The Kingmaker System
Chapter 261 - 260. Unshackled (1)

Chapter 261: 260. Unshackled (1)

Having no choice, I returned to the slums where Lyall was stationed. The window to his room was slightly ajar, making my entry quiet but swift. As soon as I landed inside, the cold edge of a blade pressed against my throat.

Lyall, standing in a rigid stance, looked like a cornered predator ready to pounce. His eyes widened in shock as he recognized me.

"M-Master?" he gasped, stumbling back and hastily lowering his sword, his face turning ghostly pale.

"Your reflexes are great as always," I remarked, brushing my fingers over the unscathed skin of my neck, my tone dripping with nonchalance.

"I-I’m sorry, Master! You startled me." He looked genuinely panicked. "What brings you here so late?"

"I was planning to investigate the royal palace for clues," I said, strolling over to the cluttered desk illuminated by the soft, flickering glow of a burning oil lamp. "But they’ve got a mana-canceling dome around the entire place."

"The entire palace?" Lyall repeated, his voice rising in disbelief. "That would require a fortune in mana-canceling alloy."

I nodded. "Exactly. Whoever’s behind this isn’t sparing any expense to keep their secrets buried. Which makes those secrets all the more valuable."

I picked up a paper from his desk, my eyes settling on a sketch of the royal insignia. A large tree with bright red fruits stood proudly at its center. My brow furrowed. Something was... off.

Lyall noticed my expression. "But why go to such extremes? The cost alone—"

"They might be using the royals as a front," I said, cutting him off. "It’s a distraction, Lyall. Look at this." I handed him the paper.

He squinted, holding it up to the lamp. "Looks like the royal crest to me."

"It’s not." I tapped the image. "The tree in Denril’s crest is a pomegranate tree. This one? An apple tree."

His eyes widened in realization. "That’s... subtle. Most people wouldn’t notice."

"That’s the point," I replied. "This insignia was either forged by someone skilled or deliberately altered to mislead us. Either way, we’re being toyed with."

Lyall ran a hand through his hair. "So, it’s a trap?"

"Possibly. Or George is playing games again." I placed the paper back on the desk and turned to Lyall. "Where is he?"

Lyall placed the paper back on the desk, his eyes darting toward the door. "He’s in the lower basement. I’ve kept him restrained and gagged, just in case."

I nodded, my gaze lingering on the forged insignia. "We need to press him for more information. If this was meant to mislead us, he either knows something or is hiding it."

"I can bring him here," Lyall offered, already moving toward the door.

"No," I stopped him with a raised hand. "We’ll go to him. I want to see the state he’s in. People tend to crack faster in familiar surroundings."

Lyall gave a curt nod, grabbing a lantern as we descended into the dimly lit corridors of the hideout. The air grew colder with each step, and the faint scent of damp stone filled the space. The only sound was the soft flicker of the flame and our quiet footsteps.

As we reached the basement, Lyall unlocked a heavy iron door. Inside, George was slumped against the wall, bound tightly with ropes. His eyes widened at the sight of me, and he began struggling against his restraints, mumbling frantically through the gag.

I stepped forward, crouching down to his level. "I hope you’re comfortable, George."

His eyes darted between Lyall and me, beads of sweat forming on his brow despite the chill in the air. I pulled the gag down just enough for him to speak.

"P-Please, I told you everything I know!" he stammered, voice hoarse from disuse.

"You told me some things," I said, my tone icy. "But I need more. Specifically, who forged this insignia."

"I-I don’t know!" George whimpered. "I swear, I don’t know! They... they gave me the papers. I just followed orders!"

"Who gave you the papers?" Lyall demanded, stepping closer.

George hesitated, his eyes flickering with fear. "I-I never saw their face. They always wore a cloak. But... but they had a strange voice."

"Strange voice? An accent?" I pressed and he shook his head.

"No, something... seemed wrong with his voice... Like he was using something to change his voice." He said and I frowned.

