The door to his quarters remained shut.
The tower was quiet.
Only the distant whistle of the wind slipping past the stone spires could be heard, low and mournful, like a kingdom breathing in its sleep.
Narin stood before the private library wall for several seconds without moving.
Then he reached out.
One by one, he selected the books.
His fingers were precise, deliberate.
Noble Lineages, Heraldry, Council Members, Legal Precedents & Common Laws, Religious Hierarchy, Trade Routes & Maps, Tax Documents.
He stacked them neatly on his wooden desk.
The desk was solid oak, scarred by years of use. Faint scratches ran across its surface, likely from the former Investigator’s restless habits. A single oil lamp burned at the corner, casting steady golden light.
Narin sat.
He opened the first book.
The pages rustled softly.
Hours passed.
He did not fidget. He did not sigh. He did not stretch.
His eyes moved smoothly across the lines—no wasted motion.
Under the effect of [ The Enlightened One ], information did not simply enter his mind.
It reorganized itself.
The Noble Lineages book—hundreds of family trees—unfolded in his thoughts like branching constellations. Each noble house became a glowing node, connected by marriage, debt, rivalry, bloodline contamination, political alliances.
He flipped the page.
Heraldry.
Crests and sigils weren’t just symbols.
His brain filtered color significance, historical shifts in design, subtle alterations after wars.
A lion missing one claw.
A tower tilted slightly after a rebellion.
Details others would dismiss as aesthetic.
He cataloged them instantly.
Council Members.
He memorized facial descriptions, prior votes, economic interests, favored trade partners.
Legal Precedents.
He absorbed centuries of rulings, extracting patterns: which crimes were punished harshly, which quietly pardoned.
Religious Hierarchy.
He mapped influence flow—temples funding orphanages, priests related to minor nobles, clerical endorsements during coronations.
Trade Routes.
He visualized the kingdom from above—caravans moving like veins transporting lifeblood.
Tax Documents.
That was where his eyes slowed slightly.
Numbers told truths people tried to bury.
He closed the final ledger.
The oil lamp flickered lower.
He glanced toward the window.
The sky had darkened fully.
Nearly midnight.
He leaned back in his chair slowly.
Wood creaked faintly beneath him.
There was still more to read.
But he measured his body.
His eyelids felt slightly heavy.
He exhaled softly.
“I should sleep for three cycles…”
His voice was low, calm.
Three cycles.
Four and a half hours.
Research had shown that a human sleep cycle lasts approximately ninety minutes. Waking mid-cycle results in grogginess—cognitive inefficiency.
Four and a half hours would complete three cycles.
Enough to maintain 80–90% alertness.
He stood, extinguished the oil lamp, and lay down.
Within minutes—
He slept.
Dawn.
Soft light filtered through the narrow tower window.
Narin’s eyes opened instantly.
He inhaled deeply then exhaled.
He sat up and yawned lightly—not out of mental fog, but to loosen his throat.
He stood and stretched deliberately.
Arms upward.
Shoulders rolled back.
Neck tilted side to side.
Five minutes.
To inform the body it was time to work.
His movements were controlled and almost ritualistic.
Then he returned to the desk.
The remaining documents awaited.
He pulled them forward.
Dowry and Foreign Relations, Maid of Honor Registry, Discrepancies in Luxury Imports, Charity & Endowments, Medical Records of Royals, Previous Purges, The Royal Bedchamber Logs, Loan Agreements, Armory Discrepancies, The Palace Servants' Family Tree, Financial Vulnerability Reports, The King’s Spy Network.
His eyes sharpened.
Now this was not general knowledge.
He opened the dowry records.
Foreign marriages formed silent alliances.
He immediately detected patterns: marriages timed with border disputes, dowries unusually high when certain council members rose in power.
Maid of Honor Registry.
Young women assigned to the queen.
He memorized their family backgrounds, connections, rumors.
Luxury Imports.
His eyes flickered.
