The silence in Roland's office had become a physical weight, thick and suffocating like a fog rolling in from the sea. The flickering candlelight struggled to pierce the gloom of the corners, casting long, distorted shadows against the stone walls. Suddenly, the very air seemed to ripple and tear. Between one heartbeat and the next, a silhouette began to materialize—a hooded woman stepping out from the gap between dimensions, appearing just a meter away from William.
Before William could even finish a breath, the cold, biting kiss of steel pressed against the skin of his neck.
Nightingale's silver dagger glinted dangerously under the moonlight reflecting off the windowpane. Its tip was mere centimeters from William's carotid artery, held with the unwavering steadiness of a master assassin. She was no longer the curious, invisible observer who had been haunting the castle's hallways; she was a predator. Her eyes, which had been hidden behind the monochrome veil of the Mist World, now glowed with a murderous, suspicious intensity that seemed to burn right through William's bravado.
— "How do you know that name?" her voice was a frigid whisper, vibrating with a threat that would make the bravest knight in Graycastle recoil. — "Veronica died a long time ago. She was buried under the ashes of a fallen house. Who are you, and who do you truly work for? If you lie, if I smell even a hint of a fabrication on your breath, the Prince will have to find himself a new 'consultant' before the sun touches the horizon."
William felt a cold bead of sweat trickle down the back of his neck, following the line of his spine. Despite the terrifying proximity of the blade, he forced his facial muscles to remain relaxed. He didn't lose his trademark mischievous smile, though his heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. Internally, his finger hovered over the mental trigger for his [Teleportation] skill. He knew he could blink behind her in an instant, but Arthur's stern warning echoed in his mind: Revealing our powers to a master of the Mist World before she trusts us is a death sentence for our credibility.
— "Easy, Veronica... or Nightingale, if you prefer the Association's codename," William said, slowly raising his hands in a universal gesture of surrender. — "I've already explained the situation to Roland. Our 'system'—our unique way of seeing the world—gives us flashes of what is, and what is to be. We know you come from a fallen noble family of Graycastle. We know you seek the Holy Mountain—a place that, if I'm being honest, is more of a dangerous, frozen myth than the refuge you're looking for."
At that precise moment, the heavy oak door of the office opened with a soft, deliberate creak. Arthur entered, his silver-gray tunic rustling slightly. He didn't look surprised, nor did he reach for a weapon. He maintained his composed, almost clinical posture, his eyes scanning the scene with the calm of a man who had already simulated this exact encounter a dozen times in his head. He knew William's big mouth would eventually be the catalyst for this confrontation.
— "Lower your weapon, Miss Nightingale," Arthur said, his voice acting as a steady anchor in the storm of tension. — "We are not spies for Timothy, nor do we serve the whims of Garcia. If we were agents of the crown or the Church, we would have revealed your presence to the Inquisition weeks ago. We are here for the same reason you have been lurking in the shadows: to ensure that Anna and Nana don't just survive the winter, but that they survive to see an age where they don't have to hide."
Roland, who had been watching the scene unfold while massaging his temples, finally stood up. The pragmatism of the engineer Cheng Yan was struggling to keep pace with the supernatural drama. He looked at his two "strange" friends, wondering for the hundredth time how two men from a "distant land" could possess a dossier on an invisible witch he himself had only just met.
— "Nightingale, please... put the dagger away," Roland ordered, his voice regaining the authority of a Prince. — "They may be annoying, informal, and prone to speaking in riddles, but Arthur is the man who gave us the blueprint for the Cement Wall. He is the reason Anna is alive and working in the lab instead of swinging from a rope. If they say your name is Veronica, I'm inclined to believe them—though I still intend to have a very long conversation with them about where, exactly, they get their intelligence."
Nightingale hesitated. Her eyes darted between Arthur's piercing, analytical gaze and William's bold, almost reckless confidence. She was searching for the "scent" of a lie, but all she found was a terrifyingly calm sincerity. Slowly, with a fluid motion that spoke of years of combat, she withdrew the dagger. She didn't vanish back into the mist; instead, she remained visible—a figure of melancholy, dangerous beauty, her golden hair catching the light as she pulled back her hood.
— "No one besides a member of my direct lineage should know that name," Nightingale said, her voice still sharp and cold. — "If you aren't spies, then you are something far worse: men who possess secrets that do not belong to you. How can you know the identity I buried with my own hands?"
William, feeling the immediate danger pass, took a casual step forward. He ignored the way her hand remained hovering near the hilt of her blade. He was a gamer at heart, and he knew that high-risk dialogue options often led to the best rewards.
— "The world is smaller than you think, Veronica," he said, using her real name again just to see the spark of fire in her eyes. — "We come from very far away—from a place where knowledge is considered the greatest of all weapons. We know about your search for the Holy Mountain. We know you're here to evaluate Roland and potentially take Anna and Nana away to join your Association. But you have to know by now... we have no intention of harming them. You can smell the truth in our words, can't you?"
Nightingale let out a short, bitter laugh, her eyes never leaving William's. — "The Holy Mountain is a sanctuary for our kind, not a curiosity for strange 'scholars' to dissect. If what you say is true and you genuinely want to protect them, why would you keep them here? This castle is damp, this town is poor, and the Months of the Demons are about to turn this entire region into a morgue filled with black blood."
Arthur stepped forward, adjusting his robe with a practiced, stoic calm. — "Because the Holy Mountain you seek is a mirage, Nightingale. It is a myth that will lead your sisters to a cold, lonely death in the ice. You're looking for a miracle, but Roland is building a reality."
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. — "Roland doesn't just offer a roof; he offers a revolution. With the cement you've seen on the wall and the weapons we are developing, we will turn Border Town into a bastion that not even a demonic horde can breach. But if you take them now, you are condemning them to the agony of the Awakening without the medical and scientific support we are building. You're trading a future for a ghost story."
Roland crossed his arms, facing the witch who was now very real before him. — "Arthur and William are mysteries even to me, Nightingale. But their contributions are undeniable. They identified Anna's value before I even knew what a witch was. They suggested the wall. They gave me the tools to defy the Church. Give us the chance to prove that this town can be the sanctuary you've been searching for."
Nightingale looked at Roland, then at the two friends. She still saw Arthur and William as dangerous anomalies—holders of forbidden knowledge she couldn't begin to decipher. But she couldn't deny the "scent of truth" that clung to them. It was a fragrance of iron, ink, and a strange, stubborn hope.
— "I will stay," she declared, pulling her hood back up to shroud her features once more. — "But I will stay as a shadow. If your promises fail—if the wall crumbles or the Prince turns his back on my sisters—I will take them out of here before the first drop of black blood hits the ground. And as for you," she paused, fixing a lethal stare on William as her form began to blur into the grey mist, "...try calling me by that name again, and I'll make sure you wake up without the tongue you use so carelessly."
William let out a long, shaky sigh as she vanished completely. A mischievous smile slowly returned to his face, even as the air in the room finally returned to a normal temperature.
— "Well," William muttered, rubbing his neck where the blade had been. — "I think she likes me."
Arthur just rolled his eyes and headed back to the maps. The first real bridge between the castle and the witches had been built, but as the wind howled outside, they all knew the real test was only just beginning.