The devastating narrative of the Linston tragedy had etched itself onto the hearts of the three young heroes. They understood now the deep currents of suffering and treachery that ran beneath this seemingly ordinary town. A heavy, somber silence settled over them, broken only by Jai's quiet query.
"Mr. Winston," Jai asked, his gaze fixed on the dwarf, "Does this Lance—this self-proclaimed deity—know of your resistance? Are you marked as a liability?"
Winston shook his head firmly. "No," he replied, his voice flat. "My cold indifference, my refusal to react to the horrors, must have convinced him that his control was absolute, even over me. I believe I am merely a ghost in his sight."
But the silence was too heavy for James. He looked around the desolate little garden, remembering the sight of the cozy, if melancholic, cottage.
"Sir," James began, his voice soft, an empathetic tremor audible. "When we arrived at your home, we only found you. If your wife survived the initial famine, then… where is she? If she is under his spell, we can surely attempt to rescue her."
Winston turned his weary eyes toward the kind youth, a fleeting, warm smile—the first genuine expression of peace they had seen—gracing his lips. It was a smile of profound, heartbreaking finality.
"Your compassion touches my battered soul, young master," Winston said, his voice fading to a haunted whisper. "But spare your noble efforts. My wife, Elara, is already gone. She paid the ultimate price for this devil's ambition."
The revelation struck them like a physical blow. Zayn, his face pale with shock, immediately demanded the awful truth. "Gone? What treachery did Lance commit? How did he harm her?"
Winston lowered his head, his hands gripping the wheels of his chair until his knuckles turned white. The memory was a fresh, searing wound.
"It was one day while we were breaking a meager fast," he recounted, his words slow and choked. "Lance entered our cottage, his presence filling the small space with a suffocating terror. I froze. I could only stare at the demon that walked among us. But Elara… she saw him and immediately rushed to him. She fell to her knees, embracing his boots, licking his polished shoes like a devoted hound."
Winston's voice broke. "The sight was an unbearable profanity. I knew then the depths of her affliction—she was merely a puppet of his wicked artifact. I had a choice: to protect myself and my mission for the town, or to break my silence and die for a wife who no longer recognized me."
Lance, his eyes cold and calculating, commanded Winston to stand in the farthest corner of their chamber. And then, the true horror began.
"I watched from the corner, my limbs stiff as stone, my spirit screaming a silent, useless protest. He ravaged her, using her body until his vile satisfaction was met. And then, perhaps seeing the terrible knowledge in my eyes, perhaps still doubting my unnatural stillness, he committed the final act of cruelty."
Winston paused, the memory too vivid, too bloody. "He placed a thin, gleaming knife against my Elara's throat. Slowly, deliberately, he drew the blade across her delicate skin. The arterial blood erupted, painting our entire room in a sickening, crimson wash. I saw the life drain from her eyes."
A raw, primal scream tore through Jai. "You watched?! You endured such an outrage? For the sake of this cursed village, you allowed your own wife to be defiled and slaughtered? Was their worthless survival more important than your family, your honor?"
The anger in Jai was an overwhelming, violent force, a true reflection of his noble lineage.
Winston looked up at Jai, his own eyes burning with a conviction that eclipsed his immense pain. "Yes, young master. More important."
"You must understand," Winston explained, his tone measured but firm. "When I was a child, orphaned and destitute, this town, these people, adopted me. They gave me shelter, food, purpose. They nurtured me until I became a doctor, dedicating my life to healing the wounds and sicknesses of the only family I have ever known. Furthermore, even if I had lunged at Lance, Elara, under his command, would have killed me first, and he would have continued to torment her ghost. By enduring, by remaining silent, I ensured her torment ended swiftly. I sent her soul to rest, and I lived to fight for the people who raised me."
The profound sacrifice silenced Jai. He lowered his head, his rage instantly replaced by a deep, agonizing pity. Tears—tears of furious empathy—welled up in the eyes of all three youths.
James gently took Jai by the shoulder, leading him a few paces away from the grief-stricken Winston. His voice was low, urgent, and heavy with practical concern.
"Jai, look at the situation clearly," James pressed, his eyes darting nervously across the surrounding terrain. "This is no mere skirmish. We are facing the Shadow Ledger, a vast, organized force with mind-controlling artifacts! The entire village is now a weapon aimed at us. We cannot win this fight with our current power level. We must use the Summoning Bracelets!"
He tapped his wrist, where a simple band of ancient silver was hidden beneath his sleeve. "One beacon, one summons, is all it takes. A single member of our elder families is enough to sweep this entire pestilence away. This is not the time for foolhardy bravado."
