The air in the mansion grew heavier as the day wore on. The tension among the players and NPCs was palpable, thick as the storm clouds that seemed to hover permanently beyond the mansion's high, arched windows. Aron sat in the corner of the lounge, nursing his bandaged arm while Zander paced nearby, his sharp gaze flickering between the players scattered around the room.
The creak broke the uneasy peace of the lounge door as two experienced players slipped out, exchanging knowing glances. Aron didn't miss the way they paused near the doorway, whispering in hushed tones. Their furtive movements tugged at his curiosity, but he let it go for now.
-
Outside the lounge, the two players—Dane and Mirka—walked briskly down the corridor. Dane was tall and lean, with dark, calculating eyes that never seemed to stop moving. Mirka, shorter but just as sharp, had a perpetual smirk that hinted at her enjoyment of the game's darker aspects.
"That one with the injured arm," Mirka said, her voice low but sharp. "He's perfect bait."
Dane nodded, his lips curling into a sly smile. "He's weak, new, and alone except for that soldier type. They won't see it coming."
"Do you think he's even useful?" Mirka asked, brushing a lock of auburn hair behind her ear.
Dane shrugged. "Doesn't matter. We just need a distraction. If the guests start pointing fingers at him, they won't notice us moving around. We can grab what we need while they're busy dealing with him."
Mirka chuckled, her laughter echoing softly in the dim hallway. "He's the perfect scapegoat. Poor guy won't even see it coming."
Unbeknownst to them, the door to the nearby washroom creaked open just a sliver. Inside, Zane stood frozen in a stall, his fists clenched as he listened to their conversation.
Zane waited until Dane and Mirka's footsteps faded before stepping out of the washroom. He found Livia lounging in the corner of the dining hall, her long pink hair tied loosely over one shoulder as she idly twirled a fork between her fingers.
"Livia," Zane hissed, sitting down beside her. His voice was low but urgent. "We've got a problem."
She raised an eyebrow but didn't look up from her plate. "What kind of problem?"
"Dane and Mirka," Zane said, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening. "They're planning to use that injured guy—Awan, or whatever he is—as bait. They want to stir up trouble with the NPCs and pin the murder on him."
Livia finally looked up, her eyes calm and disinterested. "And why exactly are you telling me this?"
"Because it's messed up!" Zane said. "We can't just sit back and let them do that. That guy's got no idea what he's up against."
Livia sighed, leaning back in her chair. "Zane, listen to me. This isn't our fight. Let them play their little games. It's none of our business."
"But—"
"No," Livia interrupted, her tone firm. "This place isn't about heroics. You look out for yourself, or you die. Period."
Zane's jaw tightened, but he knew arguing with her was pointless. Livia had survived two dungeons by keeping her focus on herself and no one else.
By the time Dane and Mirka returned to the lounge, they had already laid the groundwork for their scheme. Dane approached the NPCs—Edward Harrington and Samuel Whitmore—his voice low and conspiratorial.
"Have you noticed that man with the injured arm?" Dane said, gesturing subtly toward Aron. "Doesn't he seem... suspicious to you? New face, never seen before. And he's already hurt. Could be hiding something."
Edward frowned, stroking his mustache thoughtfully. "Are you suggesting—"
"I'm not suggesting anything," Dane said with a disarming smile. "Just... pointing out the facts."
Samuel's face paled. "You think he could be the one who killed Mr. Thornhill?"
"Well," Mirka chimed in, leaning casually against the wall, "it's certainly possible. Injured people tend to attract less attention, don't they? Perfect cover."
The NPCs exchanged uneasy glances, their fear and doubt growing with every word.
It wasn't long before Edward, emboldened by Dane's insinuations, stepped forward, his voice loud and commanding.
"You there! The injured one!" Edward barked, pointing directly at Aron.
Aron looked up from his seat, his expression calm but guarded. Zander immediately stepped closer, his body instinctively moving between Aron and the approaching NPCs.
"What is this about?" Zander asked, his tone cold.
"You're hiding something," Edward accused. "No one's seen you before. And that injury—it could've come from a struggle with Mr. Thornhill."
Aron stood slowly, his injured arm still cradled against his chest. His eyes, calm but sharp, flicked to Dane and Mirka. He could see the smug satisfaction on their faces, the subtle nod Dane gave to Edward.
Zander's jaw tightened, his fists clenched. "This is ridiculous."
"Wait," Aron said softly, placing a hand on Zander's arm. He turned his attention to Edward, his voice measured and composed. "You think I'm the murderer? Fine. Let's talk about that."
Edward faltered, surprised by Aron's calm demeanor. "Well, you... you haven't explained yourself."
"Neither have you," Aron said, stepping closer. "You say I'm suspicious because I'm injured. But what about you? You were eager to leave the mansion this morning. Why?"
Edward's face darkened. "I—how dare you—"
"Or maybe it's not you," Aron continued, his tone thoughtful. "Maybe it's one of the players whispering in your ear, planting the idea that I'm guilty. Tell me, who was it? Did they give you evidence? Or just... suspicions?"
The room fell silent. The other NPCs exchanged uncertain glances, their suspicion shifting.
"Interesting," Aron said, his gaze now fixed on Dane and Mirka. "It's almost as if someone wanted you to accuse me. Why would that be, I wonder?"
Dane's smug expression faltered. "That's enough," he said sharply. "This isn't about us."
