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 in the corners, casting long, distorted shadows on 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 emerging from the rift between dimensions, appearing a mere meter away from William.
Before William could even finish drawing breath, the cold, sharp kiss of steel pressed against the skin of his neck.
Nightingale's silver dagger gleamed dangerously under the moonlight reflecting off the windowpane. Its point rested mere centimeters from William's carotid artery, held with the unwavering firmness of a master assassin. She was no longer the curious, invisible observer haunting the castle corridors; she was a predator. Her eyes, hidden by the monochromatic veil of the Mist World, now shone with a murderous, suspicious intensity that seemed to burn through William's bravado.
— "How do you know that name?" Her voice was a frigid whisper, vibrating with a threat that would make Graycastle's bravest knight step back. — "Veronica died a long time ago. She was buried under the ashes of a ruined house. Who are you and who do you really work for? If you lie, if I sense the slightest hint of falsehood on your breath, the Prince will have to find a new 'consultant' before sunrise."
William felt a drop of cold sweat slide 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. His signature mischievous smile didn't fade, even though his heart beat a frantic rhythm against his ribs. Mentally, his finger hovered over the mental trigger of his [Teleportation] skill. He knew he could appear 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 to 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 peculiar way of seeing the world — gives us glimpses of what is and what will be. We know you come from a fallen noble family of Graycastle. We know you seek the Holy Mountain — a place that, to be honest, is more of a dangerous, frozen myth than the refuge you're looking for."
At that exact moment, the heavy oak door of the office swung open with a smooth, deliberate creak. Arthur walked in, his silver-gray tunic rustling softly. He didn't look surprised, nor did he attempt to draw a weapon. He maintained his composed, almost clinical posture, his eyes scanning the scene with the calm of a man who had simulated that exact encounter dozens of times in his mind. He knew William's sharp tongue 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 Timothy's spies, nor do we serve Garcia's whims. 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 hiding in the shadows: to ensure that Anna and Nana not only survive the winter, but survive to an age where they no longer have to hide."
Roland, who had been watching the scene while massaging his temples, finally stood up. Cheng Yan's engineering pragmatism struggled to keep up 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 had only just met himself.
— "Nightingale, please... put the dagger away," ordered Roland, reclaiming the authority of a prince in his voice. — "They can be irritating, 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 laboratory instead of swinging from a rope. If they say your name is Veronica, I am inclined to believe them — although I still intend to have a long conversation with them about where, exactly, they get all this intelligence."
Nightingale hesitated. Her eyes flickered between Arthur's piercing, analytical gaze and William's bold, almost reckless confidence. She searched for the "scent" of a lie, but all she found was a terrifyingly calm sincerity. Slowly, with a fluid movement born of years of combat, she withdrew the dagger. She didn't vanish into the mist; instead, she remained visible — a figure of melancholic, dangerous beauty, her golden hair catching the light as she pulled back her hood.
— "No one outside my direct bloodline should know that name," Nightingale said, her voice still sharp and cold. — "If you aren't spies, then you are something much worse: men who possess secrets that do not belong to them. 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 fact that her hand still hovered near the hilt of her sword. He was a gambler at heart and knew that high-risk dialogue options often yielded the best rewards.
— "The world is smaller than you think, Veronica," he said, using her true 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 quest for the Holy Mountain. We know you are here to evaluate Roland and possibly take Anna and Nana to join your Association. But you must already know... we have no intention of hurting them. You can sense the truth in our words, can't you?"
Nightingale let out a short, bitter laugh, never taking her eyes off 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 truly want to protect them, why would you keep them here? This castle is damp, this town is poor, and the Months of Demons are about to turn this entire region into a morgue overflowing with black blood."
Arthur stepped forward, adjusting his tunic with an experienced, stoic calm. — "Because the Holy Mountain you seek is a mirage, Nightingale. It's a myth that will lead your sisters to a cold, lonely death in the ice. You are 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 saw on the wall and the weapons we are developing, we will transform Border Town into a bastion that not even a demonic horde will be able to breach. But if you take them now, you will be condemning them to the agony of Awakening without the medical and scientific support we are building. You will be trading a future for a ghost story."
Roland crossed his arms, facing the witch who now seemed very real to him. — "Arthur and William are mysteries even to me, Nightingale. But their contributions are undeniable. They recognized Anna's value before I even knew what a witch was. They suggested the wall. They gave me the tools to challenge the Church. Give us the chance to prove that this town can be the sanctuary you seek."
Nightingale looked at Roland, then at the two friends. She still saw Arthur and William as dangerous anomalies — keepers of forbidden knowledge she couldn't decipher. But she couldn't deny the "scent of truth" radiating from them. It was a fragrance of iron, ink, and a strange, stubborn hope.
— "I will stay," she declared, pulling the hood back up to obscure her face 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 from here before the first drop of black blood touches the ground. And as for you," she paused, fixing a lethal glare on William as her form began to dissolve into the gray mist, "...try calling me by that name again, and I'll make sure you wake up without the tongue you use so recklessly."
William let out a long, shaky breath when she disappeared completely. A mischievous smile slowly crept back onto his face, even as the air in the room finally returned to its normal temperature.
— "Well," murmured William, rubbing his neck where the blade had been. — "I think she likes me."
Arthur rolled his eyes and went back to the maps. The first real bridge between the castle and the witches had been built, but with the wind howling outside, everyone knew the true test was only just beginning.