A Web of Deceit and Mounting Troubles

A thick, nauseating stench of blood and dust permeated the hall.

Suppressing their fear and revulsion, the guards worked silently and swiftly to clear the battlefield.

Several bodies, reverently covered with white shrouds, were carefully carried out—fallen guards who had just given their lives.

Others, gravely wounded, were being hastily bandaged by their comrades, their pained groans punctuating the grim silence.

Shattered tables and chairs, alongside splintered floor tiles, lay strewn across the ground, while deep claw marks marred the walls, silently testifying to the brief yet brutal horror of the recent battle.

Siena’s face was pale.

She took several deep breaths, striving to calm her racing heart, before turning to Rachel, who was meticulously guarded by Vera and Ruby.

Her gaze held a complex mixture of emotions: relief at having survived, sorrow for the fallen, but most profoundly, a deep-seated gratitude and lingering fear.

“Lady Lockwood…”

Siena’s voice carried a barely perceptible tremor as she bowed deeply and solemnly to Rachel.

“Please accept the sincerest gratitude of the Raven Guild’s Iron Anvil branch, and my own! Had it not been for your keen insight and decisive actions, all of us here… would likely not have escaped harm.”

Straightening up, she swept her gaze across the ruined hall, her tone heavy with unspoken regret.

“However, since you knew from the beginning that the black-robed man was poisoned, why did you feel the need to…”

Though Siena’s words were carefully veiled, the underlying accusation was unmistakable.

After all, if Rachel’s statement was true—that the fake Barton was already poisoned—there seemed little reason to expose him so dramatically in public, thus sparing Siena’s subordinates from their current heavy casualties.

Rachel, however, spoke with an air of composure. “Oh, that? Of course, I lied to him. I had no definitive evidence at hand, so I could only try to trick him that way.”

“Lied to him?”

Both Siena and Vera, standing nearby, were taken aback, while only Ruby displayed a look of mild resignation.

“B-but, My Lady, the pain and itching you mentioned—the fake Barton truly seemed to feel them, didn’t he?” Vera pressed, her voice laced with confusion.

In response, Rachel merely shrugged.

“Wounds naturally ache and itch as they heal; it’s a normal phenomenon. He simply panicked at the time, and coupled with the fact that no one would dare gamble with their own life, he fell for the deception.”

“S-so that’s how it was.”

Siena’s voice was tinged with shame as she bowed her head deeply once more.

“I was too foolish… My Lady, the Raven Guild will forever remember your kindness.”

“Regarding your previous proposal for cooperation between the Guild and Lockwood, I assure you that once affairs in Iron Anvil are initially stabilized, I will immediately submit a detailed report to headquarters, fully advocating for assistance to Lockwood.

Whether it be funds or supplies, anything the Guild is capable of providing, we will prioritize your needs.

The Raven Guild will never betray its true friends.”

Rachel’s expression remained impassive.

She simply nodded, her voice tinged with the fatigue and hoarseness of recent battle.

“Madam Siena, you speak too highly. Exposing the lurking Cult member and averting greater disaster is fortunate for both our parties. The current situation in Lockwood… is indeed dire, and the Guild’s assistance is paramount to us. I will leave the subsequent matters in your capable hands.”

“Please rest assured!”

Siena reaffirmed her promise, her gaze then falling upon the corpse not far away—now returned to its human form, clad in tattered Guild attire—a shiver of lingering dread running through her.

“It’s just… I never imagined the Cult’s infiltration ran so deep, their methods so insidious. And the monster’s dying words…”

“That the Cult won’t let me off?” Rachel interjected blandly, a humorless curve gracing her lips.

“More debts mean less worry. Besides, they haven’t been looking for trouble with me for just a day or two.”

She paused, her gaze shifting to Ruby, who was meticulously examining the corpse.

“Ruby, any findings?”

Ruby, kneeling beside the black-robed man’s—or rather, the fake Barton’s—body, was carefully probing and turning it over with her dagger.

Upon hearing Rachel, she looked up, retrieved a cold, oddly textured object from the corpse’s waist, and swiftly presented it to Rachel.

“My Lady, I found this on the body. I’ve examined it; it’s a magic item, likely what he used to impersonate Mr. Barton.”

It was a mask, neither metal nor wood, utterly black and polished as the finest obsidian, yet possessing a strange, inherent flexibility.

Its design was remarkably minimalist, devoid of any patterns or openings, merely the contours that would fit a human face, its edges as thin as a cicada’s wing.

Lying still in Ruby’s palm, it emanated an indescribably chilling aura, as if it could absorb the very light around it.

Rachel took the mask, her fingertips registering a cold, slick sensation.

She meticulously scrutinized the purely black artifact, her brow furrowed.

The craftsmanship of this mask far surpassed the ordinary, clearly beyond the skill of common artisans.

“To be able to impersonate others… the Cult’s methods are truly becoming more and more bizarre.” Rachel murmured to herself, then casually tucked the mask into her utility pouch.

‘Though it was an item of the Cult, it was still a magic artifact; even if it proved useless, she could at least sell it for coin.’