"Isn't it?" Aron asked, tilting his head. "Because if I were a murderer, wouldn't it be smarter to stay quiet and avoid attention? Meanwhile, you two"—he pointed at Dane and Mirka—"have been whispering and scheming all morning. Suspicious behavior, wouldn't you agree?"
The room tensed.
The NPCs turned their attention to Dane and Mirka, their expressions wary.
"We're done here," Zander said, his voice low and dangerous. He placed a hand on Aron's shoulder and guided him toward the door.
-
Outside the lounge, Aron let out a long sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly.
"You handled that well," Zander said, his tone neutral but approving.
Aron gave a faint smile. "I've seen enough to know how people like them work. They underestimated me because of this." He gestured to his injured arm. "Classic mistake."
Zander nodded. "They won't try that again. Not with you, anyway."
"I'm not so sure," Aron said. "People like Dane and Mirka... they don't stop scheming. We'll need to stay ahead of them."
Zander's eyes narrowed. "Then we'll make sure they don't get the chance."
Aron nodded, his determination hardening. He might look weak, but appearances were deceiving—and he was determined to survive.
Dane slammed his fist against the edge of the lounge table, his face twisted with frustration. Mirka sat across from him, arms crossed, her smirk replaced by a scowl.
"That smug little bastard," Dane hissed. "Who does he think he is? Making us look like fools."
"He got lucky," Mirka muttered, her voice venomous. "But next time, he won't."
"Next time," Dane growled, "I'll make sure—"
"Enough!" Zane's voice cut through the tension like a blade. He stood at the doorway, his usually laid-back demeanor replaced by sharp anger. His fists were clenched, and his jaw was tight.
The room turned toward him. Livia, leaning casually against the wall nearby, raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Zane strode forward, his gaze fixed on Dane and Mirka. "You pro players think you can throw newcomers under the bus and treat them like bait? Do you even hear yourselves? This isn't survival. This is just you being cowards."
Dane's eyes narrowed. "Watch your mouth, kid. You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" Zane shot back. "I've seen people like you in every dungeon. You think your experience gives you the right to trample over everyone else? Newsflash: It doesn't. Maybe instead of scheming, you should take a good look in the mirror."
Mirka let out a bitter laugh. "Oh, listen to the hero over here. Save your speeches, Zane. This place doesn't reward saints."
Livia sighed, stepping forward. "Alright, that's enough melodrama for one day." Her tone was light, but her eyes carried a sharp glint of warning as she looked at Zane. "Let's go."
Zane hesitated, his gaze lingering on Dane and Mirka, who glared back at him. Then he turned and followed Livia out of the room, muttering under his breath.
In the hallway, Zane shoved his hands into his pockets, his frustration still evident. "Those two are going to cause more trouble, I can feel it."
Livia snorted, brushing a strand of pink hair over her shoulder. "Of course they are. That's what they do."
"Don't you care?" Zane asked, glancing at her. "They'll target someone else next."
Livia gave him a wry smile. "Zane, I've got enough problems of my own without worrying about every idiot in this game. Let them dig their own graves."
"You're too cynical," Zane muttered, shaking his head.
"And you're too idealistic," Livia shot back, though her tone was teasing. "Don't worry, you'll grow out of it."
As they turned a corner, they spotted Zander and Aron standing near the end of the hallway, deep in conversation with an older man dressed in a pristine black suit. His demeanor was calm, his movements precise—a textbook butler if there ever was one.
"Who's that?" Zane whispered.
"Looks like the NPC brigade's getting fancy," Livia replied, though curiosity flickered in her eyes.
The two approached cautiously, arriving just in time to catch part of the conversation.
"The funeral is set to take place in five days," the butler was saying, his voice low and measured. "But there is a... complication."
"What kind of complication?" Zander asked, his posture as straight and commanding as ever.
"The body of Mr. Thornhill is missing," the butler replied. "Until it is found, the funeral cannot proceed. I urge you to resolve this matter swiftly. The consequences of failure..." He trailed off, his expression grim.
"Wait," Aron said, narrowing his eyes. "The body is missing? How does a body go missing in a place like this?"
The butler's lips pressed into a thin line. "That, sir, is for you to uncover."
As the butler stepped back into the shadows, a soft chime echoed through the air. A new message materialized in bold letters before Aron and Zander:
Hidden Mission Unlocked: Locate the Body of Victor Thornhill
Time Remaining: 5 Days
Aron let out a long breath. "Great. As if solving the murder wasn't enough."
Zander crossed his arms, his sharp eyes scanning the hallway. "It's connected. The body being missing isn't a coincidence. It might even point us closer to the murderer."
Livia, who had been listening quietly, now stepped forward with a slow clap. "Congratulations, boys. Looks like you've earned yourselves some extra homework."
Aron glanced at her, unimpressed. "You heard all that?"
"Loud and clear," Livia replied, her smirk widening. "And just so you know, I'm rooting for you. Really."
"She's not," Zane muttered, earning a light elbow to the ribs from Livia.
"We don't have time for games," Zander said, his tone firm. "If you're not going to help, then stay out of the way."
Livia feigned offense, clutching her chest dramatically. "Oh, soldier boy, you wound me. But fine, we'll stay out of your way. Right, Zane?"
Zane hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. "Yeah. Good luck."
"Thanks," Aron said, already turning back to Zander. "Let's start with the study. If anything was taken or moved, it's probably there."
Zander nodded, his expression unreadable. "Agreed. Let's go."