Chapter 458 - 421: Weird Tales of the Royal Capital

Chapter 458: Chapter 421: Weird Tales of the Royal Capital

Beneath the streetlamp stood a statue.

The shattered half-face, the broken wing, the empty, broken bowl.

Exactly the same.

No, it *was* the one from a moment ago.

"Damn it..." Thomas felt his scalp prickle as the lantern in his hand swayed.

He was sure he’d already passed that intersection. How did this thing get ahead of him? ’Is someone playing a prank on me?’

"Who? Who’s there?" Thomas shouted, mustering his courage.

No one answered. There was only the moaning of the wind as it passed through the broken bowl, like a funeral wail.

Thomas didn’t dare look at the statue again. Head down, he hugged the wall and practically jogged as he dashed past the intersection.

This time, he heard a sound.

Behind him.

The harsh, grating sound of stone scraping against the ground.

SCRAPE—

Thomas whipped his head around.

The street behind him was empty. The intersection was pitch-black, and he couldn’t see a thing.

’An illusion. I must be exhausted,’ he thought, panting heavily. He tried to calm himself, but his pace only quickened.

Just one more corner and he would be home. As soon as he rounded the bend ahead, he would see his red front door.

Thomas rushed around the corner.

This time, there was no statue at the intersection.

He heaved a huge sigh of relief as his frayed nerves began to settle. ’Looks like I was just overthinking things, or my eyes were playing tricks on me.’

He walked to his front door and took out his key.

His hands were trembling slightly, and it took him a few tries to get the key into the lock.

Just then, that intense feeling of being watched—like needles pricking his back—struck him again.

Thomas froze. He gripped the doorknob and hesitated for two seconds, but ultimately couldn’t resist. He whipped his head around to look at the street behind him.

The street was empty, with the ghastly white moonlight spilling onto the stone road.

No statue.

No phantoms.

Nothing at all.

"Phew..." Thomas finally relaxed completely, even feeling a little ridiculous.

"What ghosts and monsters..."

He turned the key and pushed the door open.

No lamps were lit inside. There was only the moonlight filtering in from the window, casting a ghastly white patch of light in the center of the living room.

And in the very center of that patch of light.

The Angel statue with only half a face was standing there, silent.

It was only a step away from the door. Its one intact stone eye was fixed on Thomas, who had just pushed his way in.

The broken bowl was practically shoved in his face.

"AHHH—!!!"

Thomas’s eyes rolled back in his head. Without so much as a whimper, he fell backward, stiff as a board, and slammed hard against the threshold, fainting dead away.

...

「One minute later.」

The "statue" in the room moved.

"Quick, quick! Dispel the Body Immobilization Skill! My back is about to break!"

The "Angel" shouted toward the shadows in the corner. The air distorted, and a slender man wearing the robes of a Gray Robe Mage appeared. With a light tap of his short staff, the stiffness left the "statue’s" body.

The man who had been playing the statue flopped down into one of Thomas’s chairs and let out a long breath. "This Stone Skin Skill is convincing, but it doesn’t breathe at all. Hey, director, can we go for a lighter getup next time?"

"Cut the crap. All that matters is the effect," the Gray Robe Mage said, pulling a crumpled notebook from his robes. He used the moonlight to draw a heavy checkmark in it. "That guy’s scream as he fainted was the sweetest music I’ve heard all night. The expression, the despair... A perfect score."

"But of course. I am a professional, after all."

Just then, in what was supposed to be Thomas’s empty living room, several people began to appear, climbing in through the window and crawling out from under the bed.

The first to emerge was the "tentacle monster"—Pocky-face. He was followed by two assistants, also dressed all in black, carrying strange prisms and glowing stones.

"Good teamwork on that last scene," Pocky-face said to his assistants, pulling dried octopus tentacles off his body. "Thanks to your ’light and shadow refraction,’ my shadow was magnified three times. That old drunkard was scared witless when he saw the ’flailing tentacles’."