Jai shook his head vehemently, his noble pride instantly flaring. "To call for help now? It is a stain on our lineage, a display of utter weakness! We are meant to solve these trials ourselves, James. To use the family's ultimate authority is to admit we are but cowards!"
"Cowardice?" James hissed, his voice laced with bitter irony. "Do you truly believe our families still possess that gilded 'grace' you speak of? It is only through Empress Dominatrix's decree that our noble status survives! If Beatrice had not reached the Tier Two advancement years ago, our house would have been stripped of its authority long since! Pride will not save us from a mind-controlled army!"
As the two debated the ethics of calling for aid, Jai's sharp eyes, trained by years of wilderness survival, caught a flicker of movement. He quickly scanned the edge of the garden.
"James! Look behind you, now!" Jai's voice was a harsh, clipped warning.
James spun around. The placid scenery was gone. From the gaps in the trees and the corners of the nearby alleys, faces were emerging. Blank, emotionless, yet relentlessly focused faces. The villagers were closing in.
James's blood ran cold. He turned back to Jai, and his terror was amplified tenfold: the same tide of humanity was surging towards them from Jai's direction as well. They were being surrounded.
Jai's scream cut the air, sharp and immediate. "Zayn! Lift Winston! Now! We run!"
Zayn, who had been watching the debate with silent unease, glanced up and instantly grasped the imminent danger. Without a word, he hoisted the sturdy dwarf and his heavy wheelchair with surprising, brute strength, tucking Winston securely under one arm.
The three youths exploded into motion, breaking into a frantic sprint.
"Arthur! What is the plan? Why the chase?" Zayn called out, adjusting his grip on the dwarf as they fled.
"Lance knows!" Jai yelled over the pounding of their feet and the rising clamor of the mob behind them. "He realized Winston is not under his spell! Keep running! We outdistance them first, then we plan! Just run!"
They ran as if their very lives depended on it—and they did. For nearly an hour, their superhuman stamina was tested. They dashed through winding streets, across open squares, but the relentless, mindless pursuit of the villagers did not falter. The chasers, fueled by the artifact's dark energy, were an unyielding wave.
Finally, exhaustion began to claw at their muscles. They risked a glance back. The villagers were dangerously close, their breathing heavy, their dead eyes fixed. And then, standing amidst the advancing horde, was a figure of terrible beauty.
A man with skin of porcelain white, icy blue eyes, and long, silvery white hair flowed around him like a silk banner.
Winston, seeing the figure, let out a desperate, guttural cry. "It is Lance!"
The four skidded to a halt. In the front, Lance stood, a picture of tranquil malice. In the rear, the maddened villagers formed an impenetrable wall. Hope dissolved. Jai's mind raced, his hand instinctively reaching for the forbidden Summoning Bracelet.
But before he could activate the family's ultimate resort, a phenomenon occurred. The air itself seemed to crackle and then burst into a thick, swirling cloud of pristine white smoke, instantaneous and pervasive. It enveloped the entire area, blinding both the pursuers and the pursued.
From the swirling mist, a figure emerged. Tall, cloaked, wearing a simple straw hat that completely obscured his features. He moved with impossible speed, a blur of motion that defied the eye. He reached the four heroes, and with a gesture that felt both ancient and powerful, the world twisted.
A second later, the air was still. Jai, James, Zayn, and Winston found themselves in a quiet, secluded chamber.
Back in the smoke-filled street, Lance smiled—a dangerous, predatory curl of the lip. "That same, ancient magic…" he muttered, his voice cold with contempt. "The Old Bag still meddles. He truly believes he can undo what the Shadow Ledger has wrought here.
Dazed and coughing, the four survivors steadied themselves. They looked up at their rescuer: the man with the flowing white hair and the humble straw hat, which now rested loosely on his head.
Jai, ever the spokesperson, demanded answers. "Sir! Who are you, and why did you risk your life to save us from certain death?"
The man chuckled—a dry, knowing sound that spoke of vast experience and tired wisdom. "Defeat those strong enough to command a legion with a gesture? You three were about to throw your lives away in a moment of childish folly."
"Answer us!" Jai pressed, his frustration overriding his gratitude. "Who are you?"
The man sighed, a gesture of weary resignation. He slowly reached up and removed the large, conical straw hat.
Beneath it was the face of an old man, weathered and lined, his eyes deep pools of sadness and determination.
Winston stared, his jaw dropping in utter shock, and then the name left his lips in a breathless gasp.
"Minister Brokk!"
Jai, James, and Zayn froze, the name echoing in their minds like a thunderclap. The man they believed to be a distant, failed Minister, the man they had just been told was living a broken life as a craftsman in exile, stood right before them.
The person they had deemed an enemy was the very shadow who fought for their lives. What truths, and what secrets of the Shadow Ledger, was this broken nobleman about to reveal.