Chapter 119 - The Conspiracy

The moment the words hit Vern's ears, they triggered a cascade of thoughts, each more alarming than the last. No, wait. That can't be!

Purple unlit lamps hung everywhere in that manor, the same ones that burned down Eleonora's archive. He didn't need to be up close to identify that peculiar frame—perfect for cyclical condensation.

His heart began to race, pounding against his chest as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place with a chilling precision. The signs he had overlooked, the subtle hints that he had dismissed as mere coincidences, all pointed to a singular, terrifying truth.

This is how they targeted the people they wanted dead during Duskfall!

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The thought sent a shudder down his spine, the mere scope and insidiousness of the plot making him feel weak. It was a perfect crime with no evidence—all of it burnt down and buried beyond time itself.

The masterminds had to know everything about Duskfall beforehand, including the reversal of time and that the dead remained dead forever, to plan such a targeted mass murder.

However, he soon snapped out of the panic. No. I am being too hasty. Yeah. It could be a coincidence that both these establishments used the same set of lamps. It didn't need to be a trend.

"Huh, is something the matter, kid?" asked Cedric, waving his hand in front of him.

"Oh, hah, nothing. I just saw some contraptions I thought were outdated long ago." Vern made excuses. He had no plans of speaking up about this matter directly.

Under no circumstances could he let it slip that he'd survived Duskfall. It may seem like a thing of the past already, but if someone had indeed orchestrated this mass murder, and Vern brought it to the light—

A cold shiver ran down his spine, and he shook his head, No. I can't let such a notion take root in my mind.

Hensen's words back in the library suggested that his Mistress had noticed him breaking the decree by trying to enlighten himself during the Duskfall.

Who was to say they wouldn't get the wind of it this time? On top of that, the all-seeing surveillance method they used on Esther only further fueled his paranoia.

This is too big for me.

Luckily, Cedric wasn't the best at judging faces, or this would've become a problem. He wiped the cold sweat on his face and tried to ask something related instead, "Hah, how does one even flag these places as anomalies?"

"Well, it's just places where an unusual number of people died."

"Then, did Vigil ever find out what went wrong with them?" It was only natural to be curious about that, right? Instead, not asking about it would be the odd thing.

Cedric shook his head. "Early on, we spent quite a lot of resources to try and figure this out, but after multiple failures, most of us came to an agreement that it wasn't worth the effort to solve a mystery about dead people. Not when so many more would die if we spent that time more productively."

Vern couldn't argue with that logic. Yet, he wanted something, so he pushed, "I see. Then, are we completely clueless?"

"I wouldn't say that. We have multiple theories based on the circumstantial evidence." Then he narrowed his eyes and added, "However, I can't share them with you. Not unless your clearance reaches the fifth shade."

Oh? Vern's expression sank as he rested his head on the window. "I…see."

Cedric extended both his arms, "Don't blame me, kid. These rules exist for your safety. Higher clearance information generally involves high shade sequence Observers, and you really don't want to be mixed with them."

Vern sighed and nodded. "I was just curious, don't worry about it."

The man spent a minute or so straightening his crumpled hat without taking it off before speaking up again, "However…the locations of these places are public information. So, if you're really interested, we can stop by some of them right now."

Vern's eyes shined. I guess dealing with all those residents on his behalf wasn't in vain. Not letting all of his excitement creep into his expression, Vern replied with a balanced amount of enthusiasm, "Yes, that would be great. We don't even need to stop by, I just wanna see them from afar."

"Hmm, we can always go some other time, you know?" He eyed Vern's bandaged shoulder, which had a bit of red seeping into it. "Your wounds aren't completely healed."

Vern shrugged, "It's fine. The pain's almost gone, anyway." It hadn't.

Repositioning his hat, Cedric shouted, "Mr. Driver, can we pass through Marshal Street and Agatha Road's intersection?"

"Yes, sir!"

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Vern entered the Vigil alongside Cedric, a solemn expression on his face. He was right. He was more than fucking right!

They passed by ten different locations—a couple of them cleansed, but those that weren't, all had Ruppert's sphere as their primary source of light. Not one or two, but each and every one of them.

The implications were more than obvious to Vern. Someone had popularized and supplied Ruppert's spheres to the demographic they wanted dead during the Duskfall. If he remembered correctly, Fundamentalists and modern nobles were the earliest adopters of that mechanical wonder.

Fundamentalists were simple creatures, really. They adored efficiency, and this sphere was the very pinnacle of the notion. Even his master had ordered a dozen for their lab. He wondered if it was good luck that there weren't enough in stock back then. That was the reason he tried to steal one from Eleonora's archive—for research.

This…is this why most fundamentalists died during the Duskfall? The mere thought disgusted him. But he knew it made sense.

Most of the establishments they'd been to were hosting parties and gatherings for the fundamentalists who had congregated in Elmhurst from all around the world for the annual conference.

After all, nobles were the primary employers of fundamentalists. Some, like his master, performed independent research that sent waves throughout the world.

