Chapter 177: Light Slumber

The phrase “supplementary setting” that Gawain mentioned was a fresh concept to Amber and Sir Philip, but its meaning wasn’t complicated. Gawain explained it in just a few words, and they quickly grasped the idea.

“So, what you’re saying is that this castle is like a stage play, and everyone inside it is an ‘actor’ who doesn’t realize they’re part of the performance?” Sir Philip offered his understanding. “Normally, they live here as if hypnotized. Because of long-term mental interference, they don’t notice anything off about their daily lives. But outsiders like us break the ‘logic’ of the play. The plot no longer matches reality, so the mastermind behind this stage has to patch up the ‘script’ to keep the illusion going?”

Amber gave Sir Philip a long, shuddering look, clearly unsettled by his words. “Ugh—now you’ve got me covered in goosebumps!”

“My lord, I believe we must stop this evil ritual immediately!” Sir Philip ignored Amber’s reaction and spoke with grave seriousness. “The Kant domain’s practice of capturing refugees isn’t new. This atrocity may have been going on in secret for decades! All the innocent people who entered this land and disappeared likely became sacrifices to maintain the illusion. The cost to keep the entire castle under this dark magic must be enormous!”

“Exactly,” Amber said, unusually earnest. “Every second is a life!”

Gawain frowned and looked at the two of them. “So, how do you think we should start?”

“If all else fails, just confront that old man directly. Face to face. If he admits it, then you take him down. If he denies it, find a way to make him confess, then take him down,” Amber urged enthusiastically. “No one in this castle can beat you. You go first.”

Not only Gawain but even Sir Philip was used to Amber’s “anyone but me” attitude by now. He just gave the half-elf a disdainful glance before nodding slowly. “My lord, there’s no doubt that Viscount Victor Kant is the mastermind behind all this. He’s the only one in the entire domain with both motive and means to carry out such evil…”

“Victor Kant is the hidden hand…” Gawain didn’t respond directly to their suggestion but voiced a question that had been bothering him. “But here’s what I don’t understand: even if the Kant domain rarely interacts with outsiders, there should still be at least a couple of visitors every year. Are we really the only ones who caused the ‘major illusion’ in the castle to crack? No one else who came here ever noticed? Lady Lilith Kant comes out of the North Tower every night and walks around the castle. Has no other servant ever seen her? And if they had, wouldn’t they have mentioned ‘there’s a living viscountess in the castle’ to others in the domain when they left to run errands?”

Amber frowned at this. “It’s easy to explain why no other visitors noticed. Normal guests wouldn’t be snooping around trying to dig up secrets like we are. As for the people inside the castle… they’re hypnotized. Maybe as soon as they leave the castle, their memories and perceptions completely change.”

Seeing Gawain still deep in thought, Amber couldn’t help but blurt out, “If I were you, I wouldn’t hesitate. That old man is obviously suspicious. Just grab him and beat the truth out of him!”

Though usually rather rigid, Sir Philip’s mind was sharper than Amber’s in moments like this. “Are you worried that if we’re wrong, our actions here might alarm the noble houses in the southern region and make them wary of Cecil’s expanding territory?”

“I’m not really worried about them. The southern lords don’t have much presence here,” Gawain shook his head. “I just feel like we’re missing something. Even though all signs point to Victor Kant, could it really be that simple?”

A cultist—or a noble controlled by one—would be extremely cautious and cunning, especially while conducting a secret, sinister ritual. Their vigilance would be so intense that even a stranger standing nearby would feel like a threat. Yet Victor Kant’s behavior from start to finish was too relaxed, too unguarded.

Is it just superb acting? Or does he have some powerful backing that makes him unafraid of being exposed? Or… is the real mastermind someone other than Viscount Kant?

Crack—Boom!

Suddenly, a tremendous clap of thunder echoed high above. The windows outside lit up as bright as day. Moments later, heavy raindrops began pelting down, drumming loudly against the castle’s stone walls and crystal panes.

As night fell, a fierce storm swept over the land.