Siena observed Rachel’s subtle action but said nothing, seemingly tacitly approving of it.

Ruby’s gaze swept over Rachel as she put away the mask, then flickered towards Naiya, who was carefully being watched by Vera and curled up in a chair nearby.

Naiya appeared utterly drained, her small face pale, and her exposed right eye half-closed, betraying profound exhaustion.

Ruby’s lips pressed into a tighter line, but ultimately, she remained silent.

The following morning, a somewhat antiquated four-wheeled carriage departed from Iron Anvil.

The wheels ground over the gravel-strewn road, emitting a monotonous rumble.

The biting wind of early winter seeped through the window cracks, carrying the distinct crispness and desolation of the open wilderness.

Vera wrapped her new, off-white woolen dress tighter around herself, striving to sit upright and attentively monitoring the movements outside the carriage.

Ruby, meanwhile, sat with her arms crossed, her eyes closed in repose, her long red hair swaying gently with the carriage’s jolts, like a silently burning flame.

Rachel leaned back in the innermost seat, her body swaying subtly with the carriage’s motion.

Her gaze was not fixed on the desolate landscape outside the window, but rather on her own palm.

Two objects rested there.

One was the Dragon Stone previously discovered on the giant wolf; since Siena had not mentioned it, Rachel had simply brought it back with her.

The other was a thumb-sized grey crystal.

Unlike the Dragon Stone’s deep blackness and subdued glow, this crystal presented a murky, fog-like greyish-white hue, its internal structure appearing somewhat mottled.

It felt cold to the touch, possessing a peculiar rough texture.

Rachel had discovered it yesterday in a chaotic corner of the scene, after Naiya’s power outburst had repelled the half-dragonized black-robed man.

It lay there silently, emanating a faint yet undeniable pulsation, a resonance with the raw power that had surged from Naiya.

Her fingers unconsciously twisted the grey crystal, feeling its coarse surface and an indescribable coldness.

‘The Dragon Stone… and this grey crystal… could they be connected somehow? And why would Naiya leave something like this behind after her power erupted? What exactly is Naiya’s origin?’

Rachel’s gaze shifted, settling upon the small figure curled up beside her.

Naiya was asleep.

Wrapped in a dark blue duffel coat, she was huddled into the corner of the seat, like a young beast seeking refuge.

Her black, shoulder-length hair lay somewhat disheveled around her cheeks, the unnatural dark red tint at its tips faintly visible in the dim light.

Even in sleep, Naiya’s brow was slightly furrowed, and her small body occasionally trembled unconsciously, as if she dreamt of something terrifying, or perhaps the uncontrolled power deep within her still ached.

Vera sat on Naiya’s other side, carefully adjusting the thin blanket draped over Naiya’s legs, her eyes filled with worry and pity.

Rachel watched the sleeping Naiya silently.

This frail, enigmatic little girl, whose origins were unknown and who carried immense secrets.

Within her lay a terrifying power capable of instantly crippling a half-dragonized monster—a power both wild and pure, yet seemingly utterly beyond her own control, like a dormant volcano.

Naiya had saved her more than once, but she was like a peerless, unsheathed blade, capable of harming others, and potentially herself.

‘Was bringing her back to Lockwood truly a wise decision?’

Rachel placed the Dragon Stone and the grey crystal into her utility pouch, where the black mask confiscated from the fake Barton already lay.

Troubles, one after another, were snowballing into an ever-growing avalanche.

The secrets of the Gray Mountain Mine, Princess Ariya’s collaboration and surveillance, the missing Miriam who still harbored resentment towards her, and now Naiya’s uncontrollable power and mysterious background, alongside the Cult that clung to her like a parasitic worm…

Rachel suddenly recalled the fake Barton’s dying words: ‘The Cult won’t let you off…’

She sighed deeply and silently, a profound weariness washing over her like a cold tide, threatening to drown her completely.

‘All she ever wanted was to guard Lockwood’s meager holdings, to live out her days peacefully, avoiding any inexplicable death countdowns or entanglements with trouble. Why was it so impossibly difficult?’

Now, her territory was utterly destitute, its treasury so empty that mice could freely roam, and on top of that, she faced the costly and burdensome Grand Tour.

She was severely short-staffed, struggling to even find a decent steward, had inexplicably become a thorn in the Cult’s side, and had even picked up a ‘bomb’ that could detonate at any moment…

Rachel closed her eyes wearily, sinking deeper into the not-so-soft cushion, as if wishing to isolate herself from all this chaos.

The carriage continued its bumpy journey, carrying a collection of individuals lost in their own thoughts, towards Lockwood—a territory equally fraught with trouble, awaiting Rachel’s return.

The desolate wilderness outside the window receded rapidly, the early winter sky overcast and heavy with leaden grey clouds, while the cold wind stirred up withered yellow grass leaves into swirling eddies.

In the distance, the mountains were reduced to indistinct outlines, like a colossal beast lying dormant.

The road ahead was long, and a storm was brewing.