The leather-bound tome Lyra had given him felt heavy in Liam's hands, not with physical weight, but with the oppressive density of the knowledge it contained. The "Codex of the Eclipsed Heart." It was an ancient text, outlawed in three kingdoms, detailing the darkest applications of spirit magic.
Liam sat by the flickering hearth in their palace chambers, his Dragon's Gaze active, deciphering the complex arcanic diagrams that danced across the pages. Sir Lucas stood guard by the door, his hand never leaving the hilt of his sword, while Lord Baren paced the room, the tension in his shoulders visible even through his doublet.
"Here," Liam whispered, his finger tracing a jagged rune. "The Ritual of the Parasitic Tether. It doesn't just drain life; it displaces it." He looked up at his father. "It explains everything. The King's frailty isn't just age or sickness. His vitality is being siphoned into a vessel, purified, and then consumed by the caster to extend their own life and artificially inflate their mana core."
Baren stopped pacing. His face was pale. "To consume the life of a King... it is a crime that commands a punishment worse than death. If Ser Alistair is truly doing this, he is risking his very soul."
"He is risking more than that," Liam said, his voice cold. "He is risking the stability of the entire realm to make himself a god among men."
Liam stood up, closing the book with a snap. "The ritual requires a physical anchor. A place where the life force is collected before it is consumed. That unassuming door I found in the servant's alcove... that's the anchor."
"Visual inspection showed nothing," Baren cautioned. "If we break down that door and find a broom closet, we hand Alistair our heads on a platter. He will claim we are mad, paranoid northerners plotting against the crown."
"I won't break it down," Liam said, a dangerous glint in his amber eyes. "I will walk right through his wards. My Dragon's Gaze has evolved. I can see the mana weave now, not just the surface layer. I can dismantle the lock without triggering the alarm."
Sir Lucas stepped forward. "It is too dangerous, Liam. If Alistair senses you..."
"He won't," Liam interrupted. "He is arrogant. He believes his cloaking magic is impenetrable because it has fooled the court mages for a decade. He doesn't know what I am."
He doesn't know I am a dragon, Liam thought.
"I go alone," Liam stated, leaving no room for argument. "Sir Lucas, stay with Father. If I am caught, deny everything. Say I went mad with tournament glory. Protect the House."
Baren looked as if he wanted to object, to order his son to stay, but he saw the resolve in Liam's eyes—the will of diamond that Eldrin had praised.
"Go," Baren said, his voice rough. "But by the Old Gods, come back."
The palace slept, but the shadows were alive. Liam moved through the corridors like a phantom. He wore his deepest black tunic, and he muffled his boots with rags, but his true stealth came from his Aura. He followed Eldrin's teachings, compressing his Aura until it was a skin-tight sheath, containing his presence so completely that even a passing guard dog wouldn't smell him.
He reached the alcove. The unassuming door stood there, innocent and wooden. To the naked eye, it was nothing. But to Liam's SSS-Rank Dragon's Gaze, it was a screaming void. Threads of gray, necrotic mana pulsed from the door, snake-like tendrils that disappeared into the ceiling, reaching up towards the King's royal chambers floors above.
[System Alert: High Concentration of Dark Mana Detected.]
[Quest Triggered: The Rot in the Crown]
[Objective: Infiltrate the Anchor Room and obtain proof of Ser Alistair's treason.]
[Optional Objective: Disrupt the ritual without killing the Host (The King).]
Liam took a breath, centering himself. He raised his hand, his fingers glowing with a faint, precise mana flow. He didn't attack the lock; he unraveled it. He traced the mana threads, finding the knots in the spellwork, and gently teased them apart. It was like picking a lock made of spiderwebs. One wrong move, and the alarm would sound.
Minutes stretched into eternity. Sweat beaded on his brow. The Ring of Azure Depths hummed, feeding him a steady stream of mana to maintain his heightened perception.
Click.
A sound felt rather than heard. The magical seal dissolved. Liam pushed the door open and slipped inside, closing it softly behind him.
He wasn't in a broom closet.
The space inside was magically expanded, a vast, circular chamber of cold stone that smelled of ozone and copper. The air was freezing, a supernatural chill that bit through his clothes.
In the center of the room stood a complex apparatus of black iron and glass. A large, crystalline tank dominated the machine. Inside the tank, a swirling, misty gray liquid churned sluggishly.
Life force. The King's life force.
From the tank, tubes ran into the floor, pulsing with a rhythmic beat that matched the slow, dying thump of a heart.
But what drew Liam's eye was the wall.
It was covered in portraits. Not of the King, but of Ser Alistair. Portraits that spanned decades. In the oldest ones, he looked frail, sickly. In the newer ones, he looked vibrant, youthful, powerful.
And in the center of the room, on a pedestal, rested a black book, identical to the one Lyra had given him, but bound in what looked suspiciously like human skin.
Proof.
Liam stepped forward, reaching for the book.
Suddenly, the fluid in the tank churned violently. The runes etched into the floor flared with a crimson light.
A voice, cold and smooth as polished marble, echoed through the chamber, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere.
"I felt a disturbance in the web. A fly, landing on a strand."
Liam froze, his hand hovering inches from the book. He spun around, Crimson Fang materializing in his grip in a flash of red light.
The shadows in the corner of the room coalesced. They twisted and elongated, forming a silhouette.
Ser Alistair stepped out of the darkness.
He was not wearing his courtly robes. He wore a simple, black tunic, his arms bare, revealing veins that pulsed with a sickly black light. His usually calm gray Aura was gone. In its place was a void—a terrifying, sucking emptiness that seemed to warp the light around him.
