Chapter 23 – AN UNEXPECTED AUDIENCE

【Valerius PoV】

The sword felt heavy in my hands.

It was real. Solid. Not just some collection of pixels and code anymore. The metal was cold against my skin, and the single sapphire in the pommel seemed to drink the dim light from the corridor. I had it. Step one of the ‘Don’t Die Horribly’ plan was officially complete. A wave of relief so powerful it almost made me dizzy washed over me. I could actually do this. I could survive.

Now all I needed was the letter. According to the game’s lore, it was supposed to be with the sword. A quick search of the dusty chest revealed nothing. I ran my hands along the faded velvet lining, feeling for any hidden compartments or false bottoms. Still nothing. My initial elation began to curdle into anxiety. The sword was useless without the letter. The letter explained everything. It was my ticket to meeting the hidden NPC who could change my fate.

Maybe it was hidden on the sword itself. I examined the leather-wrapped hilt, searching for any seams or hidden catches. The leather was old and cracked, but it was wrapped tight. I twisted the pommel, hoping it might unscrew. It didn’t budge. This was not going according to plan. The game guide I vaguely remembered from my past life never mentioned anything about the letter being hard to find. It was just supposed to be with the sword.

A faint scraping sound from the hallway snapped me out of my frantic search.

Footsteps. Someone was coming.

My blood ran cold. I was standing in a secret passage, holding a legendary sword that I wasn’t supposed to have. This was bad. This was very, very bad. Panicked, I shoved the Blade of Atonement back into the chest and slammed the lid shut. It made a dull thud that sounded deafeningly loud in the enclosed space. I scrambled out of the small room and back into the narrow corridor, my heart hammering against my ribs. I reached the portrait and fumbled for the release mechanism. I couldn’t find it.

The footsteps were closer now. I could hear the faint rustle of a dress. It was a maid. Of course, it was a maid. They were everywhere. They were the true masters of this mansion, the silent, all-seeing guardians of its secrets. And they hated my guts.

The portrait swung open.

Clara stood there, a feather duster in one hand and an expression of profound disapproval on her face. Her eyes flicked from my disheveled appearance to the open secret passage behind me. Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch. It was the maid equivalent of a full-blown “gotcha” moment.

“My Lord.”

Her voice was as crisp and cold as a winter morning. There was no trace of surprise in it. It was as if she had known all along. She probably did.

“Clara. Fancy meeting you here.”

I tried for a casual tone. It did not work. I sounded like I had just been caught robbing a bank.

She took a small, deliberate step into the hallway, forcing me to back away from the portrait. Her eyes scanned the interior of the secret passage, her gaze lingering on the dusty chest in the hidden room. A tiny, almost imperceptible smile played on her lips. It was not a friendly smile.

“I was just dusting the portraits. A task that seems to have been neglected for quite some time.”

“Right. Dusting. Important work.”

I edged away from the secret passage, trying to subtly block her view. It was a clumsy maneuver, and we both knew it. I felt like a cartoon character trying to hide an elephant behind a potted plant.

Her gaze shifted back to me. It was sharp and intelligent, missing nothing. She took in my dusty clothes, the cobwebs in my hair, the smudge of dirt on my cheek. She was putting the pieces together, and the picture she was forming was not a flattering one.

“Did you find what you were looking for, my Lord?”

“What? Oh. Yes. Absolutely. Just, uh, admiring the architecture. Very… historical.”

She tilted her head, her expression one of polite, disbelieving inquiry. The contempt she felt for me was no longer hidden. It was right there, simmering just beneath the surface of her professional demeanor. She thought I was an idiot. And to be fair, I was acting like one.

“The architecture. In the walls.”

“Precisely. You’d be surprised what you can find back there. Drafts. Spiders. The ghosts of forgotten barons. The usual.”

I gave her a weak, unconvincing smile. She did not return it.

“I see. Will you be requiring my assistance to… dust yourself off, my Lord?”

The way she said “my Lord” made it sound like an insult. It was a verbal pat on the head, a reminder of my station and my complete incompetence. She was enjoying this.

“That will not be necessary. I am perfectly capable of dusting myself.”

To prove my point, I swiped at a cobweb on my shoulder and only succeeded in smearing it across my very expensive-looking tunic. Nailed it.

Clara’s lips twitched. For a terrifying second, I thought she was going to laugh. But she was a professional. She maintained her composure, her face a perfect mask of polite servitude. But her eyes were dancing with undisguised amusement.

“As you wish, my Lord.”

She turned to leave, her movements graceful and efficient. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding. I had gotten away with it. She was leaving.

Then she stopped. She turned back, her expression unreadable.

“Just one more thing, my Lord.”

“Yes?”

My voice was a squeak. I cleared my throat and tried again.

“Yes?”

“The late Baron, your father, was very particular about the portraits. He insisted they remain untouched. A matter of… historical preservation.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. A warning. She knew I had been snooping. She knew I had found something. She was letting me know that she knew. It was a power play, and she was winning.

“Of course. Preservation. Very important.”

“Indeed. It would be a shame if anything were to happen to them.”

She gave me one last, long, meaningful look before turning and walking away, her footsteps silent on the marble floor. I watched her go, my mind racing. She was a problem. A big, efficient, terrifyingly competent problem. I couldn’t have her following me around, especially not now that I had the sword. I needed a way to get her out of the mansion. I needed a distraction.

An idea sparked in my mind. It was risky. It was crazy. It was probably stupid. But it just might work.

I took a deep breath and strode after her, my footsteps echoing in the grand hallway. I caught up to her just as she was about to turn a corner.

“Clara, wait.”

She stopped and turned, her expression one of weary patience.

“My Lord?”

“I require your assistance with a matter of some… delicacy.”

Her eyebrows rose again, this time in genuine surprise.

“Delicacy, my Lord?”

“Yes. I need you to accompany me somewhere. Tonight.”

Her eyes narrowed. She was suspicious now, her polite facade cracking to reveal the sharp, intelligent mind beneath.

“Accompany you where, my Lord?”

This was the tricky part. I had to make it sound believable. I had to give her a reason to leave the mansion, a reason that wouldn’t make her even more suspicious than she already was. I thought of the game, of the quests, of the locations I knew. And then it hit me. The perfect place. The one place she would never expect.

“The Rusty Flagon tavern. In the lower city.”

Her jaw dropped. It was a small, almost imperceptible movement, but I saw it. I had surprised her. For the first time since I had woken up in this ridiculous world, I had the upper hand.

“The… tavern, my Lord?”

“Yes. That is what I said. We have an appointment. Be ready to leave at sundown.”