But most of his kind was dependent on nobles to fund their projects and help them make a name for themselves. Many fundamentalists even joked about aristocracy being their banks and whores.

Obviously, these nobles were also the ones who'd benefitted the most from such a relationship. If they bet on the right person at the right time, they might become shareholders of a technology that could make them more money than kings of some small countries.

Yet, all that is now gone, he sighed.

So many great minds—dead because someone decided to play god. No, a devil, really. At least the 'god' gave them a chance to survive the Duskfall. This devil, however, snatched even that opportunity and stabbed them in the back. Killed those who had the highest odds of surviving this nightmare.

He'd analyzed this against all the information he had. Hensen's Aetheric Collective was a potential culprit, but there was no solid evidence to back up that claim. Yes, they'd come for him, but it wasn't because he was a Fundamentalist. They wanted him dead because he'd managed to enlighten himself through Objectivity.

In his subtle attempts to highlight these parallels to Cedric, he was met with no response. Why? Because there were tens of other minor similarities.

Most of these villas and banquet halls also have other common features like heating systems, pipes, grills, chimneys, and whatnot. They were such mundane aspects of architecture that no one would think twice about them, at least not as the scythe of a cunning reaper.

This only hammered home the treacherousness of this large-scale scheme in Vern's mind. It was hidden in plain sight, yet it had stripped the planet of its sharpest minds.

As far as he remembered, Sterling Ruppert, a famed fundamentalist, made these spheres. Someone who was supposed to present on this sphere's intricacies at the conference. He didn't know much about the man.

Guess it's time to dig up all there's about him while being discrete. It would be risky to chase the direct leads, but information about a fundamentalist should be mundane enough to find in unmonitored archives.

"—kid"

"Oh, yes?"

"Remember to submit that Perceptual Artifact for inspection as soon as possible."

Vern looked back in puzzlement, "What perceptual artifact?"

Cedric looked at him like he was some idiot, "The pendant. The pendant you brought back from behind the mirror."

"Oh? That's an artifact?" he blurted, excitement coloring his voice.

Cedric opened his mouth, only to stop and shake his head, "Just go and submit it right away. You can collect it later if it is safe and doesn't need to be suppressed in the whispering repository. If not, you'll be compensated equally."

Woah! Why didn't Cedric tell him this during the ride?

He pulled out the pendant with a small mirror hanging on its end. However, that's when he remembered something important. His eyes snapped towards the clock hanging by the wall, and his mind whirled.

"Fuck! It's already half past three. My training starts at four!" He blurted out. He was tired as hell, but he wasn't going to miss even a single day of the training, if possible!

So he looked at that pendant with a gaze of longing before thrusting it into Cedric's hand, "Can you please submit this on my behalf? I need to drop by the infirmary real quick before my training session starts."

"Wait—" Cedric couldn't even respond before Vern shouted while running, "I'll check it out later."

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"No, Master Vern, you'll have to rest for the day."

"But—"

"I'll go inform Lady Amelia. She was with Master Akira last I saw," and before Vern could protest any further, De Flanc closed the door on him and left with a bow.

Vern sighed. Not knowing where the infirmary was, he found De Flanc instead, only for the man to send him back to his room and handle everything.

"Oww," he cried as a doctor in a plague mask and black robe shone a green lamp on his leg. He felt something squirm in his wound, but he held on.

Soon, the doctor moved over the green light to his shoulder, his right arm, and finally above his head.

Woah… a sense of sereneness washed all over Vern as the dull heaviness that had settled down in his head slowly soothed away. And then, right before the drowsiness was about to claim him, the doctor turned off the lamp and walked away.

Huh? That's it?

"Wait, doctor." They stopped. "Am I healed? Then, can I go for the training?"

The doctor latched the lamp to their belt and rummaged through a pouch hanging on the same strap before pulling out a small device. Vern squinted his eyes to figure out what it was, but suddenly, out came a deep booming sound, "NO!"

Vern involuntarily picked up the pillow next to him in defense. What the hell is that? Soon, however, he shook his head and tried to communicate another time, "So, am I healed or not?"

The doctor clicked on the contraption again, "NO!"

Vern recoiled, almost wanting to plug his ears. It was too freaking loud. Yet, he attempted one final time, "I see, doctor. Then, can I train tomorrow?"

The doctor rummaged through the pouch once again, only to pull out another tiny thing, and "YES!" it boomed.

Not letting the bewilderment show on his face, Vern smiled and responded, "I…see. Thank you, then. Have a great day."

They pulled out a third contraption, "OKAY!" and walked out of the room, closing the door behind them.

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"What the hell was that?" he murmured, adjusting into a better posture. De Flanc really pulled through for him by arranging all this.

Soon, his eyes landed on the clock, and he let out a sigh. It was already ten minutes past four. I wonder how Mistress Amelia feels about this.

Yet, his eyes felt heavy, and before he knew it, everything was dark.

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Knock Knock