Chapter 755: Daniel’s Investigation

In the eastern district of Aldernan, deep within the city’s maze-like alleys, the light was dim and flickering.

This was the darkest, most neglected corner of the imperial capital—a place seemingly forgotten by the upper echelons of society. The sprawling city of Aldernan rose like a layered hill: its upper tiers adorned with grand, opulent buildings, while its foundations were like festering wounds, hidden away in shadow. Advanced magi-tech, booming modern commerce, and an increasingly polished middle class—all of these had no connection to the deepest alleys of Aldernan’s East District.

Though only half a city’s distance from the Obsidian Palace, this place felt farther removed from civilization than the distant mountain towns.

Amidst these alleys, far from any official watchful eyes, a man with a tangled beard, sunken eyes, and a threadbare coat hurried past a row of low, dilapidated houses.

His hurried footsteps echoed sharply, drawing curious glances from behind cracked doors and windows. At this late hour, anyone brave enough to walk alone in the East District’s depths was bound to attract attention. Yet the eyes peering out soon fell into confusion.

For they saw nothing—no one was on the street.

But the footsteps were undeniably real.

The hidden watchers’ gazes grew tense, then fearful. Superstitious residents recalled the old tales of wandering ghosts and black sorcerers that haunted the night. One by one, they withdrew their eyes and bolted their doors tighter.

The man strode openly through the entire alley until he reached the door of No. 14 Black Iron Lane.

He stopped before the black-painted door, placing a hand on the wood to sense any movement inside. Confirming all was quiet, he turned the key and silently pushed the door open.

Inside, warm light spilled out. A figure cloaked in black robes sat calmly in a high-backed chair, his features blurred and indistinct. A roaring fire blazed in the corner, illuminating the spotless floor and immaculate furnishings.

The man entered swiftly, closing the door behind him. Before the shadowy figure, he bowed deeply. “Greetings, Bishop Daniel.”

“No need for formalities, Grando,” the robed figure replied, his voice low and direct, sounding as if it whispered right into Grando’s ear. “This place is secure. We can speak freely.”

“Yes, Your Excellency,” Grando bowed again.

“How goes the investigation I assigned you?” Daniel asked quietly.

“Your servant has completed the preliminary inquiry,” Grando answered respectfully. “As of last week, the lower-ranking cultists you instructed me to contact have all reported back. None claim to have sent any distress signals over the network, nor have they lost any memories—at least, none recall such events themselves.”

Daniel nodded. “Is that all?”

“No, there’s more,” Grando hurried on. “I doubted their reports, so when possible, I secretly approached and hypnotized those close to them. From their recollections, these cultists have recently exhibited episodes of mental confusion, prolonged sleep, and even brief personality shifts.”

“Personality shifts?” Daniel’s interest sharpened. “Could this indicate mind replacement or parasitic possession?”

“I have ruled that out,” Grando said, shaking his head. “I observed their minds multiple times—both awake and under hypnosis. Their consciousness remains intact, their subconscious shows no signs of fragmentation or tampering.”

A hoarse, low voice came from beneath Daniel’s hood: “Everything normal?”

“Yes, everything appears normal,” Grando replied with deference.

“Everything normal—that’s the most abnormal thing of all,” Daniel murmured darkly. “Mental confusion, long sleeps, sudden personality changes—these are clear signs of mental interference. Such events must leave traces. If their minds seem perfectly normal despite this, then…”

He suddenly paused.

Grando, sensing something, nervously broke the silence. “Your Excellency, you…”

His words trailed off as his gaze clouded over. In that instant, the warm light, the roaring fire, the pristine furniture—all vanished.

The room plunged into pitch darkness. No candles flickered, no hearth burned. In fact, aside from a single chair by the window, the room was utterly bare.

Grando stood silently in the empty blackness, rooted to the spot by the door, his eyes vacant for a full two minutes.

Only then did he blink, and the room instantly returned to its previous warm, bright state. Bishop Daniel reappeared in his chair.

A chill ran down Grando’s spine, and he shuddered. He realized he had just undergone a thorough “inspection” by this powerful Sleeper bishop. Fear and tension gripped him as he spoke, “My lord, I…”

“Your memories have been altered,” Daniel said bluntly. “This investigation ends here. Do not dig any deeper.”

“…Understood,” Grando whispered, cold sweat dripping down his temple, “Thank you for your warning.”

Daniel nodded. “Also, avoid prolonged connections to the psychic network for now. If you must connect, keep it shallow—do not delve too deep.

“Lastly, a senior archbishop from the High Synod may contact you soon about your recent inquiries. Do not hide anything from them. Be honest.”

Grando’s eyes widened in shock as the truth of his memory alteration dawned on him. He blurted out, “My lord, could it be the archbishops themselves who altered my memories to conceal the truth?”

He stopped himself, lowering his voice. “My lord, what exactly is happening with the psychic network lately?”

“Don’t ask too much,” Daniel interrupted calmly. “Knowing too much is not always a blessing.”

Another shiver ran through Grando. He swallowed hard and fell silent.

Suddenly, his surroundings wavered again.

The light vanished, the fire died, the furniture disappeared. No. 14 Black Iron Lane was once more a dark, empty room. Grando blinked, fully alert now, standing at the door with one hand still reaching behind to close it.

