“Good.” Adgar firmly asserted, and Edward flared an innocent smile.

Adgar said no more, and instead picked up his cigar, inhaled a lungful of smoke, and blew it towards Edward.

“What are your thoughts about the rest of it?” he then asked, with an inquisitive look, and Edward’s eyes surveyed the document momentarily.

“It’s comprehensive, more so than I expected.” He opined, “ I see you’ve revised quite a few things…”

“I have.” Adgar admitted, before blowing another lungful of smoke, “Times have changed, and so should the traditions of House Aldritch. The amendments I’ve made reflect these changes. My son deserves only the best, so anything besides this is simply insufficient. You’re to ensure it is followed precisely.”

His tone was stern at the end, and Edward hummed, before glossing over the changes a second time. They were numerous. From a complete overhaul of the education curriculum, to an emphasis on physical and social grooming, nearly everything had been expressly reworked.

It came as a surprise to Edward. Rarely had he seen his Lord show this much pedantism about anything. Adgar was prudent, he’d give him that, but it wasn’t to this extent.

What had changed about him? Edward wasn’t certain, but something had definitely changed. His first guess, though, was that Adgar had become more benign, but that got debunked once he remembered that this was the same guy who, if not for his mother, would have murdered his own brother in cold blood.

While that incident had happened a few years back, and Adgar may have changed since then, Edward still thought back to it because he felt that his Lord could not have changed by that much so easily. Adgar Aldritch was one of the most inflexible people he knew.

Though, what he was certain about was that the change happened the moment Lady Vittoria came into his life. Her appearance changed everything, and Edward would argue that it was for the better. Prior to then, Adgar was numb, impervious to many emotions, and cynical beyond belief.

Simply a callous self-seeker.

Silence assaulted the study’s room’s atmosphere, as Adgar continued to smoke, and Edward stayed absorbed in his thoughts. After a few minutes, Adgar placed his cigar in the ashtray, lightly clapped his hands, and stood up.

“Right.” He said, donning a playful smirk, “Shall we go tend to our unexpected guest? It’s rude to keep him waiting.”

Edward gave a slight nod, stood up, adjusted his suit, and walked towards the door, before holding it open for Adgar.

As Adgar walked towards it, a thought suddenly invaded his mindscape, and his smirk dimmed.

“Tell my wife and mother that, unfortunately, I'll be missing breakfast due to some urgent matters. Make it sound serious.”

His words were succinct enough for Edward to fully grasp their meaning.

“Understood, Your Grace. I’ll meet you in the cellars.”

Adgar said no more, and continued to walk, his stride tranquil.

✵ ✵ ✵

The torture cellars of the Aldritch Manor were a labyrinth of of fear and darkness. Located beneath its overly luxurious halls, the cellars were reserved for the most heinous of punishments. The walls were made of rough stone blocks that seemed to absorb the anguish of its prisoners, as if relishing in their torment.

The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and salty sweat of its prisoners. Torched scones flickered on the walls, casting eerie shadows that danced across the faces of various instruments of torture littering its surface, hell’s dearest envoys.

At the very end of the labyrinth, in one of its haunting rooms, a bloodied, battered, and debilitated man was strapped to an iron chair. His eyes were bleary, and only the perpetual biting sharp pangs of pain from the iron chair’s nails sustained his consciousness.

‘Run…must run…compromised…’

His thoughts were incoherent, and insanity threatened to make him subservient. He’d overused his magic, and it had cost him terribly. Although vague, the memories of the incident that warranted it were still fresh.

A man in a domino mask, the tailoring shop, shattered glass. Amongst the fragmented memory pieces, these three things were the most intelligible, but any time he tried to focus on them, they became obscure. It was an undying cycle, one that greatly aided insanity’s quest to enslave him.

“Wake him up.”

Suddenly, there was a voice and a moment after it, a splash of water that hoisted him back to reality. For a second he was dazed, confused about his surroundings. Why was here? How did he get here?How long had he been here?

