“The true mask is not that which conceals the face, but that which reveals intent, allowing the world to see only what you permit it to see.”
[ 09th Lumiran 1749 | Fardin | 12:15 | Lenford Estate ]
The days following my conversation with Evelina passed in a state of calibrated anticipation. I did not waste time on empty speculation; instead, I extracted from the informational field all the rules I needed for the game of “Traitor’s Edge.” It was a predictable game with an element of chance, which was easier to label as Chaos and control through standard methods.
Evelina was completely immersed in political affairs and rarely summoned me. I, for my part, enjoyed the tranquility, calculated probabilities, and waited for Nova’s return.
Unfortunately, the evening of Entris arrived precisely on schedule. It was cool and windless, though outside the window, green grass had begun to grow, the first leaves were appearing, and the freshness of spring was spreading. This was standard for Lumiran, but what was not standard was the game I was to play tonight.
My transformation took place in one of the guest rooms at the Lenford estate, isolated and shielded from prying eyes. I sat obediently in a chair before a large mirror in a heavy gilded frame. Two maids immediately approached me in silence. They brought out a light-colored wig, and I felt its weight settle on my head, concealing my dark hair, which had been carefully styled into a high coiffure. An instant transformation into a blonde. Light, almost imperceptible cosmetics, unpopular among noblewomen, made my features unfamiliar, alien. I mentally registered this as the first stage of immersing myself in the new role.
When they handed me the gown, I allowed myself to feign a soft sigh. This was not just an outfit. It was a concept, thought out to the last detail, but utterly oblivious to my true nature. A gown of champagne-colored silk thread, tailored to the height of Valtheim fashion—revealing enough to attract fleeting glances, but elegant enough not to appear vulgar. A string of cool pearls touched my neck, and thin gloves encased my hands. A fan in my fingers became the final touch, completing the masquerade.
Evelina, like a creator surveying her work, looked me over and smiled coldly. “Much better, Arta. Now you are a true Valtheim noblewoman.” Evelina looked at the door and said in a loud voice, “Liam, you may enter.”
A stocky man of medium height with unremarkable features entered the room. It was obvious he was not just an actor; he was a player, and his services cost a great deal of money.
“Arta,” Evelina said, indicating the man, “this is your ‘brother’ for tonight. Liam Cornell.”
Liam looked at me and bowed politely. I nodded in return—a gesture of elementary courtesy.
Evelina turned back to me. “Arta, for tonight, you are Eliza Cornell.” Evelina smirked. “It’s the real name of Liam’s sister, who lives in Arzanir, so no one will suspect a thing. Your task is to be a young lady slightly obsessed with marriage, unassuming, modest, and quiet. I think you should manage.”
“And what is our plan?” I inquired, tilting my head slightly to the side, trying to inhabit the new persona.
“To beat Frederik and offer him a game on our territory. At that place in the merchant square,” Evelina said coldly. “We will clear Frederik’s head of Vespera’s trash, and then, I will remove him from the board,” Evelina answered, her voice hardening slightly.
“Remove him from the board?” I repeated, clarifying her true intentions.
“Precisely,” Evelina cut in coldly. “But Arta, if you think I’m going to kill my own brother, you don’t know me very well. Whatever has passed between us, he is still my brother.”
“You want to kidnap him?” I clarified again.
“Exactly,” she replied with a smirk. “If you think I’m going to fight him fairly, you are deeply mistaken. He and his ‘sister-in-law’ are brainwashing my mother, and you really think I’m prepared to tolerate that?”
Evelina was walking on very thin ice. She was exposing herself to Chaotic-Darkness, and doing so in a major way. There was hardly a place in all of Illumora where Frederik could be hidden without fatal consequences. But I saw no point in dissuading her; after all, it was her choice, and the blood pact prevented me from going against her will.
“I don’t think you are prepared to tolerate it. I simply think we should consider how to ensure the kidnapping is not linked to your name,” I replied dryly.
