The spoon clinked against the glass again.
I blinked.
Same dining hall. Same spot. Orion right across the table, Sylvia seated on my left. Clara stood silently behind me, the back of my neck practically tingling from her presence.
"What do you think of the fertile lands in Falcon territory's eastern borders, Lord Hugo? It's fascinating to see the geographical varieties with mines all over..." Orion was babbling, just like last time.
I gave him the same answer. The exact same. Word for word. I didn't even need to think about it. Everything was playing out the way it had before. The same expressions. Same pauses.
Except now, I knew I would die tonight.
At least, if that four-headed man was telling the truth.
I shook Orion's hand after dinner, like a proper little noble boy, exchanging the usual stiff goodnight phrases. He smiled that same oddly charismatic smile. Sylvia offered a curt nod. Then I got up, Clara silently following behind me.
As we left the guest hall, a single thought bounced in my head.
If I assume everyone here's a potential threat, then I need a shield. A strong one. Between the guests in this mansion, Clara's my best bet. I don't know how powerful Eldrin is with that ridiculous 133% mana control, but I've seen Clara move. I've seen her not move. She's scary. Sticking to her like mana glue drops my chances of dying by at least 40%.
Maybe more, depending on whether the assassins are allergic to tea.
When we reached my room, I paused, still thinking of the void, of that thing that claimed to write the past, present, and future. If everything really is written, like he said… then what's the point? I could try to dodge fate and still end up six feet under.
I looked at the wooden door. My hand hovered over the handle.
"Clara. You haven't eaten yet, have you?"
She hesitated. "No, young master. My meals can wait. Do you have any tasks for me tonight?"
"No. Let's go together."
She tilted her head slightly. "Pardon?"
"Let's go get dinner together. I have a bad feeling about this mansion tonight."
Clara straightened immediately, her posture tense. "What do you mean, young master?"
"It's nothing. Just… a gut feeling from a weird dream. Better to be safe than sorry, right?"
She gave a sharp nod. "Understood. Please remain close to me, young master." Her eyes glowed faintly as she ramped her perception to the max.
"Let's wait a minute," I added, peering toward the hallway. "Sylvia might join us."
Clara blinked. "Lady Sylvia?"
"Yeah. She'll come. Give it ten seconds."
Clara tilted her head again, confused. But then she focused. Her pupils narrowed.
"She's coming."
Ding.
The signature chime of Inspect. Light, deliberate footsteps echoed.
"Lord Hugo," Sylvia's voice arrived just before her. "I'm glad you're awake. I hoped to speak with you. Is this a good time?"
"Perfect. I was expecting your company."
Sylvia blinked. Then blinked again. "You… were?"
"Yes. I was hoping we could accompany Clara for her dinner."
Sylvia's expression briefly became something between confusion and incredulity. She looked at Clara, then back at me.
"You mean to say we're heading to the maid's dining hall?"
"Exactly. Call it a precaution. I've got a bad feeling tonight. If something's off, better we stick together. We can't go around alerting Leon's guards for nothing, can we?"
Sylvia narrowed her eyes slightly, then smiled. "No problem. Having Clara with us might make it more fun anyway."
She smiled gently at Clara. Clara bowed lightly in return.
And so we walked. Just the three of us. The soon-to-be-murdered heir, his overpowered maid, and the always-graceful noble.
In my head, I kept spinning the possibilities. That four-headed man never said he wrote a single path. He said he wrote everything. If by everything he meant every possible present, past and future, then...maybe this fate wasn't set. Maybe there were infinite versions of me, infinite futures, infinite deaths or survivals. Every choice branching off into a new timeline.
Hell of a thing to learn after your own murder preview.
"The maid's dining area seems a bit unsanitized," Sylvia said suddenly, looking around the dim corridor.
I looked up. Yeah… not the most hygienic setting. The lights flickered. The place looked like it hadn't been cleaned since the last demon invasion.
Clara hesitated. "I will manage… somehow."
"No way," Sylvia objected immediately. "This place isn't fit for eating. I'll file a complaint to the mansion's staff."
"That would take time," I said. "The guest hall's probably empty now. Let's have the mansion maids arrange Clara's dinner there."
Clara still looked hesitant, but she didn't argue. My tone had more finality than suggestion.
Sylvia nodded. "Agreed."
We turned around and began heading back to the guest hall.
That's when I noticed it.
The lights ahead were dim. Too dim. Sylvia frowned.
"This is odd. Where is everyone? I greeted the staff just before I came to meet you two."
Clara tensed again. I stopped.
"Where's Eldrin's cabin in the mansion?"
Sylvia looked around. "I… I think he headed left from the main hall earlier. So his room should be in the left wing."
