CHAPTER 141: 141. SEARCH

The tavern known as Woodlight wasn’t much to look at from the outside—old stone foundation, warped wooden beams, a slanted sign creaking with every gust of wind. But inside, the warmth of firelight and the low hum of clinking mugs gave it a rustic charm.

A group of five sat at a long table near the hearth.

Zyon.

Art.

Freya.

Amelia.

Evelyn.

They hadn’t spoken much since they sat down. Not out of tension, but because there was nothing new to say. Each of them had spent the better part of the day scouring Cybele for leads—asking questions, listening to rumors, watching from the shadows.

And they’d all come up with the same answer.

Nothing.

Amelia was the first to break the silence.

Her voice was calm, but the edge of frustration was unmistakable.

"Did any of you find anything?" she asked, eyes flicking from face to face. "Because I didn’t. Not a single clue. It’s like the people here have all taken some oath to stay silent."

The others shared a look before slowly shaking their heads.

Even Zyon, who usually had something smart to say, remained quiet. His fingers tapped an absent rhythm against the wooden table.

Freya leaned forward, brow slightly furrowed.

"I asked the merchant families," she murmured. "None of them know about any white haired lady passing through. It’s like she was never here to begin with. Which might even be true."

"It’s not just them," Art added, clearing his throat. "I went further inland, toward the older sections of town. The ones where gossip flows faster than ale." He paused, lowering his voice. "No one’s heard anything. Not a whisper. No envoy. No rumors. Nothing about Lady Liana. And that’s odd. This town’s people, people of Opalcrest? They love to brag. A noblewoman’s arrival would’ve been the talk of the streets."

Amelia exhaled through her nose, her fingers tightening around the rim of her mug. She looked down into the dark liquid, jaw clenched.

There was nothing left to say.

What could she possibly add to that?

She grit her teeth, trying to swallow the helplessness rising in her chest.

Freya noticed, and gently placed a hand on her back, rubbing slow, comforting circles.

"We’ll find her," she said softly, almost like a promise. "We just need to shift our approach. We’ve been looking at this too directly. I’m sure there’s a trail—we just haven’t seen it yet."

Just then, Zyon stood from his seat, the wooden bench scraping sharply beneath him. His expression was anything but subtle.

"I say we go straight to the noble houses," he declared, voice louder than necessary. "Someone there must’ve seen something. If we press them hard enough, they’ll slip up. One of them’s bound to say something they shouldn’t."

Several heads turned their way—some patrons, some servers—watching the sudden outburst.

Art immediately waved him down, gesturing with both hands like he was pushing down invisible waves.

"Sit your loud ass down," he hissed. "Are you trying to get us thrown out? You can’t just bust into a noble’s estate in the middle of the night waving questions around. Come on, man. At least wait for morning. Let’s not look like common thugs."

Zyon rolled his eyes but returned to his seat with a grunt.

Freya nodded in agreement, keeping her voice calm and reasoning. "Art’s right. It wouldn’t be proper. If we push too hard right now, we’ll just raise suspicion—or worse, get arrested before we learn anything useful."

Evelyn, who had remained utterly silent until now, finally broke her stillness. Her voice was cool and composed.

"There’s no point wandering anymore tonight," she said. "We should book rooms here. Rest, regroup, and move at first light."

Art rose from the bench with a faint sigh, cracking his knuckles. "Alright, alright. I’ll go have a chat with the manager—see if he has five spare rooms for a desperate group of information-starved lunatics."

He walked off, whistling to himself as he disappeared behind the counter.

Back at the table, Zyon leaned back with a scowl still lingering on his face.

He turned his gaze to Evelyn.

"Hey, Eve," he began, "when’s Cassius supposed to show up? You’ve been quiet about him, but don’t tell me you’ve got no idea where he is."

Evelyn looked like she’d just bitten into something sour. Her eyes narrowed, and she let out a slow exhale, clearly annoyed.

"I don’t know," she replied, curtly. "Last I heard, he was in Astreel. Probably following his own leads. If you’re expecting him to kick down the doors and solve everything for us, don’t hold your breath."

Zyon snorted. "Tch. I didn’t say that."

Freya smiled faintly, though there was a touch of exasperation in her voice. "He’s doing his part in all this. Let’s not turn on each other, alright? We’re all searching. Just... in different ways."

Silence settled over the table again, but this time it was softer. Less defeated. A shared tiredness, but with a thread of stubborn resolve tying them together.

...

The morning came quicker than expected.

By the time sunlight broke through the grey shroud of clouds and bathed the cobbled streets in a washed-out glow, the group had already gathered outside the Woodlight Tavern.

