Chapter 180: Night Raid

"Creak." The door to a private room in the Echoing Cabin—the recognized sanctuary for members of the Night’s Edge—swung open. Charles stepped inside, where Wang Yu and Edward had already been waiting for some time.

Wang Yu set aside the pamphlet and the object he had been turning over in his hands, glancing at Charles, who wore a look of utter exasperation. "What happened? You’re late; did you run into something?"

Charles was rarely behind schedule unless he fell victim to some stroke of misfortune, such as being kicked out by the proprietor of the Echoing Cabin.

Not that the owner would ever turn him away, given that Wang Yu and Edward served as his guarantors.

"Don't even ask. My old man has been obsessed with the reshuffling of the Elder Council lately. He dragged me off to lecture me on a dozen things and insisted I represent the family during the upcoming vote. I don't want any part of this! I thought I’d severed ties with the Ryder family... what kind of 'severing' is this, for heaven's sake?"

Charles slumped into a chair and downed the juice that had been ordered for him in one gulp.

"Ugh, not as good as the stuff at the academy banquet."

"If you don't like it, get out! You picky, ungrateful fool!" A booming, resonant roar echoed into the room, startling Charles so violently he leaped from his seat. That familiar voice—the owner?

But weren't these private rooms supposed to offer absolute confidentiality? That was the only reason he’d chosen this place to show his companions the information he’d retrieved from Viscount Glenn’s graveyard.

Charles scanned the room, trembling. He had complained more than once in the common area that the owner’s food was inferior to other shops in the capital, which had earned him several ear-shattering rebukes and more than a few evictions.

He saw no sign of the owner, but caught Edward watching him with a smirk, while Wang Yu sat rubbing his own throat in contemplation.

"Hmm... let me guess, that shout was Wang Yu?" Charles was quick-witted; seeing the situation, he understood immediately.

"It was me. I’m experimenting with adjusting the details of my physiology. It seems that by coordinating my battle aura with my muscles, I can mimic the voices of others. It’s quite convenient."

Wang Yu looked up, explaining in a voice that had now shifted to perfectly match Sieg’s.

"That’s absurd. Your body is just too strange." Charles scratched his head and sat back down.

"Let me show you what I recovered from the graveyard at Viscount Glenn’s estate. It’s truly unimaginable."

Setting aside the fright from a moment ago, Charles pulled a Wheel of Fortune tarot card from his pocket and placed it on the table.

"The Viscount had a penchant for abuse—or perhaps, torture, right?" Wang Yu asked.

"Yes, how did you know?" Charles confirmed with a look of surprise, then activated the card.

"I was tainted by some necromantic residue. Avia used her arts to help me retroactively view the spirits of the deceased; they were all young, and they had suffered immensely."

Wang Yu replied, turning his gaze toward the scene projected into the room by the Wheel of Fortune.

The card cast a translucent, glowing three-dimensional image before the three of them. The location was clearly the graveyard outside Viscount Glenn’s window, though some details differed.

Young men and women were bound with ropes, gags stuffed into their mouths, and secured to chairs placed in the graveyard. The Viscount and his wife stood over them, clutching objects in their hands, inhaling with a look of pure intoxication.

"Yes, that’s it. The way the Viscountess was acting earlier—she was definitely on drugs. Those are just the side effects." Wang Yu nodded, watching the items in the couple’s hands that left them so blissfully dazed.

The Viscount and his wife inhaled for a long time, oblivious to the world, before drifting into a vacant stupor, only regaining their senses after a considerable interval.

During this time, the young men and women bound to the chairs struggled and writhed, desperately trying to shift their positions, but all in vain.

Once the Viscount and his wife came to, the high from the hallucinogens had not yet faded. They wore exaggerated, manic smiles, picking up whips and other implements from the side to begin lashing the bound youths.

Though the tarot card could not play sound, the sick, twisted grins on the couple’s faces made it clear they were laughing loudly, and the constant trembling of the chairs betrayed the silent screams of their victims.

"Bang!" Edward’s fist slammed onto the table. Had he not deliberately restrained his knightly strength, the wooden surface would have shattered. Veins pulsed on his knuckles, his brows locked tight, and his muscles quivered—all reflecting his mounting rage.