“I understand, Arta. You are absolutely right.” She smiled. “But believe me, Frederik has many enemies, and I will do my best to distance myself from him as much as possible.”
I nodded, understanding that it was pointless to argue.
“In that case, shall we go?” I asked, as time was limited and we needed to act.
“Yes, of course,” Evelina nodded in reply.
Liam and I left, and only in the corridors of the mansion did I look at my new appearance. In the mirror’s reflection, a stranger looked back at me. A tall, slender blonde with large eyes accentuated by light makeup. I consciously unfocused my gaze, giving it the vacant and naive expression required for my role. I forced the muscles of my face to relax, allowing a faint, meaningless smile to appear on my lips. The guise was flawless. A perfect shell for the task at hand. I mentally fixed every detail of this new mask, memorizing it as one memorizes a blueprint. This, too, was a structure, albeit an alien one. And I would use it with the same cold efficiency as any other.
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[ 09th Lumiran 1749 | Fardin | 15:03 | Royal Gambling House ]
The journey to the gambling house did not take long, and we sped in the carriage to a massive three-story structure that resembled a bastion, made of gray stone and adorned with the carvings of a thousand master craftsmen.
Liam helped me carefully out of the carriage, and I just as carefully maintained the image of a foolish maiden and Liam’s younger sister, looking around as if I were counting birds. Our path was blocked by the heavy oak door of the Royal Gambling House. By the door, a guard with massive arms crossed over his chest stood—a former soldier with a face like weathered stone and eyes that had seen too many lost fortunes and broken lives. He blocked our way, his gaze sliding over Liam and stopping on me with unconcealed disapproval.
“No ladies allowed,” he boomed. “House rules.”
Liam feigned a slight aristocratic indignation.
“Listen, my good man, my sister is not here to play. She is merely accompanying me.”
“Rules are rules,” the guard retorted, not budging. “If you want them changed, write to Prince Frederik personally.”
Time to enter the game. I stepped forward from behind Liam’s shoulder. Making my voice tremble, I addressed the guard with feigned naivete:
“But my lord… I heard that the most worthy gentlemen of the kingdom gather here. I… I just wanted to be near my brother and, perhaps… meet someone interesting.” By force of will, I sent blood rushing to my cheeks, creating the perfect blush of embarrassment on my pale skin.
The legend had been voiced, and it was now undergoing its first test. I deliberately clicked my heel on the cobblestone to appear even more naive.
The guard hesitated for a moment. My appearance—the expensive dress, the innocent look—fit the required narrative. Liam, seizing the moment, discreetly pressed several heavy gold coins into his palm. The guard’s fingers closed around the bribe.
“Alright,” he grumbled, stepping aside. “But she sits quietly and doesn’t interfere with the game. If there are any complaints, I’ll throw you both out.”
“Thank you, my lord, you are so kind!” I chirped in character, hiding my face behind my fan.
The door creaked open, and a few steps later, we were in the den of the Innovators.
『 ?? 』━━━???━━━『 ? 』
[ 09th Lumiran 1749 | Fardin | 15:15 | Royal Gambling House ]
The Royal Gambling House met us with a wave of thick, heavy air. It was well past midnight—the hour when propriety is left at the door and instincts take over.
My human lungs expanded to intake the atmosphere of the place. An internal analysis immediately broke down the environment into its components: the thick, sweet scent of expensive cigars, meant to create an atmosphere of luxury and dull the senses; the smell of expensive men's cologne, spilled spirits, and cloves, which was likely the establishment's signature fragrance.
The clinking of glasses, the rattle of dice, and the sharp bursts of male laughter, the faint curses of losers, and the drone of croupiers at the gaming tables created the sense of another side of Valtheim, one where power, money, and domination were prized—markers of social status and emotional instability.
