064 A Night of Murder Under the New Moon

The hidden guards stationed by the side of the room observed every movement in the study and bedroom with utmost care, fearful that even the slightest slip might occur. For now, there seemed to be nothing noteworthy except, perhaps, the unexpected lovers’ quarrel. Before long, the sound of even, steady breathing drifted from within; the two troublemakers had finally fallen asleep. The guards all breathed a sigh of relief. If circumstances had allowed, they might have thrown off their cloaks to celebrate—Lord Leon had warned them these two might stir up some trouble tonight, but it had proved to be needless worry.

Midnight in Silver City had none of the daytime bustle. Under the moonlight as gentle as water, the city appeared especially tender and serene. A guard stationed at the back door of the ambassador’s temporary quarters carried out his orders with habitual rigor. The night was deep and quiet, broken only by the occasional lonely cry of a bird, making him long all the more for the warmth of his bed at home. As the singer once wrote, longing is a mysterious thing, shadowing one wherever one goes.

Whenever a person begins to yearn for something or someone, every beautiful detail of their memories seems to magnify several times over in their mind, as if to convince themselves how right their nostalgia truly is. The guard caught a strange, subtle scent in the air. Gradually, his vision blurred; his eyelids grew heavy, desperate to meet. The moon, hanging in the distant sky, seemed like a lamp left on by family to guide him home, filling him with a sense of warmth and security. His body swayed, and he slowly collapsed toward the ground, eyes already closed, sinking into a dream.

Yet, before he could surrender himself to gravity’s embrace, a pair of hands caught him mid-fall, laying him safely beneath a tree. Careful attention was paid to his position—angled just so at one hundred and thirty-five degrees, ensuring that unless someone looked directly from the front, they’d never notice someone napping there.

Someone emerged from the shadows, having changed out of the servant’s garb typical of Cyrenia—her usual attire—and donned the uniform of the maid who had brought her a midnight snack. Extinguishing the incense in her hand, she gazed with satisfaction at the deeply slumbering guard, silently congratulating herself on her superb skill at crafting sleep-inducing fragrances.

Once the guard was settled under the tree, Lance came over to join her. Though he was supposed to be in a maid’s outfit as well, he had at some point changed into the casual clothes he’d bought in the White Tower Kingdom. The simple attire accentuated the strong yet understated lines of his muscles, and, bathed in moonlight, he looked almost… delectable.

Startled by the improper thought that flitted through her mind, she quickly averted her head to hide her flushed cheeks.

“What’s wrong?” Lance asked, puzzled by her sudden awkwardness.

“…Someone promised to show me the maid uniform, but I still haven’t seen it. I’m upset,” she replied, pouting and turning away.

Ignoring her petulance, Lance moved directly to the matter at hand. “Now, we’re going to the General’s Mansion to question Huanluo’s father and get to the bottom of everything. Any objections?”

If she had any, she wouldn’t have come with him in the first place! She mentally scoffed at Lance’s inexplicable fondness for official-sounding speech, but, for the sake of morale, decided to keep her complaints to herself.

With a deft turn, Lance led her through the streets and alleys toward the General’s Mansion.

“Normally, if someone’s imprisoned, they’d be held in a dungeon or a prison, right? At the very least, a secret chamber. Why is he being kept in his own home? It doesn’t make sense,” she grumbled as she trotted after him.

“This country isn’t so complicated,” Lance explained in a quiet voice. “There are only two prisons in the whole White Tower Kingdom—one for serious offenders, one for minor ones. And getting someone into either is a bureaucratic nightmare; every procedure must be followed. Besides, locking up the nation’s marshal is a serious matter.”

“Serious? After rebelling against the emperor, would they really hesitate to imprison a general?” she retorted skeptically.

“When I first arrived in Silver City, I made a point of visiting the General’s Mansion during my surveillance. I saw the marshal himself moving about in a hidden part of the compound,” Lance confirmed.

“Is that so…” She still didn’t fully grasp the situation. “Then tell me, how many years do you think the chancellor spent plotting this? Isn’t the White Tower Kingdom a centralized state? Where did the chancellor get the soldiers and power to stage a coup?”

“He doesn’t have them himself—but that doesn’t mean he can’t borrow them,” Lance replied absently.

His words struck her like a revelation. “That’s it!”

“What is?” Lance asked, confused.

“Allies. He must have enlisted outside help to get this far. And this ally must be both powerful and ambitious. The chancellor can’t fully control them, which is why he took a gamble—sending his son to deal with Icassia, confining the marshal but not daring to kill him!” She felt as though she’d become Conan reborn, the second coming of Holmes. Eyes shining with excited deduction, she exclaimed, “There’s only one truth!”

“And which truth is that?” Lance asked with a smile.

“Obviously, the one I just said!” she replied, brimming with confidence.

“Then, may I ask, Lady, who exactly is this so-called ally?” Lance inquired, still smiling.

She rolled her eyes at the sky. Would it kill him to say one word less?

The General’s Mansion loomed ominously in the night, possessing all the makings of a haunted house. Look at the unlit manor, the crumbling walls, the crooked signboard, the occasional patrols passing by like ghostly sentinels, and the animal cries echoing in the darkness.

A chill wind swept through, making her shrink deeper into her clothes.

Lance glanced sideways, his gaze asking if she had any questions.

She flashed a reassuring smile in return.

Satisfied, Lance turned back, his eyes scanning the soldiers of the mansion, searching for a target.

She quietly cast a barrier of wind to mask their presence and facilitate his search, showing no intention of getting her hands dirty herself.

A dark night for murder, a windy night for arson.