Chereads / Veil Of Stars: Fragments of Time / Chapter 4 - 4. Complications

Chapter 4 - 4. Complications

"You think the body's hidden somewhere in the mansion?" Aron asked, breaking the silence.

"Most likely," Zander replied. "Moving it out of the mansion would've been risky. Too many eyes."

"But why hide it at all?" Aron mused. "What's the motive?"

"Distraction," Zander said. "Or misdirection. If the body's gone, it complicates the investigation."

Aron nodded thoughtfully. "So whoever did this is trying to buy time or cover their tracks."

"Exactly."

The two lapsed into silence again as they entered the study. The room was dimly lit, the scent of old books and varnished wood hanging in the air. Aron's eyes immediately went to the bloodstain on the desk, now dry and darkened.

"Start with the obvious," Zander said, gesturing to the desk. "Anything out of place?"

Aron leaned closer, his gaze sweeping over the surface. Papers lay scattered, some torn or crumpled. A pen lay on the floor near the chair, its tip broken. He frowned, his mind ticking through possibilities.

"Whoever moved the body was in a hurry," he said finally. "They didn't have time to clean up completely."

Zander knelt beside the chair, his sharp eyes scanning the area. "There's something here."

Aron crouched beside him, following Zander's gaze to a faint set of smudges on the floor. It looked like dried mud, dragged faintly across the polished wood.

"Footprints," Aron murmured.

"Leading out of the study," Zander added. "We'll follow them."

The footprints led them down a dim hallway, the faint mud smudges growing fainter with each step.

As they approached the end of the corridor, Zander paused. "They stop here," he said, crouching to examine the floor.

Aron frowned, looking around. They were in front of a door marked Cellar in brass lettering. "Convenient," he murmured.

Zander tested the door handle. It turned easily. He pushed the door open, revealing a set of narrow stone stairs descending into darkness. A faint musty smell wafted up, mixed with something metallic—iron, perhaps.

"After you," Aron said, gesturing with his uninjured arm.

Zander shot him a look. Seriously?

But then he glanced at his injured arm and sighed. "Stay behind me. If someone's down there, we'll need to be ready."

Aron nodded, following as Zander led the way into the cellar.

The stairs ended in a cavernous room with low stone ceilings and walls lined with shelves of aging wine bottles. In the center, a heavy wooden table sat, its surface covered in dust.

Zander's flashlight cut through the gloom, illuminating small details: cobwebs in the corners, faint scratches on the floor, and a single overturned chair.

Aron pointed at the flashlight, "Where did this thing come from?"

Zander cleared his throat. "When we went to infirmary I found this, Anyways," He changed the subject. "Let's see what's going on here."

"Doesn't look like anyone's been here in years," Aron said, running a hand over the dusty table.

"Doesn't mean we shouldn't look," Zander replied, moving to the shelves.

They searched in silence.

Aron opened a cupboard near the far wall, finding only empty crates. Zander examined the floor for any signs of disturbance but found none.

"I don't get it," Aron said finally, leaning against the table. "If they moved the body, why leave a trail leading here and then... nothing? It doesn't make sense."

"Unless..." Zander began, his voice trailing off.

"Unless what?"

Zander straightened, his expression grim. "Unless the trail was left deliberately. To throw us off."

Aron blinked. "You're saying this is misdirection?"

"Think about it," Zander said, pacing slowly. "Everything about this case feels off. The missing body. The blood in the study. Even the guests' behavior. What if we're chasing clues someone planted on purpose?"

"Why would they do that?" Aron asked, frowning.

"To keep us busy," Zander replied. "If we're running in circles, we're not finding the real answers."

Aron crossed his arms, the gears in his mind turning. "Let's back up for a second. What if... there wasn't a murder at all?"

Zander raised an eyebrow. "Explain."

"Think about it," Aron said, his voice picking up speed. "We've been operating under the assumption that Mr. Thornhill was murdered because the system said so. But what if that's the misdirection? What if the real goal isn't to find a murderer but to figure out what really happened to him?"

Zander's jaw tightened as he considered the possibility. "That would explain why the clues don't add up. If there was no murder, then the blood, the missing body—it's all staged."

"Exactly," Aron said, his mind racing. "Which means we need to stop looking for a killer and start looking for the truth."

They returned to the study, the room now bathed in the golden light of the setting sun filtering through the curtains. Aron stood in the center, his eyes scanning the space with fresh perspective.

"If this was staged, then the bloodstain is our starting point," he said.

Zander nodded, crouching beside the desk. "It's dried now, but if it's fake, we should be able to tell."

Aron watched as Zander pulled a pocketknife from his boot and scraped a small sample of the dried blood into a handkerchief.

"Let's test it," Zander said. "If it's real, we'll know soon enough."

"Wait," Aron said, his gaze falling on the papers scattered across the desk. "These look deliberate."

"What do you mean?"

Aron picked up a crumpled piece of parchment, smoothing it out. The handwriting was elegant, but the message was incomplete, as if someone had torn it mid-thought.

"'The key lies in...'" Aron read aloud. "That's it. No context, no explanation."

Zander frowned. "It's bait. Meant to distract us."

"Maybe," Aron said. "Or maybe it's the only real clue we've found."

Before they could investigate further, the door to the study creaked open. Aron and Zander turned to see Edward Harrington, the older NPC, standing in the doorway. His face was pale, his hands trembling.

"You need to come to the dining hall," Edward said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Why?" Zander asked, his tone sharp.

"It's... it's Samuel," Edward stammered. "Something's happened."

The dining hall was in chaos when they arrived. Samuel Whitmore lay sprawled on the floor, his face contorted in pain. Livia stood nearby, arms crossed, while Zane knelt beside Samuel, checking his pulse.