The building’s architecture was the embodiment of ostentatious luxury. The walls, upholstered in dark red velvet, absorbed sound, creating a feeling of enclosed, almost intimate space. Heavy oak panels, polished to a high shine, reflected the muted light of massive crystal chandeliers, whose flames were lost in clouds of cigar smoke. High ceilings with gilded stucco faded into the gloom. All of this was designed not for functionality, but to suppress the will, to create an illusion of grandeur and the insignificance of personal losses against its backdrop. A structurally inefficient, but psychologically effective space for such an establishment.
Liam, playing his part with flawless skill, led me by the arm through the main hall. I had only to perform my role, and I moved as planned, glancing at various men and smiling naively when our eyes met, as befit a young woman finding herself in such a place for the first time. My presence here, in this purely masculine world, made me an object, which once again reminded me of the inefficient social constraints I must navigate in Illumora. The men cast assessing glances at me—quick, predatory, seeing not a person, only a form. To them, I was just an object. Another miserable aspect of Valtheim’s social constructs.
Trying to analyze the players for the next move, I broke down those present into main groups. The group of old men by the fireplace—a poor choice; their movements were slow, their bets considered; they played not to win but to maintain status. The group of young nobles at a distant table by the velvet-curtained window—another weak choice; their laughter was too loud, their gestures too broad; they were desperately trying to prove their right to be here. Other groups played cautiously or lost spectacularly, assuming the roles of predators and prey, circling in an endless dance from one dealt card to the next. The Royal Gambling House was a microcosm of Chaos, so perfectly suited to the goals of Chaotic-Darkness.
『 ?? 』━━━???━━━『 ? 』
[ 09th Lumiran 1749 | Fardin | 15:23 | Royal Gambling House ]
Before approaching our main target, we needed to create a legend. We headed to one of the tables in the main hall where the stakes were moderate. Three players sat at the table: an elderly baron with a weary face, a young merchant with darting eyes, and a retired officer with a hard-set mouth.
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“May we join you?” Liam’s voice was even, with a note of bored aristocracy. The baron nodded silently. We sat down. I obediently took a seat behind Liam, feigning a modest shadow.
The game began quickly. At first, the men looked at me with displeasure, but once they were convinced I was just a “naive girl” and not a cardsharp, they relaxed.
For the first few hands, Liam deliberately played with uncertainty, making small mistakes that cost us a few chips. However, this was just part of the manipulation that had long since permeated this establishment. Our opponents relaxed and began to raise the stakes themselves, hoping for a big win, seeing us as easy prey.
On the fourth hand, it was time to end the act. Liam had a strong hand. I gently touched his shoulder, signaling that it was time to stop playing the fool. Liam made a hesitant bet, which the merchant immediately doubled.
Liam “thought for a moment,” casting a helpless glance at me. I could see the reflection of the cards in his pupils and knew he had already lost. I gave Liam a barely perceptible nod, feigning “girlish faith in luck,” and he immediately raised the bet in response. The baron folded. The merchant, certain of victory, went all-in.
Liam revealed his cards. His combination was higher. The merchant’s eyes widened in astonishment; he muttered something under his breath and pushed his chair back with a clatter. We had won a small but noticeable pot.
“It seems beginners get lucky,” the officer boomed, not hiding his envy. “It’s all my sister,” Liam smiled sheepishly. “My good luck charm.”
I once again forced blood to rush to my cheeks, creating a blush, and lowered my gaze. Our legend was established: a wealthy, naive brother and sister, blessed by blind fortune.
As I expected, when we went to cash in our winnings, a house servant-observer approached us.
“Sir, would you care for a game of Traitor’s Edge?” he said dutifully. “High stakes only, in the private rooms.”
Liam deliberately looked at me, and I obediently played my next part.
“Liam, I think we’ve won enough,” I said demurely.
“But sister! This is a chance to win even more! We’re lucky tonight!” he exclaimed enthusiastically.
“Sir Liam, if you wish, I can escort your sister from the establishment. We promise to deliver her to your estate safe and sound,” the servant replied, glancing at me.
