The next morning began in chaos.
Golden rays spilled over Novarim, but instead of peace, the city pulsed with hurried steps, whispers, and the clang of bells.
A storm of knocking rattled Vivan's chamber door. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, groaning, "Coming…"
When the door swung open, Elara stood there, pale as moonlight, her hands trembling at her sides. Her eyes, usually bright with mischief or stubbornness, were clouded with dread.
"GhostWalker…" Her voice wavered. "The nightmare has started."
Vivan blinked, still dragging himself out of his drowsiness. "What happened?"
Elara swallowed hard, her gaze tightening.
"The Clevon Head… was slaughtered last night. Father has called for you in the Royal Court."
The last trace of sleep vanished from Vivan's eyes. His jaw clenched as disbelief hit him.
"What? We rescued his son last night, and he ends up dead the same night?"
Elara's shoulders shivered. "It seems so. You must prepare quickly. The court is waiting."
Vivan exhaled sharply and rushed back inside. "Give me a few minutes."
By the time he and Elara arrived, the grand hall of Novarim pulsed with a suffocating tension.
The red carpet stretched like a river of blood toward the throne, where King Arathen sat, head bowed and fingers tapping against the armrest.
Courtiers whispered among themselves, their voices hushed, carrying the weight of fear.
When the King raised his gaze, his eyes were heavy with sleepless shadows.
"Ah… you have come, GhostWalker. I trust you've heard the news."
Vivan's expression hardened. "Yes. Elara briefed me."
A silence rippled through the chamber as King Arathen rose from his throne. His voice carried like steel across the room.
"Then hear me now. This kingdom stands on a blade's edge. If you take this matter into your hands and succeed… if you save Novarim from the storm that stirs… then I, Arathen Percival Novarim the Third, swear upon my name and crown… you shall be honored as Grand Duke of Novarim."
He pressed three fingers against his chest as he swore with a gesture sacred in Novarim's oath.
[System Chime]
-New Main Quest: Lingering Truth is active.
-Clear Condition: Solve the mystery of Clevon head's murder.
The chamber erupted in gasps and murmurs, quickly hushed by the King's raised hand. The weight of the vow was absolute.
Elara's eyes shimmered with pride as she turned to Vivan. But he only clenched his jaw tighter as the fire of determination flickered behind his calm mask.
"I want Samuel to accompany me."
The demand struck like a stone dropped in still water. Guards stiffened, trading uneasy glances. Even Elara flinched in surprise. Samuel's name was not spoken lightly in court.
Yet King Arathen only smirked, his faith unwavering.
"Very well, GhostWalker. Samuel shall accompany you. And Minister Hollowart is already at the scene of the incident. We will prepare your ride to the Clevon estate at once."
Vivan inclined his head, but in his chest, unease coiled like a serpent. A noble slaughtered in his own house… on the very night of rescue? No coincidence.
The game had shifted again.
The Novarim carriage rattled along the cobblestoned path, its iron wheels clattering with steady rhythm. The horses snorted, their breath misting in the cool morning air.
When the carriage halted before the wrought-iron gates of the Clevon Estate, two figures stepped out- Vivan and Samuel, their boots crunching against the stone.
The gates swung open with a creak. Two guards bowed low in solemn respect, their faces pale with unease.
Vivan's eyes narrowed as he leaned closer to Samuel. His voice dropped to a whisper.
"What's your take on it?"
Samuel's jaw tensed. For a long moment, he hesitated, then finally muttered under his breath,
"I don't know… but a word of warning- be wary of the Serpent."
Vivan arched a brow. "Serpent?"
Samuel offered no more, his lips sealed like stone.
The grandeur of the estate unfolded before them as they advanced.
Though not as vast as the Royal Castle, the estate still bore its wealth with pride- manicured flower gardens bordered the cobbled path.
And a marble fountain trickled softly in the center, its calm waters a cruel contrast to the chaos that had struck its master.
