The question hung in the air, heavier than the scent of blood and ozone. "Lancelot, what have you brought into my house?" My father's voice was a low, dangerous rumble, the sound of a mountain on the verge of an avalanche. His grief had momentarily been eclipsed by a torrent of confusion and suspicion, and it was all directed at me. Damian stood beside him, his spear dematerialized but his posture rigid, his face a grim mask of questioning fury.
This was, in many ways, a more dangerous moment than Valerius's attack. I was no longer fighting a cultist; I was on trial before my own family. My next words would determine whether I was seen as a savior or a madman.
I took a breath, the unified beat of the Two-Heart Cadence a steadying anchor in the turbulent sea of their emotions. My Artisan-level power, a deep and stable well within me, gave me a clarity I wouldn't have possessed just weeks ago.
"What he was a part of," I said, my voice quiet but firm. "I didn't bring it here, Father. It was already here. I only gave it a name."
I began to weave the story I had prepared, a careful mixture of truth and fabrication. I told them about the journal I had "found" on the dead scout in the Groc canyon, a story I had formulated for just this eventuality.
"I spent the last month doing more than just training my body," I explained, gesturing to the study around us. "That journal was filled with coded phrases and what seemed like the fanatical ramblings of a zealot. I was in the archives, cross-referencing its symbols with old historical texts. It took weeks, but I found a match. Obscure records, from the age of the mad kings, that spoke of a short-lived but violent heretical sect. A death cult."
"A death cult?" Damian interjected, his voice sharp with disbelief. "Here? Under our noses? Valerius was a part of it?"
"They are masters of secrecy," I said, meeting his gaze. "Valerius is proof of that. The journal spoke of a leader in the West, a 'Shepherd' who guided the flock. And it mentioned the password to identify him. 'Does the Black Sun still cast a shadow?'" I shook my head, my performance one of grim discovery. "I prayed I was wrong. I never imagined it could be him."
It was a flimsy story. A convenient discovery. But it was the only story that didn't involve me being a transmigrator from another world who had read their lives like an open book. In the face of the shocking, undeniable truth of Valerius's betrayal and his use of a dark, forbidden power, my flimsy story was the only anchor they had.
My father took the fabricated journal I offered, his gaze sweeping over the meaningless, hastily scribbled symbols I had put inside. He knew it was thin. But he also knew what he had seen with his own eyes.
"This 'cult'," my father said, snapping the journal shut. His voice was cold, decisive. "Does your book say how far it reaches?"
"No, Father," I lied smoothly. "The journal only spoke of this region. It seemed to be an isolated cell. Valerius was its leader." I had to contain the truth. Telling them that this was a continent-spanning conspiracy that had infiltrated every major house would have been a truth so vast and paralyzing it would have been dismissed as insanity. I had to give them an enemy they believed they could fight.
The Count nodded, his mind now focused on the practicalities of a threat. He was a lord of the borderlands; he understood enemies. "Damian, double the guard on all gates. Quietly. I want a full, covert review of every officer and steward in this household. Garrick will assist you. No one is to know the reason. As far as the County is concerned, Valerius died of a sudden, violent seizure." His orders were absolute.
He then sent for Elias. My second brother arrived to a scene of grim silence, his eyes going wide at the sight of the bloodstain on the rug where Valerius's body had been. My father explained the situation in curt, clipped tones: Valerius was a traitor, a member of a secret death cult, and had taken his own life after being exposed by Lancelot.
Elias's reaction was a mixture of horror and disbelief. He looked at Valerius's empty chair, then at me. The familiar sneer was gone, replaced by a complex, unsettling expression. He didn't understand what was happening, but he understood that the brother he had mocked his entire life was now standing at the center of it. The power dynamics of our family had been irrevocably shattered.
"We are at war," the Count said, his voice leaving no room for argument. He looked at each of his sons in turn—Damian the heir, Elias the spare, and me, the anomaly. "A war in the shadows. And the first rule of this war is that no one outside this room can ever know it exists. The honor and stability of this house depend on it."
For the first time since my arrival in this world, I felt a strange, grim sense of unity. The internal strife, the petty rivalries—they had all been rendered meaningless in the face of a true, existential threat. We were no longer just a father and his sons. We were co-conspirators.
Later that night, the adrenaline faded, and the true weight of the evening came crashing down. I was in my room, staring out at the storm that now lashed against the castle walls. I had succeeded. I had eliminated a serpent, and I had survived the fallout. My family was safe, for now. But Valerius's fanatical smile was burned into my memory. He had died to protect a secret that I now had to carry alone. The victory felt hollow, the silence of my room filled with the ghosts of a future I was still desperately trying to prevent.
I looked down at my hands, feeling the deep, steady well of Artisan-level power humming within me. It was a comforting presence, a testament to my growth, but I knew it wasn't enough. Valerius was likely a Master, perhaps even a Grandmaster, and he was just one man. The Apostles, the true leaders of the cult, were beings on another level entirely.
My path was clearer now, but the mountain I had to climb had just grown infinitely taller. I had won my place in the family. I had even earned their trust. But in doing so, I had drawn a target on my back, and I was more alone with the terrible, crushing weight of the future than I had ever been before.