Chapter 170

Weaver Household

Royal carriages stood silently in front of the grand estate. Royal Knights flanked them, standing beside their horses with still, disciplined posture.

Inside the mansion, silence reigned.

Frecio stood quietly outside the house leader’s room, his eyes resting on the old paintings hung across the hallway. The silence was heavy—no voices, no footsteps. The air itself seemed to hold its breath.

No servants were allowed on the first floor, not even the head maid or private butlers.

In the room beyond, Prince Charles sat alone on a velvet couch. Laid out before him was a lavish spread—platters of rich foods, colorful desserts, fine wines, and exotic beverages. But not a single dish had been touched by him.

His eyes were locked on a single sheet of paper. The longer he stared, the more the sweat gathered on his brow.

*Knock-Knock*

The sudden sound startled him. His head snapped toward the door, heart thudding at an incredible speed.

*Phew...*

Exhaling slowly, Charles straightened his back and adjusted his posture, cracking his neck a bit... He slowly wiped off the sweat from his forehead.

*Crack*

"May I come in, Your Highness?" came an old man’s voice from behind the door.

"Come in," Charles answered calmly, maintaining his posture.

*Click*

The door opened, and an elderly man in his sixties stepped in. He had long, red-and-white hairs, neat attire, and a pair of yellow tinted goggles over his eyes.

"Your Highness, forgive me for the delay. I had to change clothes after the wolf hunting trip—"

"I don’t care, Mr. Gregory Weaver," Charles said sharply, meeting his gaze with cold eyes.

Gregory blinked with a confused expression but he wasn’t afraid of Charles a bit. "I noticed you haven’t touched the food. Are you perhaps upset by my late arriv—"

"Mr. Weaver," Charles cut in immediately, "I respect you. I truly do. But my appetite is fucking dead." His voice cracked slightly. "I... I apologize for the language, sir."

Gregory’s expression shifted to concern. "Is this about the Truvale Checkpost ?"

"Yes, sir. We went there, Last night." Charles’s voice was neutral, almost calm but filled with tension at the same time.

"Did they tell you anything, Your Highness? I’m sure there was some problem with the ravens, it was impossible for them to flew all the way here in a snow storm like last ni—" Gregory began, walking closer and settling onto the couch across from Charles. He reached for a teacup gently.

"They’re all dead, Mr. Weaver," Charles interrupted, his voice dead serious.

*Thud*

The teacup slipped from Gregory’s hand and shattered on the floor immediately.

*Tang*

"W-What did you say, Your Highness?" Gregory asked, stunned.

"All twenty thousand soldiers are dead, Mr. Weaver." Charles said, his tone unwavering. "That’s why there’s been no response from the Knights. That’s why the supply wagons never returned. They were never late. They just couldn’t do it... Because they were dead."

Gregory’s jaw trembled. "Th-that’s not possible... No one can kill that many soldiers, not in just three hours. You must’ve been—"

"I saw the bodies myself, Mr. Weaver." Charles said, cutting him off again. "Only one survivor—a child. He’s sitting in my carriage, right now. I haven’t gone to my father yet. I came here first... because I need answers before I face him.

You have been on the battlefields Mr. Weaver, you know everything about Demons, Monsters, Elfs and other things more than anyone else in this kingdom. Please help me."

Gregory stared at the floor, his face still twisted in disbelief.

"Mr. Weaver ? Can you hear me ?" Charles said louder as he waved his hand in front of his face.

Gregory flinched as he came out of his deep thinking ."Y-Yes. Tell me... how did they die ?"

"In the most brutal way imaginable," Charles said, his voice now laced with horror and fear. "Their organs were ripped out. Their faces were... chewed off. Non-combatants like chefs and wagon drivers, took their own lives. Poison, daggers, anything they could find. Soldiers were eaten. Torn apart into pieces, it was a horrible view."

He pulled a piece of paper from his coat and placed it on the table.

"I found this symbol carved into the back of one of the highest-ranking knights. Sir Esward."

Gregory leaned forward and picked it up immediately. The symbol was an eye, etched into the center of a claw mark.

His hands began to tremble.

His eyes widened in fear.

Sweat began to roll down his temples.

