"What exactly is the problem here, Duke Glade?"
Vanitas could feel the immense pressure of mana spreading across the entire northern region. It was an unusual phenomenon. Its signature hinted at a leyline as the source.
Yet, even with that in mind, he couldn’t ignore the uncertainty in his thoughts.
’This has never happened in the north before...’
He recalled several quests that had taken place in the region. None of them, however, had involved a dense mana imbalance of this scale. That meant this incident fell outside the scope of his given knowledge.
A quick search through the Spectacles confirmed it when nothing came up. Not even a single record.
Which meant only one thing.
’It’s unique to this very moment.’
"I’ll be frank with you, Marquess Astrea," Friedrich Glade began, seated across from him. "Lately, I’ve been hearing things."
"But I’m not the only one," Friedrich continued. "Several servants have reported the same, hearing the voices of their dead loved ones, as if the estate was cursed. I can only assume it’s connected to the discrepancy."
Vanitas leaned back in his chair and took a peek at Margaret standing behind him.
Then, he returned his gaze to the Duke, and said, "When did this start?"
"Two weeks ago," Friedrich replied. "At first, I dismissed it as grief resurfacing. But it’s grown worse. The voices seem to be clearer now. Last night, I could swear she was standing just outside my chamber door."
Vanitas rested his clasped hands against his chin. "Did you see her?"
"No," the Duke admitted. "But I didn’t dare open the door. Something in me knew it wasn’t her. The same goes for the others. None who heard the voices actually saw anything. They only felt like... they were being watched."
His eyes hardened as he met Vanitas’s gaze.
"If this is truly the work of the leyline, then it’s not just mana we’re dealing with. It’s reaching into the dead."
Vanitas’s brows furrowed. "Or into the living’s perception of them."
A chill crept down his spine, beads of cold sweat forming along his back for reasons he couldn’t quite name.
Yet a dangerous thought began to surface, one that he knew he shouldn’t entertain.
What if... he could manifest Charlotte this way?
Let the dead stay dead?
No. Let the afterlife be damned.
If this phenomenon was truly connected to the dead, then it was an opportunity to anchor their souls. And if a soul could be anchored through some form of magic, even a small, improbable chance at resurrection might become possible.
Charlotte... brought back to life. Even if the risk was great, he would take it.
"By the way," Duke Glade’s voice cut through Vanitas’s thoughts as his gaze shifted to Selena, who stood beside Margaret. "Who is the young lady?"
For all intents and purposes, Selena’s identity was to remain hidden. She had gone to great lengths to disguise herself with her hair completely dyed, her name changed, and every trace of her former self erased.
Vanitas had even gone as far as to create an entirely new identity for her, complete with fabricated documents and identification.
"She’s a personal servant working under me," Margaret explained.
"Is that so?" Duke Glade replied. "There are already loyal retainers in the mansion. You had no need to bring your own. But if it puts you at ease, I’ll have a room prepared for the servant as well, and she will be treated as a guest."
Selena, with her fiery red locks, quickly shook her head. "Ah, n-no! That won’t be necessary, Grand Duke. Lady Margaret and I have decided to share the same room. It will make it easier for me to tend to her needs."
Duke Glade regarded her for a moment, scrutinizing Selena.
"If that’s your preference, then so be it. If there is anything amiss, be sure to tell the retainers."
Selena bowed her head politely. "Of course, Grand Duke. I’ll make sure not to be a burden."
Duke Glade nodded, then his gaze shifted back to Vanitas. "Then we’ll speak more of the matter at hand tomorrow. For now, I suggest you three rest. The north’s nights are long and colder than you might expect."
That night, Vanitas and Friedrich Glade met in private. This was not a discussion between a duke seeking aid from an expert, but a conversation between two of the Great Powers, individuals regarded across the continent as living weapons.
The matter at hand was grave.
"Aston Nietzsche, the Sword Saint, and Selena, the Saintess," Friedrich began. "With both of them gone, heretics have grown bolder. Certain plagues festering within the church no longer know fear."
Vanitas’s gaze darkened. "You mean to say they’re moving openly now?"
"Not openly," Friedrich replied, "but with no restraints, their influence is starting to spread. It’s becoming harder to tell the false from the genuine. Truly, religion is a complicated matter."
At that moment, as the clock ticked and the cold wind carried the sound of snow sweeping past the windows, a voice suddenly echoed in Vanitas’s ears.
His body stiffened. Without thinking, Vanitas glanced to his left, then to his right, before his brows drew together in a deep frown.
Noticing the sudden shift in his demeanor, Friedrich Glade lifted his gaze from his seat. "Do you hear the voices?"
Vanitas’s hand curled into a tight fist. "...How cruel."
"Indeed. They know exactly whose voice to use."
"Have you ever tried tracing the leyline?"
"Yes," Friedrich replied, "but the matter cannot be resolved unless one is a mage. And not just any mage, but someone with complete theoretical expertise. Unfortunately, there is no such person in the north."
Vanitas’s gaze turned toward the frost-covered window. "Would I survive the cold if I went outside?"
"You’re a Great Power," Friedrich said evenly. "See to it you survive yourself."
Vanitas arched a brow. "Is that any way to treat a guest?"
"It means we have the means to survive, Vanitas Astrea."
Vanitas scoffed. "Of course."
