I barely slept. The silk sheets in Marius's guest quarters felt like burial shrouds, too fine for honest rest.

  Ragna was surely sleeping like an orc, but I couldn’t. Not after the betrayal last time when I let my guard down. So every time the manor's ancient bones cracked, it had me reaching for my axe. Shadow danced across moonlit walls like a potential threat.

  Not from assassins or thieves, those I could handle.

  No, what kept me awake was the memory of how Marius's fingers had lingered on Isolde's skin, how his eyes had drunk her in like vintage wine.

  A frown remained etched in my brows the entire night. Dawn came to me as a relief, bringing with it the promise of answers through observation.

  "Rise and shine, white-haired old man!" Ragna's voice boomed through my door, followed by enthusiastic pounding. "Fancy breakfast awaits! They have tiny forks for eating. Very confusing!"

  I dragged myself from bed, muscles protesting yesterday's ride.

  My most recent Osmotic Evolution skill had faded by now, leaving me with my standard abilities and a growing sense of unease. As I left my room a few minutes later, I noticed how even the guest quarters screamed control.

  All the paintings hung at precise angles, every book spine aligned perfectly on the shelves.

  The breakfast was indeed fancy, served in a dining hall that could've hosted a small army. Marius presided over it all like a benevolent king, ensuring Isolde's plate never emptied, her cup never ran dry. His attentiveness would've seemed gracious if not for how his gaze tracked her every movement, cataloging each smile, each gesture.

  "Today," he announced, dabbing his lips with embroidered linen, "I'll show you what we've built here. What you will rule, dear niece, when you claim your rightful throne."

  That was the plan. A tour of the city.

  Of course, Isolde followed her usual disguise for this as we left.

  The tour began in the main square, where morning drills were underway. The large and well-trained Veridian Guard moved with impressive precision, two thousand bodies acting as one. It was a good show. Their spears rose and fell in perfect unison, their feet struck cobblestones with a single thunderous beat.

  It wasn't mere training, it was a sort of choreography, beautiful and terrifying.

  "Impressive, aren't they?" Marius's hand found Isolde's elbow, guiding her closer to the display. "They are three years of my careful nurture. I didn't slack. Each man was hand-selected, trained not just in combat but in absolute loyalty."

  A woman approached, her armor bearing the symbol of House Thalasson alongside intricate rank insignia. It was a beast-kin with lion ears and tail, her skin the color of copper.

  [5th Ascension]

  She seemed to be in her late fifties, her mane of tawny-gray hair pulled into tight braids that still carried the sheen of youth. She was huge, with a scar down the side of her face. Her armor probably hid a lot more similar scars. Faint leonine markings traced her temples, and when she moved, her shoulders rippled with the controlled grace of a hunting cat.

  Her golden eyes flicked over us, pupils narrowing like a predator’s. A demi-human. I’d seen a few back in Seagard, but this was the first time seeing one so up close. Despite being a beastskin, her demeanor slightly reminded me of Allister. Perhaps they’d once trained together.

  “My lord, and… dear guest,” she said in a low tone, but given the way she executed a bow so perfectly, it was obvious she knew who Isolde was and couldn’t say in public. “I am Captain Yasafina, commander of Lord Marius’s personal guard. Your presence honors us beyond measure.”

  Her voice carried the zealot's edge. Not just loyalty but worship. Isolde’s eyes trembled. She too recognized this Beastkin Knight.

  “I… It's an honor,” Isolde said, “to be facing you after so long, Yasafina. I've missed your strength.”

  “Please be careful with your voice,” the Knight held back a smile and warned. It seemed they shared a deep bond.

  However, that compassionate gaze ended with Isolde. When her gaze swept over us companions, it cooled considerably. It was a little annoying. Ragna, who'd been casually leaning against a pillar while picking her teeth with a splinter, earned particular disdain.

  "So the rumors weren't false. Is that how people behave in the Volcanic Islands? In these lands, a warrior's first duty is discipline," Yasafina's words cut like winter wind. "The Marquis has taught us that. You would do well to learn it."

  Ragna straightened, eyes flashing. "What the hell, what is this old kitten on about? Discipline is for people who need rules to be strong. Real warriors–”

  "Real warriors," Yasafina interrupted with a scowl, "understand that individual strength means nothing without unity of purpose." She gestured to the drilling guards. "One man with a spear is prey. Five hundred moving as one are predators."

  "Pretty movements don't win real fights," Ragna shot back.

  I placed a hand on her shoulder before she could continue. This wasn't the time or place for barbarian pride to clash with military doctrine. Huh, now that I think about it, a lot of people consider carnivorous beastkins as ‘barbarians’ too. At least from what I read. Is that why this lady is trying to talk some sense into Ragna?