“Sister, if you don’t let me play, I will have to ask you to leave,” Liam played along with the servant, his expression one of absolute seriousness.
I shook my head.
“No, alright, let’s go to the other room. I hope we really are lucky.”
“Hold on, I must warn you, if your sister is suspected of cheating by our observers or the croupier, we will ask you to leave the establishment.”
Liam smiled and replied:
“Don’t worry, she’s just looking for a partner here. She’s a very good girl!”
The servant shook his head and led us up a wooden staircase, flanked by heavily armed guards, to the second floor. Our transition into Frederik’s space was, as expected, seamless. The establishment did not like it when newcomers walked away with their winnings.
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[ 09th Lumiran 1749 | Fardin | 18:37 | Royal Gambling House ]
The atmosphere on the second floor of the gambling house was tense; here, unlike the first level, they played exclusively “Traitor’s Edge.” Liam was served a glass of wine to help him relax, and I touched his shoulder to signal him not to drink.
We were seated at a gaming table and asked to wait five or ten minutes for suitable players to be found for a game.
I surveyed the room. Everything here was richer and brighter. My gaze immediately fell on a table near one of the alcoves where Frederik was sitting. He was the center of his own system, a player, a king, and an actor all at once. Three men sat with him. Eriar Greyhant, just as Evelina had described, was an unstable node of power. Portly and smug, with gray hair and bright yellow eyes, he resembled a predator in a cage. His son, Valerian, was his shadow, a parasitic organism existing only within Frederik’s gravitational field. His laughter was an echo of the prince’s, his nods an automatic confirmation of his every word. However, upon seeing me, he held his breath, his composure instantly shattering. The quietest among them was Frederik’s friend—Cassian Alvare. At their table, he seemed like a silent, motionless shadow, only carefully watching the others’ moves.
When Frederik won, he laughed loudly, and his gaze fell on me. He gestured to the servant-observer and said something to him, then addressed his partners with a smirk.
The servant silently crossed the space to our table.
“Sir,” he said cautiously, addressing Liam. “Prince Frederik wishes to see you at his table.”
“The prince himself?!” Liam asked with feigned surprise.
“Yes, your companion has caught his friend’s eye. Is she your sister? Or am I mistaken?” the servant inquired.
“Yes, this is my sister, Eliza,” Liam said with a grin. “If His Highness wishes to see us, we will join him at once.”
“Allow me to escort you,” the servant said in a calm voice, and we followed him.
Even before Liam could introduce himself, a laughing Eriar interrupted him, releasing a cloud of cigar smoke from his mouth:
“I hope I don’t have to extinguish my cigar for such a noble lady to breathe!”
“Don’t worry, sir, my sister has no allergy to cigars,” Liam replied coldly, approaching the table.
Frederik smirked.
“Allow me to introduce myself. Prince Frederik, in the flesh,” he said, taking several gulps of Valtheim’s Hell from a crystal glass.
“A great pleasure, Your Highness! Liam Cornell.” Liam made a courteous bow. “And this is my sister, Eliza Cornell, a very sweet girl.”
I smiled broadly, feigning complete innocence, and curtsied elegantly.
“Is she from the Academy of Duality?” Valerian Greyhant interjected rudely.
“No, she was homeschooled,” Liam smiled politely. “And now she is looking for a suitable partner for marriage.”
Valerian’s cheeks flushed.
“The fact that she’s not from the Academy is excellent,” Frederik said. “The Academy is famous for its loyalty to the matriarchal society, which has outlived its usefulness.” Frederik smiled and looked me in the eye. “Tell me, Eliza, how do you see yourself in marriage?”
This was a test question. I again made my cheeks flush with color.
“Your Highness, for me, there is nothing more important than feeling the security of a loving husband’s strong back and being needed by him.”
Eriar cast a smirk in my direction.
“And what would you choose, loyalty to a husband or to the crown?” he said in a hoarse voice, exhaling another stream of smoke.
