Chapter 83: Shadows of the Parent
Three Days Later
Bloodstone City, Thornevale Territory
September 30th, Year 1428
Raven stepped off the train and onto the platform. A hansom carriage rolled up beside him.
"Need a ride, sir?" the driver asked, tipping his hat.
"Glory Wine Inn, Aurora Street," Raven replied, climbing in.
The carriage rattled through the bustling streets of Bloodstone City, weaving past markets, stone bridges, and gaslit lamps before finally stopping in front of the inn.
The Glory Wine Inn rose over Aurora Street like an old veteran—its faded crimson bricks catching the last smear of sunset. Raven stepped down from the carriage with a casual motion, though his eyes stayed sharp beneath the brim of his bowler hat.
He paid the driver with a flick of silver and slipped through the inn's door.
The noise of the street cut off instantly.
Warm candlelight washed over timbered walls. Oak beams loomed above the common room, and the smell of stew and cheap ale clung to the air. Travelers hunched over tables, murmuring into tankards. Off-duty officers laughed too loudly at a corner booth.
Raven tapped the counter twice.
"One single. Second floor. No disturbances."
The balding innkeeper with a mole under his left eye didn't bother asking questions.
"Room two-oh-four. Stairs to your right." He passed the silver key across the counter.
Raven climbed the wooden staircase at an unhurried pace, the boards creaking beneath his weight. Inside his room, the simplicity was almost comforting: a narrow bed, a washbasin, a desk, a window overlooking a cramped alleyway behind the inn.
He loosened his coat, dropped onto the bed, and unfolded the newspaper lying on the table.
Most articles were filler—border tension, trade disputes, wizard gossip.
Then page six caught his attention.
"Oh? Here it is."
A headline stretched across the top:
LUCUS THORNEVALE TO LEAD MASSIVE EXPEDITION INTO THE GREAT HILLCROW WOODLANDS
Raven's brows drew together.
'One week left…'
Joining an expedition under someone like Lucus Thornevale meant stepping into a meat grinder. Even some Legendary Wizards wouldn't dare follow him into Hillcrow Woodlands.
But that was exactly where the Agith Rune lay.
'Last time they encountered Mind Worms there. And if I'm lucky… another Fragment.'
He pulled the black compass from his inventory.
The needle still jerked east—unwavering, insistent.
Raven closed the newspaper and shut his eyes.
Sleep took him quickly.
…
Evening settled over the inn. Lamps glowed one by one, pushing back the dusk. By the time Raven descended the stairs, the common room had come alive—voices rising and falling like a tide.
He picked a corner seat with a perfect view of the entrance and the stairwell.
Roasted duck, honey-glazed carrots, and a dark ale arrived on a tray.
Raven ate in silence, observing.
Waiters drifted through the room in white shirts and brown vests—ordinary at first glance. But one moved differently. A slim man with sharp features and short brown hair. A small tattoo peeked from under his sleeve: a sparrow mid-flight.
Raven's eyes narrowed.
'The same symbol from the dungeon…'
When the waiter passed by again, Raven lifted his mug slightly.
"Excuse me," he said casually. "Do you know where I can find fire-baked rye? Haven't had any since my last visit."
The waiter blinked. "Fire-baked rye, sir? Don't think I've heard of it."
"Oh? Shame. Greymarket had a shop—crooked nose, missing finger, great baker. Thought he'd still be around."
The smile that came back was polite, but tight around the edges.
"Maybe try Southwatch? I can check with the cook if—"
Raven touched his monocle, activating the scan.
'Elite Member of Sparrow.'
He waved a hand. "No need. Just checking memory. You look like someone from the northeast. Viser?"
The reaction was tiny—a twitch of the left eye. His grip tightened around the tray before loosening again.
"I'll bring your dessert in a moment, sir."
He turned.
Raven spoke quietly as the man took his first step away—soft enough that only the waiter would hear:
"Do you know anything about a golden jar with a sparrow engraved on it?"
The waiter froze for half a heartbeat. Then he walked away without looking back.
Raven leaned into the shadows of his booth.
'He knows something.'
A different waiter brought dessert—a glossy custard tart topped with powdered sugar.
Raven took a bite.
