her feet, her left hand clutching a black dagger, a mirror image of the one Rhaegar had given me.
Crimson blossomed across the polished floorboards, a macabre stain spreading from the obsidian dagger clutched in Lisa's hand.
The metallic tang of blood filled my nostrils, a sickeningly sweet counterpoint to the coppery scent clinging to the air.
I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, those two fallen knights – a B-rank and a C-rank, sprawled near Mother's still form – were her handiwork.
Their necks, gaping wounds raw and ragged, testified to a brutal efficiency that defied belief.
The silence was a physical entity, pressing down, suffocating.
This wasn't the gentle Lisa, the healer I knew.
This was something… else.
Something terrifyingly efficient, chillingly decisive.
The gleam of the black dagger, the stark contrast of the blood against its ebony surface – it etched itself onto my memory, a horrifying tableau.
I had always known Lisa's dedication, but this… this was a revelation, a glimpse into a dark, ruthless core I never suspected existed.
She'd slaughtered them, these knights, yet there was a terrible grace to the act, a cold precision that spoke volumes.
Protection for our family, her silent justification screamed, yet the cost… the brutal, undeniable cost.
"Lisa…?" My voice, a thin thread, snaked through the suffocating stillness. Her gaze, when it finally met mine, was glacial, a vast, empty expanse reflecting the cold moonlight filtering through the hospital window.
The hollowed eyes, the stark whiteness of her face – all spoke of a soul ravaged by some unspeakable burden.
"Alstair…?" she breathed, the whisper as cold as the steel in her hand.
Before I could move, before I could even begin to comprehend the implications, Stella and her grim-faced troops swarmed the room, their movements sharp, efficient, like wolves closing in on their prey.
Lisa didn't resist, a chilling stillness replacing the lethal intensity that had so recently held her.
It was as if she'd anticipated this, accepted it, some grim duty discharged.
"What the hell?! Why are you arresting her?!" My voice cracked, a raw, desperate sound.
The sight of them manhandling her, of her yielding without a fight – it ignited a fire in my gut.
Stella's response was a venomous hiss.
"Shut up, Alstair! We'll discuss this at the Knights Association Investigation!" Her voice, sharp and brittle, cut through the tense silence.
"Ah, shit." The words felt inadequate, pathetic, against the weight of the situation.
I clenched my fists, the rage a burning coal in my chest.
This hospital room, sanctuary for my family, was becoming a battlefield.
I swallowed hard, the bitter taste of betrayal and helplessness coating my tongue.
I couldn't risk a scene; collateral damage to my family would be unforgivable.
The silence, once deafening, now throbbed with a thousand unspoken questions, a thousand chilling implications.
***
The fluorescent lights hummed a sickly tune, a maddening counterpoint to the gnawing anxiety in my gut.
Three hours.
Three hours of watching Lisa, her face a mask of controlled fury under the relentless glare of those Special Investigation Knights.
I could smell the stale air, thick with the scent of fear and desperation, clinging to the cheap fabric of the interrogation room's curtains.
From my vantage point, I saw the sweat beading on the Knight's brow; his usual polished demeanor cracking under the unwavering gaze of his prisoner.
Her answers, clipped and precise, were a testament to her steely resolve, a defiance that mirrored the icy glint in her eyes – eyes I knew held a depth of pain I couldn't fathom.
His threats, the subtle shifts in his posture, the barely concealed menace in his voice – none of it worked.
He couldn't break her.
But they still suspected her.
Suspected her, when it was she who'd saved my family from those viperous Knights, those insidious shadows that slithered through the hospital, aiming for my mother and sister's vulnerable hearts.
The injustice clawed at me, a physical ache in my chest.
Stella's gaze, sharp as shattered glass, cut through me.
"Your turn, Alstair." Her voice, though low, carried the weight of authority, the unspoken threat of consequences.
"Bullshit," I muttered, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.
Three hours wasted.
Three hours of watching Lisa endure their brutal inquisition, a waste of her strength, a violation of her spirit.
