Gareth stepped closer to the bars, his voice barely a whisper, a low rumble of urgency in the oppressive silence of the dungeon. "Garris the Black is hiding in the southern docks, in a derelict warehouse at the end of Eel Alley. But my Lord... there's something you need to know about him."
Duke's mind, which had been a chaotic storm of failure and desperation moments before, became laser-focused. This was the lifeline. This was the unexpected variable he so desperately needed. "What is it?" he pressed, gripping the cold iron bars that separated them.
"He's terrified," Gareth explained, his gaze darting down the empty corridor. "I followed him myself a few days ago. He was approached by a hooded figure—a noble, by the cut of his cloak and the coin he offered. Garris sold him something, and ever since, he's been looking over his shoulder. He refuses to name the noble, my Lord. He's convinced that if he talks, his life is forfeit."
A crucial detail clicked into place. "You were following him? Why?" Duke asked, studying his knight's face.
Gareth had the decency to look slightly abashed. "I... I have been concerned for you for some time, my Lord. Your behavior has been... erratic. When I heard whispers of you making inquiries into rare poisons, I feared you were in danger, or perhaps being led into a trap. I took it upon myself to investigate the city's underbelly on your behalf. To protect you from threats you might not see."
The confession was stunning. Gareth hadn't just been a loyal sword; he had been acting as Duke's spymaster without his knowledge, driven by a loyalty so profound it bordered on insubordination. The guilt from the second loop, where he had watched this man die for him, twisted in his gut.
"You've done well, Gareth. Better than I deserved," Duke said, his voice laced with a sincerity that surprised them both. "I need to speak with him. Tonight. Can you bring him to me?"
Gareth's eyes widened. "Here? My Lord, that is incredibly risky. The dungeon is locked down tight."
"And yet you are here," Duke countered. "I know you, Gareth. You've already considered how it could be done. A few coins to the right guards, a promise to look the other way. It's a risk, I know. But if Garris doesn't testify tomorrow—or if he names me—I will be executed. This is our only move."
The knight's jaw tightened as he weighed the command. His duty to protect his lord was at war with his lord's insane, dangerous order. Finally, with a grim nod, he acquiesced. "It will take time. And a considerable amount of gold. But I will have him here before the midnight bell. Be ready, my Lord."
Gareth slipped away as silently as he had come, a ghost in the stone labyrinth, leaving Duke alone with a fragile, flickering flame of hope.
***
After Gareth left, Duke began to pace the confines of his cell like a caged wolf. The plan was forming, sharp and dangerous. Tomorrow, Garris would be brought before the court. He would be put under a truth-seeking spell. The magic would compel him to answer any question truthfully, but it wouldn't compel him to volunteer information.
If Ravencroft asked, "Did you sell poison to Duke Theron?" Garris would truthfully say no. But if he then asked, "Who did you sell it to?" Garris, fearing for his life, could refuse to answer. A stonewalling witness would be almost as bad as an accuser. It would leave a cloud of suspicion over Duke that the court would gladly interpret as guilt.
No, he had to convince Garris to name the true buyer. He needed leverage.
He dove into the repository of game knowledge in his mind, searching for anything related to the NPC "Garris the Black." The game had a small, optional side quest involving him. He was a minor character, a purveyor of illicit goods. But there was a detail, a piece of flavor text in his character bio that most players would have skipped right over.
*Garris the Black plies his dangerous trade for a single reason: his young daughter, Elara, suffers from a rare lung affliction, and the alchemical treatments are ruinously expensive.*
"His daughter," Duke whispered. That was it. That was the key. He wouldn't threaten the girl—he wasn't a monster. But he could offer the one thing Garris valued more than his own life: her safety. Protection for testimony. It was a clean, if ruthless, transaction.
He paused his pacing and checked the System interface, a habit he was quickly forming.
**[QUEST: SURVIVE THE TRIAL]**
**Phase 3: Secure Garris the Black's testimony**
**Status: PENDING**
No new warnings. No change in the ominous "Reality Integrity" percentage. For now, the world was holding steady. He just had to survive long enough to see his plan through.
***
Hours later, long after the last sounds of the castle had faded into a deep, nocturnal quiet, Duke heard a faint scraping sound at the far end of the corridor. A side door, one he hadn't even known existed, opened just enough for two figures to slip through. Gareth entered first, followed by a thin, shivering man who looked like a bundle of frayed nerves.
Garris the Black was nothing like the hardened criminal Duke had imagined. He was small and wiry, with wide, terrified eyes that darted around the dungeon as if he expected assassins to leap from every shadow.
Gareth gave a sharp nod to Duke and took up a watch post by the door.
"You're the Duke?" Garris whispered, his voice trembling as he approached the bars.
"I am," Duke said, keeping his own voice low and calm. "And I need you to testify tomorrow."
