The Fallen Marquis and the Phantom Revealed

The Empire Merchant Alliance. A colossal organization born from the combined might of merchant guilds from the Arcadia Empire and the Hailstone Principality. Individually, each guild was modest, but united, they wielded immense power. There was even widespread speculation that their formidable financial influence had infiltrated the imperial court itself.

Yet the atmosphere within the alliance was one of heavy gloom. The guild masters stared out at the relentless downpour, lost in their own thoughts.

"I still can't believe it. For the alliance leader to pass so pointlessly..."

One man muttered in a trembling voice. The others nodded solemnly, sighing in unison.

The head of the Empire Merchant Alliance, Marquis Hoffman, had breathed his last during the night. The official cause: a fatal fall deemed an accident. He had been intoxicated and tumbled out a window.

"Even the heavens seem indifferent. It's simply tragic."

The guild masters each recalled memories of the marquis, honoring him in silence. But the dead do not return. As the mournful mood began to lift, someone spoke up.

"That said, we should consider our path forward. The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠world grows ever more perilous—we must at least stick together."

The atmosphere shifted. The guild masters exchanged hesitant glances.

"Indeed. The alliance must endure! Divided, we're nothing but weaklings."

With those words, a heavy silence enveloped the chamber. The marquis's death had left the position of alliance leader vacant. Someone ought to fill it, yet no one stepped forward. After all, the alliance had all but decided on his successor already.

And then, someone shattered the quiet.

"What say you, Baron Rosemund?"

All eyes turned instantly to Baron Rosemund. Among the alliance, only Marquis Hoffman and he bore noble titles. With the marquis gone, Rosemund stood as the sole candidate for next leader.

"Ahem."

The baron cleared his throat in a low voice. Deep wrinkles creased his forehead, and his pale white beard hinted at his advanced age. Yet his eyes remained sharp as ever.

"Yes. Though the marquis has left us, the alliance must continue."

The guild masters nodded in agreement. In that moment of silence, the next alliance leader was decided.

"......"

But Baron Rosemund did not smile. Becoming the next leader was a given. What gnawed at him was the marquis's death.

Something's off.

The Hoffman he knew wouldn't die like that.

Drunk and falling out a window? Nonsense.

The marquis might drink, but never to the point of losing control.

An assassination, perhaps?

It seemed far more plausible that someone had pushed him.

An assassination...

Most stemmed from grudges or rivalries. And there was one sore spot that pricked at him.

Bastel.

Bastel Hartwell was Baron Rosemund's grandson. In the early days of his guild, Rosemund had provided direct support—not out of familial affection, but because the boy had his uses.

Perfect for transporting those drugs.

Drug trafficking, to be precise. Bastel believed them mere luxury goods, but they were narcotics. Diverse distribution channels meant safety and profit, so backing his grandson's guild made sense.

But then Bastel changed. After one raid on his guild, he rebuilt the Golden Wing Guild. And no sooner had he done so than he inexplicably allied with the Fire Tower, peddling magical artifacts.

Insolent brat.

Bastel had naturally cut Rosemund out. Blood ties mattered to the baron, but money mattered more. Bastel, as a mere grandson, was expendable—especially if he posed a threat.

In the end, the baron had commissioned the marquis to assassinate the potential future liability.

But the hit had failed.

What a coincidence.

Right after the failed attempt on Bastel, the marquis met his absurd end. The timing was too perfect.

I'll lie low and watch for now.

He had suspicions, but ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠no proof. The commission had been handled discreetly. Leaks were improbable, and Bastel lacked the means to uncover it anyway. Perhaps some other vengeful faction was responsible, Rosemund mused.

Things were going so smoothly it almost felt wrong—my luck had held steady in the best possible way. Today was the day Bastel formally transferred full ownership of his guild to Bella.

You couldn't hand over shares sight unseen, so Bella had come to the estate herself to meet him. My original plan to seize Bastel's guild had panned out perfectly, yet an inexplicable unease lingered.

It's almost too anticlimactic.

Everything had unfolded with frustrating ease. As I closed my eyes to sort my thoughts, a knock echoed.

"Young master, Lady Bella has arrived."

"Yeah, got it. Come in."