"What happened?" Zander demanded.

"Poison," Zane said, holding up a half-empty glass of wine. "He drank this and collapsed."

Aron's mind raced. "Who poured the wine?"

"No idea," Zane said, standing. "But it was meant for someone."

"This complicates things," Aron muttered, glancing at Zander. "If there's no murder, then why poison someone now?"

"Maybe someone's trying to keep the illusion alive," Zander replied grimly.

Livia glanced at the two them and Aron whispers to her what they found. It's not that he belive in Livia but that the more the merrier and they can easily pass this dungeon with more help.

Livia snorted. "Or maybe someone just wanted Samuel dead. Doesn't have to be that deep."

Aron shot her a look. "This isn't random. It's all connected."

"Then figure it out," Livia said, brushing past them. "Because I'm not sticking around to be the next victim."

As the players dispersed, Aron and Zander stood in the now-empty dining hall, their thoughts heavy.

"This changes everything," Zander said finally.

Aron nodded. "If Samuel was poisoned, it means someone's actively working against us. They're either trying to hide something, or they're testing us."

"Either way, we can't trust anyone," Zander said.

Aron smirked faintly. "Wasn't planning to."

Aron sat on the edge of the bed, his thoughts spinning as he tried to make sense of the events so far.

Two objectives. Six days to solve the murder and five to find the body. Now a poisoning on top of it all.

"I don't like this," Zander said, his voice breaking the heavy silence.

"Neither do I," Aron muttered. He glanced at the bandage on his arm, flexing his fingers experimentally. "But worrying about it won't help. Let's get some rest."

Zander nodded, pulling a chair to the window. "I'll keep watch for a while. You sleep."

Aron considered protesting but decided against it. He lay back, his mind churning with theories until sleep finally claimed him.

Aron woke to the sound of hurried footsteps in the hallway. He sat up quickly, his heart racing as he glanced at the clock on the bedside table. 7:15 a.m.

Zander was already on his feet, slipping his knife into his boot. "Something's happened," he said grimly.

Together, they left the room and followed the commotion to the dining hall. A crowd had gathered near the far end of the room, their voices low and anxious.

"What is it now?" Aron muttered as they pushed through the throng.

The sight stopped him cold. Edward Harrington and Samuel Whitmore lay side by side on the floor, their faces pale and lifeless. Their stiff, unnatural postures suggested they had been dead for hours.

"No," Aron whispered, his stomach twisting.

Livia stood nearby, arms crossed as she observed the scene. Zane knelt beside the bodies, his expression grim.

"They're gone," Zane said, looking up at Aron and Zander. "Poison, same as yesterday."

Aron's mind raced. Two more NPCs dead. Of the ten guests they were supposed to protect, two had already died.

"We have to protect five of them," Aron said under his breath, his tone edged with urgency. "If we lose any more..."

Zander's gaze hardened. "We won't."

As the group dispersed, Aron lingered near the bodies, his thoughts spiraling. Something wasn't adding up. Two NPCs dead of poisoning, just a day apart. Who was behind it? And why?

He turned to Zander, who was scanning the room with his usual precision. "We're missing something," Aron said. "Something important."

Zander nodded. "Let's find it."

Hours later, as they sat in the study reviewing their findings, Aron leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"We're looking at this all wrong," he said suddenly.

Zander looked up from the notebook he was examining. "Explain."

"We've been focusing on the guests," Aron said. "The players, the NPCs. But what about the staff? How many servants have you seen in this mansion?"

Zander frowned, considering the question. "The butler and the chef."

"Exactly," Aron said, leaning forward. "For a mansion this size, shouldn't there be more?"

"It's strange," Zander admitted.

"It's more than strange," Aron said. "It's suspicious. Think about it. The butler and the chef would have access to the food and drinks. If someone was poisoned, they'd be the first people to investigate."

"But what's their motive?" Zander asked.

"That's what we need to find out," Aron replied.

The two decided to start their investigation by questioning the chef and butler. They found the butler in the main hall, standing near the staircase with his usual air of calm professionalism.

"Excuse me," Aron said, approaching. "Can we have a word?"

"Of course, sir," the butler replied smoothly.

"How many staff work in this mansion?" Aron asked directly.

The butler's brow furrowed slightly, as if the question caught him off guard. "Only myself and the chef, sir."

"That's it?" Zander asked, his voice sharp. "For a mansion this size?"

"It is unusual, I admit," the butler said. "But Mr. Thornhill preferred a smaller staff. He valued privacy."

Aron nodded, filing the information away. "And where were you last night, during the dinner?"

The butler's expression remained neutral. "I was in the kitchen, assisting the chef."

"We'll need to speak to him as well," Zander said.

"Of course," the butler replied, bowing slightly. "Shall I fetch him for you?"

"No need," Aron said. "We'll find him ourselves."

The kitchen was warm and bustling, the smell of roasted meat lingering in the air. The chef, a burly man with a thick mustache and a stained apron, looked up as they entered.

"Something I can help you with?" he asked, his tone gruff but not unkind.

"We have a few questions," Zander said.

The chef raised an eyebrow but nodded. "Go ahead."

"How long have you worked here?" Aron asked.

"About three years," the chef replied. "Started not long after Mr. Thornhill moved in."

"And last night?" Zander pressed. "During the dinner, where were you?"

"In the kitchen," the chef said, crossing his arms. "Preparing the meal."

"Did anyone else enter the kitchen?" Aron asked.

The chef hesitated. "Just the butler. He came to check on the food."

Aron exchanged a glance with Zander.

"Did you notice anything unusual?" Aron asked.

The chef frowned. "No. Everything seemed normal."

"Thank you," Aron said. "We may have more questions later."