Down the hall, inside a guest room that smelled faintly of laurel and soap, two maids stared at a pile of folded clothing like it was contraband.
A soot-stained coat.
A pair of boots still crusted with dock-mud.
And a white shirt that had been black when it came off.
The older housekeeper pinched the bridge of her nose.
“So the rumor is true,” one maid whispered, scandalized. “Lady Elizabeth brought a man home. And she even had us prepare him clean clothes—”
“Lower your voice,” the housekeeper snapped.
“But if the baron finds out—”
“The baron is not here.” The housekeeper’s eyes narrowed. “And the baron’s business is not yours.”
The maid shrank back.
The housekeeper let out a slow breath, gaze flicking toward the garden window where Lady Elizabeth and her “guest” were walking under the laurels—followed, of course, by chaperones.
She’d served this house long enough to understand politics.
Baron Warner had been looking for a way to bind Rhine to the family. A hero with royal favor. A man who could stand in Stormkeep and not bow.
A perfect son-in-law.
And Lady Elizabeth… seemed to dislike Rhine with a passion that made no sense.
If the baron returned and heard she’d brought another man home—especially one rumored to be Rhine’s friend—
The housekeeper’s lips pressed into a line.
Better to pretend she’d seen nothing.
“Put everything away,” she ordered quietly. “And if anyone asks, say the gentleman was injured in the dock district and we provided assistance. Nothing more.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The housekeeper turned away, choosing ignorance like armor.
—
In the laurel garden, Ethan could finally breathe.
Cleaner air. Fewer eyes—though not none. The staff followed at a respectful distance, pretending they were only there to offer refreshments. Their presence was a constant reminder: even inside this manor, Yanyan didn’t have privacy.
“About the bug swarm,” Ethan said, bringing the conversation back to what mattered. “It’s strange.”
Yanyan looked at him sidelong. “Strange how?”
“Even though some of them can fly, they’re not spreading into the inner city,” Ethan said. “They’re concentrated. Like they’re being held on a leash.”
Yanyan’s expression sharpened. “Like they’re being directed.”
Ethan nodded. “Which means there’s likely a core. A ‘source.’ Something that’s sending commands.”
He didn’t say cocoon out loud. Not with servants trailing behind them.
Yanyan’s jaw tightened. “Cocoon.”
She said the name anyway—soft enough that only Ethan could hear.
Ethan’s thoughts turned grim. If the Magma Lord really was waking, this wasn’t random infestation. It was a probe. A test. Or a warning.
“Where do you think it is?” Yanyan asked.
“Could be here,” Ethan said. “Hidden in Windrest. Or it could be offshore, and the swarm is just the first ripple reaching land.”
Yanyan looked uneasy. “The institute has been getting reports.”
Ethan’s gaze flicked to her. “From where?”
“Other official players.” She swallowed. “We have ways to pass messages without relying on local mail. There’s a relic item—Firemark Orb. You can burn a message into it, attach a piece of meat, and toss it into the sea. A specific sea creature will deliver it to another orb.”
Ethan went still.
He’d heard of stranger logistics, but that was… grotesquely efficient.
“One of our people on another island sent a report recently,” Yanyan continued. “They found a reef cave along the coast. Bodies inside. No blood. No obvious wounds. Just… empty.”
Ethan’s expression tightened.
That matched too many things he didn’t want to match.
Yanyan’s eyes narrowed. “Do you know what that sounds like?”
Ethan didn’t answer immediately. He couldn’t. Because he remembered Jory’s corpse.
He remembered the clean cut. The missing blood. The way the body looked like the sea itself had drunk him.
“A Soul Devourer,” Yanyan said.
Ethan’s heartbeat thudded. “That’s a high-tier supernatural.”
“Exactly.” Yanyan’s voice went hard. “Which means either there’s one hiding in Windrest… or someone is copying the methods of a Soul Devourer.”
Ethan forced himself to keep walking at a normal pace.
Yanyan glanced behind them. The servants were still there—still “not listening.”
She lowered her voice even more.
“That’s why I’ve been suspicious of certain people,” she said. “I’m not just a ‘charity noble.’ I’m still a cop.”
Ethan’s mouth went dry. “Who are you suspicious of?”
Yanyan didn’t answer right away. She looked up at the laurel leaves, moving gently in the autumn wind, like she was trying to find the courage to say something reckless.
She spoke.
“Rhine.”
Ethan almost tripped.
