The Grand Hall was cloaked in silence, thick with unspoken tension.
Veythor sat like a phantom of war, calmly smoking cigarette after cigarette. The party had thinned.....Zaurak and Orun had long since departed. If we exclude Eliya and Morgan, only four remained now: Riku, Veythor, Safhire, and his ever-composed wife, Zeshiya.
They waited eagerly for Kieran Zon. Suddenly, the great doors groaned open.
A man stepped in.
Brown suit. Black pants. Polished dark-brown shoes. A cowboy hat shadowed half his face. In one hand, he carried a battered suitcase that looked like it had stories of its own.
Yes. It was him.
Kieran Zon.
He walked in with the casual arrogance of a man who'd seen kings fall and didn't care who watched him smile.
"Greetings, everyone," he said.
The room replied in chorus, eerily synchronized:
"Greetings."
Zon's gaze cut across the hall and landed on Safhire.
"Mr. Consula," he said, his voice dry and threaded with implication. "That letter you sent me.....it was… ambiguous. Are you certain of what you wrote?"
Safhire didn't blink.
"Yes," he said. "No doubt about it."
Then Zon turned. His eyes locked onto Veythor.
And in that instant, without a word spoken, everything clicked.
---
So that's how you want to play it.
This entire charade.....staged. When that girl grabbed my collar, it was bait. A crafted spectacle. Now she's missing, and conveniently, I'm the last man she touched. You'll cry "kidnapper," paint me as the beast.
An elegant trap, Prime Minister. Truly.
But you've made one miscalculation.
You underestimated me.
And the price… will be far greater than your legacy, your office, or your bloodline can ever pay.
A low, cruel laugh echoed within Veythor's mind.....one only the void could hear.
Hahaha... Hahaha... Hahaha...
Zon turned to Veythor, voice sharp, eyes colder.
"Supreme Commander, when was the last time you saw the Prime Minister's daughter?"
Veythor answered without pause, cigarette still burning between his fingers.
"When the party was nearing its end."
"Are you sure?" Zon asked, narrowing his gaze.
"I am," Veythor replied calmly.
Zon's voice dropped an octave.....low, precise, lethal.
"Is it true that Miss Daniya offended you?"
Veythor chuckled lightly.
"Offended? To the others, it might've seemed that way. But to me? It was nothing out of the ordinary. I wasn't offended in the slightest."
"Liar!" Safhire suddenly shouted.
Riku gently placed a hand over Safhire's, whispering with quiet urgency, "If you lose your temper, the consequences will be disastrous. He's no ordinary war commander."
Riku made sure his words were barely audible.....but in truth, it didn't matter. Every person in that room was already dancing to the same anti-Veythor rhythm.
Zon waited, then continued. He thought:
This Veythor... he is terrifyingly good at lying. But he won't escape this. I'll solve this case at any cost. My first case ended in failure. I'll have my revenge this time.
"Did you leave the Grand Hall at any point during the party?" Zon asked.
"No," Veythor said, then gestured toward Eliya and Morgan. "Even these two....my aides....didn't leave. The kidnapping accusation is laughable. I never stepped outside. So tell me… how could I possibly do something to anyone?"
Zon nodded solemnly.
"Supreme Commander Veythor… I'm afraid I must place you under house arrest."
Veythor acted surprised.....brows furrowed, tone slightly shaken.
"What? Why? I'm being detained on nothing but hollow accusations?"
"I'm following protocol," Zon said coldly. "According to Narzan's law, even a high-ranking official can be detained if they fall under suspicion. Rank offers no immunity."
He pulled a parchment from his coat and signed it.
"You're under house arrest for three days."
Safhire, hiding his satisfaction behind a well-trained expression, laughed internally.
Now you're caged, Veythor. Caught like a rat. Daniya played her role perfectly... I'll have to reward her when this trap finishes snapping shut.
Zon turned to Safhire.
"Mr. Consula, I'll be arriving at your residence shortly. Prepare a full report for the Emperor."
Safhire nearly shouted, "Bring her back to me... before this charade costs more than it's worth."
Soon after, the hall emptied. Hundreds of soldiers had already surrounded Veythor's estate. Zon handed him the arrest warrant. It was clear: house arrest for three days. If he attempted to flee, lethal force was authorized.
Veythor entered his home with Eliya and Morgan. They remained silent, but after a moment, Eliya looked up.
"Big brother... why did they arrest you?"
Veythor smiled gently.
"It's nothing serious. Come inside."
He quickly explained the situation to Grey, who stood at the door, eyes wide with concern at the sea of armored soldiers beyond the gates.
Later that night, Veythor stood on the balcony, cigarette glowing in the dark. The soldiers stared at him with veiled hostility. He smiled to himself.
Fools. They're stepping on the landmine willingly. Exactly as I planned.
He pulled up his left sleeve.
A fresh, bleeding wound marked his forearm.
Not a scar. Not old. Still raw.
This Veythor... wasn't real.
He had used the Doppelganger Spell again.
---
A spell dismissed as useless by many.....neither offense nor defense. But to the wise, it's more than a trick. It's an ace. A perfectly crafted mimic. It walks, talks, calculates just like the original. But it has a price.
For Veythor to replicate himself, he needed to burn a staggering amount of mana and sacrifice one liter of his own blood. To replicate others? Triple that. It wasn't a cheat. It was art. Precision magic meant only for those who could afford to bleed.....only for those who could sacrifice.
The fake Veythor smirked as he looked over the soldiers watching him.
Let them play their little game.
The real me? Already moving in the shadows.