Rare perfumes, exotic silks, black-market wine shipments and small discrepancies.
Not large enough to trigger an alarm, but consistent.
Charity & Endowments.
Money flowing into orphanages near military academies.
Interesting.
Medical Records.
He read quietly.
No major illnesses and only minor fevers.
A scar noted on the queen’s left shoulder from childhood.
Previous Purges.
Names of executed nobles.
Reasons vague.
Royal Bedchamber Logs.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Visitors and times...
Private meetings.
He absorbed without reaction.
Loan Agreements.
Debt chains.
Armory Discrepancies.
Missing weapons some small quantities time to time.
Palace Servants’ Family Tree.
That one was intricate.
Servants often inherited positions.
He mapped blood relations through kitchens, stables, chambers.
Financial Vulnerability.
Weak trade seasons.
Crop failures concealed by import adjustments.
The King’s Spy Network.
That one was encrypted partially.
He deciphered patterns of code names, regions, frequency of reports.
Throughout all of this—
His mind did not tire.
Because Universal Knowledge was not mere speed reading.
It was filtration.
The moment his eyes landed on a paragraph, his brain separated substance from noise automatically.
Dates, names, motivations—highlighted.
Redundant phrasing—discarded.
His thoughts stored data like a perfectly indexed digital archive.
He could retrieve any detail instantly.
Not only that—
Connections began forming.
Dowry alliances connected to tax leniencies.
Luxury imports aligned with certain council votes.
Servant families linked to both king and queen factions.
He saw intersections invisible to ordinary minds.
And combined with Absolute Serenity—
There was no mental fatigue.
No stress. No overwhelm.
His mind felt perpetually as if freshly awakened.
The only exhaustion he felt was in his shoulders and lower back from sitting too long.
Finally—
He closed the final document.
Placed it back in perfect order on its shelf.
He returned to his chair.
Elbows on armrests.
Fingers stroking his chin slowly.
“Hm…”
The sound was low.
Measured.
“This is very strange.”
He leaned back slightly, eyes staring at the ceiling.
He replayed every pattern.
Every connection.
Even after thorough analysis—
There was nothing clearly indicating open hostility between king and queen.
No factional splits in council votes.
No financial sabotage traceable to one side.
No religious endorsement conflict.
Nothing that screamed civil fracture.
Yet—
The Core demanded a choice.
Side with the King or Side with the Queen.
If the Core wanted him to choose—
Then conflict must exist.
At the very least, beneath the surface.
But all visible data suggested cooperation.
Or at least… neutrality.
He tapped his finger against the desk softly.
Once.
Twice.
“No good.”
He shook his head slightly.
“I’m wasting my time.”
Information without anomaly was more suspicious than information with it.
Maybe his perspective was wrong.
“Perhaps I’ll find new possibilities after a shower…”
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
He stood.
The hallway outside his room was quiet.
It was oddly quiet.
He stepped out.
No guards stationed directly at his door this morning.
Interesting.
His gaze flickered briefly to the far ends of the corridor.
It was empty.
He walked toward the bathing chamber near his quarters.
Steam lingered faintly inside.
He washed quickly.
Water cascading down his shoulders, clearing the physical fatigue that sleep could not fully erase.
When he finished and stepped out—
He adjusted his robe carefully.
Smoothed the fabric over his shoulders.
Tied the belt firmly.
Then—
He paused.
His reflection in the polished metal mirror caught his eye.
Moments ago—
His expression had been that of a scholar.
A man reading documents.
Now—
His gaze changed.
Sharpened and focused.
His posture straightened slightly.
The calm observer had shifted into something else.
His eyes now carried the intensity of someone stepping into a crime scene.
Determined and calculating.
Searching for what others failed to see.
Narin closed the door behind him gently.
Click.
The sound was soft—but deliberate.
He stood still for a moment.
His gaze did not wander randomly.
It slid—casually—toward the upper corners of the room.
The faint shimmer was still there.
