CHAPTER 27
CURSED MANOR
A month and a half. That’s how long it took for the entourage to leave the lands of Archon Innokentios and cross into Archon Hanying’s territory. For Mark, the time passed in a blur. By day, he rode in the middle of the column, flanked by armored riders. By night, when the group set up camp, he either kept to himself or swapped tales with General Liao Cheng, recounting his past achievements before his capture.
Finally, they reached Sinhung, a bustling border town where the entourage could rest before continuing to Zhongdao, the capital of Archon Hanying’s realm. Liao Cheng, a few of his bodyguards, and Mark made their way to the town’s largest inn, its warm glow and chatter welcoming after weeks of travel.
Inside, they found a table and ordered wine and side dishes. As Mark sipped from his cup, he remarked, “I’ve noticed something. The countryside here is surprisingly peaceful. No sign of bandits. That’s a big change from the lands of Archon Innokentios and Archon Anthemios, where they seemed to be everywhere.”
Liao Cheng chuckled, swirling his wine. “It all comes down to numbers. Our realm has more people than theirs. With the war dragging on, the other Archons have had to send nearly every able man to the front, leaving their lands unguarded. But Archon Hanying’s population is larger. We can send plenty of soldiers to fight while still keeping enough behind to patrol the countryside and deal with bandits—or worse, monsters.”
“I’d be out of work here,” Mark joked with a chuckle.
He had to admit, being the General’s servant wasn’t nearly as bad as he’d feared. Compared to his time under Captain Qin Yang, it was practically a vacation. Other than trailing after the General, all he really did was swap stories about his adventures. And now, here he was, sitting in a fine inn, sipping wine, and savoring tender, flavorful duck.
Still, Mark hadn’t resigned himself to servitude. If he weren’t constantly surrounded by armored cavalry and guards, he’d be gone in a heartbeat. He missed the freedom of wandering the land as a sword-for-hire, living on his own terms. But even he could admit his current situation wasn’t the worst fate imaginable.
After a few hours of rest, the entourage was back on the road. Nearly two months of travel passed, mostly uneventful, until they finally arrived at Zhongdao, the capital of Archon Hanying’s realm. Even from miles away, the massive city walls dominated the landscape. They were towering rectangles of stone, fortified with watchtowers and enormous bronze gates that stood several meters tall and wide. Dozens of guards manned each gate, with many more stationed along the walls and towers.
As they approached, Mark marveled at the sheer scale of the city. It sprawled far beyond any settlement he had ever seen, bustling with life even before they reached the gates. This was, without a doubt, the grandest city on the entire continent of Xerath.
The soldiers stationed at one of the massive bronze gates snapped to attention as the entourage approached. They immediately recognized the banners carried by the cavalrymen—these were the forces of General Liao Cheng. As the entourage entered Zhongdao, Mark was hit by a whirlwind of sensations. The air was thick with an overwhelming mix of perfumes, sizzling street food, and the sweat of bustling crowds. The noise was just as chaotic—voices shouting, laughing, haggling, all blending with the clatter of hooves and the creak of cartwheels.
The streets were packed with people, turning their progress into a slow and awkward crawl. General Liao Cheng, however, had the better deal. Seated comfortably in a wooden carrier near the head of the column, he avoided the chaos of the streets entirely.
As they pressed forward, the General made a subtle hand signal through the small window of his carrier. One of the cavalrymen riding alongside him took the cue, relayed the order, and the entire entourage came to a halt. A cavalryman trotted back to Mark and said, “The General wants you to move up beside his carrier.”
Mark, who had been riding near the middle of the group, surrounded on all sides by cavalrymen, found the riders parting to let him through. He guided his horse forward until he was level with the General’s carrier.
Liao Cheng slid the curtain of his window aside. “Most of my men and servants will head to my manor,” he said. “I, along with a few of my trusted followers—and you—will be going to the Imperial Palace.”
Mark gave a simple nod.
Most of the foot soldiers, all the servants, and a good portion of the cavalry peeled off down a side road to the right. The rest of the entourage, including Mark, continued straight ahead. Looming before them were towering walls, nearly as massive as the city’s outer walls. These colossal barriers separated the Imperial Palace from the rest of Zhongdao, enclosing what looked like an entire city within a city.