Sweet. Soft. Then—
His pupils thinned.
A strange lightness crept into the edges of his mind—an eerie, weightless drifting. His consciousness felt like it had stepped half out of his skull.
'This sensation…'
[Miraclo.] Zera's voice surfaced, cool and sharp.
Raven's fingers stilled over the tart.
Not poison.
Miraclo.
Scott had forced it down his throat in the dungeon.
A drug used by the Vipers Syndicate to loosen memories, break resistance, twist thoughts—perfect for interrogation or manipulation.
Raven exhaled slowly through his nose.
He slumped sideways, letting his gaze unfocus. His breathing hitched, uneven. He pushed himself to his feet and staggered like a man barely conscious, leaving a silver tip on the table.
Heads turned but only briefly.
He drifted through the room, wobbling toward the stairs—
and at the last second veered toward the door.
The alley outside was already drowned in night. Lanterns flickered weakly against the dark. Horse hooves clattered down the street; wagon wheels rattled over stone.
Raven stumbled down the cobbled road, weaving like a drunkard. A few pedestrians gave him a curious look before moving on.
Then he leaned over and vomited into a gutter.
The acidic stench rose instantly.
He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and staggered deeper into a nearby alley—narrow, quiet, swallowed by shadow. Crates were stacked near the wall, broken and rotting.
Raven collapsed beside them, shaking violently. His breaths rasped like someone drowning in their own memories.
Footsteps followed.
Soft. Careful. Controlled.
A lantern's glow approached the mouth of the alley.
Raven kept his head limp against the wall.
The light grew brighter.
The slim waiter stepped into view, his face half-lit by the lantern in his left hand. A kitchen knife glinted in his right.
He crouched.
"You should've gone to your room," he murmured. "Would've been easier."
Raven let his voice tremble. "I only asked about the jar… didn't know it was a death sentence."
The waiter chuckled, a thin, glassy sound. "Wrong question, wrong place. Now—where did you see the golden jar?"
The knife rose.
He stabbed downward into Raven's thigh.
The knife punched deep into Raven's thigh, hot pain shooting up his leg. He gritted his teeth, spat into the waiter's face, and hissed:
"You think I'll tell you?"
The man's expression twisted.
"You will."
He yanked the blade free—and jammed it straight into Raven's abdomen. Flesh parted. Warm blood spilled.
Raven let out a strangled groan, face twisting… then he smiled through the pain.
"Ha… I only know about the jar from the picture in Legacy News," he rasped. "But I didn't expect the Sparrows and Vipers to be connected."
The waiter froze mid-breath.
His mask slipped. Just a little. But enough.
Raven's eyes sharpened.
"The drug in the dessert… Miraclo, right?"
The man's fingers tightened around the knife. A flicker of shock crossed his face—gone in an instant, but Raven caught it.
No one should've recognized Miraclo once mixed into food. Even expert apothecaries failed most of the time.
"Who are you?" the man whispered.
Raven coughed, blood spilling between his teeth. "Let's make a deal."
"Why would I deal with a dying man?" the waiter scoffed, though the unease in his eyes betrayed him.
"Because you already stabbed my leg and gut," Raven said, voice weakening. "And I've lost enough blood to collapse. There's no way I'm walking out of here alive unless you let me. So as a dying man… I want to die knowing the truth."
He lifted a trembling hand and placed it on the waiter's chest.
The waiter frowned. "What are you—"
"Blood Bond."
A droplet of blood shot from Raven's fingertip, piercing the man's chest like a needle. It reached his heart before he could flinch.
The waiter staggered, dizziness crashing over him.
"What… what did you do?" His voice trembled, breath quickening.
Raven pressed a hand over his stomach. Flesh quivered, knitting back together. Regeneration took hold, closing wounds that should've killed him.
He rose slowly, wiping blood off his coat.
"Put a slave mark in your heart," he said quietly. "My first command: do not attempt suicide."
The waiter's body locked in place as though invisible chains seized his bones.
Cold sweat rolled down his face. "W-What the hell are you…?"
Raven plucked the knife from his hand.
"Cooperate," he murmured, "or you'll choke on your own blood before you can blink."
The waiter swallowed hard.