  Yasafina wasn't entirely wrong, if perhaps catastrophically rigid in her thinking. I could imagine her as a free-spirited person like Ragna back in her younger days, who was forced to learn discipline after some unfortunate event. That was how things like this usually went.

  Unfortunately, things had clearly not worked out for her in the end. For she’d grown so old as a mere 5th Ascension. I wouldn’t say this out of politeness, but what advice could she give to Ragna? The Valtherian Princess didn’t need pretty words.

  Marius watched our exchange with subtle amusement before steering Isolde toward the gardens. "Come, there's much more to see."

  The gardens exhibited a mathematical beauty, with each hedge precisely trimmed and every flower bed arranged symmetrically. Ragna tried to find any fault to no avail. Even the seemingly untamed areas adhered to meticulous patterns, with chaos contained within unseen boundaries.

  "Order," Marius said, his hand sliding from Isolde's elbow to the small of her back as he guided her along gravel paths, "is a garden carved from a jungle. It requires a firm hand and the willingness to prune the wild branches."

  Ah, I could now see who Yasafina was inspired by.

  "Some would argue wildness has its own beauty," I offered, watching his fingers spread possessively across Isolde's spine.

  His gray eyes found mine, sharp as scalpels. "Spoken like a true barbarian. Tell me, what beauty exists in chaos? In suffering? In the strong devouring the weak without restraint?"

  I failed to hold back a smile.

  Was this medieval fantasy noble challenging me to a debate?

  I didn’t want to talk too much, though. "Freedom," I replied simply.

  "Freedom." He tasted the word like spoiled wine. "Freedom to starve? To die of plague? To be murdered for your boots?" He gestured to the ordered beauty around us. "This is true freedom. Safety to pursue higher purposes, to create rather than merely survive."

  The philosophy was seductive, I'd give him that. Every tyrant in Earth's history had made similar arguments. Order over chaos, security over liberty, the collective over the individual. The catch? They always chose to put themselves as the gardener, deciding which branches deserved pruning.

  I opened my mouth.

  "Uncle," Isolde interjected, perhaps sensing the tension, giving me an apologetic look that Marius missed, "I've heard mentions of a cult. I encountered their presence in a village on the way, too. My friends here helped stop them."

  “The Black Concord,” Marius's expression darkened with practiced concern. "That’s the cult’s name. They’re a cancer growing in Thalassaria's heart. They've also established themselves here in my city, drawn by... certain phenomena."

  Isolde’s eyes widened. She and I exchanged glances. Dark mages. They’re here too? This isn’t good. Isolde’s identity must remain hidden.

  "Forgive my ignorance, but why not call for aid?" Borric asked. "The United Church has protocols for handling cults."

  "And turn Veridian into a battlefield?" Marius shook his head sadly. "If you’ve heard any stories ever, even if the United Church isn’t what it used to be, they’re in general still an unreasonable group. The inquisitors don't investigate, they purge. Innocent and guilty alike would burn. As for foreign knights..." He sighed, the perfect picture of a burdened leader. "Inviting foreign swords onto Thalassarian soil would signal weakness our enemies would exploit instantly."

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Sometimes I wasn’t good at reading people. Because I think too much, because I try to connect the dots too much. This man was strange. He meant what he said, while also having the creepy traits I was noticing of him.

  The cult was real, the dangers genuine, but his role in it all... that remained carefully obscured. What was his play here, anyway?

  ****

  Our next stop was a hospice nestled in what once might have been the city's poorest district. Unlike the sterile perfection of the gardens, this place held genuine warmth. Soft light filtered through colored glass, casting rainbow patterns across beds where the sick and injured rested.

  A young priest met us at the entrance, his eyes lighting with recognition at the sight of Marius. "My Lord Marquis! We weren't expecting you today!"

  "Raemis, my friend. I wanted to show my young guest here your important work."

  Raemis bowed to Isolde, not recognizing her beneath the disguise. "O’ blessed lady, welcome to St. Meriel's Hospice. The Marquis's generosity has saved countless lives within these walls."

  Borric and I shared a look. The smell here was unbearable.

  The hospice was filled with people suffering from what Raemis had ominously named the "Wasting Sickness." They lay in various states of deterioration – some with vacant stares, others muttering incomprehensibly. I noticed Captain Yasafina walking from the outside and stopping by the door, her expression hardening at the sight of their suffering. She must have just finished her work.