Lightning flashed through the narrow high windows, briefly illuminating the study. Viscount Victor Kant, seated behind his desk, suddenly looked up with a blank expression. The lightning behind him cast him in silhouette, his figure a dark shadow against the glow, projecting onto the old butler Carter sitting across the room.

When the flash faded, the study returned to its dim lighting. The glow from the magic crystal lamps gave the room an eerie, obscure atmosphere, everything shrouded in shifting shadows.

Without warning, Victor Kant spoke: “Carter, you have served the Kant family for many years.”

The old butler stepped forward toward the desk—or rather, toward his master seated behind it—with an expressionless face, muttering indistinctly, “Intruders have detected the secondary consciousness layer. The subconscious shield is weakening.”

Victor Kant watched silently. “Old friend, your devotion has gone beyond duty. I’ve long wanted to thank you but never found the words. That is my regret…”

Carter circled the desk and stood before his master, bowing his head to the man he had sworn loyalty to for life. “The calculation node is under threat. Exposure risk exceeds fifty percent… Prioritize the node’s concealment.”

A silver dagger was drawn, gleaming faintly in the dim room. It traced a short arc before plunging into a chest that was not robust but still warm.

The old lord’s body twitched. A strange sound came from his throat. His eyes, at some point, had taken on a dreamlike sparkle. He looked at Carter’s cold, expressionless face and whispered, “Kant family… thank you… for your loyalty.”

The butler withdrew the dagger, letting the blood stain his dark coat and white shirt. Then he turned and strode out of the study.

A maid who was mopping nearby looked up and saw the butler emerge from the lord’s study. She hurried to stand at attention, ready to greet him, but then caught sight of the blood on his clothes and his equally bloodstained, cold, grim face.

Carter raised his hand, and a faint purple glow of energy gathered there. “You saw it!”

The young maid couldn’t hold back her terror and screamed, “Ah!!”

Her scream echoed through the entire floor, even reaching the rooms below. The three people gathered in Gawain’s room were instantly interrupted. They recognized the raw fear in the scream.

They exchanged glances and rushed out together.

The night-shift servants were alarmed by the noise. Male and female servants poured out from every corner. The corridors filled with running figures. By the time Gawain and the others reached the third floor, a crowd had already gathered.

The screaming maid lay on the floor, unharmed but fainted from fright. After a basin of cold water was poured over her, she quickly regained consciousness and began shouting hysterically: “The butler’s possessed by a demon! He’s covered in blood! He came out of the lord’s study!”

Hearing her fragmented, frantic words, a chill ran down Gawain’s spine. Sudden thoughts flashed through his mind. He strode forward and looked at the terrified girl. “Where did the butler go?”

“Th-there!” The maid pointed toward the end of the corridor, where an open window swung wildly in the storm. “He cast a terrible spell on me, then flew out like a ghost!”

“Spell?” Gawain glanced at her but saw no sign of magical injury. There was no time to ponder. He turned to Amber. “Go after him—no fighting if you find him. Report back immediately!”

Before Gawain finished, Amber was already running toward the window, her figure fading as she moved. Her voice drifted back through the air: “Chasing someone in a downpour deserves a bonus…”

A shadow slipped into the rainy night. Gawain turned and strode toward the study not far away.

Viscount Victor Kant sat upright in his high-backed chair, a dagger plunged into his chest. Blood had splattered across the desk before him.

Several servants following Gawain gasped in shock.

Sir Philip stepped forward with Gawain. The young knight whispered the name of the god of war as he placed his hand over the old viscount’s mouth and nose. The next moment, he exclaimed, “He’s still breathing!”

Gawain noticed the dagger’s position: the viscount had incredible luck. Though the wound was dangerous, the blade seemed to have been deflected by a rib, missing the heart.

He was unconscious from blood loss—but if they delayed any longer, it would be fatal.

Gawain immediately pulled out a special healing potion prepared by Pittman and activated the knight’s skill “Blood Inspiration” to temporarily overdraw and extend the viscount’s life. Then he shouted, “Send for a healer! A holy light priest or druid—anyone!”

(End of chapter)