Observation spells.
Thin threads of mana anchored into the stone near the ceiling beams. They were subtle, refined—likely woven by court magi personally loyal to the king.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
I wish I could destroy them…
He imagined it briefly—dispersing the threads with a controlled pulse of mana, unraveling the array without leaving residue.
But that would be foolish.
The spells were not just watching.
They were signaling.
Tamper with one, and someone would know.
“That aside.”
He walked toward the desk and sat down slowly.
Fingers stroking his chin.
The wood felt warm from the morning light.
“Even so… there are still clues worth looking into deeper.”
He leaned forward slightly.
His thoughts aligned with perfect clarity.
“First.”
He recalled the medical records.
The lines replayed vividly in his mind.
Intermittent organ failure.
Recovery complete within twenty-four hours.
Unnatural.
Then—
Luxury Imports.
Massive shipments of Lethe’s Dew.
He tapped the desk lightly.
“I don’t know what it does.”
His voice was soft, analytical.
“So I should find information about it.”
He stood again and crossed to the library shelves.
His fingers scanned the spines swiftly.
Alchemy.
Herbal compendiums.
Ancient rituals.
He pulled out a thick, dustless volume titled Substances of Spiritual Interference.
He flipped to the index.
Lethe’s Dew.
Page 312.
He read.
His eyes slowed slightly.
“…has the property of preventing the soul from entering the body.”
His brow creased.
“It is mostly used against evil spirits…”
The book explained further—when possession or spiritual infiltration was suspected, Lethe’s Dew could temporarily create a barrier between the body and invading entities.
He closed the book slowly.
“Why would he need such a thing?”
He leaned back against the shelf.
Then—
Something aligned.
His eyes shifted faintly.
“That’s right…”
He returned to the desk and mentally overlaid information.
Royal Bedchamber Logs.
Every time the queen appeared—
Temperatures dropped drastically.
Frost formed on the walls.
Even in summer.
Previous Purges.
The king ordered the destruction of all marble statues in the garden.
Why marble specifically?
He closed his eyes.
Lethe’s Dew prevents souls from entering the body.
Queen’s presence lowers temperature.
Statues destroyed.
He stood still for several minutes.
Connections floated before him like suspended constellations.
After a while—
He opened his eyes.
“…I don’t understand.”
His voice was flat.
There were links but no complete pattern.
Too many missing variables.
He needed more context.
He placed the book back precisely where it belonged.
He adjusted his robe carefully.
Pulled the fabric straight along his shoulders.
Then he walked toward the door.
The hallway outside was brighter now.
Morning light streamed through narrow windows carved into the tower’s outer wall.
Guards patrolled in measured rotations.
Armor clinked softly.
He descended the spiral staircase.
The air grew warmer as he reached lower levels.
Eventually, he exited toward the garden mentioned in the purge records.
Two guards were stationed near the courtyard entrance.
They stiffened slightly when they saw him.
The Black Iron Token at his waist did most of the speaking.
“I need to inspect the garden,” Narin said calmly.
His tone was neither commanding nor requesting.
Just direct.
One guard glanced at the other.
“Yes, Investigator.”
Their voices held a hint of wariness.
One of them gestured respectfully.
“I will lead you.”
They walked across stone pathways lined with trimmed hedges.
The garden was vast—but strangely empty and lonely.
Even under dawn sunlight.
The flowers were arranged neatly, yet there was an absence.
Like something had been removed long ago and never replaced.
The wind rustled faintly through sparse trees.
No birds perched.
No servants tended.
They arrived at a circular clearing.
“This is where the statues once stood,” the guard said quietly.
His voice echoed faintly in the open space.
Now—
There was nothing.
Only flat stone bases where marble figures had once risen.
Narin stepped forward slowly.
The guard kept a respectful distance.
Narin crouched slightly and placed his palm near one of the bases.
He closed his eyes.
Mana flowed outward from him in a thin, invisible wave.