But Stella's right.
I had to take the burden now, let her rest.
Let her breathe.
Lisa emerged, pale but unbroken, her shoulders stiff with exhaustion.
The door swung shut, sealing her in a temporary sanctuary.
The air in the room seemed to thicken, the silence pressing down like a physical weight.
Stella, a predator in tailored armor, sat opposite me, her leg crossed, her expression a mask of icy professionalism.
"I hunt the rogue Knights, Alstair," she said, her voice a silken blade. The words hung between us, precise and deadly. "The ones who stir up needless chaos. Since you lead the Crystallice Guild, and Lisa is one of your members, you're under investigation."
My jaw tightened. "Lisa did nothing wrong. She helped me stop the Knights who planned to attack my family."
Stella leaned back, a slow, deliberate movement that spoke volumes of her skepticism. "How do you know? What if she was part of the plot? What if she only backed down because you showed up?" Her words were laced with venom, each syllable carefully chosen to inflict maximum damage.
"Nonsense," I spat, the fury rising in my throat. "Lisa and I had a pact. We knew there were Knights who hated me enough to harm my family, even in a hospital bed."
The image of my unconscious mother, my terrified sister, burned behind my eyes.
Stella's patience, if she ever had any, was clearly wearing thin. "When did you first meet Lisa?" Her gaze pierced me, searching for any crack in my composure.
"In Dawn City," I replied, the memory sharp and clear.
The dizzying heights of that skyscraper, the wind whipping around us, the first spark of connection amidst the chaos of that mission.
Stella's eyes narrowed. "Her colleagues from that mission died inside a building. A relatively safe one. The report is clear." The words hung in the air, a silent accusation.
The memory of Lisa, battling beside me, her face smeared with blood, her determination unwavering – it was in that moment, high above the city, amidst the carnage, that the bond between us was forged in the fires of shared peril, a bond that could not be broken by accusations or threats.
At that time, I remember Lisa almost finished of her life by herself since lots of her Knights colleague is dead.
Stella's suspicion on Lisa had gone too far, from my perspective.
Lisa, a Healer whose hands should cradle life, was consumed by guilt – a guilt born not of failure, but of a betrayal so profound it etched itself onto her soul.
The Dawn City mission… the butchered body of her colleague…
The image seared itself behind my eyelids, a grotesque tableau of violated flesh.
A Healer couldn't do that brutal murder, a cold voice whispered in my head.
But Stella's gaze, sharp as shattered glass, held a conviction that chilled me to the bone.
"You still evade me, Alstair," Stella pressed, her voice a venomous caress. "Did you see it? With your own eyes, the way they carved him up?"
"Undead, perhaps? The chaos… I don't recall the specifics."
Stella's laughter was devoid of humor.
"Neck torn, Alstair. Stab wounds… precise, brutal. Not the work of mindless monsters. Lisa could be the murderer. We don't know why, but as a Knight Investigator, my duty is clear. Arrest. Punishment. And she's mine." Her eyes bored into me, icy and unwavering.
My gut twisted.
The Black Dagger, mirroring my own, pulsed with a dark resonance.
Lisa's skill… her dedication…
It was a fragile scaffolding, threatening to collapse under Stella's relentless accusations.
"It's conjecture, Stella," I snapped, my voice raw. "Baseless accusations! Focus on the real threat – the ones targeting my family."
Stella's lips curled.
The scent of her expensive perfume suddenly felt cloying, sickening.
"The dead don't speak for themselves, Alstair. Unless Lisa does. She's your guild member. Your responsibility. Even if you expel her, we'll extract the truth. We always do."
Expel Lisa?
The thought was a physical blow.
She'd risked everything for my family, shielding them from the shadows that clawed at my life.
The Knight Association, those ravenous wolves, were already circling.
"I won't abandon her," I ground out, the words tasting like ash. "Not to these… vultures."
