CHAPTER 247: CLUE [4]

Akamir leaned back on the chair as he looked at a mimicker eat the advisor of Zagroth.

His gaze remained cold as he kept on staring at the process.

Sylari was standing close to the door, frozen in her place without speaking a single word.

---

It took the mimicker half an hour to complete the process.

Now, an old man knelt in front of Akamir with his head bowed down.

Akamir kept his gaze on him while he ordered the other mimickers to walk closer.

"...How long till you can see all his memories?" Akamir asked, his voice curious.

The mimicker wearing the skin of Malrec replied humbly. "A few hours, my Lord."

Akamir nodded his head. "Digest the most recent ones first," he ordered. "I have some questions to ask."

Sylari pressed herself tighter against the wall near the door.

Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure Akamir could hear it through her mask.

The copy raised its head slightly, eyes dim, like something wearing human skin but not quite human. "What questions, my Lord?"

Akamir rested his chin against his hand, elbow propped on the chair’s armrest.

His masked face betrayed nothing, but the weight in his voice left no room for hesitation.

"Start with Zagroth. Who actually rules them?"

The mimicker blinked slowly.

Then its lips moved, but the words were jagged, like pulling scraps from broken parchment. "...The High Seat... are the ones... but—"

"But?" Akamir’s voice sharpened.

The mimicker twitched, veins crawling under its skin like worms.

"...Not alone. The order... bore three seats."

Akamir leaned forward. "Names."

The mimicker’s head tilted unnaturally, cracking as if bones didn’t fit properly. "...Laurel Wen Raguel. Duke Heshar. And... Seraphis."

Sylari’s eyes widened. She knew two of those names and from her reaction, they didn’t seem small.

"Do you know them?" Akamir asked, his gaze on her.

"...I have heard of them," she whispered, her voice barely audible now. "...Duke Heshar belongs to Zagroth family but is a duke of a different Empire."

’So a big shot, huh?’

Akamir thought as he nodded his head in response.

Things were now much more complicated than before.

He could feel that he was getting into something really big.

"What about the other two?" Akamir asked after a while.

"I don’t know about them," she responded, shaking her head. "....I have never even heard about them."

Akamir nodded as he glanced back at the mimicker.

"Do you remember anything about them?" he asked expectantly.

The mimicker’s eyes rolled back, its body twitching as if rifling through shelves of rotten parchment.

"...Fragments..." it whispered, voice layered, half-human, half-wrong. "...Laurel Wen Raguel... sits among the Three Popes. He carries God’s seal... but his hand drips with shadows."

The mimicker’s jaw cracked as it continued. "...Seraphis... no title... no court. His name is... erased from records. Yet men kneel to him... in hidden halls. He speaks... and kings listen."

Akamir’s gaze sharpened behind the mask.

A church, a duke, and a ghost. That was no alliance of convenience—that was a web.

Akamir nodded his head as he rubbed his chin.

’....This is really a mess, huh?’

He couldn’t help but rub his temples as he thought about the scale of this all.

"Wait." Akamir looked back at him again. "Which God does he carry the seal of?"

"It’s unknown, my Lord," he replied softly. "There is none who can tell and he is heavily protected by the church."

Akamir narrowed his eyes as he felt a little doubtful.

’...No way, he is a con artist pretending to be a god’s man.’

Akamir shook his head as it would be a ridiculous thing to do.

But that doubt kept on ringing in his mind.

"My Lord," the mimicker spoke again. "There is something with the body."

Akamir tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

"I think, it would be better if I show it to you."

The mimicker spoke keeping his head low all the time.

"Show me," Akamir said flatly.

The mimicker convulsed, and the air shimmered.

A half-formed vision spilled out—three figures seated at a table lit by candlelight.

The parchment bore seals of blood and wax. Their words crawled like snakes.

"For order. For purity. The lesser must be erased."

"What the—"

Akamir got startled as a woman floated close to his face.

Her gaze on the image as her eyes refused to move.

The vision snapped away, leaving the room heavy and cold.

Akamir kept on staring at her without a word.

