Lord of the Foresaken
Chapter 33: INVESTIGATION

Chapter 33: INVESTIGATION

The Tournament Grounds had returned to their mundane form, yet nothing felt normal anymore. The grass beneath Reed’s feet seemed brittle, as if the very earth rejected him after what had transpired. Guards flanked him on both sides—not escorts but wardens, their eyes never leaving his form, hands resting on sword hilts. The crowd that had once cheered now parted with fearful whispers, nobles covering their mouths as if the mere air he breathed might carry contamination.

Reed glanced back at Shia, who walked ten paces behind, surrounded by a tighter formation of guards. Her skin still pulsed with faint violet light beneath the surface, like veins of unholy ore running through pale marble. Her eyes, once amber, now swirled with inky darkness that occasionally coalesced into pinpricks of void-light. She moved mechanically, the guards keeping their distance as though she were a diseased thing.

"Lord Reed," the Captain of the Guard spoke, voice clipped with forced formality, "you will wait in the Interrogation Chamber while the Tournament officials prepare their questions."

Reed sneered. "Interrogation Chamber? I wasn’t aware the Noble Tournament included such accommodations."

"The Archon’s presence changes protocols," the man stated flatly. "Consider yourself fortunate. Were it not for the ancient rules of the Tournament, you’d be in chains already. The Trial of Nine buys you time, nothing more."

They were led through a section of the Tournament grounds Reed had never seen before—beneath the spectator stands, down spiraling stone stairs lit by cold blue mage-lights. The temperature dropped with each step, until their breath fogged before them. At the bottom, a circular chamber awaited, its walls carved from obsidian shot through with golden veins that pulsed with magical wards.

"Sit," the Captain ordered, gesturing to two stone chairs positioned at opposite sides of a black marble table. "Officials will arrive shortly. Any attempt to communicate with your... companion will be treated as conspiracy against the Crown."

Reed seated himself, maintaining the aloof dignity of nobility even as his mind raced through escape scenarios. The slum rat in him calculated distances to exits, counted guards, assessed weapons. The noble lord in him knew such thoughts were futile. The Archon had spoken. The Trial of Nine awaited.

When the door sealed behind the guards, Reed was left in silence broken only by the occasional crackle of ward-magic and Shia’s labored breathing. She sat rigid, her fingertips leaving frost patterns on the stone table where they touched—patterns that resembled the nine interlocking circles.

"My lord," she whispered, her voice layered with another, deeper tone beneath, "they are coming. Not just the officials. Something else stirs."

Reed raised an eyebrow. "Can you be more specific?"

"The void... whispers..." She grimaced, veins in her neck pulsing violet. "Someone knows what I am becoming. Someone expected this."

The conversation died as the chamber door swung open. Three figures entered—a woman in the crimson robes of a Tournament Magistrate, flanked by two scholarly-looking men in gray. One carried a silver case; the other, a stack of parchments.

"Lord Reed of House Ashborne," the Magistrate began, her voice cool and precise. "I am Magistrate Evelin. This proceeding is officially recognized as a Tournament Investigation, separate from the Trial of Nine that awaits you. Your answers here will not affect the Trial’s outcome, but lying to Tournament officials carries its own penalties."

Reed leaned back, affecting boredom. "I understand the protocols, Magistrate. Proceed."

The first scholar opened the silver case, revealing a complex apparatus of crystal lenses and magical components. He began assembling it while the Magistrate continued.

"The artifact consumed by your... servant. Where did you acquire it?"

Reed smiled thinly. "A family heirloom. House Ashborne has ancient lineage, as you well know."

"Curious," the second scholar interjected, "as House Ashborne’s registered heirlooms include no such void-touched items. In fact, our records show your house’s magical artifacts limited to wind and earth affinities."

The Magistrate’s eyes narrowed. "Let’s try again, Lord Reed. The artifact?"

Reed’s smile never faltered. "Perhaps your records are incomplete. The origins of noble houses stretch back beyond your bureaucracy’s capacity to document."

"The artifact was given to you by a hooded figure after your victory in the First Contest," Shia suddenly stated, her voice unnaturally even. All eyes turned to her. "It contained essence of the void, distilled and concentrated. It was meant to trigger this transformation."