"An irregular rank Knight, so bold," Stella murmured, her voice laced with a chilling amusement. "Protecting her will lead to your ruin, Alstair. She's linked to the Shadow Hunters – the very organization the Knight Association is hunting."
"I'll speak to Lisa," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "If the Knight Investigators demand it."
Stella's cold gaze lingered. "I hope you survive the encounter, Alstair."
The unspoken threat hung heavier than any accusation, a suffocating weight pressing down on me.
Damn.
She really testing my nerve on this.
My voice, raw with barely suppressed rage, cut through the suffocating tension. "Lisa saved my family. Instead of crushing her, why doesn't your precious Knight Association shower her with the goddamn appreciation she deserves? You preach about protecting innocents from rogue Knights, but you failed. If Lisa hadn't intervened, my family would be… gone. Mercilessly butchered."
My eyes burned into hers, the fury a physical force, a tangible heat radiating from my core.
Stella froze, the arrogance melting from her face, replaced by a flicker of…fear?
Unbelievable.
Here she was, an S-rank Knight, rendered speechless by my raw, untamed fury.
The silence stretched, a taut, agonizing thing, broken only by the frantic drumming of my own pulse.
Before the beast inside me fully unleashed its wrath, before I did something I'd regret, I turned and left, the slam of the door echoing the thunder in my soul.
Soon, Stella would face the truth.
Soon, the evidence would shatter her carefully constructed lies and expose Lisa's innocence.
And then, I would have my reckoning.
***
The interrogation room's stale air hung thick with the scent of fear and cheap disinfectant.
Lisa and I had emerged, scarred but unbroken, from the relentless grilling.
The threat of being hauled back in, another round of accusations hurled like daggers, hung heavy.
Stella's obsession with the Knights and their Shadow Hunter ties gnawed at my nerves.
Let them pry.
My parents were safe, thanks to Lisa's lightning-fast intervention.
That was all that mattered.
But I owed her.
"Lisa," I said, the words a calculated move to break the tension, "There's a night market north. A chance to forget this… mess. The investigators have bled us dry, haven't they?"
Her response was a choked whisper, a fleeting glimpse of the raw vulnerability beneath her composed exterior. "Oh, Alstair. I… I would like that. But… I need a moment. I reek of blood. My place is nearby; wait for me there."
The metallic tang of blood, a phantom scent clinging to her, was a stark reminder of the price we'd paid.
As we arrived at Lisa's apartement, her apartment was a stark, echoing space.
Minimalist wasn't the word; it was desolate.
The silence pressed down, a suffocating weight.
The emptiness screamed louder than any accusation.
Did she really live like this? The thought clawed at my empathy.
Half an hour stretched into an eternity.
The rhythmic tick of a clock was amplified in the silence.
Then, the soft click of a door.
Lisa emerged, transformed.
The blood was gone, replaced by the subtle fragrance of lavender.
Her long, brown hair, usually loose, was neatly tied back, accentuating the elegant lines of her face.
The blouse and skirt, carefully chosen, were a deliberate display of something fragile yet determined.
A woman reclaiming herself.
"Alstair, I'm sorry," she said, her voice a breathy apology.
My hand went out instinctively. "Come."
The blush creeping up her neck as her fingers laced with mine sent a jolt through me.
This wasn't the grim, haunted Lisa I'd known during the investigation.
This was… different.
Hopeful.
At the night market, it was a cacophony of sights, sounds, and smells – sizzling meats, sweet spices, the murmur of a thousand conversations.
But Lisa, usually observant, was lost in the mesmerizing chaos.
Her gaze was drawn to the vibrant stalls laden with street food.
A flicker of something childlike, something vulnerable, appeared in her eyes.
"You… you want to try some?" I asked, my voice low.
Her gasp was almost inaudible. "C-could we?"
"Why not?" I pulled her gently closer, my grip firm but tender. "Let's go." The weight of the day, of the investigation, of Stella's relentless pursuit, seemed to lift with each delicious bite, each shared smile, each stolen moment under the bustling market lights.