’What happened to her?’

Akamir rubbed his chin as he looked back at the mimicker.

"Lesser beings?" Akamir mumbled his head. "Who did they mean by that?"

"The people of this continent, my Lord," he replied, his voice burned.

Sylari immediately jumped up. "What?" she asked. "How could...."

Akamir ignored her. His attention stayed on the kneeling mimic. "How far back can you see?"

"...With time... all of him," it rasped.

Akamir leaned back slowly, tapping a finger against the armrest. "Good. Start digging deeper. If Malrec was a messenger, I want the hand that pulled his strings."

The mimicker bowed its head, flesh bubbling faintly as it began its work.

Silence stretched, broken only by the faint crackle of herbs still burning in the pot.

Akamir stood up as he stretched his body.

He walked past the princess. "Let’s go."

The princess didn’t move from her place, her trembling body remained silent in place.

Akamir turned to look at her, his eyes narrowed. "Did you not listen—."

"Why?" she whispered, her voice low. "Why have you kept me alive when you can just..."

She didn’t complete her words but Akamir understood what she wanted to say.

And truth be told, Akamir did it on purpose.

He was showing her her place as in the future he didn’t want her to think she could win against him.

Akamir finally made Sylari turn towards him. "You’re useful. Nothing more."

Sylari’s lips trembled at his blunt words.

Useful. Nothing more.

It wasn’t the first time someone had reduced her to a tool—her father had done it all her life.

But hearing it from this masked boy, after everything she’d just witnessed, felt heavier.

Like a chain wrapping around her throat.

"...Understood," she whispered, her head lowering against her will.

Akamir didn’t bother to respond.

He simply walked to the door and pushed it open.

The faint night air rushed in, carrying with it the smell of iron and smoke.

Sylari hesitated before following him, her steps unsteady.

Her eyes flicked once to the mimicker, still hunched over and trembling as it dug through Malrec’s stolen memories.

The soldiers and guards stood in their place with some cleaning up the blood.

They bowed towards Akamir like he was their leader.

Akamir just nodded as he kept on walking.

Outside, the narrow street stretched in shadows.

"Where are we going now?" she asked carefully, afraid her voice might annoy him.

"To wait," Akamir replied without turning his head.

His tone was calm, almost bored, but it carried a weight that pressed against her chest. "The mimicker will dig up what I need. When it’s done, I’ll move."

Sylari bit her lip, unsure if she should push further.

Yet silence weighed even heavier on her than fear. "...Move where?"

Akamir finally glanced at her, and she wished he hadn’t.

Even through the mask, his gaze felt sharp enough to slice her open.

"Wherever the strings lead," he said simply.

The words sent a chill racing down her spine.

They walked until they reached the edge of the courtyard.

Akamir stopped, his hand brushing against the stone wall as though feeling for something.

Then, without warning, he spoke again.

"Princess," he said, his voice low. "Tell me honestly—what do you fear more? Me... or the people pulling Zagroth’s strings?"

Sylari froze. Her throat tightened, the answer clawing at her, but when she opened her mouth, no words came.

Akamir tilted his head, studying her silence like an answer in itself.

"I thought so," he murmured.

He turned away, pulling his cloak tighter around his shoulders as he looked down the dark street.

"Remember this, Sylari. Fear me all you want. But the moment you start fearing them less... you’re already dead."

Sylari clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she followed behind him.

For the first time in her life, she realized she wasn’t just walking in someone’s shadow.

She was walking in the shadow of a storm.

---

Akamir kept on walking as the princess moved just behind him.

His mind was still on the mimickers as they reached the place he was staying in.

’Wait what happened to her?’

Akamir then remembered the abnormal reaction of Nayomi.

He turned to look at her. "Care to explain, why the silence?"

He asked as he entered the room and sat on a chair.

Nayomi, who remained silent, finally looked at him.

"Remember how my class was summoned in this world six hundred years ago?"

She asked, her voice much colder than normal.

"One of the three that the mimicker showed us...."

She drew in a deep breath.

"....He was my classmate."