It spread across the ground, probing.
Searching.
He felt it.
A residue.
The feedback was violent. A massive, cold pressure surged back at him—something ancient and incredibly powerful was buried deep beneath the soil. He couldn't decipher the signature; it was too vast, like trying to read a book by staring at a mountain.
He withdrew slightly.
Keep this information for later.
He stood and began walking around the clearing.
Observing the positioning of the stone bases.
Counting distances, angles and spacing.
He visualized their original arrangement.
His mind reconstructed the statues in their former positions.
A circle.
One larger base at the center.
Surrounding smaller pedestals evenly spaced.
He stopped.
“Star-Surrounded Moon…”
He whispered it.
A ritual formation from ancient times.
Used to summon demons and evil spirits.
Capable of storing mana for prolonged periods.
He looked down at the ground beneath his feet.
“If it’s true… why is it here?”
Why would such a formation exist inside the royal palace garden?
His gaze hardened.
This was not decorative architecture.
He scanned the area one last time.
Nothing more.
No additional inscriptions.
No remaining fragments of marble.
“…This seems to be all the clues this place can give me.”
He turned toward the guard.
“That will be all.”
They escorted him back inside.
As he walked through the palace corridors, his thoughts were steady.
Next place I should go is…
The Royal Bedchamber.
Specifically—
The queen’s chamber.
The corridor leading to her quarters was quieter.
The atmosphere subtly different.
The air felt… colder.
Two female attendants stood near the door, dressed in pale blue garments.
They eyed him carefully.
He approached calmly.
“I wish to speak with Her Majesty.”
His voice remained respectful.
The attendants exchanged a glance.
One knocked lightly.
They waited.
Minutes passed.
Long enough to be intentional.
Finally—
The door opened slowly.
Queen Malena stood there.
Her presence was striking.
She wore a simple silver-white gown that flowed softly around her frame.
Her long dark hair cascaded over one shoulder.
Her skin appeared pale—not sickly, but luminous.
The first thing Narin noticed—
A thin stream of cold air slipped past her into the corridor.
It brushed against his skin like winter wind.
Subtle but undeniable.
The attendants did not react.
Perhaps accustomed.
Her eyes were calm. They were hard to read.
She studied him quietly.
Then—
“Come inside first.”
Her voice was soft and low, it's almost gentle.
The queen’s chamber was larger than it appeared from the outside.
Soft silver drapes hung from the ceiling, moving faintly though there was no wind. The cold inside the room was not sharp like winter outside—it was constant, controlled, like a preserved chamber.
Queen Malena walked past him without another glance and sat on the edge of her bed.
The mattress did not sink much.
She sat straight.
Hands folded neatly on her lap.
Her posture was elegant, almost ceremonial.
Narin closed the door gently behind him.
Click.
He stepped forward three paces and stopped at a respectful distance.
“I am the new Investigator appointed by the King, Your Majesty.”
His voice was clear.
Malena did not look at him.
“I heard.”
Her tone was soft.
“Do as you like… and leave the room as quickly as possible.”
A pause.
“If you have any questions, ask without hesitation.”
She still did not turn toward him.
Her gaze remained on the window.
The light entering the room seemed muted.
Narin studied her carefully.
Outwardly—
She appeared 20 to 25 years old.
With her smooth skin and clear eyes, there were no visible signs of aging.
Yet the records confirmed—
She was the same age as King Malakor.
Narin’s eyes flickered faintly.
He began.
“Your Majesty, how long have you resided in the palace?”
“Since my marriage.”
Her answer came instantly.
“Have you experienced any… unusual events within these chambers?”
Silence for half a breath.
“No.”
Her fingers tightened very slightly on the fabric of her gown.
Barely noticeable.
“Are you aware of the destruction of the marble statues in the garden?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know why they were destroyed?”
“No.”
“Has Your Majesty ever requested Lethe’s Dew?”
For the first time—
Her gaze shifted.
