A Web of Lies Begins ( ll )

Chapter 15 : A Web of Lies Begins ( ll )

A Pawn on the Board

Cedric Vaelmont had never felt so exposed.

The once-proud noble, now reduced to a mere pawn in Noctis's grand game, moved through the lavish halls of aristocratic society with a newfound wariness. Every whispered conversation, every fleeting glance, sent a prickle of paranoia down his spine.

His task was simple—repeat carefully crafted lines in just the right places. But execution was another matter entirely.

Each time he spoke, he imagined hidden eyes watching. Each time he wove a rumor into casual conversation, he feared someone would see the trembling in his hands.

And worst of all—each time a noble repeated his words with intrigue or skepticism, he felt the invisible strings pulling tighter around his throat.

But he had no choice.

His family name, once a symbol of power, now teetered on the brink of irrelevance. His influence had been stripped from him, his position hanging by a thread. The only thing keeping him afloat was the one figure who now loomed over his every action—Noctis.

It was not loyalty that bound him to the enigmatic Umbrael heir.

It was survival.

A Delicate Web

At a gathering in Lord Evern's estate, Cedric found himself trapped in a conversation with three influential nobles—Lady Selene Rothmere, Lord Damien Calloway, and the ever-skeptical Countess Lorne. The air was thick with expensive perfumes and underlying tension, the room filled with the calculated movements of aristocrats navigating unseen battles.

He forced a charming smile as he sipped his wine, but his grip on the glass was tense.

"The most curious thing," he murmured, feigning idle amusement. "It seems House Valen has been rather… aggressive in its acquisitions as of late."

Countess Lorne arched a thin brow, the movement almost imperceptible. "Oh? I hadn't heard."

Perfect.

Cedric let out a soft chuckle, as if the matter were inconsequential. "Oh, I wouldn't have either if not for a passing remark from Lord Ashford. Something about their sudden expansion despite unfavorable trade conditions. Quite unusual, wouldn't you say?"

Lord Calloway hummed in thought, swirling his glass of deep red wine. "House Valen has always been ambitious. But if they're buying up assets at this rate… one must wonder where their funds are coming from."

Selene Rothmere's expression darkened with interest. "Or who they've aligned with."

Cedric pretended to hesitate before giving a slight shrug. "I wouldn't dare speculate. Merely an observation."

But he knew exactly what he had just done.

By planting the idea that House Valen's wealth was unnatural—perhaps even gained through illicit means—he had turned suspicion in their direction. More importantly, he had encouraged other nobles to do the speculating for him.

It was a dangerous game, but one Noctis had designed perfectly.

Cedric did not need to lie outright. He only needed to ask the right questions.

And the nobility would tear themselves apart searching for answers.

The next few days saw the rumors grow beyond their origins, shifting and warping as they passed from noble to noble.

House Valen's acquisitions became a point of scrutiny. House Holstein, already suffering from previous losses, grew defensive. Whispers of betrayal and misinformation plagued the lower-ranked houses, and soon, even the powerful noble families began questioning the stability of their alliances.

Noctis watched from the sidelines, his fingers carefully adjusting the pieces in play.

At a private gathering in a secluded lounge, he observed as the nobility unknowingly tangled themselves in his web.

A few nobles near him were engaged in a heated debate, their voices low but urgent.

"House Valen's expansion is unnatural," one murmured. "They must have had outside support."

"Or inside information," another countered. "What if someone fed false intelligence to Lord Holstein? His financial collapse was far too convenient."

Noctis hid his smirk behind his wine glass.

The idea that Lord Holstein had been deliberately misled was an elegant addition to the chaos. The noble in question would soon be forced to defend himself, leading to either panic or reckless accusations—both of which played into Noctis's hands.

He had not merely spread rumors.

He had created uncertainty.

And in the world of aristocrats, uncertainty was a far deadlier weapon than any blade.

A Threat Emerges

Not everyone was so easily fooled.

