Chapter 14: A Blade Hidden in Silence
Chapter 14: A Blade Hidden in Silence
The world outside the facility was chaotic and cold.
It took Chris three days to reach the border city of Tarnelle, where the smoke of industry met the edge of noble jurisdiction. By then, he'd stolen clothes, forged an ID, and altered his facial recognition signature using an underground contact he bribed with "a future favor."
He now walked under a new name: Alen Ristov — a wandering scholar.
But his goal hadn't changed.
He needed to get close to Baron Keillas. The man responsible for killing his parents.
Or, at the very least, orchestrating it.
Step One: Get Noticed.
Nobles didn't acknowledge people. They acknowledged assets.
So Chris, now Alen, began working under a mid-tier merchant who supplied rare mana stones to noble courts. During his shifts, he intentionally made small "mistakes" in mana calibration—subtle enough that only someone with advanced knowledge would spot them.
It took two weeks before the merchant grew curious and tested him.
"You don't strike me as a simple carrier. You calibrated this fragment's frequency perfectly to resonate with cold essence."
"Just lucky, sir," Chris said with a smile. "I dabble in some essence theory."
"Dabble my ass. You want a higher position?"
"If it means I can eat better food, sure."
He was promoted.
From there, Chris began learning names. Faces. Routes. Titles.
He memorized noble guard rotations, observed their language quirks, even made connections with their personal staff.
Every smile he gave. Every friendly word. All of it was a calculated piece.
Step Two: Plant the Hook.
One day, he left a crafted device—deliberately flawed—among a shipment bound for Baron Keillas' estate.
It exploded. Harmlessly. A burst of glittering cold light and minor frost damage. More of a spectacle than anything else.
An investigation was triggered.
And who did the merchant send to explain the device malfunction?
"You're my best. Go apologize and give them a new one. Don't screw this up."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
Step Three: Enter the Den.
The Keillas estate was massive. Silver walls, carved pillars of obsidian and bone, a forest garden shaped like a lion's paw. Every corner screamed wealth… and control.
Chris was led through layers of guards and decorum before he finally stood before the Baron himself.
Baron Keillas was thin, pale-skinned, his eyes like sharpened slate. He wore rings encrusted with soul-bound gems. His voice had the casual lilt of someone used to power.
"So. You're the brilliant idiot who almost iced my eastern storage?"
"Ah, yes, but also the brilliant idiot who fixed it," Chris said, handing him a new prototype. "With frost dampeners installed this time."
The Baron laughed.
A cold laugh.
"You've got gall. I like that. Maybe I'll keep you around."
Step Four: Dig Deep.
Over the next three months, Chris embedded himself in the Baron's estate.
He became a favored technician, allowed into restricted areas, even invited to noble banquets where he stood silently near walls—listening.
He met names whispered back at the facility:
Count Vellon, who sponsored "noble clean-up teams."Lady Gretta, who once said "all transmigrators should be dissected for their blessings."And even High Archivist Nelven, who tried to purchase the Eye on black channels.
Chris cataloged it all.
Web of Echoes whispered to him in stolen moments.
Documents. Schedules. Hidden rooms. Passwords.
Until he found it.
A subchamber beneath the Keillas estate, sealed by ancient glyphs and guarded by blood-bound contract soldiers.
Inside?
Files. A terminal. And an encrypted recording titled "Operation Ashleaf."
He memorized the glyph sequence and left.
Step Five: Break Him.
But Chris didn't want to just know the truth.
He wanted to make Keillas speak it.
And so, he began crafting the final act.
He swapped the Baron's bath salts with Serpent's Whisper, a mild hallucinogen.
He tampered with mana regulators, causing erratic pulses in the estate.
He planted whispers—subtle, scattered, unsettling.
"You feel that? Something's… watching us."
"Why's the mirror foggy in only his room?"
"Do you hear crying at night?"
It worked.
The Baron began growing paranoid.
Chris offered "solutions."
Charms. Barrier glyphs. Meditation scrolls.
And finally…
"There's one more thing we can try, my lord," Chris said gently. "But it's intrusive."
"What?"
"A technique to extract the source of guilt from the mind and lock it away."
"I don't have guilt."
"Of course, my lord. Of course not. Just... a precaution, then."
The Baron hesitated.
Then nodded.
Step Six: Confession
The technique was fake. But the trigger word wasn't.
As soon as Chris said it—"Ashleaf."—he unleashed a mind-scrambling subprogram through the charm he placed on the Baron's temple.
The Baron convulsed.
And spoke.
In fragments. Raw and dripping with guilt.
"...they screamed. She... she begged me. He bit the soldier. Said we wouldn't get away with it."
"I told them—told them it was necessary."
"The Eye... is too powerful... We had to ensure... control..."
"He's just a boy… but they said he's a variable..."
Chris stood silently.
Cold. Steady.
When it was done, he extracted the memory recording from the device and walked away.
That night, he stared at the stars from the rooftop of a tavern.
The Eye hovered beside him.
Its synchronization now read:
[Synchronization: 93%]
[Emotion Detected: Resolve]
Chris clenched the memory crystal in his hand.
"I don't care how high your titles go," he whispered. "You murdered them. And now... I know."
The wind was calm that night.
But something darker stirred beneath.