"Of course. ’Shadow Trickery’ is my specialty," one of the assistants said, wagging a finger smugly. "Even that squelching sound, like walking through muck? That was me in the corner, slapping a wet rag against the wall. Perfectly in sync."

Following them, two more identical "Angel statues" climbed in through the window.

Their makeup, broken wings, and the broken bowls in their hands were identical in every detail to the one sitting inside.

"I’m exhausted," said one of them, "Statue Two," as he removed his headpiece to reveal a shock of red hair. "The second that guy passed me, I had to bolt and signal White."

"I had the closest call," the other, "Statue Three," said with a wry smile, tossing his broken bowl to the floor. "I was at the second intersection. When the guy looked back, I was diving into the bushes. Thank goodness the Mage cast a ’Shadow Trickery,’ or I would’ve been spotted."

"Statue One"—the one who had finally scared Thomas into fainting—was already lighting a cigarette. "This is the power of teamwork. If we had to rely on our own two feet, we’d run ourselves ragged and still never catch this startled rabbit."

"Any sign the lock was picked?" Pocky-face asked, turning to a short man who had been squatting by the door.

"Relax, I’m a pro!" the short man said, twirling two thin wires in his fingers. "A civilian lock like this? I could open it in three seconds with my eyes closed, without leaving a scratch."

"Alright, enough chit-chat." The Gray Robe Mage with the notebook—the captain of this "haunting squad"—glanced at the sky outside. "Boss Simon said tonight is a city-wide performance. Our group is in charge of Copper Hammer Lane. We have to get to the ’Headless Knight’ show at the blacksmith’s next door. They need more smoke effects and an illusion of hoofbeats over there."

At his words, the group sprang into action.

The "statues" quickly cleaned up the clay flakes and cigarette ash from the floor, the Illusionist dispelled the lingering traces of Magic in the air, and the lockpick carefully restored the door lock.

Before leaving, Pocky-face made a point of walking over to the unconscious Thomas. He pulled out an unopened bottle of "Holy Water," pressed it into Thomas’s hand, and then placed the broken bowl upside down over the bottle.

"What’s this for?" asked Statue One.

"It’s called thematic resonance," Pocky-face said with a wicked grin, a cunning glint in his eyes under the moonlight. "A perfect curtain call."

The group departed without a sound, vanishing into the night.

They left behind only the unconscious Thomas and the bizarre scene, meticulously arranged and guaranteed to send the entire block into an uproar the next day.

Meanwhile, in the study of the Silent Villa, Velin was standing before a massive map of the Royal Capital.

Simon stood by, holding a freshly delivered intelligence report, the fat on his cheeks trembling slightly with excitement.

"My Lord, the results are... explosive," Simon said, his voice low and filled with disbelief. "The night patrol just reported at least twenty ’haunting’ incidents in the Lower City District tonight. Some saw a bishop with long tentacles climbing a wall, others saw a holy icon weeping tears of blood. The entire Lower City District is in a panic. Even the Templar Order has been mobilized; they’re all over the streets hunting ghosts."

Velin toyed with a black game piece in his hand, his gaze falling on the marker for the grand cathedral on the map.

"Fear is the best catalyst."

He gently pressed the piece onto the cathedral’s location, where it made a crisp CLICK.

"When the people discover that the god they worship not only cannot protect them, but in fact becomes a monster that comes for their lives in the dead of night..." Velin turned to face Simon, the corner of his mouth curling into a cold smirk. "What do you suppose they will do?"

Simon swallowed hard. Looking into his young lord’s eyes, he felt as if he were watching a meticulously choreographed horror play himself.

"They will... smash the idols," Simon murmured.

"Precisely."

Velin walked to the window and pulled back the heavy curtains.

In the distant night sky, the spire of the Cathedral of Holy Radiance was still brightly lit, but beneath its glow, countless dark undercurrents were surging.

"Let the actors rest tomorrow," Velin instructed coolly. "I suspect our leading man will soon be unable to stay in his seat."