The scene continued. The Viscount and his wife indulged in their torture. Every lash, every substance they poured onto the victims' wounds, seemed to heighten their drug-fueled excitement.

With those intoxicated, blissful expressions, it was hard to imagine what could possibly be going through their minds.

The torture lasted for a long time. Halfway through, the Viscountess, being of ordinary constitution, had to take a break due to exhaustion.

The sight of the victims’ spasming bodies filled the room. Aside from Edward’s unmasked fury, Charles and Wang Yu remained unnervingly silent.

Finally, when the chests of the bound victims ceased to rise and fall, the Viscountess, having had her fill, waved a hand. Servants and guards who had been waiting off-screen entered, buried the bodies, and placed pre-prepared tombstones. The image ended.

"They got what they deserved," Charles sighed, summarizing the scene.

"Indeed," Wang Yu agreed, flicking the small piece of alchemical equipment in his hand.

"Hoo..." Edward let out a long, ragged breath, though his trembling fists betrayed his inner turmoil.

"In the capital, if someone goes missing, both the Night’s Edge and the City Guard investigate. Young people, in particular, are closely tracked. So, these victims must have been snatched from outside the capital’s surface."

Charles put the tarot card away, his tone calm and analytical.

"The Shadow of the Capital," Wang Yu stated with certainty.

"Likely," Charles confirmed.

While the Shadow of the Capital was a secret to the average citizen, it was a place frequently visited by the nobility.

Whether for the trade of illicit alchemical goods or matters involving the darkest facets of human nature, it was a place where such things were entirely commonplace.

"Are all nobles like this?" Edward pressed his palm to his forehead, his voice trembling with an uncontrollable, complex agitation.

"What? Disappointed in the capital’s nobility?" Charles asked.

"In the North, at least among the nobles I know, such a thing would be impossible."

"It’s simple: nobles enjoy more resources than the average person, so they must shoulder more responsibility. To them, protecting the people of the North is both a duty and an honor."

Edward was the son of the Northern Grand Duke; Wang Yu and Charles both knew he possessed a strong sense of responsibility. Protecting his people was, to him, the most natural thing in the world.

"You are right. Don't let these things in the capital shake your convictions."

Wang Yu tapped the chest of the unsettled Edward, emphasizing that what he stood for and believed in was not in the least bit wrong.

"You can't paint all the nobles in the capital with the same brush, though. At least, I count as a noble—well, Wang Yu counts as one for now, and Miss Avia seems to be one as well. At the very least, more than half of the nobility are trustworthy and responsible."

Charles coughed lightly, careful not to let his assessment of Viscount Glenn extend to the entire aristocracy of the capital.

"You have to judge a person by what they do. Status doesn't determine greatness, good, or evil. Nobility is just a title. At the very least, one shouldn't hold prejudices against those who happen to be nobles," Wang Yu concluded.

"Status isn't important... what matters is how one acts," Edward chewed on the words, lost in thought.

"And what about the killer? To use a phrase from your hometown, Wang Yu, it seems this killer is 'acting on behalf of heaven.' As members of the Night’s Edge, while the law dictates we should arrest him... well."

Charles spread his hands, turning the topic back to the assailant. Now that they knew what the Viscount had done, could the killer’s actions truly be called evil?

"We have our own scales in our hearts. We have our own understanding of what is right. It’s simple."

"But what we must consider is whether the killer is merely creating chaos, or if he is truly targeting the sins of men like Viscount Glenn, bringing down the divine punishment that never arrived."

"If it’s the former, we must stop him. But if it’s the latter, we cannot offer help, but at least we can..."

Wang Yu opened one eye and closed the other; his meaning was clear.

"Simple enough. If it ends here, fine. If similar killings continue, we’ll be able to judge the killer’s true intent." Charles rubbed his fingers together.

"Yes, that’s all we can do," Wang Yu replied.

"But we must be wary of that black smoke-like substance on the killer. Because it can mask detection just like the divine arts of the Lady of the Night, the noble investigation teams believe it’s linked to the rising faith in her. Wang Yu, you need to be careful. Even if few know your identity, it’s hard to maintain complete secrecy."

"And the Night Church might be affected by this as well."

Charles spoke with great seriousness, clearly having gathered significant intelligence through his own channels.

After a moment of reflection, Wang Yu responded with equal gravity, "Understood. I will notify them to be cautious."