At the entrance, Minister Hollowart awaited them, his posture stiff as ever, expression unreadable. He gave a curt bow.
"Welcome, GhostWalker."
As always, his tone lacked warmth. Without wasting another word, he turned on his heel and strode into the manor.
"Follow me."
Vivan and Samuel exchanged a quick glance before obeying.
They passed through polished halls heavy with silence, then up the grand staircase to the first floor and down the long right wing until Hollowart stopped before the last door of the south corridor.
"The Head's chamber," Hollowart said flatly, pushing the door open.
Sunlight filtered weakly through royal-blue curtains, throwing shadows across the chamber. The sweet, cloying scent in the air made Vivan's stomach tighten.
On the silk-draped bed lay the lifeless form of the Clevon Head.
His skin was pale, lips tinged blue. Blood had dried in dark clots around the dagger plunged deep into his chest.
Vivan stepped closer, his voice little more than a whisper.
"…Chloroform."
Hollowart's head tilted. "What was that, GhostWalker?"
"Nothing." Vivan brushed it off, though his eyes burned with intensity.
Leaning in, he noted faint bluish marks near the nostrils. His jaw tightened.
"Suffocation."
He straightened and then crouched low by the bed. His eyes scanned the chamber like a hawk.
A glint caught his attention. On the edge of the study desk, barely visible, a single green thread clung stubbornly to the wood.
He plucked it free, holding it delicately between his fingers.
Then, in a sudden motion, he crossed to the window, flinging it wider.
He observed for a moment and then his hand darted out, quick as lightning, and snatched something from the sill- too quick for either Hollowart or Samuel to see.
The two men exchanged confused glances.
At last, Samuel spoke, his voice edged with irritation. "What in the hell are you doing?"
Vivan's gaze flicked from Hollowart to Samuel. His lips curved in the faintest smirk.
"Nothing much."
He strode from the chamber, his steps echoing down the hall, before calling out in a firm, sharp voice:
"Did anyone see a vulture or any bird near the Head's chamber last night?"
The manor's silence shivered at the question.
A maid stepped forward as they entered the bedchamber, bowing low before the three honorable guests. Her gaze lingered on them with a mix of respect and unease.
"Sir, I am the night caretaker of my lord…"
Her eyes drifted toward the lifeless head of the estate resting upon the bed. Tears welled up and rolled down her cheeks as her voice faltered.
"Last night, after I cleared away my lord's dinner dishes, I saw a vulture circling outside that window. It circled twice… then peered inside the chamber before flying away."
Vivan narrowed his eyes and raised a question.
"Did the bird do anything else?"
The maid lowered her head, her voice quivering.
"No, sir… nothing more."
Vivan cast a brief glance at Samuel. The knight lifted a hand in dismissal.
"You may go."
The maid hurried away, her sobs trailing faintly behind.
Silence lingered in the room. Vivan turned his eyes once more upon Clevon's head.
"Eye of Veritas," he murmured.
The azure rings of code spun clockwise within Vivan's pupils, unveiling the hidden lattice of the world once more.
"OOH!" A sharp smirk tugged at his lips.
His gaze shifted to Samuel. For the first time, he saw an NPC through the awakened Eye of Veritas.
Vivan's eyes widened.
Samuel's body shimmered with flickering blue codes- lines of existence laid bare.
The severed head of Clevon glowed in the same hue. But Minister Hollowart… his form pulsed differently. His codes shimmered in golden light.
A chill ran through Vivan, though he concealed it behind a mask of calm.
"We're done here," he said flatly, signalling Samuel to follow.
Hollowart accompanied them to the waiting carriage. As the horses stamped and snorted, the minister leaned by the window, his voice low and deliberate.
"Why the sudden interest in the Vulture, GhostWalker?"
The carriage door closed with a thud. Vivan met his golden-glowing form with a smirk, the Eye of Veritas still shimmering in his gaze.