Reed shot her a warning glance, but Shia’s eyes remained fixed on some distant point, as if reading from an invisible text.

"Interesting," the Magistrate murmured. "The servant speaks unbidden. And seems to know more than her master wishes revealed."

The first scholar had completed assembling his device—a contraption that now hovered above the table, crystal lenses rotating around a central core of pulsing blue energy. He directed it toward Shia, adjusting dials as the crystals aligned.

"Unprecedented void contamination," he muttered. "Not consumption. Transformation. The essence is rewriting her very being."

The second scholar was frantically taking notes. "Ask about her original affinity classification."

"Shadow," Reed answered before they could ask Shia directly. "F-Rank shadow affinity, as registered."

"No," the first scholar said, studying his device. "No F-Rank shadow mage transforms this way from void exposure. The compatibility would be nonexistent." He looked up, eyes sharp with accusation. "What was she before your service, Lord Reed? What have you hidden from the registry?"

Before Reed could fabricate an answer, guards burst into the chamber. "Magistrate! We’ve found something in Lord Reed’s quarters."

The lead guard held forth a small wooden box, its surface covered in intricate carvings—nine interlocking circles inlaid with silver. Inside lay a bed of ash, and nestled within, a black crystal shard identical to fragments they’d extracted from Shia’s opponent, Bloodmist.

"Planted," Reed stated immediately. "I’ve never seen that box before."

"Curious defense," the Magistrate responded, "as we never said where it was found." She nodded to the guards. "Continue the search. And bring Lord Reed’s Chief Strategist for questioning as well."

Reed’s jaw tightened. Marcus would be dragged into this now. The one ally whose loyalty he couldn’t afford to lose.

"While we wait," the Magistrate continued, "perhaps we can discuss the map discovered beneath the false bottom of your wardrobe. A map marked with nine locations across the kingdom—the same pattern that appeared when the Archon declared your Trial."

Reed maintained his composure even as his mind raced. He had no such map. Someone had been in his quarters before the officials, planting evidence. Someone who knew what was coming.

"You mistake me for a conspirator when I am merely a player in a game whose rules I’m still learning," Reed replied smoothly. "If such items were found in my quarters, they were placed there by someone with interest in my downfall."

"An interesting theory," came a new voice from the doorway. A tall figure in the midnight blue robes of House Vexus entered, the sigil of a serpent eating its tail emblazoned in silver across his chest. "Or perhaps the upstart lord simply protests too much."

"Lord Vexus has no authority in this proceeding," Reed objected immediately.

"Lord Vexus serves as witness," the Magistrate corrected. "His champion was destroyed by your servant’s... abilities. Tournament law grants him observation rights."

Vexus smiled, a predator’s expression. "I merely wish to ensure justice is served. After all, Bloodmist was a valuable asset, crafted at great expense. And now—" he gestured to Shia, "—your servant speaks prophecy of crowns and ash, while carrying enough void energy to tear reality itself."

The scrutiny of the device intensified, its lenses spinning faster as they focused on Shia. Her body began to react, the violet veins pulsing brighter, darker. She clutched the edge of the table, fingers digging into the stone.

"Stop," Reed demanded. "You’re provoking a reaction."

"We’re measuring a reaction," the scholar corrected. "One that should be impossible without—"

He never finished. The device exploded in a shower of crystal shards and blue sparks as Shia convulsed, her back arching unnaturally. The void-light in her eyes flared, and for an instant, the chamber’s shadows deepened, stretching toward her like hungry things.

"Restrain her!" the Magistrate shouted as guards rushed forward.

Reed moved with instincts honed in the slums—not the calculated grace of nobility, but the desperate speed of survival. He vaulted over the table, placing himself between Shia and the approaching guards.

"Touch her, and you risk triggering what you fear most," he warned, voice low and dangerous. "The void responds to threat."

The guards hesitated, looking to the Magistrate for direction. In that moment of confusion, Reed felt a familiar presence—the same cold calculation that had kept him alive in the gutters. He scanned the room, noting positions, weaknesses, the single unguarded exit now blocked by Vexus.