The night, for now, belonged to us.
Everytime I look at see Lisa, as a man, of course it always tempting to see her figures.
Lisa's body, a sculpted masterpiece of curves – the swell of her breasts, the elegant line of her thighs – belied a surprising appetite.
Forget the wispy models; Lisa devoured food with the primal hunger of a goddess.
The fragrant steam from chicken satay, the earthy scent of grilled potatoes, the sickly sweet perfume of a dozen different candies – it was a dizzying olfactory assault, mirroring the frantic pace at which she consumed it.
"Sorry," she murmured, her voice a silken whisper against the background cacophony of the night market, a single, glistening candy clinging to her lip, "street food… it's my weakness."
My laughter was a shaky exhale, a testament to the exquisite dissonance between her elegant demeanor and this raw, untamed hunger.
Never had I witnessed such a captivating blend of sophistication and impulsive abandon.
From the sizzling stalls, a kaleidoscope of sights and sounds exploded – the flashing lights of arcade games, the frantic clicks of joysticks, the sharp scent of ozone from the VR machines.
The laughter, initially uninhibited, curdled in my throat.
But suddenly, a venomous whisper slithered through the festive din.
"The Knight's murderer," a woman hissed, her words laced with venom.
"That… woman… even her beauty can't excuse her madness!"
The whispers, a swarm of stinging insects, buzzed around us, their poison dripping with accusations.
"Unconstrained! The Knight Association letting a criminal roam free!"
I froze, my gaze locking onto those cowering forms, their eyes darting away from my icy stare.
Lisa, her hand resting casually on the hilt of her sword, remained silent, a storm brewing beneath her composed façade.
But I felt the rage bloom, hot and brutal, a fist clenching in my gut.
Don't they see?
Don't they understand she saved my family?
Their petty fears, their shallow judgments, were a knife twisting in my chest.
My blood roared in my ears, drowning out the festive music, the joyous screams of children.
I saw Lisa's face, usually so radiant, drained of color, her eyes clouded with a bone-deep weariness that ripped through my defenses.
"Alstair," she whispered, her voice tight with a sorrow that chilled me to the bone, "let's go home."
The casual dismissal of those whispers was a lie.
I knew it.
The news, a cruel, twisted caricature of the truth, blasted from my phone screen: A-Rank Knight Murders Two in Hospital.
No context, no nuance, only the blatant accusation.
Lisa, the protector, reduced to a monster.
The injustice was a physical blow, a punch to the gut that echoed the rising nausea in my stomach.
Those bastards!
My rage was a consuming fire, threatening to incinerate everything in its path.
The night market, once a haven of delight, now felt like a cage, closing in on us, its sounds a symphony of condemnation.
Lisa's hand in mine felt cold, her weariness a heavy weight on my soul.
The journey home felt longer than any I had ever endured, the darkness of the city reflecting the darkness I felt within.
Since the face of Lisa's face with blood on her face made people falsely accuse her as the maniac knights who're killing for the sake of her egoistic reasoning.
No wonder lots of people gossiping on her!
The acrid stench of street food and simmering resentment clung to the night market air.
Lisa, her face pale under the garish neon glow, practically vibrated with the venomous whispers that pursued her.
I saw the tremor in her hand as she tried to bolt, the fear a palpable thing between us.
I seized her wrist, the rough fabric of her sleeve burning against my palm.
"Lisa, forget them. Let's have a silent and peaceful place nearby." I growled, my voice a low rumble against the cacophony.
My eyes, narrowed and blazing, sought out the leering faces, the vultures circling their prey.
Those who dared to sneer, to cast a sidelong glance of venomous judgment, met the full force of my icy stare.
I didn't need to speak; the cold fury radiating from me was enough to send them scattering, their hateful whispers dying on their lips.
Let them mock me.
Let them call me the Weakest Knight, the F-rank failure, the Irregular.
Their scorn was a familiar weight, a dull ache I'd learned to ignore.