The door opened with Chloe's voice, revealing Bella. She shut it behind her and casually cast a soundproofing spell. No one but us would hear what was said here. That meant something crucial was afoot.

Bella ignored my greeting and took a seat.

"I never imagined you'd move this fast."

I nodded silently at her words.

"Well, Bastel handing over the shares sooner than expected helped."

Bella shook her head and continued.

"No, not that—the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Empire Merchant Alliance."

The Empire Merchant Alliance? Oh, right. I'd heard the recent raid might be their doing. Emilia, who liaised often with Bella, must have passed it along. This was probably related.

"So, what's the word on the Empire Merchant Alliance?"

My last instruction to Emilia had been simple: If it was indeed the alliance, tell Bella to issue a warning.

But Bella looked at me with admiration.

"Wow, that poker face—like you know nothing. Not even flinching at the alliance leader's death... I didn't expect such swift action."

I couldn't hide my surprise at her tale.

"What? The alliance leader's dead?"

"Fine, I won't pry. Officially, it's a fall—let's leave it at that. Anyway, young master, you're far more impressive than I thought."

Only then did I sense our conversation was veering off course.

What's going on?

From the vibe, Bella suspected me in the leader's death. But I genuinely had no idea. Wasn't this just between me, Bella, and Emilia? She'd first suggested the alliance's involvement, then relayed it to me. Same with the warning order.

"......"

A nagging doubt crept in. Was this mere misunderstanding, or something real? I needed to verify.

"Didn't you first say the alliance might be behind the raid?"

Bella raised her voice, as if I'd said something absurd, denying it outright.

"No. I suspected, sure—but no proof. That's why I didn't mention it."

Then what was Emilia relaying, and from whom? She'd said it clearly.

Bella seeking info, suspecting alliance influence. A moment later, a realization hit me.

Ha...

How had I overlooked it? Back when we escaped the underground mine, I'd harbored faint suspicions about Emilia. She'd handled all meal distributions there, claiming poor health at first. But right after escaping, her stamina rivaled any man's.

And when Celestia's hounds tore the mine apart, Emilia emerged unscathed. I'd chalked it up to luck then, but the oddities piled up.

Even when I sent that letter to Bella, Emilia found her instantly.

I'd thought it fortunate she'd spotted Bella visiting the territory. On the surface, it all seemed like good fortune aligning.

But what if it wasn't luck?

Who was Emilia, really? She'd followed me obediently—from the mine escape to joining House Hartwell. As if she knew me well.

"......"

The thought sent chills down my spine. The pieces fit like a puzzle.

Damn it.

She wouldn't follow without reason. She'd seen something in me. And that something was likely...

Celestia's hounds followed me.

The Shadow Hounds' mistress was Celestia. Yet they'd tailed me?

She knew I was the captain.

No other explanation fit. It also meant Emilia was a Black Raven operative.

With my thoughts aligned, a status window appeared.

At 10% synchronization, I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠could issue orders to Black Raven. Now at 20%, I could check nearby Phantoms.

Powers unlocking bit by bit.

Gray Reaper. The epithet alone pointed to Emilia's gray hair. No doubt about it.

Emilia—a Phantom? Unbelievable.

That single fact explained everything thus far. The issue was her status as a Phantom.

Didn't Phantoms hold a grudge against me?

It was a reasonable suspicion, if unconfirmed. In the game, Phantoms were lab rats—disposable test subjects subjected to reckless experiments. Luck granted power; failure meant deletion. Brutal.

So why is a Phantom my direct guard?

The alert didn't match my assumptions.

No way to know.

Regardless, surviving those experiments meant Emilia was extraordinarily powerful.

But she's not in my game memories.

I'd likely overlooked her. Phantoms were trash-tier, rarely focused on, constantly slapped with cursed gear and oblivion-risk tomes that altered appearances frequently.

Play dumb for now.

I didn't know why she obeyed so quietly, but acting normal was best.

A brief silence fell. Then Emilia's voice came from beyond the door.

"Ethan, I've brought juice."

"Uh... yeah. Come in."

Emilia entered cautiously, her usual composed expression in place.

Her footsteps are eerily quiet.

Knowing she was a Phantom made every gesture stand out.

She deftly handed juice to me and Bella. At the same moment, another window popped up.

"......"

No need to tell me that.