After concluding his conversation with the Duke, Vanitas changed into loose, insulated clothing and stepped out of the cold manor into the frost-biting wind.
The moment the air hit his face, the cold chill seeped through his skin, but he pressed forward. Through the Spectacles, the traces of mana were palpable.
By isolating the frequencies from the surrounding discrepancies, he began tracing the mana-lines, following their pull as he moved deeper into the grounds.
The estate was utterly deserted, with not a single person outside in such weather.
The silence was broken only by the crunch of snow beneath his boots and the howling winds.
When he tilted his head upward, the sight above momentarily slowed his pace. The skies glistened with ribbons of aurora. The latest_epɪ_sodes are on_the nοvelfire.net
The north was truly beautiful. The climate might’ve been harsh, but breathtaking in a way no other land could match. There was a reason those born here rarely left.
From a distance, he sensed a presence. He stopped in his tracks, and with a subtle motion, Vanitas raised his hand, preparing to cast a spell.
Beyond the edge of the vicinity, where only the flare of the aurora skies sparkled through, shapes moved in the snow. They were monsters locked in a vicious struggle for food.
Frost Wolves, Icicle Bears, Spear Marrows, and so on and so forth. It was a savage ecosystem. After all, the north was known to breed the most formidable hunters, capable of thriving under harsh circumstances.
A Windblade burst from his gauntleted palms, slicing cleanly through the frigid air as it signaled his arrival to the battlefield. The icy gust swept between the combatants, momentarily scattering snow and drawing the attention of predator and prey alike.
To move beyond the trace-lines, there was no avoiding this fight. The creatures turned toward him one by one as Frost Wolves lowered their bodies in preparation to pounce, Icicle Bears letting out guttural growls that rumbled through the ground, and Spear Marrows tilting their heads with a twitch.
A series of spells followed at astonishing speed. At his level, such creatures posed no real challenge. He could dispatch them without so much as breaking a sweat, nor even needing to take a step forward.
When the last of the monsters fell, Vanitas lowered his hand and flexed his fingers, clenching and unclenching his fist.
There was a feeling that his mastery over these spells had reached a new height. His mana reserves remained nearly untouched, and the constructions of each spell felt like second nature.
For the first time in weeks, his mind was clear.
Swallowing hard, Vanitas turned back.
....Only to find nothing.
After traversing the frozen expanse and following the leyline’s traces, Vanitas finally reached his destination.
Yet what he saw only astonished him further.
A massive body of mana loomed in the open. Imperceptible to the naked eye but perfectly clear through his Spectacles. It swirled in a myriad of ethereal colors, shifting mesmerizingly into the next.
The sheer density of it was unlike anything he had encountered before. Aside from leylines, mana was never meant to gather in such a concentrated mass without a vessel or anchor.
The shifting colors reflecting in his eyes, drawing him in with a magnetic pull. Without realizing it, Vanitas stepped closer, reaching out to it.
Voices could be heard, overlapping with each other. And each one of them was familiar to him, as if they were trapped within the leyline’s gates.
His fingertips were mere inches away when....
A current of electricity surged through him, snapping him out of the trance. The shock forced his hand back as the sting lingered against his skin.
Vanitas’s breath came slow as he steadied himself. The mana seemed to be alive in its own way, perhaps even sentient. And it clearly did not welcome his touch.
"...I don’t understand."
It was incomprehensible. Not even with all his knowledge could he begin to decipher the nature of such a phenomenon. Whatever this was, it was beyond the scope of something he could resolve alone.
Concluding that this had been a complete waste of time, Vanitas turned around, intending to return the way he had come. But the moment he took his first step, a shadow fell over him.
Every instinct screamed at once. He leapt to the side, just as a massive bolt of lightning crashed down where he had been standing, scorching the frozen ground.
His gaze lifted, and he realized what it was
An open-world overlord-class boss monster. Its massive wings spanned wide, crackling with arcs of electricity.
The leyline disturbance had just become the least of his problems.
No, perhaps the Thunderbird itself had been born from the leyline’s anomaly. The thought turned over in his mind as he stood his ground against the towering predator.
The Thunderbird was infamous for its arsenal of attacks, each capable of staggering its target with a single hit, and several more that could outright kill in an instant.
Vanitas knew its patterns well from the memories embedded deep within him. Whether those memories were real or not hardly mattered now.
The real problem was that he had never fought the boss alone. Every time, it had been within raid party lobbies, groups of players assembled with the sole intent of farming its materials.
However, at the moment, it was just him and the Thunderbird.
Vanitas ducked, dashed, and moved through each strike, testing the Thunderbird’s pattern while scanning the area for anything he could use to his advantage.
The cold bit at his limbs, slowing his movements just enough for the wind to dishevel his hair, but not enough to let the monster land a single blow.
Lightning split the air above as Vanitas gathered mana into his palms. It crackled with blinding intensity, and in the next instant, a towering fireball flared from his hands.
It was the Grandmaster spell, ’Flare Infusion.’ Flames seared through the frozen air, leaving behind a trail of distorted heat as it hurtled straight toward the Thunderbird.
The creature screeched, wings flaring wide as it banked hard to the side, but the spell’s explosion still caught its flank, exploding in a blast of fire and steam.
Vanitas narrowed his eyes.
He had its attention now.