The questions assailed his head, and as they did, the fragmented memories began to piece themselves together, with cognizance flickering in his dull brown eyes.

“Awake? Took you long enough.” The voice sounded again, further stirring the man’s consciousness.

Instinctively, his head jolted up, and the moment he registered what was in front of him, an indescribable fear gripped his soul. It was him! The person he’d been assigned to track.

Half-black, half-gold volto mask and black hair. It had to be him, there was no other possibility.

“T-The I-Illusionist…” In his frightful hysteria, the man managed to blurt out, though his words were incredibly slurred.

“Is that what they call me?” The figure spoke again, in a voice that seemed to consist of many,“I don’t know whether to be flattered or concerned. Though, I believe it should be the former. You guys have a great naming sense.”

The figure’s words exacerbated the man’s hysteria, as the moment he finished speaking, his lips began to quiver uncontrollably. He tried to voice something, but it came out as gibberish, akin to a toddler’s spouting.

‘H-He knows!’

Alarm bells rang in his head, plunging it into a state of discord. The Illusionist had figured out their existence. How? He didn’t have the slightest clue. But, regardless, if he knew then it changed everything…

“Why are you so afraid, Mr. Howlett? I was of the impression you wanted to chat.”

The figure walked up to the man, chuckled, and crouched to his eye level. His inquisitive pitch black hollow eyes rendered the man overwhelmed with a feeling of insignificance. Before them, his existence felt paltry…unbelievably so.

He was done for! Nothing could save him now. He’d fallen into the hands of a category-0 threat, a person who, at several times, he had been warned against engaging at all costs.

Worse, even after all the lengths he had taken to hide his identity, The Illusionist had still unearthed it. The realization of its implications felt like a mountain was placed on his back. It meant his family could be found out, and considering the person he was dealing with, their ending would not be a sunny one…

“Do not fear me, Mr. Howlett. Like you, I am simply a man of principles…” As if sensing the man’s internal chaos, The Illusionist spoke, and, for a brief moment, a faint flicker of relief flashed in Mr. Howlett’s eyes.

“...The principles, however, you should fear…”

The thin veil shielding his mind from insanity crumbled the moment Mr. Howlett heard that. Already, it had been strained, and now that he was overwrought with dread, it could hold on no longer.

“DIE DIE DIE DIEEEE…AAAH!”

He howled, as the whites of his eyes turned abyssal black. His veins became slimy green, and his skin started to wrinkle visibly. He began to tremble uncontrollably, and furiously nudged his body in The Illusionists direction.

The sight left the enigma unfazed. In fact, he seemed curious.

‘How interesting…’ he thought, before snapping his fingers. The moment he did, another man walked out of the darkness behind him. The man had silver hair, and like him, was wearing a mask, but his was a domino one…one that Mr. Howlett would immediately recognize.

The Illusionist outstretched his hands, and the domino-masked man placed a peculiar-looking revolver into it.

The revolver looked like a work of art. Whether it was its rich mahogany handle, or the elaborate, yet mysterious runic carvings wrapping around its barrel, everything about the firearm hinted that it was masterfully crafted.

The Illusionist pointed the revolver at Mr. Howlett’s head.

“I know you can see me.” he said, his ambiguous voice sounding slightly amused. “You guys are pretty good, I'll give you that. You almost had me.”

He cocked the revolver, “Nevertheless, this is your first and final warning. Do not interfere with my plans. If you do…well, I’m sure even you know the outcome of that. There’s no need to elaborate on it.”

He was about to fire, but he suddenly remembered something. The moment he did, a smirk crept up his face behind the mask.

“...Oh, and…send my regards to the director…”

There was a loud bang, and the moment after it, the screams and rattling of iron deadened completely, engulfing the room with an eerie silence.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!...Click! Click! Click!

Blood decorated the room’s walls and ceiling, as The Illusionist emptied the revolver’s cylinder onto Mr.Howlett’s dead body.