Noctis was returning to his personal study late that evening when he noticed a flicker of movement in the dimly lit corridor.

A presence—one that did not belong.

He did not slow his pace, but his senses sharpened.

As he entered the room, he heard the door close behind him with a soft click.

Noctis turned, unsurprised to find a figure waiting in the shadows.

Lord Alistair Duvain.

A powerful noble, older, and far more calculating than most. Unlike the others, he was not a man swayed by rumors. If anything, he was the kind who created them for his own benefit.

A faint smile played on Noctis's lips. "Lord Duvain. An unexpected visit."

Duvain stepped forward, the flickering candlelight casting sharp shadows across his face. "Spare me the pleasantries, boy. You've been busy."

Noctis tilted his head, feigning innocence. "I'm afraid I don't follow."

The older man chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "You think I don't see what you're doing? You've woven a tapestry of whispers, nudged the tides of noble politics, and yet, somehow, you remain untouched by it all."

Noctis's expression remained unreadable.

Duvain took another step closer. "Chaos is a dangerous thing. Even the ones who weave it can be caught in their own threads."

There it was.

A warning.

Noctis met his gaze evenly. "And yet, those who hesitate in the face of chaos often find themselves at its mercy."

A pause.

Then, slowly, Duvain smiled.

"You're a dangerous one," he mused. "Far more than your house gives you credit for."

Noctis said nothing. He merely let the silence stretch.

Duvain studied him for a moment longer before letting out a quiet chuckle. "Very well. Play your game, boy. But remember—when you deal in shadows, you must always watch your own."

With that, the older noble turned and strode out of the room, leaving only the faint scent of smoke and aged leather in his wake.

Noctis exhaled softly, his fingers tapping against the wooden surface of his desk.

Duvain had seen through the deception.

That, in itself, was not unexpected. But the fact that he had chosen to warn Noctis rather than expose him?

That meant one thing.

The old noble was watching.

A new variable in the game.

Noctis remained still for a moment after Lord Alistair Duvain departed, the faint creak of the wooden floors fading as the older noble disappeared down the corridor. The scent of aged leather and pipe smoke lingered, an unspoken reminder that he had just been weighed and measured by a predator who thrived in the world of shadows.

He let out a slow breath, his fingers tapping lightly against the surface of his desk.

Duvain had seen through the deception.

That, in itself, was not surprising. A man like Duvain did not survive in the noble court by being blind. But the fact that he had chosen to warn Noctis rather than expose him? That changed everything.

A cautious move, but not an idle one.

Duvain was watching.

And that meant he was considering his own next move.

Noctis glanced at the candle on his desk, the flame flickering as a soft draft ghosted through the room. He had expected resistance—suspicions, counter-maneuvers, perhaps even retaliatory rumors. But Duvain had done something far more dangerous.

He had acknowledged Noctis as a player.

A faint smirk curved his lips.

He was no longer just another pawn on the board.

A Silent Message

The silence of his study was soon interrupted by the soft knock of a gloved hand against the door. Noctis did not need to look up to know who it was.

"Enter," he called.

The door swung open without a creak, and a shadow slipped inside.

Sable.

The ever-watchful, ever-unseen operative who served as his eyes beyond noble halls. Dressed in muted blacks, the figure moved with an effortless silence, only stopping when a respectable distance remained between them.

Sable had never belonged to the world of nobles.

His life had been carved from the darkness of the city's underbelly, where loyalty was currency, and betrayal was inevitable. Some claimed he had once been the heir to a lesser house, cast aside after a scandal too dangerous to name. Others swore he was a street rat who had clawed his way into the art of espionage, learning the value of secrets before he ever held a blade.

The truth?

Even Sable himself had stopped keeping track of it long ago.

What mattered was that he had survived.

And then he had met Noctis.