As they neared a bronze gate painted a deep red, Mark took in its sheer scale—meters tall and wide, with dozens of guards stationed along its perimeter. When the gate creaked open, it revealed a sight that made Mark’s jaw tighten in awe. The palace beyond was colossal, dwarfing anything he had ever encountered. Its grandeur stretched both in width, like a city sprawled across the horizon, and in height, soaring far above the skyline.
A vast plaza lay between the palace walls and the grand structure itself. On either side of the wide avenue, more than four thousand soldiers stood in formation, their polished blue armor glinting brilliantly under the sun. As the entourage passed through the plaza, the soldiers erupted into unified cheers: “Hurrah! Hurrah! Long live the Great General!”
The entourage came to a halt at the base of a grand staircase leading up to the palace. Liao Cheng stepped out of his carrier, and the cavalrymen dismounted. Mark slid off his horse as well, feeling the solid ground beneath his boots. The staircase before them was immense—so long it took minutes to ascend, and so wide it could have fit an army marching side by side. The palace at the top was adorned with a hip-and-gable roof and gold-plated columns that gleamed like captured sunlight.
At the entrance to the throne chamber stood a tall, elderly man with flowing white hair and a long beard. His sharp eyes reminded Mark of a hawk, and he carried himself with authority. Dressed in a regal purple silk robe, he held a fan decorated with intricate logographs. Liao Cheng bowed deeply before him, and the rest of the entourage dropped to their knees in reverence.
Mark, however, simply inclined his head in a respectful bow. He still had his pride, and kneeling didn’t sit well with him.
“Chancellor Han Fen,” Liao Cheng greeted warmly, though Mark knew this was all bullshit. “It is a pleasure to see you again, my friend.” Mark recalled the General’s countless complaints about Han Fen; the two men despised each other. But courtly appearances demanded civility.
“It is good to see you as well, great and victorious General,” the Chancellor replied, his voice smooth. “Your triumphs over Archon Innokentios have brought great glory to Archon Hanying’s realm. That is why you were summoned here—to celebrate your victories and grant you well-earned rest.” His gaze shifted to Mark, his expression curling into one of open disdain. “And who,” he said, voice dripping with contempt, “is this foreigner? And why does he not kneel before me?”
“He is my servant,” Liao Cheng answered smoothly. “I apologize for his behavior. He’s a foreigner unfamiliar with proper court etiquette.”
Mark remained silent, his face blank. He didn’t regret his choice.
“You should come inside,” Han Fen said, gesturing to the General. “His Imperial Majesty is waiting for you.”
The throne room was enormous. Dozens of courtiers and servants stood in hushed reverence, their eyes fixed on the raised dais at the far end of the chamber. Atop the dais stood Archon Hanying, an awe-inspiring figure towering over nine meters tall. Draped in a flowing yellow robe adorned with intricate patterns, he wore a crown studded with enormous diamonds that shimmered under the hall’s golden light. His beard, an impressive two meters long, hung like a silver curtain, complementing his graying hair. Compared to him, the human courtiers and servants appeared almost comically small.
Liao Cheng knelt before the Archon, his followers and Chancellor Han Fen following suit. Mark hesitated for only a moment before dropping to his knees as well. Challenging a human Chancellor was one thing, but defying a Giant and an Archon? That was a whole different game—one he wasn’t willing to play.
“You may rise,” the Archon rumbled, his voice deep and resonant as thunder. He lifted a massive hand in a casual, yet commanding gesture. “General Liao Cheng, my most loyal champion. Your victories have brought great glory and honor to my Imperial Majesty.”
“I live only to serve Your Majesty,” Liao Cheng replied, rising slowly from the polished marble floor.
From the cluster of courtiers, a younger man—likely in his late thirties, Mark guessed—stepped forward. In his hands, he held a ceremonial hu, a flat scepter-like object that symbolized his request to speak. He raised it with practiced deference.
“I grant you permission,” the Archon said, his voice like the rumble of distant mountains.
The man bowed deeply. “Your Imperial Majesty, since General Liao Cheng left the front to return here, our forces have suffered setbacks. Duke Alexandros Karamitsios has inflicted defeat after defeat on our armies. Our war with Archon Innokentios is not progressing as we had hoped. Perhaps the General could return to—”
“Silence!” Han Fen bellowed, his face a livid shade of red. “How dare you question the wisdom of His Imperial Majesty? Your insolence is intolerable!”