  "The Murmuring Glass claims more victims each week," Raemis explained sadly. "The constant whispers erode their spirits until nothing remains but empty vessels. Without the Marquis, this would be a pit of despair."

  “Is that so.”

  His eyes shone with genuine tears. "He knows every patient by name. He sits with the grieving. He is a saint in noble's clothing."

  As we moved through the wards, others echoed this sentiment unprompted. A nurse praised Marius's weekly visits. A patient weakly clasped his hand in gratitude for new medicines. I frowned. Each of their testimonies painted him as a paragon of virtue, a selfless leader bearing the weight of a terrible burden.

  I found myself deeply conflicted. My gut screamed that Marius was a predator, yet the evidence of his goodness was overwhelming. Could my instincts be wrong?

  We couldn't trust the surface. People could always fake what they weren’t. Thallasaria had seen its fare share of actors. I recalled the way Isolde had spoken about her eldest brother on the road. The other prince. Valtor. The one branded a traitor and thrown out like rotten grain.

  If half the stories were true, he’d commanded ships and men before Kaelan ever held a sword the right way up. The entire kingdom loved him, praised him, and yet he’d betrayed his own family.

  "Something troubles you," came a voice like rough velvet.

  I turned to find myself face-to-face with the lioness Knight. The others were a little ahead. Was that why she was trying to hit up a conversation with me? "I’ve already introduced myself, but the name’s Yasafina, no last name," she introduced herself, extending a hand tipped with retractable claws.

  I clasped her hand, noting the strength in her grip. "Thorvyn Valteria. Volcanic Islands."

  She grinned. "You seem wiser than the girl.”

  “Thank you. She’s learning.”

  We left the hospice to find more citizens waiting to share their gratitude. A blacksmith described how Marius personally ensured his forge had enough coal during the winter shortage. A mother thanked him for the extra rations provided to families with sick children. A merchant praised his fair taxation policies.

  The weight of this collective testimony was staggering.

  Watching Marius accept their praise with practiced humility, a memory surfaced from my first life – a quiet evening with my mother after a respected community leader had been exposed for secret cruelties. I had been confused, unable to reconcile the man's public benevolence with his private malice.

  "Sweet boy, remember this," my mother had said, her voice steady and clear despite her illness. "Be kind to the world, but remember the others won’t always think that way. The devil don't come with horns and a pitchfork. He comes as everything you ever wanted, offering everything you think you need. The most dangerous monsters wear the kindest faces."

  She'd squeezed my hand, her eyes holding the certainty of someone who'd seen behind too many masks. "The soul is infinite. Trust the shiver that runs down your spine when someone seems too perfect. That's your infinite soul recognizing the lie before your limited mind can."

  The memory didn't resolve my conflict about Marius, but it validated my doubt. Yes, I was doubtful. That means I just needed to confirm things more actively. I couldn’t just observe. Do I pick a fight? Isolde might misunderstand, but I had to take the risk.

  My mother’s memories suddenly gave me permission to trust my unease despite the flawless fa?ade. It also sharpened my desire to find this world's version of my mother. Would she have the same insight? The same ability to see past performance to truth?

  "You're awfully quiet," Ragna muttered, falling into step beside me as we left another group of adoring citizens.

  "Just thinking."

  "About what?"

  I glanced at Marius, who was pointing out architectural features to an attentive Isolde, his hand once again resting possessively on her lower back.

  "The price of perfection," I answered.

  ****

  The sun was setting when Marius announced it was time to show us "the true face of the enemy." He led us toward the eastern edge of the city, where the streets grew narrower and the buildings more tightly packed. Here, for the first time, we saw signs of disarray. There were boarded windows, abandoned homes, and a palpable sense of emptiness.

  Was this the problematic place? Where I’d get my answers?

  "The Quarantined District," Captain Yasafina explained. "Where the veil between worlds grows thin." Suddenly, I recalled the words of the Naga Witch.

  We approached a massive barricade guarded by no fewer than twenty top-grade Knights, all of them 4th Ascension. As we walked, I felt an odd sensation. A thrumming vibration that resonated in my bones rather than my ears. A pressure behind my eyes that made colors seem sharper, shadows deeper.

  "What we're about to show you is Thalassaria's greatest secret," Marius said, his voice dropping to a grave whisper. "And its most terrible threat."

  Beyond the barricade lay a square that might once have been a marketplace. Now it stood empty save for a single object that defied comprehension. No, I couldn’t call it ‘object’ but… what else could you call it?

  A crack in reality.

  “The Murmuring Glass.”