Not fully toward him.
But slightly.
Her eyes met his for a fraction of a second.
“No.”
Her voice remained steady.
No hesitation.
He asked about the purges.
About council tensions.
About foreign envoys.
About servants reassigned unexpectedly.
Each time—
Her answers were short and direct without visible contradiction.
He listened not only to her words—
But to breath rhythm.
Micro expressions.
Pulse shifts in mana around her.
There was nothing.
No spike of deceit.
No tremor of guilt.
No hostility toward the king.
No underlying malice.
And that—
Was what confused him.
If she were plotting—
There would be distortion.
Even the most disciplined liar produced ripple.
But she was calm.
The coldness of the room seeped deeper into his bones.
It pulled his focus back.
He shifted attention to the environment.
The bed was simple.
No excessive ornamentation.
A single mirror.
A wardrobe.
A writing desk untouched by clutter.
He walked toward the window.
The chill intensified near it.
He reached out and touched the pane lightly.
It did not feel like glass.
It felt… thin.
“The windows of Your Majesty’s chamber…”
He turned slightly.
“They are not made of sand glass.”
Malena answered without hesitation.
“They are thinly rolled sheets of a material I do not know.”
Her voice carried no curiosity.
“When they were installed, I was told it would suit me better.”
“Suit you?”
“Yes.”
She finally turned her head toward him fully.
Her expression was serene it was almost distant.
“I do not know what it is. Therefore, I cannot know the reason.”
Her honesty felt absolute.
Narin nodded slowly.
He asked a few final minor questions.
Nothing useful emerged.
He stepped back toward the door.
“One last question, Your Majesty.”
She waited.
“What place should I visit next?”
There was a long silence.
Her gaze drifted toward the far wall.
Then—
“Graveyard.”
Her answer was soft but deliberate.
The word lingered in the cold air.
Narin studied her face.
“Understood.”
He bowed lightly.
Then he left.
The door closed.
The cold vanished instantly as he stepped into the corridor.
He exhaled.
“…Strange.”
The sun had risen high by the time he returned to his quarters.
Breakfast hour.
Servants moved through corridors carrying trays.
He entered his room and deliberately rang the small bell for service.
He did not need food.
He had concentrated food pellets in his inventory.
But—
Observation spells were watching.
He had to appear human.
A maid arrived shortly after.
She bowed nervously.
“What would you like, Investigator?”
“Something light.”
His tone was casual.
She returned with bread, fruit, and tea.
He ate slowly.
Occasionally sipping tea.
Maintaining the illusion.
After the maid left, he quietly stored the untouched portions into his inventory.
Then he stood.
Time for the graveyard.
The graveyard lay behind the palace grounds.
It was separated by iron fencing and old stone walls.
A guard escorted him there.
The sky was clear.
But the graveyard felt muted.
Rows of tombstones lined the earth in disciplined order.
Names of royal blood and former nobles.
He walked slowly between them.
Boots crunching faintly against gravel.
The air here was not cold like the queen’s chamber.
But it was still and heavy.
He stopped there.
At the center.
A larger tomb.
White stone.
Inscribed simply:
Queen Malena.
Narin frowned.
Prepared in advance?
The death year space was blank.
His eyes narrowed.
He crouched near the base.
His fingers traced the edges of the stone.
Mana flowed outward again.
He felt something.
A mechanism hidden within.
Subtle pulses of mana cycling in rhythm.
He placed his palm flat against the tomb and closed his eyes.
The mana did not originate from outside.
It was internal.
Feeding something.
Or sustaining something.
He withdrew his hand slowly.
“…What is this for?”
Possibilities formed.
He did not yet know.
But the presence of a prepared grave combined with the Lethe’s Dew…
Combined with the cold chamber…
Combined with the ritual formation in the garden—
His thoughts deepened.
He stood upright.
Scanning the rest of the graveyard.
Nothing else unusual.
This location had given him its clue.
And no more.