But this… this attack on Lisa, the woman who had shown kindness to my struggling family, ignited a fire in my gut that threatened to consume me.
I would gladly crush them under my heel if it meant protecting her.
As we arrived in the high place nearby, feels like a cocoon of vibrant colour shielding us from the ugliness outside.
The night sky, vast and indifferent, poured down a torrent of stars.
Lisa's tense shoulders finally relaxed; the silence here was a balm to the poison that had been injected into her life.
"Lisa," I said, the words raw and choked with guilt, "I'm sorry. That damned lie… I should have stopped it before it spread its venomous tendrils through the city."
Her smile was brittle, a fragile thing crafted from exhaustion. "It's not worth your effort, Alstair. I told the truth to the Knight Association, to everyone. They wouldn't listen. Some things… you can't control."
My jaw clenched.
"We can change this, Lisa. Our guild is among the top twenty in the world. A press conference… we can clear your name." My voice was a steel blade, unwavering in its resolve.
Her calm response chilled me more than any accusation ever could. "It's not worth your time, your resources, your energy. You're the guild leader now, Alstair. Your family… their safety is important. Let the gossip fade. It will. As long as they're safe, I can bear this." Her quiet acceptance stung more than any public condemnation.
The insidious calm in her voice hinted at a depth of resilience, a strength that both impressed and terrified me.
It made me realize that the battle wasn't just against the gossipmongers; it was against a quiet, insidious enemy—the acceptance of injustice.
And that was a war far more dangerous.
"Lisa, listen," I rasped, the words a desperate claw against the suffocating dread. "Your name… it's out there. Money, time, effort – it's meaningless. If it touches the truth of your selfless sacrifice, I'll move heaven and earth. It's the least I can do to repay you, Lisa! I can't even *imagine* Mother without you!"
Lisa's smile was a fragile thing, a ghost in the inky blackness of the night.
She didn't speak, the silence a heavy weight pressing down, a silent plea for me to calm the tempest raging within me.
The scent of night-blooming jasmine, usually a comfort, only amplified the tension, a cloying sweetness against the bitter metallic taste of fear.
I fought for control, each ragged breath a victory hard-won.
Finally, her voice, low and laced with steel, cut through the night. "There's something bigger than this smear campaign, Alstair. Something that threatens your family's safety. You must consider it."
The icy grip of fear tightened around my heart. "The Knights? They're after my family?"
Her nod was curt, sharp as shattered glass.
"Two of them. When the alarm went off, I found them positioned to take Mother and Arlene. Their weapons… unmistakable. The fight… it was brutal. I secured the area before you arrived, but…" Her voice faltered, the night air heavy with unspoken brutality. "I… I killed them. I didn't capture them. I reacted without thinking."
Ah, Lisa, I thought, the image of her, deadly and graceful, a phantom warrior bathed in moonlight, a fierce protectiveness burning in her eyes.
Such a lethal beauty.
"Those bastards… who's behind this?" I muttered, the taste of bile rising in my throat.
Possible enemies whirled in my mind like vultures, each a potential predator. "Untraceable, Alstair," Lisa said, her voice taut. "Too many possibilities. Mercenaries, paid to do the dirty work. It's a real possibility."
I nodded, the grim truth sinking in.
Mercenaries among the Knights – a cancer spreading through the very fabric of our defense.
Since the Monster invasion, military strength had withered, leaving the Knights as the sole protectors, making them a coveted commodity for the wealthy and the ruthless.
The Knight Association, ostensibly dedicated to monster eradication, was powerless against the shadow war waged in the dark corners of the world.
Their Special Investigation Unit, led by the steely Stella, did its best, but even they couldn't keep up.
The chaos in the hospital… it wasn't just a random attack.
It was a calculated move.
My mother, Arlene, they needed medical care, yet now… they were targets.
Damn it all to hell.
This wasn't a simple smear campaign.
This was a war, and my family was caught in the crossfire.