Yanyan kept going, unaware of the landmine she’d stepped on. “I know how it sounds. He’s a hero. The city loves him. The king’s messenger gave him that ‘free man before the Sea King’s Throne’ title.”
Her eyes stayed sharp. “But that doesn’t make him clean.”
Ethan’s mind raced. Keep your face neutral. Keep breathing. Don’t react.
“Why?” he asked, forcing the word out casually. “Because he has a relic gun?”
“That’s part of it,” Yanyan said. “But there’s more.”
She looked at Ethan like she was laying out evidence on a table.
“Jory Fell died in Stormkeep,” she said. “And the way he died was wrong. No blood. No struggle. Too clean. Like someone wanted it to look like a Soul Devourer did it.”
Ethan felt a cold sweat break at his spine.
Yanyan’s gaze didn’t waver. “And then, immediately after that, rumors spread that Jory wasn’t actually Panglos Fell’s son. That his ‘real father’ was Borg Morros.”
Ethan frowned as if hearing it for the first time. “That rumor was everywhere.”
“Exactly,” Yanyan said. “And it was designed to do two things. One: humiliate the Fell family. Two: give Panglos a political excuse to throw Morros under the bus—or force Morros to revolt.”
Her tone turned sharp with certainty. “That kind of rumor doesn’t spread on its own. Not that fast.”
Ethan’s throat tightened. “You’re saying Rhine started it?”
“Or someone under him,” Yanyan said. “But the timing lines up with Rhine’s arrival, and with the chaos that followed.”
She rubbed her temples. “Also—this is stupid, but it matters. I looked at portraits. Fell men are all blond. Pale eyes. So was Jory. Borg Morros has dark brown hair, darker eyes. If you look at it like a detective, the rumor is suspicious.”
Ethan forced a small laugh. “You’re doing genetics in a fantasy world.”
Yanyan didn’t smile back. “A lot of fantasy worlds still have biology.”
Ethan couldn’t argue with that, either.
“And then,” Yanyan said, voice dropping, “I got a revelation.”
Ethan’s eyes narrowed. “From your goddess.”
“The Goddess of Wisdom and Life,” Yanyan confirmed. “It happened during candle prayer. A message. An answer.”
She swallowed. “The revelation pointed at Rhine.”
Ethan’s pulse pounded in his ears.
Yanyan’s expression turned grim. “I reported it to my superiors. Their response was… complicated. Some think Rhine might be working directly for the king. Some think the king has been looking for a way to clip Panglos Fell’s power for years. So if Rhine is the knife…”
Her voice tightened. “Then this might all be politics.”
Ethan kept his face blank with sheer force of will.
Yanyan leaned closer. “Ethan, I’m telling you this because you’re a player. Because you’ll understand the risk.”
“What risk?” Ethan asked.
“That Rhine might not be local,” she said.
Ethan’s stomach dropped.
Yanyan’s eyes were dead serious. “He might be a player too.”
Silence stretched between them, thin as a wire.
Ethan’s thoughts collided.
I’m standing right here.
I’m Rhine.
And she’s warning me about myself.
Yanyan continued, voice urgent. “Think about it. Rhine shows up, progresses insanely fast, gets a relic weapon tied to Faraneer, gets royal favor, and starts making enemies at the top of the food chain.”
She shook her head. “If he’s a player and he’s moving like that… then he’s dangerous in a way locals can’t even imagine.”
Ethan forced himself to speak. “Or he’s trying to do the right thing.”
Yanyan looked at him, then sighed. “Maybe. If he has our values. If he still sees ‘people’ as people.”
Her gaze hardened again. “But if he’s not… if he’s just using the System to climb, then anyone near him becomes collateral.”
Ethan felt his mouth go dry.
Yanyan’s voice dropped to a whisper. “So whatever we do next—whatever happens with Cocoon—we keep players out of it. We don’t let Rhine hear a single word about players. Not until we’re sure.”
Ethan’s mind was screaming, but his face stayed calm.
He needed to redirect. Fast.
So he asked the first question that would change the subject without sounding like panic.
“Your institute,” he said. “What do they actually want from Rhine?”
Yanyan blinked, caught off guard.
She frowned.
“They think he knows things,” she admitted. “Ancient history. Secrets tied to Faraneer. The reason humans can’t become demigods.”
She looked back toward the smoke on the horizon. “And now… with Cocoon waking up… they want to know what he’ll do next.”
Ethan’s fingers tightened around his cane.
Because he already knew the answer.
He just couldn’t say it out loud.