“I suppose this is all the places I can visit right now…”
He turned slowly toward the palace.
His expression hardened slightly.
“Then shall I start investigating people?”
Late morning sunlight slanted through the narrow tower windows, cutting pale golden lines across the stone corridors. Dust floated lazily in the beams like suspended ash.
The castle had awakened fully now—boots striking marble floors, servants whispering, distant clatter of porcelain and steel—but beneath the surface there lingered something strained, like a held breath.
Narin moved through it all with deliberate calm.
His boots echoed softly against polished stone as he stopped the first pair of guards at the eastern hall. His face wore a polite, almost absent smile, but his eyes—sharp, calculating—never rested.
“Tell me,” he began lightly, tilting his head, fingers loosely clasped behind his back, “what color were the candles in the king’s chamber last winter?”
The two guards blinked.
“Candles…?” one repeated, confused.
“Yes. Wax color. Scent if any. Placement.” His voice was smooth, almost conversational.
The other guard shifted uneasily. “We… do not attend His Majesty’s chamber in winter unless summoned.”
Narin hummed thoughtfully, as if that were the most fascinating revelation in the world. He scribbled something invisible in the air with his finger, nodding.
Then abruptly, “On the night of the purge, which direction did the wind blow?”
Silence.
The guards glanced at each other.
“I—southwest, perhaps?” one answered hesitantly.
“Perhaps?” Narin’s eyebrow lifted slightly.
The guard swallowed. “Yes. Southwest.”
Narin smiled faintly. “Good. Thank you.”
He walked away before they could decide whether that had been interrogation or nonsense.
He did the same to maids carrying fresh linens, to servants polishing railings, to junior attendants lingering too long in hallways.
“What did the queen smell like yesterday evening?”
“Has the king ever tripped on the third step of the western staircase?”
“If a mirror were placed in the throne room, would it reflect the throne or the man?”
Some questions made them stiffen. Some made them frown in confusion. Others earned long, tired sighs.
But Narin watched them carefully—not only their answers, but the tremble of fingers, the flicker of eyes, the tightening of jaw muscles. Lies were not always in words.
By the time the sun climbed high, he had gathered what he needed.
Three threads.
Three people.
The first had been the head butler.
The man stood rigid as a pillar in the grand hall, white gloves immaculate, posture unbending. His face was carved into professionalism, eyes steady and unwavering.
Narin approached him slowly, hands folded in his sleeves.
“You have served His Majesty for many years,” Narin said.
“I have,” the butler replied, voice calm, measured, each syllable placed precisely.
Narin stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Then you must have seen… unusual things.”
The butler did not blink.
“Define unusual.”
A faint smirk tugged at Narin’s lips.
For the first time, the butler’s eyes shifted—just slightly—to the left.
Then he answered.
“I saw His Majesty speak with an alchemist,” he said, voice still steady but quieter now. “He was ordered to purify Lethe’s Dew.”
Narin’s gaze sharpened.
“To what extent?”
The butler paused—a breath, almost imperceptible.
“It was to the point of erasing a body’s memories.”
The corridor seemed to cool.
Narin did not react outwardly. His expression remained composed, but his fingers tightened inside his sleeves.
“Erasing… whose memories?” he asked softly.
“I was not told,” the butler replied. “And I did not ask.”
Their eyes met. The butler’s were unwavering again, disciplined, loyal.
Narin bowed slightly. “You have been helpful.”
As he walked away, his thoughts churned.
Lethe’s Dew. Memory erasure.
Who needed to forget?
The second clue had taken more effort.
He had overheard whispers among the queen’s serving maids—about a silent one, a girl who rarely spoke but had seen much.
He found her in a quiet courtyard, hanging damp linens beneath the shade of a willow tree. Her movements were delicate, almost invisible, as if she tried not to disturb the air itself.
When he approached, she stiffened.
“I am not here to harm you,” Narin said gently, kneeling slightly so his eyes met hers at level. “I was told you communicate through signs.”