The suffocating weight of responsibility pressed down on me, a mountain threatening to crush me.
This was far, far more complicated than I ever imagined.
"We both know this 'enhance security' is a temporary fix," Lisa hissed, her voice a low thrum vibrating in the air, the scent of ozone clinging to her like a second skin. "Keeping your mother and sister safe... for now. But that's not enough, is it?" Her eyes, sharp as shards of ice, locked onto mine.
"Enough?" I snarled, the taste of bile rising in my throat. "My family's been targeted. I don't want to just protect them; I want to obliterate whoever's behind this. I want to carve a message into that mastermind's soul – a message so brutal, so terrifying, no one will ever dare touch my family again." The rage throbbed in my temples, a hot, agonizing pressure. "But how can I focus on some stupid dungeon crawl when this… this shadow hangs over everything?"
Lisa nodded, her understanding a grim echo of my own fury.
The memory of Stella's haunted eyes – the fear etched into her very being – clawed at me.
This wasn't just about protecting my family; it was about avenging the fear that had already been inflicted.
It was time to dig deeper, much deeper.
"The Shadow Hunters," I ground out, the words tasting like ash. "Do you think it's them?" Lisa's silence stretched, thick and heavy as a shroud.
The air crackled with unspoken dread.
It wasn't just silence; it was the weight of a thousand dark secrets pressing down.
I knew the legends – whispered among the Knights, dismissed by some as superstition, yet chillingly real to others.
The Shadow Hunters.
An organization steeped in shadows, a venomous plague festering in the heart of the Knights themselves.
They were the whispers in the dark, the cold steel in the back, the assassins who took no prisoners, who were willing to stain their hands with the blood of their brethren for the slightest advantage, for the sheer, sickening thrill of power.
And now, they were threatening everything I held dear.
The stench of mildew and decay clung to the hidden dungeon's air, a miasma mirroring the foulness of Winstein and his Shadow Hunter thugs.
Their attack on Avyanna and me—a brutal, calculated ambush—etched itself onto my memory, a brand seared into my very soul.
Those bastards.
"I don't know," Lisa's replied after long pause, tight as a drum, barely registered above the echoing drip of subterranean water. "It might be related to the Shadow Hunters, but I have no proof."
Her eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were shadowed, haunted.
"The black dagger," I pressed, the image of its obsidian gleam flashing before my eyes, "the one you wielded that night. Explain."
A tremor ran through her, subtle but undeniable.
"W-what dagger, Alstair?" The lie tasted bitter on the air.
Her desperation, a raw, exposed nerve, throbbed in the silence.
She was hiding something, I could feel the icy grip of it around her heart, as cold and sharp as the blade itself.
Patience.
I needed patience.
The truth wouldn't be pried from her with brute force.
I could order her, as guild leader, but that wouldn't yield the truth.
It would only fracture the fragile trust we'd built.
No, a more delicate approach was needed.
A surge of mana, warm and familiar, pulsed through me.
I recalled the ritual that bound me to Elanor and Sylvana, the connection forged through Lythandor's necklace, a mystical conduit of power.
If Lisa's dagger—and I was certain it was a counterpart to my own, a dark twin birthed in the same infernal forge—held a similar essence, perhaps I could trace a connection, a thread of magical kinship.
The thought stoked a dangerous hope, a flicker of warmth in the damp chill of the dungeon.
The risk… the risk was considerable.
But the chance to unravel this mystery, to expose Rhaegar's influence, to understand Lisa's desperate lies… it was a gamble I was willing to take.
A long silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken words and barely contained tension.
The air crackled with anticipation.
Finally, I spoke, my voice low and controlled. "Lisa, let's go home."
Her relief was palpable. "It's late. Why don't you stay at my apartment, Alstair?" The invitation hung between us, heavy with unspoken implications.
Tonight, under the cover of darkness, I would attempt my ritual.
Tonight, the truth would be revealed.
Whether she wanted it to be, or not.