None of them had slept well. Their minds were a storm of uncertainty and dread, and their bones felt heavier than usual—as if weighed down by invisible chains.

The plan had been decided the night before: confront the noble house of Cybele.

They moved quickly through the center of town, barely speaking as their boots echoed along the stony paths.

The early vendors avoided eye contact. Some even pulled their children back into homes as they passed. It wasn’t just fear—they were hiding something.

Finally, the group reached their destination.

The Cybele manor.

It was nestled at the edge of town, surrounded by a wall of ivy-covered stone. But what awaited them wasn’t the grandeur of nobility. It was eerie, decaying silence.

Not a single servant. Not even a guard. Just a pair of ornate black-iron gates creaking slightly in the wind, left ajar as if daring them to step into something they couldn’t walk back from.

Art narrowed his eyes, folding his arms as he stood before the towering manor.

"This place feels cursed," he muttered. "Not a soul in sight. No horses, no voices, no torches. Hell, even the air feels rotten."

Zyon glanced at the gate, then back at the group. "It’s too quiet. I don’t like it."

"It’s abandoned," Art added. "Obviously. Look at the windows—cracked. The gardens are half-dead. Whatever this place was, it isn’t that anymore. No point going in."

Amelia stepped forward, her eyes hard despite the exhaustion. "Even if it is abandoned, there might be something left behind. A record. A trace. Anything that tells us where they took my mother. I’m not leaving until I’m sure."

Zyon nodded in agreement, arms crossed. "She’s right. Art, stop acting like a spoiled brat. We don’t have time for your dramatics."

Art scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Always so eager to throw yourself into the fire. Whatever. You want to search a graveyard, fine by me."

With that, he pushed the gates open and was the first to step inside.

Freya glanced toward the others. "Let’s just go. We’ve come this far."

One by one, they followed.

But the moment they entered, the suffocating stillness of the manor devoured everything.

And the reason for the silence became terrifyingly clear.

The main hall was a vision from a nightmare—walls splattered with dried blood, furniture overturned, crimson footprints staining the floor. Limbs—arms, legs, even a few heads—lay scattered around like discarded dolls in a child’s twisted playroom.

The smell hit them all at once. Copper, rot, and something else... something wrong.

Freya recoiled, a hand over her mouth. "What the hell happened here...?"

Evelyn stepped carefully into the hall, her brows furrowed, pale skin a touch paler. "This... this wasn’t a raid. It looks like a massacre."

Art sighed, voice thick with irritation and barely concealed fear. "Wonderful. We just walked straight into a crime scene. And now we’re the prime suspects. Genius move, everyone."

Zyon clenched his jaw but didn’t answer. He was too busy scanning the area for traps or lingering threats.

Amelia, meanwhile, walked deeper into the manor, her every step more hesitant than the last. "No. We’re here already. We can’t leave without checking everything. If we walk away now, we might never find another lead."

None of them wanted to admit it, but she was right.

And so, despite the nausea clawing at their guts, they moved through the manor—room by room, hall by hall.

They found no survivors.

Not a single breath echoed in that cursed house.

Until they reached one room—a side chamber connected to what looked like a study.

Inside, it was more grotesque than before.

A family. Slumped on the floor in a tight circle.

Three children and two adults. The mother still cradled one child in her arms, though her eyes had long glazed over in death. Each of them had their throat slit, clean and deliberate. A single bloodied dagger lay between them.

A suicide.

A family suicide.

Freya stumbled back, trembling. "Why... why would they do this to their own children...?"

No one could answer.

Art swallowed hard and began scanning the room, checking the drawers, the shelves, the cabinets. He moved with a frantic energy, almost as if trying to distract himself from the corpses just feet away.

And then he found something.

A folded parchment, stained slightly with blood but intact. He held it up, voice urgent.

"Guys! I found something! A letter—looks official."

They rushed toward him, gathering around as he began to read:

"Phase one has begun. The fall of the Everharts will start. Astreel is to be the first flame. All nobles loyal to the cause are to gather there during the 345th Battle Royale. The celebration will commence with Heinau’s arrival. All guests must wear the mark."

Art looked up from the letter, expression grim.

Amelia’s voice was almost a whisper. "Heinau... The king of Opalcrest."

Zyon’s eyes sharpened, his hands clenched into fists. "But what exactly caused this family to take their own life. Something doesn’t feel right about it."

Evelyn remained quiet, eyes lowered.

Freya muttered, "If all the nobles are gathering in Astreel... then Cassius is walking straight into a trap."