This was another test question, and I knew exactly how to answer it:
“How can one compare the love of a person…” I looked at Frederik, widening my eyes, letting a feigned foolish confusion settle on my face.
Frederik laughed.
“Don’t worry, continue.”
I deliberately stammered slightly as I continued to speak:
“I… I meant, how… how can one compare such things?! Love is the most important thing in the world!” I chirped in a deliberately naive voice.
Eriar smirked and looked first at Frederik, then at Valerian.
“Have a seat, Liam,” Cassian suddenly interjected, drawing all attention to himself. “No, really, it’s clear this girl was well-raised at home and could be a good choice for someone.” He cast a sidelong glance at Valerian.
“Alright, let’s begin,” Frederik addressed the Croupier.
The Croupier—a nondescript man with professionally empty eyes—began to shuffle the cards, and I stood calmly behind Liam, casting foolish glances at Valerian, who met them with predictable interest.
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[ 09th Lumiran 1749 | Fardin | 19:11 | Royal Gambling House ]
The air in the room was heavy, thick with the smoke from the cigars that Eriar and Frederik himself were smoking, and the smell of accidentally spilled alcohol. Our tactic was predictable to an outside observer, and Liam, changing his strategy, immediately began to play for high stakes, losing chip after chip. This was necessary, as the system monitored any suspicious activity. At neighboring tables, short, furious arguments would flare up, followed by guttural laughter. This was a true patriarchal den, where men measured not only their wallets but also their egos.
The “Palace Intrigue” rule gave everyone one Court card—their secret weapon. The “Sealed Fate” rule concealed their true intentions, embodied in the dice, under opaque cups. My strategy was based on patience, probability analysis, and absolute control. Frederik, just as Evelina had said, was devilishly good at this game. He didn’t just play impulsively—he used his emotions as a weapon, creating an illusion of recklessness that concealed a cold calculation, and Liam lost to him time and time again.
When we lost yet again, Eriar laughed: “It seems your little bird isn’t bringing you any luck. Perhaps it’s time to wager her?” “Father, you can’t speak to a lady like that…” Valerian tried to object, but immediately fell silent when he caught Eriar’s furious glare. “My sister brings me luck, of course, she’s just too shy for now,” Liam replied with a smile. “Maybe she could sing us something?” Eriar grunted before taking the new cards. I gently touched Liam’s shoulder, signaling that our opponents were sufficiently relaxed, then covered my face with my fan as if shy. “Only for the winner,” Liam replied. “In that case, she’ll sing for me,” Valerian added cheerfully, taking his cards. Frederik shrugged and smiled. “See that you don’t end up without your winnings.” Valerian frowned but smiled back at Frederik, as if accepting defeat in advance.
This time, Liam began to play better, but not well enough to beat Frederik. And the latter ironically drew out his words: “It seems luck is not on your side tonight, my friend.” Frederik took a drag from his cigar and released clouds of fragrant smoke. “Perhaps your lovely companion should blow on the dice? They say a woman’s breath brings fortune.” Eriar laughed sycophantically, and Valerian leaned forward, his gaze becoming oily and appraising. He ran it along the line of my neck and shoulders.
“Well now, that’s not a bad idea, Your Highness,” he drawled. “A breath from such a beauty could raise the dead, let alone the dice.” I deliberately bit my lower lip, feigning vulnerability, and turned away, then hid my gaze behind my fan entirely, so they would think they had put me in an awkward position.
Finally, the decisive round arrived. The pot on the table was enormous. The croupier dealt the cards. I registered the combinations in the reflections of the players’ pupils. Liam held “7 Crowns”—a strong card—and his secret Court card was “The Queen.” The dice under his cup, according to the “Sealed Fate” rule, showed “6 Crowns” and “5 Blades”—an excellent combination. Frederik’s cards, however, were weak, a Moon suit. The time had come.