Clara pointed. "There. No lights in the entire left wing."
We stood in silence.
In my dream, the four-headed man never said what happened to the rest of our crew. Maybe they went to Orion. Or maybe… something else.
"Clara, can you hold off on dinner a bit longer?"
"Dinner is the least of my concern right now," she said, dryly. A very 'you're seriously thinking about food right now?' tone.
"Let's head to the guest rooms. Quickly."
Both nodded.
I kept thinking. Killing me in an instant is practically impossible, even for a powerhouse...because Inspect would show me the possible attack patterns as soon as they thought to execute it..before they even move. Infact that was what kept me alive against Varkis, any other non powerhouse would have been dead in a matter of seconds.
So if someone did kill me, it had to be poison, right? But Inspect didn't show anything wrong with the food, no poisonous ingredients in it. Could it be sleeping gas? Poison gas? Last time, Inspect didn't show any objects that might've been the source.
Was I wrong to rule that out?
We reached the guest wing. Sylvia looked uncertain.
"I'm not sure which room my father's in. I just saw him head this way."
That's when it hit me.
"Why was my room completely isolated? Were all guest rooms spaced like this?"
Sylvia hesitated. "I… did wonder. I assumed it had to do with hierarchy."
"Clara, say you wanted to kill someone using poison gas, but the target can identify the source of the gas immediately upon entering. How would you do it?"
"Young master, we don't put the source object in the target's room, as it would increase the risk of failure. we generally use darts or regulate the already produced gas through ventil—"
Clara answered instantly, then stopped mid-sentence. Her eyes widened.
I froze.
Then the realization hit me.
"The pipes," I whispered.
We ran. Full speed. Straight toward the mansion's external ventilation network, the pipes carry air to the artifacts installed in the rooms, the artifacts run by mana crystals cool the air inside, just like the ACs.
Just when we got closer to the outer yard, Clara suddenly surged ahead. And I mean surged. One second she was beside me, next second she was a blur.
BOOM.
A scream echoed in the distance.
Ding.
Inspect window showed up describing the stats of an elf. 97% mana control. Combat Grade: E–.
He was slammed against the wall near one of the air pipes.
Sylvia ran up, glaring. "What are you doing here?"
The elf guard groaned. "I was chasing a thief tampering with the pipes. He saw me and ran. I was about to catch him and then suddenly I'm...like this."
Clara looked at me. I nodded.
"Release him."
The elf grunted once freed, shooting me a look that said, Control your people, will you?
"Sorry about the tackle," I said. "Can you describe what you saw?"
"Cloaked guy. He was about to release a gas bubble into that pipe. Heard my voice, bolted."
We looked inside the pipe and nothing is found.. and I walked around hoping Inspect would pick on something.
Then DING.
I looked toward the isolated pipe.
Inspect detailed a....Viperine Core? It said it's poisionous and started describing it's chemical formula, manufacture method and stuff.
I asked Clara, "What's a Viperine Core?"
She froze.
"Where did you find that?"
I pointed.
She grabbed my collar. "Lady Sylvia, we need to move. Now."
After a short dash, Clara explained, "Viperine Cores are volatile. Poisonous. They cause inflammation in our windpipe, suffocation… and even if you manage to suppress the reaction with mana, the poison binds with your blood cells and prevents oxygen transport. You die slowly, painfully. First your brain, then your heart."
I nearly choked just hearing it.
"The cores have directional release points. Perfect for channeling into pipes."
I turned to the elf. "Alert the mansion staff. Tell them everything you saw. This is proof of an attempted assassination."
"Right. I will." He ran off.
"you think he'll make it in time?" Clara asked
She looked doubtful. "He's… quite slow."
"He already did."
She blinked. "What?"
"Elves can use mana resonance. Their mana's so pure, they can send signals, usually like matching frequencies, to their own kind. Can't transmit words, but they can trigger pre-agreed signals. That guard already alerted the mansion."
"How do you know this?"
"Read it in a book."
Also, Inspect showed the spike in their man when they were doing it in the forest during our cart inspection. It confirmed that mana resonance is not just a theory.
Clara stared. Sylvia raised a brow. It does look like it is using a similar but downgraded mechanism of Sylvia's innate skill, 'mind canivas'.
I turned. "Lady Sylvia, it's time we gathered everyone. Let's find out who planned this."
She nodded, but she looked a little pale.
As we walked, I kept thinking. Griffinvale doesn't gain much from killing me, the supposed incompetent brat.... at least not enough to risk Falcon's wrath. So maybe not the ministers. Could it be the ashen? elves? Zerathene? A grudge?
Or…
Maybe the real enemy was someone else ...a different perspective I had been missing.
Like a story I'd written and forgotten.