The carriage rattled down from the last ridge, leaving the rough mountain paths behind. The air warmed noticeably, carrying the scent of open fields instead of cold stone. Noel leaned slightly toward the window, eyes narrowing as the lands of House Thorne spread out below.

Wide plains rolled into vineyards and scattered villages, all orbiting the mansion at the center. The estate itself loomed like a fortress dressed as nobility: tall gray walls, towers of carved stone, banners of crimson and black fluttering above the gates. Servants and guards lined the road as the carriages passed through, their eyes carefully neutral—though Noel felt the weight of their stares on him.

The system's familiar glow flashed at the corner of his vision:

[Mission: Prevent the Fall of House Thorne.]

[Time Limit: 45 Days.]

[Reward: The Truth.]

'Because of the mission, I have to care now. I have to prevent it. But what exactly am I looking for? What's the trigger? Corruption? Betrayal? A war from outside?'

He adjusted Revenant Fang at his hip as the carriage rolled past the gates. 'Forty-five days… and I don't even know where the cracks are supposed to be.'

The carriage passed under the iron gates. The doors of the mansion opened wide, servants bowing as Albrecht stepped out first, his presence like a blade cutting through the air. Sylvette followed, composed as ever, but Noel caught the flicker of tension in her expression.

When he finally descended, the whispers sharpened around him, though none dared raise their heads. He adjusted Revenant Fang at his side, ignoring them.

'Forty-five days. This place might as well be a time bomb.'

He followed the others inside, the echo of his footsteps swallowed by the massive entrance hall.

Noel pushed open the heavy oak door to his room and paused. The hinges groaned like they hadn't been touched in years.

Dust hung in the air like a fine mist. Cobwebs clung to the corners of the ceiling and even to the frame of the window. The curtains, once deep red, had dulled to a tired brown, and the stone floor bore a faint film of grit under his boots.

He stepped inside slowly, Revenant Fang tapping softly at his side. 'Figures. Of course no one bothered. Out of sight, out of mind.'

For a moment he just stood there, staring at the room. A bed, a desk, a wardrobe. Nothing else. It felt less like a chamber for a son of House Thorne and more like a forgotten guest room in some distant inn.

'If I have to stay here a month, I'm not living in a dump.'

With a quiet sigh, he shrugged off his coat and set his dimensional pouch on the desk. He found an old cloth in one of the drawers and started wiping down surfaces, dragging it across the desk until the dust finally lifted. He opened the window to let in a draft, scattering cobwebs and stale air.

The routine steadied him. Clean desk, clean bed, clean window. Small things, but they put his mind in order.

When the worst of the dirt was gone, Noel straightened, leaning against the window frame and looking out at the courtyard below. Servants hurried like ants, guards patrolled with mechanical precision.

'This place looks strong from the outside, but if it's rotten inside, it won't matter. If the system sent me here, there's a fault line somewhere. I just have to find it.'

He turned back to the room, gray eyes narrowing at the heavy wardrobe and the shelves above it. 'Might as well start here. No sense wasting time.'

Noel began methodically searching through the room, determined to make the most of every hour.

Noel left his room once it was livable, Revenant Fang strapped at his back. The hallways of the Thorne mansion stretched long and pristine, lit by chandeliers and lined with oil paintings of ancestors glaring down from gilded frames. The stone floors were polished, the walls immaculate.

He moved slowly, boots echoing in the silence, scanning for anything out of place. Servants bowed their heads quickly when they passed him, and guards saluted stiffly. Everything was perfect on the surface—just like in the Holy Capital.

'That's what bothers me. Too clean, too normal. The last time I walked halls like this, there were monsters disguised as priests hiding beneath the sanctity of the church. It looked safe… until it wasn't.'

He paused at a tall window overlooking the courtyards. The estate was alive—workers moving with purpose, guards patrolling in rhythm. No weakness visible.

Noel frowned. 'Infiltrators again? Could be. It would explain why the system flagged this place. If the Pillars are involved… maybe the Third and Fourth. The twins.'

His hand brushed over Revenant Fang's hilt, tightening unconsciously. 'Without Charlotte's blessing to sniff out corruption, I'm going in blind. It'll be complicated. One mistake and I'm done.'

He resumed walking, slipping past locked doors, passing through the dining hall, then the library—its doors sealed tight with iron locks. He tried the handle, but it didn't budge.

Figures.

Each corridor he walked felt heavier. The portraits watched too closely. The silence seemed rehearsed.

Noel exhaled through his nose, jaw set. 'If the system wants me to prevent the fall, the rot is already here. The only question is where it starts. And how deep it goes.'

He continued deeper into the mansion, steps steady, expression calm. But inside, every instinct screamed that the cracks were there—just waiting for him to trip into them.

"Young master Noel."

The voice came from behind him—low, steady, carrying the weight of years. Noel turned his head sharply.

There stood Frederick, the butler of House Thorne. Thin, almost skeletal beneath his immaculate coat, white hair combed perfectly despite his hunched frame. His eyes, pale but sharp, fixed on Noel with a calm that made it clear he had been watching for longer than a moment.

"I don't believe your father has given you permission to enter the library," Frederick said, his words clipped but respectful.

Noel straightened, his hand slipping from the handle. "Actually, he did. A long time ago." He let a faint edge of a smile touch his lips. "But I suppose I'll have to remind him."

Frederick neither frowned nor smiled. He merely inclined his head, as if filing the answer away. Then he adjusted his cuffs and spoke again.

"Regardless, there is another matter. Tonight, the family will gather for dinner. It will not be a casual meal. The future heir of House Thorne will be discussed. Your presence is expected."

Noel's smirk faded, replaced by something flatter, colder. 'Of course. Straight to the point.'

Frederick stepped aside, gesturing down the hall with a frail but steady hand. "Until then, I would advise you to rest, young master. You will need a clear mind."

Noel studied him for a moment longer. Frederick's posture was bent, his voice quiet, but there was a sharpness behind his gaze that reminded Noel of a blade hidden in a sheath.

"…Fine," Noel said at last, brushing past him. "I'll be there."

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