Chapter 179: A Pleasant Dream

At last, only three remained in the study: Gawain, Amber, and Viscount Kondé. Sir Philip stood guard at the door, and for a moment, the room was unusually quiet.

The viscount exhaled slowly, feeling his strength gradually returning. A bitter smile tugged at his lips. “It was nothing short of a nightmare.”

“Yes, truly a nightmare,” Gawain said softly, glancing down at the elderly nobleman. “I suppose you have no idea why your steward suddenly changed like that, do you?”

“Like I said earlier, I’m completely at a loss,” Viscount Kondé admitted, momentarily lost in thought before shaking his head with a bitter expression. “He’s served me faithfully for decades, always loyal to the Kondé family. But just now… it was as if he’d become a different person.”

“Have you ever heard of the Sleeper?” Gawain suddenly interrupted, locking eyes with the viscount and asking directly.

Amber instinctively slid her hand toward the dagger at her waist, shrinking slightly into Gawain’s shadow.

“The Sleeper?” The viscount frowned, then nodded slowly. “Yes, I’ve heard of them. They’re followers of a fallen god of dreams, said to invade a victim’s mind during nightmares, controlling or even replacing their consciousness. Are you suggesting Carter was possessed by the Sleeper?”

Gawain’s face remained impassive, betraying no emotion. He shook his head. “Regardless, what you need most now is rest—sleep well and regain your strength. I also recommend you have more servants stay with you. You’re older now, and you’ve lost a great deal of energy this time. It’s safer to have someone watching over you.”

The viscount bowed his head sincerely. “Thank you for your concern.”

Gawain and Amber left the study. Sir Philip immediately stepped forward. “My lord, how is he inside?”

“Viscount Kondé has recovered—though he’s still a bit weak,” Gawain said quietly as he strode ahead. “All the clues point to the old steward—at least on the surface.”

“On the surface? Do you suspect something else, my lord?”

“The timing of Carter’s sudden change was too perfect,” Gawain frowned. “If he was a Sleeper cultist or an enchanted supernatural, he would have prepared everything before we arrived. If he wasn’t prepared, he wouldn’t act at all. After all, all the slave capture orders bear the viscount’s signature, and the ‘resurrection’ of the viscountess would naturally cast suspicion on Victor Kondé. Carter could do nothing and remain completely innocent—because the suspicion was already on the viscount.”

Amber blinked, slowly catching on. “I remember Carter tried to assassinate us right when we were discussing the viscount’s guilt… So he was deliberately shifting suspicion onto himself? His real goal was to protect his master?”

She suddenly understood. “No wonder the dagger avoided vital points!”

“That only strengthens the case that the viscount is the mastermind behind all this!” Philip’s face lit up with fervor, his sense of justice pounding in his chest. “My lord, the time to crush the cultists’ plan has come!”

Gawain’s expression grew serious. He still felt something was off but nodded reluctantly. “We can’t delay any longer. But before confronting the viscount, we must first find the core that sustains this ‘illusory space,’ end the ritual magic, and isolate the viscount from that core. If I’m right, the source is a lantern.”

“A lantern? The viscountess often carries a lantern, doesn’t she?” Amber suddenly recalled—she was always sensitive to anything valuable, and that lantern looked expensive. “Is it that one? Then I can just steal it!”

“It looks the same, but the lantern Lilith Kondé carries is probably a replica,” Gawain shook his head. “The real one has a distinct magical aura and should be kept near where Lilith Kondé usually stays.”

By now, the three had returned to the guest room. Gawain poured himself a glass of water but didn’t drink. After a moment’s thought, he looked at Amber. “I need you to do something—something you’re good at.”

“No problem. This kind of thing is my specialty,” Amber said confidently, patting her chest. “So, where’s the Kondé family crypt?”

“I didn’t say to dig up their crypt!” Gawain nearly choked, silently grateful he hadn’t taken a sip yet—otherwise, Amber’s irreverence might have made him cough it all up. “I want you to find the real lantern—and if possible, steal it.”

