Chapter 176: Enigmatic Dream

Sir Philip trudged along the muddy, rain-soaked fields. The uneven dirt paths were difficult to navigate, but thanks to his extraordinary physique and coordination as a transcendent professional, he had been operating in this area for quite some time.

This land surrounded the castle and, by law, belonged directly to the lord himself. The fields were worked by serfs bound to the Kant family. Now, with the harvest complete and the straw burned away, no laborers were in sight.

The soil was fertile and infused with an incredible magical energy.

Philip was not a farmer by birth but a noble knight of impeccable lineage. That didn’t mean he was ignorant of the land. Knights of his rank often dealt directly with their estates, managing farms, overseeing sowing and harvests—though those fields had long since vanished in a great fire that swept through the old Cecil domain. He was skilled at discerning soil quality and whether the earth held enough power to nurture magical herbs.

Squatting beside a patch of farmland, he placed his hand just above the muddy ground. A faint glimmer of energy rose from the soil, drifting slowly between his palm and the earth. The young knight’s brow furrowed.

As he suspected, this magic wasn’t inherent to the land itself. Some external force was disturbing the natural balance of magical energy here, causing an unnatural concentration.

Standing, Philip gazed toward the ancient castle perched on the hillside. He had inspected many fields and noticed a pattern: the closer to the castle, the stronger the magical accumulation. The plots nearest the fortress were where the magical herbs grew.

Without druidic spells to catalyze growth, it was rare for ordinary soil to naturally produce such herbs—especially in areas heavily cultivated by humans, where the land’s magic was severely depleted. Normally, farmland needed to lie fallow for a year after two years of use; land capable of growing magical herbs required at least three times that rest to recover. Yet in the Kant domain, magical herb yields had steadily increased, with exports never ceasing.

Clearly, the castle was emitting energy waves sufficient to cause this magical enrichment. Yet when Philip had stayed there the previous night, he had carefully sensed the castle’s aura—there was no abnormal magical fluctuation, nor any trace of the evil aura typical of cultists.

…

Inside the ancient Kant Castle, Gawain toured the three-century-old structure under the personal guidance of Viscount Victor and the elderly steward, Carter. They had just left a gallery filled with rich collections and were now heading toward the library. Throughout the walk, Viscount Victor spoke proudly of the castle’s history and how his family had risen to prominence three hundred years ago, maintaining their legacy to this day.

But the viscount was advanced in years—much older than Steward Carter—and had suffered lingering physical ailments from an accident long ago. Midway through the tour, his stamina waned.

With a regretful smile, the old viscount excused himself to rest in his chambers. Gawain, of course, did not press the matter and continued the tour with Carter.

The wide, lengthy corridor soon held only Gawain and the aged steward. The walls were adorned with tapestries and sconces, and Carter diligently continued his narration.

Suddenly, Gawain interrupted, “Mr. Carter, how long have you served the Kant family?”

“Nearly fifty years, Your Grace,” the steward replied proudly. “Since I was a page, I have cared for this family.”

Gawain nodded approvingly. “A loyal servant, then. You must know this place—and the viscount’s family—very well.”

Carter nodded modestly. “Yes, I know it as well as my own hands and feet.”

“Last night, from my room, I saw a tall tower across the way, flanked by several smaller turrets. It looked magnificent in the rain,” Gawain said. “What is that tower used for?”

The steward’s proud expression stiffened briefly, then he frowned slightly. “Your Grace, that is the North Tower. Forgive me, but it is not open to visitors.”

“The North Tower?” Gawain raised an eyebrow. “Ah, I heard from your master that the viscount’s wife lives there… I suppose I was presumptuous. Does she live there year-round? Not in the main castle?”

“Alas, since the lady’s health declined, she has remained there,” Carter shook his head. “She cannot bear sunlight or noise. The North Tower is the quietest place in the castle.”

“I shouldn’t pry into private matters, but I am curious,” Gawain continued. “She seems much younger than the viscount.”

“The viscount’s wife married him only ten years ago,” Carter replied after a pause, his expression distant. “Before that…”

He trailed off, lost in memory. “The original viscountess died in an accident. The viscount remained alone for many years. We were glad to see him recover from that terrible tragedy.”

Gawain’s curiosity deepened. “An accident? What kind?”

“I’m sorry, Your Grace, but I cannot discuss that,” Carter finally declined. “It is not my place.”

Gawain smiled lightly. “No matter. I asked too much. Let’s continue—libraries and such are what interest me most.”

At dusk, Amber and Byron returned after a day spent gathering information.

“My lord, the land does indeed show abnormal magical concentration,” Sir Philip reported first. “The epicenter is this castle. Strangely, aside from the magical buildup itself, I sensed no unusual magical fluctuations inside, nor any evil aura typical of cultists.”

“The news I gathered is far more unsettling,” Amber said with a sly glance at Philip, then lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper as she reported to Gawain, “Out there, people say that the viscountess…”

Before she could finish, Gawain cut in, “She’s supposed to be dead, right?”

Amber froze mid-sentence, then glared at him. “Were you following me?!”

“Just a guess,” Gawain chuckled. “These stories usually go that way. Alright, carry on.”

Amber pouted, feeling her carefully built suspense ruined, but obediently continued. “It’s quite tragic, really. Decades ago…”

After Amber finished, Philip pressed a hand to his chest. “Such a pitiful soul… Fate is cruel in so many ways.”

“If the viscountess died decades ago, then the one you saw last night was most likely a ghost—or someone the seemingly kind Viscount Victor ‘resurrected’ by some means,” Amber said in a chilling tone, shivering as she spoke. “He probably couldn’t bear his wife’s death and was seduced by cultists to use dark magic to raise the dead or summon spirits. His capture of vagrants must be to sustain the ritual… That’s how the story goes! Ugh—scared me half to death!”

“Scaring yourself with your own ghost story—if you’re timid, don’t whisper like that,” Gawain shot a glance at the “elf disgrace,” then shook his head. “Lilith Kant is almost certainly not an undead.”

Amber and Philip said in unison, “Why not?”

“Undead lack such high intelligence. She shows no aura resembling the undead. Most importantly, undead cannot speak their own names—yet Lilith Kant clearly states hers. I have verified the name is genuine,” Gawain explained slowly. “All signs point to Lilith Kant not being undead.”

Amber sized him up. “That’s not convincing. Who says resurrected people have to be undead? You’re a living, breathing exception who can say your own name. Maybe Viscount Victor hired a shadow master as skilled as me to pry open his wife’s coffin…”

Gawain raised a hand to stop her wild speculation and calmly said, “Don’t jump to conclusions. I’ve uncovered something myself.”

“You have?” Amber blinked. “What?”

“Today, I spoke with the steward about the viscountess. He answered without hesitation that the current viscountess married Victor Kant ten years ago, and the previous viscountess died instantly in an accident,” Gawain said evenly. “I also listened to the servants’ conversations and discreetly spoke with several. They all share the same understanding.”

Philip’s expression turned grave. “Yesterday, no one in the castle mentioned the ‘viscountess’ at all!”

“Yes. Today, they do. Not only that, but their entire perception of the ‘viscountess’ differs greatly from the rumors Amber heard outside.”

“How is that possible?!” Amber was baffled. “Who’s been planting suggestions in their minds?”

“Perhaps something like a mental suggestion…” Gawain mused slowly. “But given the abilities of the Order of Eternal Slumber, I prefer to call it… supplementary worldbuilding.

“This castle may be enveloped in a vast illusion. Our arrival and activities have disrupted its integrity. The creator of this illusion must now add new details to keep everything running smoothly.”

(End of chapter)