Raven's voice dropped to a razor-sharp whisper. "What are the Sparrows and Vipers planning?"
The slave mark pulsed.
Words spilled from the waiter's mouth before he realized he was speaking.
"We're… we're trying to take over the Empire from the inside—SH*T! Why did I say that?!"
He clamped a hand over his own lips, terrified.
Raven's gaze darkened.
'So their pieces are already moving.'
The waiter stared at him, shaking. "Wh-Who are you…?"
"You'll know," Raven murmured. "Later."
The waiter hesitated, then tried a question of his own.
"How did you recognize Miraclo?"
"I've tasted it before," Raven replied, voice flat. "In a larger dose. I never forget what tries to break my mind."
His fingers tightened around the knife. "Next question: the Falcons. What's their connection?"
This time, panic surged across the waiter's features.
"They… They work with us."
"Specifics."
The slave mark pulsed, and his body stiffened painfully.
"Falcons, Sparrows, Vipers—we all serve the same purpose! Sparrows gather information under merchant fronts. Falcons run the underworld—kidnappings, theft, blackmail, black markets. Vipers handle assassinations and drugs. They're the ones who killed the Crown Prince… that's why the Royal Family is hunting them…"
Raven didn't move.
His eyes slowly widened—not in shock, but in realization.
'Information gathering. Crime syndicates. Assassinations. Drugs. Perfectly compartmentalized. Three limbs of a single beast.'
[There's a parent organization above them.] Zera's voice had gone cold.
Raven stepped closer, shadows deepening around his figure.
"It's like a hive," he said softly. "Different workers. Same queen."
The waiter blinked, confused. "W-What?"
"Sparrows… Vipers… Falcons…" Raven whispered. "Different names. Same blood. Different masks. Same puppeteer."
He leaned in until his breath brushed the waiter's ear.
"Who is controlling you?"
The slave mark flared.
"I-It's A—"
POP.
The sound was wet. Loud. Final.
The waiter's head burst like an overripe fruit—bone fragments, blood, and brain matter splattering across the alley wall.
The headless body twitched twice and toppled forward.
Raven froze.
"…What the f*ck."
He stared at the corpse, stunned.
A kill-switch. A planted spell. A restriction buried deep in loyalty magic.
"He didn't resist," Raven muttered. "The moment he got close to the name, the spell killed him."
[They didn't trust their own people.] Zera murmured. [That means the organization above them is far more dangerous than these street rats.]
Raven wiped blood from his cheek, disgust tightening his jaw.
"I wanted to know the Viser Kingdom's connection, too," he muttered. "But of course he dies now."
He straightened, switching into a clean shirt and coat from his ring. Blood vanished beneath layers of black fabric. The bowler hat came down low over his brow.
'I should find another inn.'
He took a step toward the alley's exit—
—and froze.
A golden spell model flickered inside his Mind Space.
A pulse.
A call.
A pull.
From the east.
It was sharp, urgent, and Impossible to ignore.
Raven's heartbeat quickened.
'Again… this calling.'
He slid out of the alley and approached an old carriage waiting by the curb.
The driver squinted. "Where to, lad?"
"The Eastern Gate."
The driver grunted and flicked the reins.
As the carriage rattled through the quiet night streets, Zera finally spoke.
[Why the Eastern Gate? You're not leaving the city now, are you?]
Raven didn't answer.
He just listened to the pulse thrumming in his skull like a heartbeat that wasn't his own.
The carriage halted near the massive iron gate. Torches flickered along the wall. Guards patrolled half-heartedly.
Raven paid the fare and slipped into the shadows beside the wall.
He didn't approach the gate.
Instead, he walked until he reached an ivy-choked corner where patrols rarely lingered.
He touched the stone.
"Shadow Teleport."
His form unraveled into darkness—and vanished.
A heartbeat later, he reformed outside the wall, lungs pulling in sharp night air.
"Outside," he whispered. "Finally."
[What now?] Zera asked, voice uneasy.
Raven's eyes turned east.
'Agith Ruins.'
[You'll go alone?]
'I have to.'
[Fortuitous Finder?]
'Yes.'
The spell had awakened on its own—the same way it had during life-and-death moments.