The mask settled against my face—cool, smooth, and oddly weightless. A whisper of mana flowed through it, syncing with my thoughts.
A shimmer ran across my skin, and the reflection in the alley window changed. Not Tristan Altrhrone. Just a random passerby now—brown hair, sun-kissed skin, dull gray eyes. A forgettable face.
Perfect.
I slipped into the city's outer district with my hood up and my mana sealed. The streets buzzed with noise—merchants barking prices, kids chasing each other through puddles, drunks spilling out of taverns.
But the air was tight.
Posters were everywhere.
Walls, posts, shop windows.
WANTED — Tristan Altrhrone, murderer. Former Student of Vermillion. EXTREMELY DANGEROUS. Do not approach, if you saw him report to the guard immediately.
I counted at least five bounty hunters in plain sight—crossbows slung under coats, enchanted bracers half-concealed. They weren't amateurs.
A group of knights in bronze-accented armor passed by, talking in clipped, sharp tones. I ducked behind a spice stall, pretending to inspect dried herbs. The vendor glanced at me, bored. Didn't ask questions. Good.
I waited for the patrol to pass before slipping deeper into the maze of alleys behind the market. Every corner felt like a trap. Every eye lingered too long. Even like this—faceless, nameless—I feel hunted.
I stopped in front of an old notice board, its wooden surface swollen from rain. Among local job posts and missing cat flyers, a single slip caught my eye.
"REWARD TRIPLE FOR CONFIRMED INFORMATION. REPORT TO ANY VERMILLION CONTACT OR CITY WATCH"
Even in this fantasy world murder is serious crime huh? It's not like i ever kill someone since i come to this world though.
I moved again—narrowing my search now. My target wasn't the patrols or bounty hunters.
It was information brokers.
People who survived by knowing things they weren't supposed to.
I found one in a half-sunken tavern three blocks from the city wall. No sign on the door, just a cracked lantern swinging above the frame. Inside, it smelled like smoke, old ale, and damp stone.
Good, i finally found this place, a hidden places in the game where you can find any information if you pay the right money, it's so freaking expensive though.
The tavern stank of smoke, sweat, and stale ale.
I stepped inside, cloak pulled low, the mask's illusion still active. Not Tristan Altrhrone. Just another nameless drifter in a city that didn't care.
I took a seat near the back, back against the wall, hood still low.
The barkeep glanced at me, then flicked his chin toward the corner table.
"If you're here to ask questions, you better have coin."
Good, I finally got his attention.
"I don't understand what are you talking about"
The man at the corner table looked up. Wrinkled face, one eye covered in a thick lens, the other sharp as a blade. He studied me. I let him.
He leaned forward.
"Do you need something else?"
"Looking for work"
I said.
He gave me a once-over.
"You don't look like have any muscle"
"I'm adaptable"
He snorted.
"You're not the first to walk in with something to prove. What kind of 'work' you think you're fit for?"
I lowered my voice.
"Any work is fine, What else is there to do at the tavern anyway?"
The man's expression shifted just slightly. Not surprise—recognition.
He jerked his chin toward a back table.
"Talk to Murn. He handles… flexible jobs."
I made my way over, good, since I don't plan to use my money here i will find the information myself, for now i need to gain their trust.
I follow the directions that man give it to me to find where Murn is, he the real boss of this place.
Murn looked like the kind of man who measured people by how much trouble they were worth. One eye cloudy. Fingers stained with ink, not blood. A ledger lay open in front of him, but he closed it as I approached.
"Youre the new guy aren't you?"
He said
"Or are you here for something else?"
"Work"
I answered.
"Again, I don't understand what are you talking about, is it weird for a villager trying to find money in the city?"
He raised an eyebrow.
"That so?"
I let him talk. Let the air hang heavy, he probably find me suspicious.
"Just a small advice"
He said slowly.
"Just be careful around here, this city, even though technically this place is neutral doesn't mean it will be safe here"
I just listen to him.
"Maybe they saw something. Maybe they just existed in the wrong place, wrong time, anyone can be killed for no reason around here, especially around this district"
"Rumors"
I said flat.
He shrugged.
"It's the truth though, anyway let's get to work, you help me carrie all of this"
He pointed to 6 wooden box, the size itself not really that big but not really that small either, probably there a supply inside.
...
Beatrice sat by the window of the Academy's west tower, fingers tracing the rim of a porcelain teacup gone cold. The morning sun spilled across the floor, but the warmth never reached her.
And then there was a knock at the door.
Beatrice didn't look up.
Another knock—firmer this time.
"Come in"
She said quietly.
The door creaked open, revealing a tall woman in an immaculate traveling cloak. Platinum-blonde hair in a tight bun. Cold eyes.
Evelyn Altrhrone, the lady of Althrone Family.
"Beatrice"
Her voice was as sharp as ever.
"Get your things"
Beatrice didn't flinch.
"No"
Lady Evelyn's eyes narrowed.
"That wasn't a request sweety"
"I know."
"You would defy your family for him?"
The word dripped with disdain.
"A half-blood disgrace who may have murdered your own brother?"
Beatrice stood, spine straight, gaze unwavering.
"I'm not defending him. I'm finding out the truth, a justice"
"And what will you do with it, daughter? Ruin what little reputation we have left? Do you think nobles survive off justice?"