In truth, Wang Yu understood the subtext in what Charles had told Edward—that at least half of the capital’s nobles were trustworthy.

It meant that the other half—or perhaps more—engaged in behavior similar to, or even worse than, Viscount Glenn’s.

And for this group, possessing far more resources and power than the average citizen, the rot of even a fraction of their number could have a catastrophic impact on the entire capital, and indeed, the kingdom itself.

At the border between Alestler and Sevintan, the night held its breath as the two armies hunkered down on opposite sides of the gorge, their camps illuminated by a dim, flickering glow—a mix of rare magitech lamps and the primitive, sputtering light of torches.

The abyss, a chasm so deep its floor remained a mystery, served as a natural boundary between the two warring forces.

This was the Sighing Gorge, a jagged scar carved into the continent by the detonation of an ultimate weapon that had once shattered the very foundations of the abyss in human history.

Since the outbreak of hostilities, the war had simmered in a tepid stalemate; constant, minor skirmishes flared up, yet no decisive battle ever brought the conflict to a close.

Lacking orders for an all-out assault from their respective kingdoms, both sides remained locked in a war of attrition, maintaining their lines with rigid caution while rarely venturing beyond the scope of mere probing attacks.

Across the Sighing Gorge, the armies of Alestler and Sevintan stood like fire and water, bound by a strange, unspoken pact to avoid total annihilation; perhaps the final reckoning was inevitable, but for now, neither side was willing to push the war to its ultimate conclusion.

Near the edge of the gorge, a member of the Night’s Edge—sent to the front lines by royal decree—was practicing a new divine art recently whispered among his ranks while performing his patrol.

His faith in the Lady of the Night was still in its infancy, and he had yet to master the prayer-based communication network; thus, as he paced the perimeter, his lips moved in silent, rhythmic supplication, committing the litanies of the Lady to his heart.

The Night’s Edge members stationed in the capital had embraced this faith long before those on the front lines.

Having been deployed to the army, this soldier had only learned of the new creed through the brief exchanges he held with those who had arrived from the city.

He remained skeptical of the claim that the Lady’s faith could neutralize mental corruption, for the Night’s Edge had long relied on the "Darkness of Heaven"—a brand seared into their minds by the royal family—to provide their psychic defenses.

Though the side effects were severe—under intense mental assault, the soul-imprint would shatter the mind into ruin long before the corruption could take hold—no better solution had ever been found.

Yet, if it were true...

At that thought, a flicker of genuine belief in the Lady of the Night took root within him, blooming in a moment he did not even perceive.

"Lady of the Night, grant me the sight to pierce the dark."

The prayer was far simpler than those offered to other gods, and he attempted the most basic of the faith’s divine arts.

A faint, ethereal darkness welled up from the void, flowing like water to shroud his eyes. It worked; his first attempt was a simple, effortless success.

The gloom that had rendered the night impenetrable suddenly sharpened into clarity, but before he could process the change, he caught sight of something deeply wrong across the Sighing Gorge.

Numerous thin, nearly invisible ropes, obscured by the darkness, were being extended from the opposite side of the chasm.

Figures clad in night-gear were suspended from these filaments, inching forward in total silence.

Through his enhanced vision, he saw that several of these infiltrators had already reached the Alestler side of the gorge, their shadows flickering as they vanished into the treeline.

"Sevintan soldiers? They’ve exploited the lack of defensive arrays in this remote sector—what are they planning? A full-scale invasion? I must warn the camp!"

The realization spurred him to act, but as he turned, a pair of hands—silent and unseen—emerged from the dark behind him, driving a sharp dagger into his heart.

"Ugh..." His cry was stifled by a gloved hand, his voice strangled in his throat as his lifeblood ebbed away, his body collapsing into the dirt.

The killer materialized from the void, the flow of aura around his body revealing the source of his lethal prowess: a formal Knight of the Inner Path.

"All death-squads, take heed: some Alestler soldiers seem to possess dark-vision. Be extra cautious; one of our men was just spotted. My ability to intervene is limited—accelerate your pace and proceed as planned."

The command rippled out through a silent, enchanted medium. The Knight, a specialist in stealth, dissolved back into the nothingness.

No voice answered, but the dark figures emerging one by one from the treeline were response enough. The night raid had begun.