Though he didn’t show it, he was incredibly peeved. He had been particularly careful not to leave any traces about his movements, yet he had still been discovered.

Not only could ‘they’ recognize his masked alias, but ‘they’ also knew his specific whereabouts, enough to know the time and place of his business trip a month ago. If he hadn’t noticed Mr. Howlett’s unusual behavior at the time, he would have been none the wiser, and ‘they’ could have potentially discovered his real identity.

What’s worse, these guys were no amateurs. No, they were leagues above it, unlike anything he had faced before. Contrasting his own circumstances, ‘they’ had covered their tracks masterfully well, and used methods even someone as knowledgeable as he had not seen before.

On top of tampering with Mr.Howlett’s body and soul such that his mind, along with his memories, could not be forcefully accessed, they also planted some surveillance means within his soul. It was extremely subtle, and would probably go undetected by many, but he could sense it.

Mr. Howlett himself was no pushover. Before bringing him to the manor, Edward had tortured him for a week—as per his instructions—, yet he still didn’t divulge anything. That, coupled with his uncanny strength suggested the man was trained; that much was certain, and there was no doubt that ‘they’ were his trainers

Another cause for concern was the extreme form of magic the man used…magic that, if overused, could cause its user to fall into madness. It was clearly some obscure form of dark magic. What was it? He had his suspicions, but he wouldn’t be able to confirm it without going through his archives.

Nevertheless, the biggest unanswered questions remained: who were ‘they’? What were their motives? And, how had he been discovered?

He already knew ‘The Director’ was part of them. He’d learned about his existence from the notes Edward had found on him and deciphered, but that was it. There was nothing about ‘they’.

With regards to their motives, he was even more clueless. What were their goals, and why were they trying to track him? He’d assumed it was related to the undertaking, but that assumption had no basis.

Either way, he warned them against interfering in hopes that they would have second thoughts, if that was their goal.

As for how he had been discovered, he had a few guesses, but he’d need to confirm a few things to be sure. Though, he was convinced that someone he knew was involved.

Adgar sighed audibly, and lifted his head to face the ceiling. “Did you find the location of his home?” he asked in his regular voice, and took off his mask.

“Yes, Your Grace.” Edward replied, taking off his own mask, and looking at Adgar.

“Where does he live? And, does he have any family?” he then inquired, closing his eyes, and taking a deep breath.

“Belfast.” Edward answered, “In the Grand Marian Republic. As for his family, he has a wife, and a 12 year old daughter, sir.”

“I see.” Adgar mumbled, and fell silent for a moment.

“Ransack his house, and bring me anything interesting you find. Frame it as an armed robbery.” His tone was sharp, “As for his family, investigate whether they are involved with this secret organization. If they are, extract any information you can from them, and kill them. If not, leave them be.”

“Understood, Your Grace.” Edward somehow managed to hide the surprise in his voice. Yet again, his Lord’s decision left him surprised. The old Adgar would’ve executed them without a second thought.

As long as they were related to anyone he deemed an enemy in any way, or posed an obstacle in his path, they would have been eliminated at once. ‘An ounce of prevention is better than a pound of cure’ was his usual justification, as unreasonable as it was.

There was no doubt about it now. Adgar was getting…softer, and he was sure it was because of Lady Vittoria and the newborn Young Master Arlo. Perhaps their existence brought back some of the Duke’s childhood innocence, he thought, intrigued.

Adgar, on the other hand, was staring at Mr. Howlett’s corpse with a pensive expression. Though he felt no remorse for murdering the man, he felt sympathy for his failed attempts at protecting his family.

In the Duke’s eyes, the feeling was weird, and somewhat uncomfortable, but he still acknowledged its existence. At the very least, the man’s act was honorable, and it warranted part of his leniency.

‘The next few years are going to be…interesting.’

Amidst his thoughts were expectations for the future. Whether it was raising his newborn son along with his wife, executing the initial steps of the undertaking, or uncovering the identity of ‘they’, the next few years seemed, oddly, exciting...