"Lord Reed," the Magistrate finally spoke, "step aside. For your own safety."

"My safety?" Reed laughed, the sound sharp and humorless. "If safety were my concern, I would never have entered this Tournament." He straightened his posture, reclaiming the aristocratic bearing that masked the street fighter beneath. "I invoke Ancient Right of Compurgation."

The chamber fell silent. The Magistrate’s face paled.

"That rite hasn’t been used in three centuries," she whispered.

"Yet it remains valid in Tournament law," Reed countered. "I demand trial by evidence, not speculation. Until the Trial of Nine is completed, no additional charges may be brought against a Tournament competitor without physical proof of wrongdoing."

The Magistrate’s lips pressed into a thin line. "The artifacts found in your quarters—"

"Were not found on my person, nor can you prove they were mine," Reed interrupted. "The Compurgation demands evidence linking the accused directly to the crime. Ancient law is quite specific."

Vexus stepped forward, fury barely contained. "You hide behind obscure legalities? While that thing—" he jabbed a finger toward Shia, whose trembling had subsided, "—threatens the very fabric of our world?"

"I hide behind nothing," Reed replied coolly. "I simply know the law better than you expected. A consequence, perhaps, of not being born to privilege."

Before Vexus could retort, a new figure appeared in the doorway—a slight man in nondescript clothing, face partially obscured by a hood. He whispered something to one of the guards, who immediately approached the Magistrate.

After a brief, hushed conversation, the Magistrate’s expression hardened. "It seems we have a development. Lord Reed, your quarters were indeed compromised before our search began. Tournament security detected unauthorized entry approximately one hour before the investigation commenced."

Reed allowed himself a small smile of vindication, though inwardly, his suspicions deepened. Someone was manipulating events with impressive foresight.

"The intrusion was traced," the Magistrate continued, "to an agent of House Krell."

Vexus’s eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise—the first unguarded reaction Reed had seen from him.

"Under Tournament law," the Magistrate stated reluctantly, "the investigation must be suspended pending review of this interference. Lord Reed, you and your servant remain bound to the Trial of Nine, but this proceeding is adjourned."

As the officials gathered their materials to leave, Reed noticed the hooded messenger lingering by the door, watching him with unnerving intensity. Their eyes met briefly—and Reed felt a jolt of recognition. Not a face he knew, but an expression, a bearing. The cold calculation of another survivor.

The messenger slipped a hand into his pocket, revealing just enough of a silver pin for Reed to glimpse its design—nine interlocking circles.

Reed’s blood ran cold as the messenger vanished into the corridor. The officials and Lord Vexus filed out, leaving Reed and Shia with only two guards posted at the door.

"My lord," Shia whispered, her voice steadier than before, "the whispers have changed."

Reed leaned closer. "What do they say?"

Shia’s eyes met his, the void within them swirling like smoke around twin points of light.

"They say you were never meant to survive this long. They say the ninth circle was always meant to be empty."

Before Reed could question her further, the chamber door swung open again. Marcus stood there, flanked by guards, his face a mask of diplomatic composure that didn’t reach his eyes.

"Lord Reed," he said formally, "I’ve been summoned for questioning regarding your... activities."

Reed recognized the slight emphasis, the coded warning in his advisor’s tone. Something was very wrong.

"Of course," Reed replied evenly. "The Tournament officials wish to be thorough."

Marcus stepped closer, bowing as protocol demanded. As he straightened, he muttered under his breath, words meant only for Reed:

"Your rooms were searched by another noble’s spy, yes. But they weren’t looking for evidence against you."

Reed maintained his composed expression. "What then?"

Marcus’s next words sent ice through Reed’s veins.

"The hooded figure who gave you the vial. They found his body in the servants’ quarters. Throat slit. And carved into his chest—"

"Nine circles," Reed finished, the pieces suddenly, terribly falling into place.

Marcus gave an almost imperceptible nod as the guards led him away.

Reed stood frozen as the chamber door closed once more. Across the table, Shia’s eyes had gone completely black, the void within them absolute.

"The ninth circle was never meant to be empty," she whispered, her voice no longer entirely her own. "It was meant to be filled."