The merchant flinched as if struck. "No. Absolutely not. They'll kill me if I talk. They'll kill my family."
"Who will kill you?" Duke pressed.
"I can't say! Don't you understand? Knowing the name is a death sentence," Garris hissed, wringing his hands.
Duke decided it was time to play his card. "I understand you have a daughter," he said softly. "Elara, isn't it? With a lung condition that requires costly medicine."
Garris froze, his face draining of all color. The terror in his eyes was replaced by a new, more potent fear. "How… how could you possibly know about her?"
"I know a great many things," Duke said, letting the mystery hang in the air. "I know that you are a man trapped by circumstance, not a man driven by malice. And I am offering you a way out. Testify tomorrow. Name the noble who bought the poison from you. In exchange, I will grant you and your daughter my personal protection. I will move you to one of my estates in the north, far from here. I will cover the cost of Elara's treatment for the rest of her life. She will never want for medicine again."
The offer was staggering. Garris stared at him, his mouth agape. It was everything he had ever dreamed of, a release from the life of crime he had been forced into. But the fear was still deeply rooted.
"They will find me," he whispered. "Your protection won't matter when I have a knife in my back."
"Tomorrow, you will testify under a truth spell," Duke said, his voice hardening. "You cannot lie, Garris. The mages will know. If you try to protect the traitor, your silence will condemn us both. My only chance is the truth. And it's yours, too. Help me, and I will give your daughter a future. Refuse, and we will both be dead by sunset tomorrow, and she will be left alone."
The finality of the choice hung heavy in the cold dungeon air. Garris looked from Duke's determined face to the shadows where he imagined assassins lurked. After a long, agonizing moment, he gave a single, jerky nod. "I… I will do it."
***
Just as the words left Garris's mouth, a heavy, rhythmic clanking echoed from the far end of the main corridor.
"Guards," Gareth hissed from his post. "The night rounds. They're early."
Panic flared in Garris's eyes. Duke's heart hammered in his chest. The timeline was still shifting, still unpredictable. "Get him out of sight!" he ordered in a harsh whisper.
Gareth grabbed the terrified merchant and pulled him back into the darkened alcove of the side passage, melting into the shadows just as a torchlight flickered at the end of the hall.
A burly guard ambled into view, his armor creaking with every step. He held his torch up, sweeping its light across the cells. Duke forced himself to stand calmly, feigning sleepiness. The guard's eyes passed over him, saw a lone prisoner in a locked cell, and grunted in satisfaction. He continued his patrol, his footsteps slowly fading into the distance.
It was a close call, a stark reminder that he was dancing on a razor's edge.
A few moments later, Gareth and Garris re-emerged. The merchant was shaking more than ever.
"I must go," Garris stammered. "I will be there. I give you my word."
He and Gareth slipped back out the side door, leaving Duke alone once more, his heart still pounding from the near-disaster. He had the merchant's promise. Now he just had to pray it was enough.
***
In her lavish chambers, miles away in the Ashford family estate, Seraphina shot upright in bed, a scream dying in her throat. Her heart was pounding, and a cold sweat slicked her skin.
The dream. It was always the same dream.
Duke, on his knees on a wooden platform. The roar of a hateful crowd. The glint of sunlight on a falling blade. Blood. So much blood. And her own voice, screaming his name until it was raw, a sound of pure, unadulterated agony.
But it felt like a memory.
She pressed the heels of her hands to her temples, trying to fight back the splitting headache that always accompanied these nightmares. She remembered the feeling of tears on her cheeks, the rough texture of the executioner's block under her hands as she collapsed over Duke's body. She looked down at her own hands in the moonlight, half-expecting to see them stained red. Why? Why did she remember blood that was never there?
The words from the corridor echoed in her mind. *Load the save. I'm trying to save everyone, even if you don't remember it.*
It was all connected. The dreams, his strange words, the feeling that she had lived this day before. Something was terribly wrong, and Duke was at the center of it.
"I have to speak with him again," she whispered to the darkness. "I have to understand."
***
The clang of the cell door being unlocked jolted Duke from a light, fitful sleep. Guards entered, their faces grim. The sun was rising. Today was the day.
He felt a sliver of cautious optimism. Garris would testify. The truth would come out. He would survive.
He allowed himself a quick check of the System. The quest status was still pending. The Reality Integrity was still holding at 81%. No new disasters overnight.
The guards bound his hands in front of him this time, a small concession, and escorted him from the dungeon. As he walked toward the courtroom, toward his fate, he felt the familiar weight of the loop. This was his third attempt to survive this day. He had run, he had hidden, and now he had fought back with politics and secrets.
Today, Duke Theron would learn if his gambit had finally paid off—or if he'd be loading his last remaining save by sunset.