The powerful, mysterious Sleeper bishop had left—vanished from his mind.

…

In Aldernan’s Mage District, inside a brightly lit, elegantly decorated villa, Daniel sat in a study armchair, leafing through a scroll.

Behind him, a synthetic neural cable lay quietly against his back, its tip just visible beneath his robe, gently swaying near the chair’s headrest.

“…It’s time to consider how to respond to the inquiry from that archbishop,” the old mage sighed softly to himself. “Though I wonder which one it will be…”

The High Synod was clearly trying to hide a massive secret—one with far-reaching consequences. They were closely monitoring all intelligence related to it.

Daniel felt a flicker of relief.

Fortunately, he had strictly followed his master’s orders, carefully limiting the scope of his investigation and managing every detail of his actions. Though he probed the psychic network’s disturbances, he appeared no more than a loyal cultist concerned with network stability, proactively troubleshooting anomalies.

An excellent, devoted, and diligent security officer.

Except for a few minor oversteps, he was utterly trustworthy.

…

At the Obsidian Palace, Rosetta Augustus sat behind his large desk, while Duke Ferdinand Wendell faced him diagonally.

Watching the emperor bent over a letter, Ferdinand felt a sudden surge of emotion.

Since Cecil’s rise and the unexpected shift in the political landscape, the Typhon ruler—long plagued by a mental curse—seemed to have shaken off his family’s affliction. He was now invigorated and full of resolve. Ferdinand himself was summoned by the emperor more frequently than ever, visiting the Obsidian Palace with increasing regularity.

Almost every time matters concerning the Cecil Empire or domestic magi-tech industry arose, the emperor called on him. Ferdinand half-joked that he might as well request a room here and live at the palace.

“Cecil has agreed to our proposal to send exchange students and expressed willingness to deepen ties, forging international relations suited to this new era,” Rosetta Augustus’s voice interrupted Ferdinand’s thoughts.

Ferdinand looked up, his expression mixed. “So Gawain Cecil agreed outright…”

“Yes, he’s more decisive than we expected,” Rosetta said, shaking his head slightly. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the letter bearing the Cecil Empire’s royal seal onto Ferdinand’s desk. “You can read it yourself.”

Ferdinand took the letter, frowning slightly. “…Permanent envoys stationed in each other’s capitals, building ‘embassies’?”

“Exactly. This aligns with the evolving situation,” Rosetta nodded. “We can’t rely forever on letters and waves of messengers to maintain communication.”

Ferdinand continued reading: “…Opening more commercial channels, expanding existing orders, adding new categories including more magi-tech components, synthetic crystals, crafts, and allowing limited, legal private investments within each other’s borders…”

“There’s much to analyze here. Make copies and send them to Parliament and the Royal Advisory Council for risk assessment and discussion.”

“Understood.”

After finishing the letter, Ferdinand looked at Rosetta. “Your Majesty, how will the exchange students be selected?”

“No rush on that,” Rosetta replied. “We should first send envoys to Cecil, just as we did when introducing the magi-tech trains. Someone needs to see the situation firsthand—that’s proper protocol and respect between empires.”

“Envoys…” Ferdinand studied Rosetta’s usually impassive face. “You already have someone in mind?”

“Let Matilda lead,” Rosetta said calmly. “She always has a keen eye.”

“Princess Matilda… indeed, the most suitable choice.”

…

Far to the far north of the mainland, beyond the mountains and wild plains that mark the northern border of the Cecil Empire, lies a realm shrouded in ice and snow—a land resting silently atop the mountain peaks.

Majestic, towering city structures rise between the crags, where the biting cold wind howls day after day, sweeping over cliffs, fortress walls, and mountain streams. Against the monochrome backdrop of ice and snow, the gray-white stone buildings seem to merge seamlessly with the mountains themselves, facing northward with an air of proud antiquity and a heavy, desolate solemnity.

This is the homeland of the Dragonborn, a people who have dwelled in this frozen expanse for countless ages.

A closed-off nation, the proud yet burdened Dragonborn keep their mountains and wildlands sealed away, rarely turning their gaze to the shifting tides of the wider continent. But even a secluded realm is not forever unchanging or cut off from the world.

Merchants from the outside still find their way to this mysterious “Holy Dragon Principality,” and the Dragonborn do not reject human traders and adventurers—so long as they can endure the harsh climate of the far north.

In fact, the Dragonborn welcome those “brave souls” who dare to challenge the bitter northern winter.

Yet for most of history, such challengers have been few and far between. Only the most formidable and awe-inspiring individuals have had the privilege to visit the Holy Dragon Principality. Ordinary merchants, common folk—they simply lack the means to traverse the frozen north.

But recently, this has begun to change.

A newly risen Cecil Empire has replaced the old Ansar Kingdom, and many well-equipped, courageous Cecil merchants have started appearing frequently at the borders of the Holy Dragon Principality. The once forbidding cold—so severe that even the mountain folk of northern Ansar dared not venture far—no longer deters these merchants. Clad in thick winter gear, piloting magical vehicles designed to withstand wind and frost, and constantly downing potions to resist the chill, they bring with them countless novelties said to hail from the “Mage Era.”

Change is quietly spreading from the heart of the Cecil Empire, reaching into those once-closed lands…

(End of chapter)