The silence in the room turned suffocating as Gregory stared at the symbol.

Charles swallowed hard. "Is it a demon? An elf? What is it? You know this symbol. I can see it in your face. Tell me what is this ?"

Gregory stared into Charles’s eyes.

"A-A human," he said finally, his voice almost hollow.

"What?" Charles stepped forward, stunned. "That... that can’t be. No human is capable of doing this."

"This... This was the insignia of the Lopez Squad, Your highness." Gregory said, still staring at the paper.

"The what? What’s that?" Charles asked with a confused expression as he didn’t knew anything about it.

Gregory stood abruptly. "Your Highness, you shouldn’t be involved in this. I need to take this matter directly to the king."

Charles moved to block him. "No. I came to you first because I want to know what happened. I’ll decide what reaches my father. Tell me. What is the Lopez Squad?"

Gregory’s eyes searched Charles’s face, then he sighed in resignation.

"Fine. But if we’re doing this... we’re going to the Helix Library. Come." Gregory replied with a serious expression.

Without another word, Gregory opened the door and stepped out. Charles followed closely behind. Frecio joined them silently.

"Are you leaving again, dear?" A woman in her sixties, dressed in a noble gown, approached Gregory with a puzzled look.

"Yes, darling. Urgent work has come up,

I will be back by evening," Gregory replied, barely slowing down.

The three men exited the mansion and climbed into the carriage.

"Take us to the Helix Library. Immediately," Charles ordered a knight through the window.

"Yes, Your Highness," the knight replied and relayed the command to the driver.

The carriage began moving. Behind them, the Royal Knights followed on horseback, hooves pounding the cobblestone roads.

As the royal procession made its way through the capital, every citizen—noble and commoner alike—fell to their knees, bowing their heads as the carriage passed.

Within ten minutes, the grand doors of the Helix Library came into view. The carriage halted. All three stepped down and started walking towards the gates.

"Frecio, stay with the carriage, you can’t come." Gregory instructed as he looked at Frecio.

"But, I am with Your Highness—"

"Stay," Charles said firmly. "I’ll be back soon."

"As you command, Your Highness." Frecio nodded reluctantly as he immediately stepped back.

As Gregory and Charles entered the library, the atmosphere changed. The moment the librarians and scholars on the first floor saw them, they froze—and then bowed immediately.

"Continue reading," Gregory said without pause, moving to the center of the library. He looked upward.

"Can you take us up, Your majesty ?" Gregory asked with a confused expression.

"Yes, Alcomoto fleios." Charles immediately chanted a spell.

The air shimmered with magic as both men rose into the air, floating upward. Within seconds, they arrived on the sixth floor.

A large, iron-reinforced door loomed ahead.

Charles hesitated. "I... I don’t think I’m allowed on this floor yet, Sir."

Gregory reached into his coat. "You are now entering inside under the weaver household’s authority. Though I must say, I’m surprised your father hasn’t granted you access yet."

He pulled out a golden key and inserted it into the keyhole.

*Click*

The door swung open and both of them entered indi the library.

Dust choked the air. Darkness filled the room.

"Frier." Gregory spoek as he chanted a spell this time.

Torches ignited in unison, casting flickering light over hundreds of ancient books stacked within towering wooden shelves.

"Woah... What is this place ?" Charles whispered, taking it all in.

"This is where the real truth sleeps," Gregory said. "Our kingdom’s growth wasn’t from hard work alone. We made deals. Took shortcuts. Formed... some unholy alliances. These are the records of wars fought, secrets buried, and the names of those who helped build this kingdom—names we no longer speak.

Only those houses are permitted in this library that helped this kingdom in it’s making. One of those houses was the Lopez Household."

He walked forward with purpose.

"Twelve... thirteen... fourteen..." Gregory muttered as he counted spines. "This one."

He pulled out the fifteenth book on the right. The dust clouded, then settled.

Two words emerged on the brown leather cover:

’Lopez Squad’

Gregory stared at it for a moment, then handed it to Charles.

"I don’t know everything... but what little I do know is this: until today, it was considered a myth. Remember one thing, Your Highness... whatever you read here in this room, shall not go out with you." Gregory spoke with a serious expression.