She hesitated then nodded.
Her fingers were slender, trembling faintly.
Narin watched carefully as she began.
Every night.
Her hands moved slowly at first, then with increasing urgency.
The king would stand before the mirror.
He would talk but not to himself.
She swallowed, eyes glistening faintly.
In the mirror—
Her fingers faltered.
It wasn’t his reflection.
Narin’s breath slowed.
“What did you see?” he whispered.
Her hands moved again.
A woman.
She was weeping.
Ice-cold tears.
Narin felt something tighten in his chest.
“Was it… the queen?” he asked quietly.
The maid hesitated. Then shook her head.
Not exactly.
Her fingers trembled harder.
But it clearly wasn’t the king.
Silence settled between them, heavy as snowfall.
Narin bowed deeply to her before leaving.
A mirror that showed someone else.
A woman crying frozen tears.
The third clue came from the captain of the guard.
The man stood tall and broad-shouldered in the training yard, barking orders at soldiers. When Narin approached, the captain dismissed his men with a sharp wave.
His face was stern, but there was something weary behind it.
“You wish to ask about the purge,” the captain said bluntly.
Narin nodded once.
The captain exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck.
“The ex-captain told me something,” he said. “On the night of the purging… he saw the king.”
“In what state?” Narin asked.
The captain’s jaw tightened.
“In tears.”
Narin froze.
“He was carrying a stone,” the captain continued, voice lowering. “And running. Toward a secret chamber beneath the east wing.”
“A stone?” Narin repeated softly.
“Yes.It was a small stone—I almost missed it at the time.... as if it mattered.”
“And after that?”
The captain’s gaze darkened.
“After that… I never saw the queen beside the king again.”
The wind shifted through the yard, rattling wooden practice swords.
Narin thanked him quietly and walked away.
Now—
High in his tower room, silence enclosed him like a cocoon.
The late morning light had softened. The room smelled faintly of parchment and stone dust. He sat in his chair, leaning back slowly, one hand resting flat against the wooden desk.
His fingers tapped once.
Twice.
All the clues I have are all over the places…
His brow furrowed. His gaze unfocused slightly as he stared at the grain of the wood beneath his palm.
Memory erasure.
A mirror with a weeping woman.
A stone carried in tears.
A prepared grave.
A mana mechanism inside a tomb.
He exhaled slowly through his nose.
It becomes incoherent.
He closed his eyes.
The clues he had were like information from different subjects in class that he needed to combine to solve a single exam.
He pressed his thumb against his temple.
Even so… all of this appears to have the same connection…
His chest tightened.
His throat felt dry.
He didn’t want to finish the sentence in his mind.
The king erased memories.
The king speaks to a mirror showing a woman.
The queen’s grave prepared in advance.
The king carrying a stone to a secret chamber.
Mana pumping inside a tomb.
He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, fingers interlacing tightly.
His knuckles turned pale.
Narin fell into deep thoughts, because he hope it not what he think it is.
His breathing slowed. The room felt smaller.
Then—
A translucent blue interface flickered in his memory.
Emotionless.
[ Challenge: 3 ]
[ Description: You have brought the King Order with you. You are now summoned by the King and thereby must follow the King’s Order. ]
[ Mission to complete challenge: Side with the King or side with the Queen and carry their order. ]
His jaw tightened.
The mission to complete challenge has been bothering him since start.
He doesn’t know how the Core work.
Does it automatically lock the side he choose in his mind—
Or does it come from how people outside see it?
His fingers drummed nervously against the desk.
If it locks his intent internally, then even a thought could condemn him.
If it judges by perception… then performance matters more than belief.
Both will make a very huge difference in his plan from now on.
His lips pressed into a thin line.
Since he doesn’t know, he decided to be as safe as he could.
He leaned back again, staring at the ceiling.
The stone above him looked cold and distant.
Narin sighed heavily.
“…let's forget about this.”