"Lord Liam Lithian," Alistair said, his voice devoid of surprise, only a mild, disappointed curiosity. "I expected Vorian to be the one to stumble upon this eventually. But you... the boy hero. You are far more troublesome than I anticipated."
Liam shifted his stance, his Dragon's Gaze locking onto Alistair.
[Status Window]
Name: Alistair Vane
Race: Human (Corrupted)
Class: Soul Warlock / High Steward
Stars: ★★★★★ (Master Mage - Artificially Enhanced)
Mana: 15,000 / 15,000
Attributes: Strength: 15, Vitality: 200, Intelligence: 180, Wisdom: 150
Condition: Soul-Gorged (Invulnerable to conventional damage while connected to the Vessel).
Invulnerable.
Liam's eyes narrowed. The System didn't lie. As long as that tank was active, Alistair was using the King's life force as a shield.
"You are killing him," Liam said, his voice steady despite the overwhelming pressure of Alistair's presence.
"Killing?" Alistair chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. "I am preserving the kingdom. The King is weak. Senile. He would have run this realm into the ground years ago. I carry the burden of rule. Is it not fitting that he provides the fuel?"
Alistair raised a hand. The shadows in the room leaped up, forming jagged spikes. "You have seen too much, little dragon. And unlike the King, your vitality is fresh. Vibrant. It will make a delicious dessert."
The shadows lunged.
Liam reacted on instinct.
Dragonheart Vigor: Agility.
He blurred, a streak of silver, dodging the shadow spikes that shattered the stone floor where he had stood a microsecond before.
He couldn't kill Alistair. Not yet. If he struck Alistair now, the damage would likely transfer to the King through the tether.
He had to sever the connection.
Objective: Disrupt the ritual.
Liam vaulted over the central machine, aiming not for the Steward, but for the crystalline tank.
"A bold move!" Alistair sneered. He flicked his wrist, and a wall of compressed air slammed into Liam mid-air. It was like being hit by a siege ram.
Liam was thrown back, crashing into the stone wall. Obsidian Scales flared instinctively, absorbing the impact, but the wind was knocked out of him.
"You cannot break the vessel, boy," Alistair mocked, walking slowly towards him. "It is bound with blood magic. Physical force is useless."
Liam coughed, tasting copper. He stood up, Crimson Fang humming in his hand.
"Physical force, perhaps," Liam whispered.
He closed his eyes for a fleeting second, centering his will.
Aura. The lesson from Eldrin.
Aura is not a mirror. It is a part of your soul. Use it to manifest your will.
Liam's eyes snapped open. They were no longer amber. They were vertical slits of burning gold.
A terrifying pressure descended on the room. It wasn't the shadow of Alistair; it was the weight of a Dragon.
Liam's Aura exploded outward—not as a shield, but as a blade. A golden, spectral claw materialized around Crimson Fang, shimmering with the dark resonance of the void.
"If physical force fails," Liam growled, his voice vibrating with a draconic timbre, "then I will cut the magic itself."
He lunged.
But this time, he didn't aim for the glass. He aimed for the rune glowing crimson on the floor beneath the tank—the anchor point he had identified in the book.
Alistair's eyes widened in genuine alarm. "Stop!"
The Steward unleashed a torrent of dark bolts, but Liam didn't dodge. He trusted his armor. He trusted his endurance. He took the hits, his Obsidian Scales cracking, his skin searing, but his momentum didn't break.
He slammed Crimson Fang into the floor rune.
Skill: Draconic Manifestation - Adamantine Claws + Aura Infusion.
CRACK.
The sound was not of stone breaking, but of a high-tension wire snapping. A shockwave of pure mana blasted outward, knocking both Liam and Alistair off their feet.
The crystalline tank shuddered. The gray liquid inside stopped churning.
The connection was severed.
Alistair scrambled to his feet, his face twisted in a mask of absolute hatred. He clutched his chest, coughing violently. Without the King's vitality flowing into him, his youthful facade flickered, revealing the withered, ancient man beneath for a brief second.
"You fool!" Alistair shrieked. "You have no idea what you've done! The backlash..."
High above them, in the royal chambers, a scream echoed—not of pain, but of sudden, waking shock.
The King had awakened.
Alistair heard it. Panic warred with rage in his eyes. The secrecy was gone. The ritual was broken.
He looked at Liam, then at the door. He made a calculation.
"This isn't over, Lithian," Alistair hissed. "You may have cut the tether, but you haven't killed the spider."
Alistair slammed his hands together. A portal of swirling shadow opened behind him.
"Run," Liam taunted, struggling to his knees, blood dripping from his chin. "Run to the shadows. I see in the dark."
Alistair stepped into the portal and vanished, taking his book of shadows with him, but leaving the damning machinery behind.
The room fell silent, save for the settling dust.
Liam slumped against the pedestal, the adrenaline fading, leaving him trembling with exhaustion.
[Quest Completed: The Rot in the Crown - Part 1]
[Objective: Disrupt the ritual - COMPLETE.]
[Reward: +1000 EXP. +2 All Stats. Relationship with the King: Pending.]
The door to the chamber burst open. Sir Lucas stood there, sword drawn, with Baren behind him.
And behind them, drawn by the magical shockwave, were the Royal Guards.
They stared at the room, at the horrific machine, at the battered young lord in the center of it all.
Liam looked up, meeting the Captain of the Royal Guard's eyes.
"I believe," Liam rasped, pointing at the tank of stolen royal life force, "we have found the traitor."