"I don't care about survival"
She said, voice calm but edged.
"Not if it means closing my eyes to a lie"
A beat of silence.
Then Lady Evelyn turned, face unreadable.
"Do as you wish. But remember—when this all crumbles, you will carry the weigh."
The door shut behind her.
Beatrice released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Her hands trembled slightly… but only for a second.
Then she returned to the desk, opened another drawer, and pulled out a hidden journal.
If no one else would uncover it, she would.
She flipped open the journal to the newest page—ink still fresh, notes scrawled hastily between the margins.
A knock sounded again. Softer this time.
Beatrice's hand tensed above the page.
"Who is it?"
"…It's Cedric."
She hesitated, then moved quickly to hide the journal back in the false-bottom drawer. With a quick motion, she composed herself and opened the door.
Cedric stood there—awkward, uncertain, but his usual stormy expression was gone.
"I'm not here to fight"
He said.
"I didn't think you were."
He scratched the back of his head. "They're saying I should turn him in too if I find him and if I don't say something, I'll get dragged down with him, isn't it ridiculous?"
Her eyes narrowed.
"Do you believe them?"
"Like hell i am, I don't know him for that long but my gut says that he is innocent, heck he actually eave the whole academy and they're dare to treat him like a shit?"
That made her pause.
"You came to tell me that?"
"No"
Cedric said.
"I came to ask if you're really looking into all this. Because if you are… I want in."
Beatrice blinked. That, she hadn't expected.
"You?"
She said, one brow raised.
"I thought you hated him"
"What do you mean? Why i hate my own friend?"
He look confused.
"Besides, I trust you more than the staff"
A small, tired smile tugged at her lips.
"Fine. But if you blow our cover, I'll let the faculty feed you to the mana hounds."
"Fair."
She stepped aside and let him in.
Beatrice shut the door behind Cedric and locked it. The sound felt heavier than usual—like something irreversible had just begun.
He stood awkwardly by her desk while she retrieved the journal again, flipping to the pages she'd just been studying.
"I'm not gonna pretend I understand half the crap you wrote there"
Cedric muttered, glancing at the mess of diagrams and scribbles.
Beatrice tapped a circle she'd drawn around a professor's name.
"Ok listen, you know Professor Elric right? Teaches Mana Conduction Theory. On paper, he's unremarkable. But he's one of the few with full clearance to the restricted archives."
Cedric leaned closer.
"And?"
She didn't explain and moved on to the next name
"And this one—Head Enchanter Varella. She signs off on artifact authorizations for fieldwork. But her logs don't match what the students actually received"
Cedric's brows furrowed.
"You think they're… involved?"
Beatrice closed the journal.
"I think something is being covered up. I don't know how deep it goes yet. But I'm going to find out."
He looked at her with something close to respect.
"Damn. You're serious about this, and how you even found this?"
Beatrice smirked.
"I have my own way"
...
Tristan sat alone in a dim room, fingers steepled, the silver mask Elena had given him resting on the table.
The air shimmered slightly as she entered.
"We have movement"
She said.
"The Academy's tightening their net."
Tristan glanced at the mask but didn't reach for it.
"They didn't think i running away?"
Honestly i confused, didn't they saw me disappear that night?
"Rumor is, they have some kind of artifact to look into the future"
"Does that mean they know where i am?"
Elena shook her head
"There are no perfect artifact in this world you know, even if they actually have that kind of artifact the drawback is definitely huge too"
Tristan finally looked up.
"Then we find the truth as soon as possible. We expose whoever's behind this."
She nodded once.
"Don't worry, i definitely help you"
...
The streets were already stirring by the time Tristan entered the city again. Cloaked, masked, and stripped of his mana signature, he walked like a ghost—just another face in the crowd. The mask shifted his appearance slightly: a plain young man with dusty brown hair, forgettable features, and tired eyes.
He found work easily. Menial. Quiet. Loading supplies for a traveling merchant who didn't ask questions.
Perfect.
For now, he just needed access. To the Academy. To people. To whispers. And this was the first step.
As he lifted crates into a cart, his eyes scanned the area. Always watching. Always calculating.
They thought they'd buried him.
He was already digging back up.
...
Elena stood by the crystal orb embedded in her wall, light flickering across her features. She wasn't alone.
The an beside her wore dark blue robes lined with silver thread, face mostly hidden by a veil. His presence carried weight—older, wiser, and colder.
"You're sure about him?"
The man asked.
"I've always been sure."
"Too many wild cards. He doesn't follow orders. He doesn't even know who we are."
"He will"
Elena replied.
"And when the time comes, he'll make the right choice."
The man paused. Then nodded once.
"Very well. I'll watch over him. From a distance."
"I want more than that"
Elena said quietly.
"I want you to help him"
A pause.
Then, the woman turned toward the exit.
"Only if he survives long enough to need it."
Elena leaned her body against the wall.
"He won't wait. He never does."
From her pocket, she pulled a small pendant—silver, old, worn to a dull shine. She held it in her palm for a moment, the chain swaying gently.
A ghost of a smile touched her lips. Sad. Familiar.
"You never changed"
She whispered.
"Still throwing yourself into the fire before checking if there's a way out"