Not as a master meeting a servant, nor as a noble meeting a rogue. Their paths had crossed when Noctis had uncovered a plot meant to erase Sable from existence—one that should have succeeded. Instead of turning him in or leaving him to fate, Noctis had made a different choice.

He had offered a place. A purpose. A new identity.

Not as a tool, but as a player in the game.

Sable had accepted, not out of gratitude, but out of something far rarer—trust.

Now, he moved in the spaces where Noctis could not. He listened when others whispered, vanished when others were seen, and ensured that when the pieces fell, they did so exactly as his master intended.

To the world, Sable did not exist.

But in the game Noctis played, he was one of the most dangerous pieces on the board.

"Report."

Sable lowered his hood slightly, revealing sharp, keen eyes. "Lord Duvain's movements have been as expected. He keeps a tight circle—no unnecessary conversations, no unguarded interactions." A pause. "Until tonight."

Noctis leaned back in his chair. "Go on."

Sable's voice remained even. "He spoke with Lord Ashford earlier this evening. The conversation was brief, but tense. I was unable to get close enough to hear details without risk of detection."

Noctis's fingers tapped against the desk once more, thoughtful.

Lord Ashford.

One of the more politically astute nobles, though nowhere near as powerful as Duvain. A man who had never been ambitious enough to make daring moves on his own—but keen enough to ally himself with those who did.

And if he had drawn Duvain's attention, then…

A new game was being played in the background.

"Continue watching them," Noctis ordered. "See if there's a shift in their alliances, or if they bring others into confidence."

Sable nodded, vanishing into the shadows as quickly as he had come.

Noctis let out a slow breath, resting his elbow against the armrest of his chair and pressing his knuckles against his lips.

Lord Duvain had come in person. Had taken the time to deliver his message face-to-face.

That alone carried weight.

It was a test.

A move made not in aggression, but curiosity.

Duvain had no doubt anticipated that Noctis would attempt to manipulate noble society, perhaps even expected some minor scheming. But this? The careful engineering of rumors, the destabilization of houses, the unseen hands guiding noble whispers?

That was a level of precision few aristocrats ever attempted.

Noctis's reputation had always been that of an outsider—a noble in name, but not one to engage in the ruthless games of power his house was known for. His brothers were warriors, tacticians, political figures carved in the mold of House Umbrael's legacy.

But Noctis?

He had always been the one standing just outside the lines of expectation.

And now, for the first time, someone inside the noble structure had recognized him not as an idle aristocrat, but as something more.

Duvain had not come to challenge him.

He had come to see him.

To weigh the risks. To judge whether Noctis was a threat to be extinguished—or a force to be acknowledged.

The warning had been real, but it had also been an invitation.

A test to see how Noctis would respond.

A slow smile curled at the edges of Noctis's lips.

Counterplay

Noctis reached for the sealed envelope that had arrived earlier that night—the summons from House Umbrael.

His father wanted answers.

Good.

He would give them to him.

But more importantly, he would turn this development to his advantage.

Lord Duvain had warned him to watch his back.

That was sound advice.

But the real game was never about watching one's own shadows.

It was about making sure that when the time came, your opponent's shadow was the one standing in the noose.

Noctis's eyes glinted in the candlelight.

The web had been spun.

The pieces were moving.

And soon, it would be time for the next move.

The final confirmation that his plan was working came later that night.

A formal summons arrived from House Umbrael.

Noctis's father wanted to see him.

He let out a quiet chuckle as he read the sealed letter.

So, you've finally noticed, have you?

He had expected this sooner. His father—cold, calculating, and ever-watchful—had surely begun piecing together the undercurrents shifting through noble society.

And now, he wanted answers.

Noctis's gaze flickered toward the window, where the city lights stretched out beyond the estate.

This was no longer just about setting a single noble against another.

This was about power. Control. And ensuring that when the dust settled, he was the one standing at the center of it all.

He set the letter aside, his lips curling into a slow, satisfied smirk.

The web had been spun.

Now, all that was left was to see who would fall into it first.