The Archon raised his hand, and both men immediately fell silent. “Your concern is noted and valid,” he said, his deep voice carrying a surprising gentleness. “But I believe these setbacks are temporary. Good news will come in due time. For now, General Liao Cheng has earned his rest and the celebration of his achievements. Just as tools must not be overused lest they break, so too must we care for our people to ensure they do not falter.”
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Mark stifled a snort of disbelief, keeping his head lowered to hide the flicker of amusement on his face. What a load of crap, he thought. He knew the real reason Liao Cheng had been called to court: Chancellor Han Fen had convinced the Archon that the General’s growing popularity, fueled by his stunning military victories, was a threat that needed to be contained. This wasn’t about rest—it was about politics.
“General,” Hanying said. “You are dismissed. As is this court.”
A human servant, tall at two meters but dwarfed by the Giant, bellowed, “The Imperial Court is dismissed!” His voice echoed through the grand throne room.
The courtiers shuffled out, their silken robes rustling as they went. Liao Cheng, Mark, and a few guards exited along with them. As they reached the outer hall, the courtier who had spoken up earlier approached.
“Xuan Yimu,” Liao Cheng greeted him warmly. “You’ve got guts, speaking out like that. Thank you.”
“You’re like a mentor to me,” Xuan Yimu replied with a slight bow. “Of course, I’d stand up for you. Our families have been close for generations.” His gaze shifted to Mark, taking in his rugged appearance. “Who’s this foreigner? A servant?”
Liao Cheng nodded, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “This man faced bandits, monsters, witches, and even ghosts before my men captured him. I bought him from one of my subordinates after he tried to escape captivity by killing four guards. He survived being forced to run behind a horse for hours—leashed, mind you—and still had the strength to do this escape attempt. His stamina is unreal, and his swordsmanship is extraordinary.”
“Ghosts?” Xuan Yimu asked, his eyebrows shooting up.
“Indeed. And he wields a spirit sword,” Liao Cheng added.
“A spirit sword?” Xuan Yimu’s shock was palpable. “A blade capable of banishing ghosts from our world?”
Liao Cheng nodded again.
Xuan Yimu’s expression turned grave. “I have a request, then. My family’s manor is overrun with ghosts. It’s gotten so bad we’ve had to flee. Guards have cordoned off the area to keep the spirits contained, but thankfully, they haven’t ventured into the city—otherwise, my family would have been blamed. Imperial sorcerers sent by the Chancellor have tried to deal with them but... they didn’t survive. Perhaps your swordsman can banish them?”
“I can handle it,” Mark said, his tone confident. “For a price.”
“For free,” Liao Cheng corrected, shooting him a sharp look. “But I will personally reward you if you succeed.”
Mark nodded, biting back a retort. He hated being reminded of his status as a servant rather than an independent adventurer, but the promise of a reward from Liao Cheng was enough to temper his frustration—at least for now.
The next forty minutes flew by in a blur. Liao Cheng, Mark, Xuan Yimu, and the guards left the palace grounds, making their way to Xuan Yimu’s manor. Mark, his glowing spirit sword sheathed at his side, followed closely. As they approached, the scene grew tense—the manor was sealed off from the city by dozens of guards standing in rigid formation.
As the group neared, the captain of the guards stepped forward, raising a hand. “Halt!” he barked.
Xuan Yimu quickly interjected, pointing at Mark. “It’s alright. This man has the power to banish the ghosts.”
The captain scoffed. “The Imperial Sorcerers couldn’t handle those spirits, and you expect this foreigner to succeed?”
“Do you dare question General Liao Cheng’s judgment?” Xuan Yimu snapped.
Only then did the captain notice Liao Cheng standing beside them, his imposing figure hard to miss. The captain’s demeanor shifted instantly. He bowed low. “Apologies, General. I meant no disrespect. The man may enter.”
The guards parted, allowing Mark to pass through an arched gateway and into the manor’s garden. The air smelled faintly of death, and the ground was strewn with the bodies of guards and sorcerers who had failed to contain the spirits. The garden’s once-lovely peach blossoms and bonsai trees stood eerily quiet under the swirling forms of ghosts—pale, translucent figures dressed like common peasants.
