Chapter 37 – The End of a Trail
Though he didn't yet know the full truth, Dai Wanli felt a heavy pressure pressing against his chest—a quiet dread he couldn't shake.
The incident at the Mori estate—from the poisoned magic to the public disgrace of his grandson—had stained the family name.
And deep down, he knew... this was far from over.
"We're leaving."
His voice was calm, but every syllable carried weight. Even Dai Izuma, who had been raging nonstop moments ago, lowered his head in silence.
But just before they turned to go, Izuma couldn't help but snap back.
"If I don't get a proper explanation in three days… I'll take this directly to His Majesty!"
Mori Haizou's face drained of all color. His knees buckled—and far too slowly to avoid shame, the unmistakable sound of damp fabric could be heard.
But the one most furious… wasn't from the Mori clan. It was Dai Wanli himself.
Without hesitation, he struck his grandson—twice. Hard. Izuma's body flew like a ragdoll, collapsing before the shocked eyes of the guests.
"FOOL!" he roared. "Do you want to drag our entire clan into the grave?!"
Once they returned to the Dai residence, Wanli gave his orders immediately.
The entire district was to be swept—every back alley, every aging bridge, even the underground tunnels.
Sixteen individuals who tried to escape… were executed on the spot.
Six more corpses were found in the city's waterways—bound, silenced, and discarded.
Each body was preserved by freezing magic. Their faces were reconstructed by alchemical artists and sent to the Ministry of Justice.
An official notice followed:
100,000 silver lien for any valid identification.
Double the reward for information on servants who had fled from their own households.
"The one behind this... must be found," Dai Wanli said, his voice like steel.
But in the chaos of the manhunt, no one remembered how it all truly began.
[Flashback – Three Years Ago, Before the Red Valley]
Three days before the bloodshed at the Red Valley, Dai Wanli received a message.
Not a formal scroll. Not a letter with seals.
Just a torn scrap of blood-stained fabric, slipped beneath the cushion of his private meditation chamber.
"Come to the northern ruins. Bring conviction, not soldiers.
They watch from beyond the boundary.
Only you can carry what must not fall into their hands."
There was no name. But Dai Wanli recognized the signature—etched in blood magic.
Only one man could have left that mark.
Enjin, the Architect.
Once the Imperial Court's most gifted mage—gatekeeper of dimensional crossings, defender of resonant space.
But after touching something forbidden… he vanished.
Erased from every official record.
Rumors said he'd been exiled for treason. But the truth ran darker.
He knew too much. And the Empire—unable to kill him, but unwilling to let him live—cast him out beyond the map, to the lands forgotten by time.
Banished by the very world he once helped protect.
And when Dai Wanli found him again, at the edge of a crumbling temple deep in the northern ruins—his robes were in tatters, his body skeletal… but his eyes burned with impossible pressure.
"That creature… was never meant to exist in our world," Enjin whispered.
"But I can't protect it anymore. You're the only one insane—and strong—enough to hide it."
Dai Wanli had almost refused. But when the sky thundered and the ground trembled from unseen pressure… he understood. He no longer had a choice.
He took the box.
That same night, as something monstrous closed in, Enjin sacrificed himself to buy Wanli time to escape.
The mage's body exploded into raw energy, leaving behind a magical distortion that would confound even the sharpest tracking spells.
From that night forward, Dai Wanli had known no peace.
[Back to the Present]
"Who opened their mouth?" he murmured.
"Who… knew about the box?"
The ripples of chaos had reached the capital's very core.
The Six Pillar Council called an emergency closed session.
The Liu family condemned the Dai clan for destabilizing the city.
The Mori chose ambiguity—waiting to see who would fall first.
But the Abe clan... remained silent.
Not a word in public. But behind the scenes, Abe Youran's shadow division had already mobilized.
Every servant who had ever touched a classified scroll, relic, or operational plan—was summoned.
Those who hesitated under questioning—were tortured.
Those who refused to speak—disappeared.
"Better to kill a thousand innocents," Abe Youran said,
"than let a single traitor slip free."
Whispers began to spread through the capital:
"Is the Dai clan hiding something from the Emperor?"
"And if so… is it dangerous enough to bring down the throne?"
The Imperial Oversight Commission began moving in silence.
Old buildings suddenly collapsed.
Merchants vanished.
Palace record-keepers were summoned—one by one—for private audits.
The capital held its breath.
And amidst this storm of unrest...
Hideo Takumi, the unknowing spark behind it all, slept soundly in his room.
The Goldensilk Sandalwood Box lay beside him.
With a lazy breath and a muttered grumble, he shifted slightly and murmured:
"Heh… even softer than the palace pillows."
He had no idea that in three short days, the entire map of noble power would tremble—
and at the very center of that quake...
was him.