I exchanged a glance with Lyall. "Change his voice?"

George nodded frantically. "Yes! Please, I don’t know anything else. I’m just a middleman!"

I rose to my feet, my expression unreadable. "We’ll see about that."

Turning to Lyall, I added, "Keep him here. We’ll need him alive a little longer."

Lyall gave a firm nod, and I headed back toward the stairs, already formulating my next move. Whoever was behind this was covering their tracks well—but not well enough.

"Another strong mage is involved," I mumbled as we stepped into Lyall’s room, closing the door behind us. The tension from the night’s discoveries still hung in the air.

"Another mage?" Lyall echoed, his brow furrowing.

"Yes," I confirmed, glancing around the room. "And not just any mage—a dark mage."

His frown deepened as he absorbed the news. I continued, "I’ve been sensing a strange, dark presence for a while now. Subtle, but persistent."

"Who could it be?" he asked, concern lacing his voice.

I shook my head. "The sneaky bastard’s good at hiding. No traces, no obvious leads."

Lyall crossed his arms, lost in thought. "But why would he be doing this? What’s the motive?"

I smirked, a glint of determination in my eyes. "We’ll find out soon enough. It won’t take long. And once I get my hands on him," I said, cracking my knuckles, "I’ll make him sing."

I smirked, a glint of determination still lingering in my eyes. "We’ll find out soon enough. It won’t take long. And once I get my hands on him," I said, cracking my knuckles, "I’ll make him sing."

Lyall’s face grew dark, his jaw tightening as he mulled over my words. I shifted my attention to the paper with the false insignia, its edges curling slightly under the heat of the lamp’s flame.

"Lyall," I spoke up, my voice steady but charged with intent. "Can you get me this crest?"

He leaned closer, scrutinizing the paper. "The royal insignia?" he asked, his tone laced with confusion.

I shook my head, a smirk tugging at the corners of my lips. "No, not the real one. This false one." I tapped the drawing with my finger. "I’m thinking of laying a trap for someone."

Lyall’s eyes widened slightly, understanding dawning. "A trap?"

I nodded. "We need to flush out whoever’s behind this forgery. And nothing entices prey quite like their own bait."

Without waiting for a response, I strode toward the window, the cool night air beckoning. This dark mage might have cloaked himself well, but no one stayed hidden forever. Not from me.

I flew back to the Temple, my mind preoccupied with the next step of the plan. Fatigue gnawed at the edges of my consciousness, the relentless pace of the past few days finally catching up with me. I collapsed onto the soft bed, sinking into its comforting embrace, and let my eyes close, hoping for a brief reprieve.

At some point, I drifted off, the weight of exhaustion pulling me under. When I stirred, it was because of a familiar presence. It was gentle, not threatening, so I didn’t reach for my dagger. Instead, I pushed myself up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

The child was perched on the armchair, his tiny frame dwarfed by its size. His wide eyes were fixed on the chessboard that still sat on the table, the pieces exactly where I had left them. Curiosity danced in his gaze as he tentatively reached out, fingers brushing the Queen.

"That’s the Queen," I said softly.

He gasped, nearly dropping the piece, and his eyes darted to me in surprise. The chess piece hovered mid-air, caught by my telekinesis. His mouth fell open, awe lighting up his face as he watched the white Queen float gently back onto the board.

"It’s flying!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with childlike wonder.

I couldn’t suppress a smile. His innocence was a stark contrast to the dark world I moved in—a world I wished he’d never have to face.

The Queen hovered again, this time floating toward him. He reached out, cradling it in his small hands, his grin wide and infectious.

"Would you like to learn how to play?" I asked, gesturing to the board.

His eyes lit up, brighter than the stars outside. "Can I? Really?"

I nodded, feeling a warmth I hadn’t known in a long time. "Sure," I said softly. For once, this wasn’t about strategies or disguises. It was about sharing a moment of peace with a child who deserved to know more than fear.

Even if it was fleeting, I wanted to give him that.