“So it comes down to stealing the lantern,” Amber rolled her eyes. “At least give me a general area. This castle’s huge!”

“The North Tower. Lilith Kondé has lived there for years. If I’m right, it’s in the cellar,” Gawain said. “Officially, she stays there because of her frail health and photophobia, but it’s more like a soft imprisonment.”

Amber raised an eyebrow. “A cellar? That’s a place thick with shadow energy—perfect for me to work my magic!”

After Amber set off, only Gawain and Sir Philip remained. Philip stood silently near the door, keeping watch, while Gawain cradled his glass, pondering the nagging sense that something was amiss.

Breaking the silence, Philip asked, “My lord, are you sure it’s safe to send Amber to steal the ritual core? With her combat skills…”

“If all goes well, she won’t need to fight. And if she does encounter enemies and can’t succeed, she’ll retreat immediately,” Gawain replied, shaking his head. His gaze fell on the rippling water in his glass, his reflection wavering as his thoughts drifted far away. Suddenly, the image of the lantern in Lilith Kondé’s hand flashed in his mind.

He vaguely recalled that seven centuries ago, after gifting that lantern to Selina, she had fused its power with her dream magic. But how exactly did it work?

Selina had mentioned… wandering through a warrior’s nightmare, a dream filled with twisted, confusing paths and thick fog. The lantern guided her, showing the true way and preventing her from getting lost in the dream world.

A guiding lantern… a lantern?

Suddenly, Gawain realized where his biggest blind spot had been.

And as this realization dawned, a strange, unbelievable truth rapidly took shape in his mind—a truth so illogical, so bizarre, yet it was likely what was truly happening inside this castle.

He sprang to his feet, setting the glass down on the table. Philip, startled, looked up. “My lord?”

“We’ve been wrong!” Gawain said, striding toward the door. “Completely wrong from the start!”

Philip was stunned. “Wrong? Wrong about what?”

Gawain gripped the doorknob, turning to fix the young knight with a frown. “This isn’t Viscount Kondé’s dream! Come with me!”

The two hurried out, and as they raced down the corridor, Gawain quickly shared his theory and discoveries.

Philip’s eyes grew wider and wider until he was utterly dumbfounded. “I can’t believe… something like this could happen?”

Then he snapped back to reality. “Does that mean Amber is really in danger?!”

“No. According to my judgment, she won’t face danger yet—the dreamer hasn’t awakened,” Gawain said quickly. “But now we must split up. Philip, I have a task for you.”

“Command me, my lord!”

“Go to the back of the main castle building. Find the abandoned stable and use your evil-detection ability to search for…”

Philip nodded and set off. Gawain hurried down the hall and climbed the stairs to Victor Kondé’s study.

The room was still shrouded in the same eerie gloom. The viscount sat motionless behind the heavy desk, like a statue.

His gaze rested on several sheets of paper before he slowly lifted his head as Gawain approached, speaking in a calm tone, “You’ve come, Duke.”

Gawain looked steadily into the viscount’s eyes and saw a trace of sorrow and resignation—but no fear.

“You seem… to have known I would come.”

“Just a premonition,” the viscount gave a stiff smile. “You may do as you wish now.”

“I’m here to tell you a story,” Gawain said gently, pulling a chair from the corner and sitting opposite the viscount. He studied the old man’s worn face. “It begins over thirty years ago, on a stormy night…

“On that night, the young Viscount Kondé—yourself—was riding in a carriage through the rain, accompanied by your wife and son.

“Because of a slippery patch of mud or stone, the carriage slipped into a ravine. Unfortunately, you were thrown from the carriage.

“Mr. Victor Kondé, you died on the spot—along with your son.

“And your even more unfortunate wife, Lady Lilith Kondé, clearly could not bear the shock and pressure…

“So she chose to ‘die’ herself, allowing her husband and son to ‘survive’—at least in her dreams, that’s how it played out.

“That’s the whole story, Viscount.”

Victor Kondé sat quietly, then sighed—a sound so faint it seemed to come from another world. “A nightmare, isn’t it?”

“Yes, truly a nightmare.”

(End of chapter)