  All of us gasped. It wasn't glass as I knew it. It wasn't anything that should exist in a rational world. A vast, undulating sheet of impossible material that looked like obsidian polished to a mirror finish, yet moved like disturbed water. From it emanated a constant, low-frequency hum. Like the collective murmur of a million broken conversations from a million other places.

  "This appeared three months ago," Yasafina explained, her usual confidence faltering slightly. "A tear in reality itself. Since then, it has grown steadily, despite our efforts to contain it. We don’t even understand it."

  “Is it connected to the cult? The Black Concord,” I made a guess.

  "Yes. You’re sharp. The cultists worship it," Yasafina added. "The few we’ve managed to capture and question without them bursting into black flames believe it's a doorway to greater power. Sometimes the guards report seeing strange lands in it. We believe this is a gateway showing the past or future of our world."

  "Is it?" Borric asked.

  "It is a doorway to madness," Marius stated firmly. "We've lost dozens to its influence. Some simply vanish into it. Others return... changed."

  As they continued discussing the Glass, I felt a magnetic pull. My transmigrated soul, a foreign object in this world's system, resonated with this unnatural portal. I took a step closer, then another, drawn by a compulsion I couldn't name.

  "Thorvyn," Ragna hissed, grabbing my arm. "Don't get closer. I don’t like it."

  I barely heard her. My Dragon's Eye had activated without conscious thought, attuning to the frequencies within the Glass itself. I knew it was dangerous but… I think I just recognized something on the other end of the crack. For a brief, terrifying moment, my enhanced vision pierced the dark, reflective surface.

  I didn't just see another world. I saw a kaleidoscope of them.

  A reality of chrome spires under a violet sky, where men and women rode giant worms across crimson dunes.

  A forest realm where trees tall as skyscrapers housed glowing cities, and beings with pointed ears walked with inhuman grace.

  A bleak landscape of ash and fire, where a single mountain spewed molten doom, and small figures struggled toward it bearing an invisible weight.

  A land of green hills and grey castles, where banners of wolves and lions snapped in the wind. In the far north, a wall of impossible ice glittered, and the vast shadow of a dragon passed over a fleet of longships.

  Worlds of impossible variety, some eerily familiar, as if plucked from stories I'd once known. The vision was stranger than anything I’d encountered so far, sending me staggering back, pale and sweating.

  "What the fuck?" I whispered, my philosophical composure cracking. Those weren't just visions, those weren’t the past or futures, those were worlds… some totally strange, and some I recognized. I guess the crack mostly showed me ones that I did recognize. To theorize, a person who’d read tons of storybooks in this world might see a world that reminded them of said story.

  How is this possible?

  "The System is evolving," the Shaman had said. The System. A cosmic willpower that ruled this world. I heard even the Gods were bound by it. Somehow, I had a feeling the System was related to this more than the cultists. Just how big was this? How far did it reach?

  “Relax, Barbarian.” Before I could process things properly, Marius was at my side, placing a steadying hand on my shoulder with an expression of paternal concern. "The Murmuring Glass can unnerve even the strongest of warriors," he said soothingly. "As Yasafina said, we believe it shows us reflections of things that used to exist in the past, or sometimes of our own deepest fears."

  He was wrong.

  The lie was beautiful in its craftsmanship. Technically true since he really did seem to believe it, but delivered with just the right note of sympathetic understanding. Only I could even guess how big this was. Something huge was coming.

  "That's not what I saw," I stated flatly.

  His hand tightened imperceptibly on my shoulder. "And what did you see, barbarian?"

  "Everything,” I replied shortly. His expression didn't change, but something cold and calculating flickered behind his eyes.

  "You have a remarkable constitution," he said finally, releasing my shoulder. "Most who gaze directly into the Glass are left... changed."

  Captain Yasafina shot me a look of newfound suspicion. "Perhaps it requires a certain... simplicity... to resist its influence."

  "Perhaps," I agreed with a smile that never reached my eyes, "or perhaps it recognizes one impossible thing when it sees another."

  As we turned to leave, I cast one last glance at the Murmuring Glass. In its depths, I thought I saw a figure – too distant to distinguish clearly, but watching us with unmistakable interest. Not a reflection of anyone in our group. Something else. Something waiting.

  The beautiful cage of Veridian suddenly felt much smaller, and the golden bars much less secure than its master believed. No, not just Veridian.

  The World.

  [Dragon's Eye Skill has been influenced by the Murmuring Glass!]

  [New Ability Unlocked: Veil Piercing. You can temporarily see through illusions and dimensional barriers, though doing so causes significant strain.]

  If you want to read the next 10 chapters immediately, you can visit my Patreon! Don’t forget to check out our Discord too, where you can hang out with us.

  Patreon |