“Intruder!” one of the ghosts screamed, its voice piercing the air as it shot toward Mark like a gale.
Mark drew his spirit sword, the blade’s green glow casting an eerie light. With a swift thrust, the ghost let out a shriek before vanishing into thin air. “Return to the underworld, spirits!” he commanded.
“Nooo!” another ghost wailed. “We seek vengeance!”
“Vengeance for what?” Mark demanded, his sword raised defensively. He could handle the ghosts one at a time, but if they swarmed him, it could be over in moments.
The ghosts hissed angrily, their voices like whispers on the wind. “The masters of this manor used us to build it, only to slaughter us when it was finished. They sacrificed us to the High God, driven by the vision of a priest. We haunt this place to seek justice!”
“When was this?” Mark asked.
“Over a century ago!”
“Then why are you causing trouble now?”
“The fools broke the seal!” one ghost cried. “The basement had been sealed by magic to keep us bound. But the current masters dismissed the warnings, broke the seal, and set us free. Now we roam this cursed manor!”
Mark exhaled sharply, gripping his sword tighter. “That changes things. Let me leave this manor and I can perhaps find a better solution to all this mess.”
The spirits snarled in response, their forms growing more aggressive. They charged.
Mark braced himself, thrusting his sword into the first ghost. It screamed and vanished in a puff of light. He rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding another spirit’s icy grasp, and swung his sword again. Another ghost dissolved with a shriek, followed by a third.
From behind, a fourth ghost lunged at him while a fifth blocked his front. Mark jumped high, twisting in midair to evade their attacks, and landed gracefully. He stepped back, his sword flashing as he swung it in a wide arc. The two spirits surged forward, but Mark’s swift movements cut them down, their forms evaporating into nothingness.
The remaining ghosts hesitated, their rage faltering into fear. They hovered at a distance, no longer attacking.
Mark took the chance to back out of the manor, his glowing sword still ready. He stepped up to Xuan Yimu. “Why did you break the seal on the basement?”
Xuan Yimu hesitated, glancing at Liao Cheng. “Did you banish the ghosts?”
“Answer my question,” Mark pressed.
“Watch your tone,” Liao Cheng cut in sharply. “You’re my servant, and Xuan Yimu is a trusted family friend. Speak with respect.”
Mark’s reply was cool, his words laced with sarcasm. “Can you please answer my question?”
Xuan Yimu stammered, his confidence faltering. “I…I… My parents and grandparents always said the basement was cursed, full of ghosts. But I thought it was just old superstition. Sure, I know ghosts haunt cursed places, but this is the imperial capital! How could our manor be one of those places? Looking back, I see how foolish I was.”
Mark didn’t let up. “The ghosts told me they were the workers who built this manor. They said your family massacred them as a sacrifice to the High God because of a priest’s vision.”
Xuan Yimu’s face paled. “By the High God! I had no idea. I can’t believe my family would do something so… monstrous!”
Liao Cheng folded his arms. “Do you believe these ghosts, Mark?”
Mark gave a small shrug. “Ghosts don’t usually lie. Most of the time, they’re people who were wronged in life and cursed their killers. They haunt because they’re stuck, not because they’re deceitful. I could try to cut down every ghost in there with my spirit sword, but the place is swarming. I’d be lucky to get out alive. Even the sword has limits. Or…” He paused, considering. “We could try something else.”
“What’s that?” Xuan Yimu asked, his voice shaky.
“Not all ghosts are pure evil. Some can’t move on until they get justice for what happened to them. If you go inside, show true remorse, and make things right, most of them will probably vanish on their own.”
The captain of the guard, who had been quietly listening, burst out. “Are you insane? You want Master Xuan to walk in there? Those ghosts will kill him!”
Liao Cheng frowned. “Mark, this is risky. But I vouched for you to Xuan, and I trust your judgment. Do you truly believe this will work?”
Xuan Yimu’s brow furrowed in thought, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. After a moment, he straightened his back and said, “I’ll do it. I’m an honorable man. If my family wronged these people, it’s my responsibility to face them—not yours, and not anyone else’s. I can’t ask others to risk their lives for the sins of my ancestors.”
Mark stepped into the manor’s garden, Xuan Yimu following close behind. The ghosts shrieked, their eerie wails echoing through the air as they surged forward, ready to attack. Mark raised his glowing spirit sword, and the apparitions hesitated, retreating slightly. “Listen to what this man has to say!” Mark shouted.