"Just a hunch," he replied.
And with that, they departed, leaving behind the haunted remains of Clevon's estate.
As the carriage rolled away from the Clevon estate, the sun dipped westward, casting Novarim in long, bleeding shadows.
Behind them, Minister Hollowart lingered at the gates, his figure a dark silhouette against the fading light. His eyes followed the carriage, gleaming with a tension he did not voice.
Inside, silence stretched until Samuel finally spoke.
"What are you thinking?"
Vivan sat with his chin resting against his hand, watching the backward-sliding scenery of Novarim through the carriage window.
Golden rooftops blurred into dusk as his reflection stared back at him. His brow furrowed.
"Samuel… you mentioned a serpent. Who exactly were you talking about?"
Samuel's eyes flicked toward the coachman, ensuring no ears leaned too close. Then he leaned in, his whisper edged with caution.
"Well… Minister Hollowart is not what he seems."
Vivan's gaze shifted, intrigued.
"Oh? I've thought the same. But go on- what do you know?"
Samuel's voice dropped even lower.
"Ten years ago, during Lord Arathen's battle against the Dark Guilds… Hollowart appeared out of nowhere. He saved the King's life and turned the tide of the war. Since then, he has remained at His Majesty's side."
Vivan narrowed his eyes.
"So, he wasn't of Novarim?"
Samuel shook his head slowly.
"No. His origin is a mystery. None of us truly know where he came from."
Vivan leaned back, his gaze returning to the shifting twilight beyond the glass. The city slipped by in silence, bathed in hues of fire and shadow.
And as the sun fell and the moon rose to greet them above the castle of Novarim, silence settled heavy inside the carriage- thick with questions, suspicion, and the unspoken weight of what was yet to come.
Far from the glittering castle of Novarim under the night sky, two green hooded faced one another in a narrow alley where even moonlight feared to linger.
Their voices were hushed, carried only by the damp wind that threaded through the stones.
"The Head of Clevon is gone," one rasped, their tone dry as sand. "The seed of fear is planted."
The other tilted his head, shadows swallowing his face.
"But GhostWalker is involved. Worse, he begins to suspect."
A low chuckle slipped from beneath the hood.
"Let him suspect. The serpent coils best when prey grows restless. Soon, the strike will come… and the King will have no shield left."
For a long moment, silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant toll of a bell. Then the first figure stepped closer, whispering like venom in the dark:
"The next move is already in place. Tonight, his chamber shall know blood."
Their words faded into the night as the two silhouettes melted back into the labyrinth of Novarim's streets, leaving only the whisper of cloaks against stone and the faint silver gleam of the Curse Sigil of Amionisa burning upon their necks.
Vivan lay stretched upon his bed, though rest never truly came.
Moonlight spilled across his chamber, pooling silver upon the sheets through the open window. His thoughts swirled like restless shadows.
"Why did Hollowart's code gleam gold… while every other NPC shone blue?"
He brushed his hair with his hand laying on the bed.
"The murder… it mirrored Prince Kendrick's five years ago. The suffocation, the dagger through the heart."
His eyes narrowed.
"Chloroform, suffocation, blade. Clear enough. But the vulture… why a vulture?"
As the thought lingered, a piercing scream shattered the night air. The cry of a vulture.
Vivan's head snapped toward the window.
The black shape circled once, twice- then, with a rush of wings, swooped close. Just as quickly, it pulled away, releasing something from its talons.
A sharp *clank* echoed as the object hit the floor. Vivan jolted upright, eyes keen and focused.
Shards of glass glistened in the moonlight. A small cuboidal flask lay shattered, its contents seeping across the stone. Purple liquid spread in a slow, sinister pool.
At once, a sweet, heavy scent thickened the air, dense and suffocating.
Vivan's vision spun. His lungs fought to pull breath.
"Chloroform…" he rasped.
And then-
…To be continued