Xuan Yimu dropped to his knees, bowing his head. “I never knew my ancestors committed such a horrible sin against you,” he began, his voice trembling. “But ignorance doesn’t erase my responsibility. I’ve lived in luxury, benefitting from your labor, while you were killed and forced to haunt this place instead of finding peace in the underworld. Words alone aren’t enough, even if I truly and deeply regret what happened.” Tears filled his eyes as he continued, “So I vow to honor you. I’ll build a grand tomb for your remains outside the city, and I’ll compensate your descendants, if any remain. And if this isn’t enough…” He paused, choking on his words. “You can take my life in revenge for what my family did. But please, leave others out of this—my family, my guards, and Mark. That’s all I ask.”
Mark kept his sword steady, addressing the restless spirits. “Take his offer. Let go of your hatred. It’s the only way you’ll finally find peace and move on to the underworld where you belong.”
A ghost floated forward, its voice heavy with suspicion. “Will you ensure he keeps his word?”
“I promise,” Mark said firmly. “And if he doesn’t, I’ll kill him myself.”
The ghost studied him for a moment, then nodded. Slowly, one by one, the spirits began to fade, their forms dissolving into the air until the garden was empty and silent.
Xuan Yimu let out a deep breath of relief. “Thank you. Without you, my manor would still be cursed.”
Mark’s expression remained serious. “Don’t forget your promise. I wasn’t joking about holding you accountable, and I don’t care if Liao Cheng considers me his servant. He can’t control me if I don’t let him.”
Mark’s tone was convincing, though deep down, he knew he was bluffing. Liao Cheng had the resources to keep him bound in service and control him. Still, his unwavering voice left no room for doubt.
Xuan Yimu nodded solemnly. “You have my word. I meant what I said. I’ll do everything I can to atone for my family’s sins.”
As the two men exited the garden, the guards stared in shock. The captain stepped forward, his eyes wide. “How are you still alive?”
“This manor is no longer haunted,” Xuan Yimu replied. “All thanks to Mark.”
“I told you he’s remarkable,” Liao Cheng said, smiling with pride. “That’s why he’s my most valuable possession.”
Mark clenched his jaw at the word possession, bitterness bubbling in his chest. A harsh reminder of his servitude. But he kept his face neutral.
Liao Cheng said his goodbyes to Xuan Yimu, who departed with a bow. Mark followed behind the General, flanked by his personal guards, until they arrived at Liao Cheng’s grand manor. Passing through an arched gateway, they entered a sprawling garden twice the size of Xuan Yimu’s. Peach blossom trees lined the paths, their petals swaying gently in the breeze. Wooden pavilions dotted the landscape, and a small pond shimmered in the center. Surrounding it all were elegant wooden buildings that made up the manor.
Liao Cheng led Mark to one of the smaller structures, a modest hut compared to the intricate, towering buildings nearby.
“These will be your quarters,” the General said, gesturing toward the door. “You’ll stay here, with guards posted outside at all times. I wish I could give you more freedom, but I can’t trust you just yet. Earn my trust, and I might loosen the leash.” He gave a light chuckle before continuing. “For now, hand over your belongings to the guards. We’ll store them safely—don’t want you bursting out, swords blazing.”
Mark sighed but complied. He handed over his two swords—the regular one and the spirit sword—his spellbook, and his chainmail armor. Left in only his undershirt and pants, he stood quietly as the guards secured his items.
“Good,” Liao Cheng said with a satisfied nod. “A servant will bring your dinner when it’s ready. If you want to walk in the garden, you’ll need permission, and guards will stay with you the whole time. Understand?”
Mark nodded again, suppressing the frustration building inside him. After months of traveling with Liao Cheng—sharing stories of his exploits and now banishing the ghosts at Xuan Yimu’s manor—he had hoped to earn the General’s trust. Instead, his skills seemed to make Liao Cheng more determined to keep him close, treating him like a prized captive.
Still, Mark kept his thoughts to himself and stepped into the hut. The room was small but tidy. A wooden desk with a chair stood in one corner, while a comfortable bed occupied the other. Mark sank onto the bed, letting out a long breath as he stretched out. At least he could finally rest.