The first round of betting began. Liam, following my barely perceptible nod, made a cautious bet. Valerian, looking at me instead of his cards, matched it. Eriar, grumbling something, folded. Cassian stared at his cards for a long time, then at Liam, then at me. His gaze was too sharp, too analytical. He also folded.
The action phase began. Valerian and Frederik played their numbered cards. Now it was Liam’s turn. I leaned toward him and whispered, mimicking a maiden’s flutter: “Liam, trust in luck… Play the Queen. Show them you’re desperate.”
Liam nodded and laid the Court card on the table. “The Queen,” he announced.
A tense silence fell over the room. Eriar, no longer in the game, leaned forward. Frederik narrowed his eyes.
“According to the Queen’s rules, I must reveal my dice,” Liam said. At my instruction, a faint tremor entered his voice, as if he regretted his decision. He slowly lifted the cup. On the felt of the table lay the dice: “6 Crowns” and “5 Blades.”
This was the key moment. The trap. By revealing his dice, Liam showed a strong, but not unbeatable, combination. Frederik, confident in his skill and seeing Liam as just a naive newcomer, took the bait.
“Ha!” Frederik sneered. “A bold move, Cornell. Too bold. You’re doubling the six, but with what numbered card? Some two? Your bluff is too obvious.”
“He’s desperate, Your Highness!” Valerian chimed in, not taking his oily gaze off me. “He wants to intimidate us, but his numbered card is surely weak!”
Only Cassian was silent. His gaze was fixed not on the dice, but on my face, hidden behind the fan. He was the only one who sensed that the real game was not being played at the table.
The final round of betting began. Frederik, drunk on the thrill and the certainty of his rightness, went all-in. Valerian, not wanting to be outdone by his idol, threw all his remaining chips onto the table.
Liam feigned agonizing doubt. He looked at me, his gaze full of pleading. I covered my eyes with my fan and gave a barely perceptible nod. Liam exhaled and pushed his chips to the center of the table.
“Showdown!” Frederik commanded.
Valerian slammed his cards down. He had a mediocre combination. Frederik showed his—strong, but not flawless.
Liam slowly turned over his three cards. The top one was the “7 Crowns.”
Silence fell over the room again, but this time it was ringing. The doubled “6 Crowns” die gave 12 points. Plus “5 Blades”—that’s 17. Plus the value of the “7 Crowns” card—that’s 24. And a two-point bonus for matching the “Crowns” suit with a die and another card. His final score was several points higher than the prince’s.
Eriar froze with an unsmoked cigar. Valerian turned pale. Frederik slowly set his glass down on the table. Too slowly.
“Impossible,” he hissed. His face was contorted with fury. “This… this is damned beginner’s luck!”
Liam raked in the chips. His hands trembled slightly—not from fear, but from masterfully feigned excitement.
“Well, Your Highness,” he said with a slight smirk. “It seems my sister’s charm is stronger than your skill tonight. I believe that’s enough for us. Luck is a fickle lady.”
He made a sign that we were leaving. That was the last straw.
“You’re not going anywhere!” Frederik roared, leaping to his feet. “We play until I win my money back!”
Liam feigned indecision.
“I don't think that's wise, Your Highness... the hour is late, and my sister is fatigued.”
Then he paused, as if a brilliant idea had just struck him.
“Although… I know a quiet little place. Not far from here, in the merchant square. A private club. We could continue there in a calm atmosphere. Unless, of course, Your Highness is afraid to take a real risk.”
It was a direct challenge. Frederik, drunk on defeat and Valtheim’s Hell, laughed.
“Afraid? Me?! Lead the way! I’ll beat you so badly you’ll forget your own name, Cornell!”
I feigned fright, tugging on Liam’s sleeve.
“Liam, don’t… Please, let’s go home…”
My plea only added fuel to the fire, but then Cassian intervened. He stood up, his voice quiet but clear in the general noise: “Your Highness, I beg your pardon, but this is reckless. We don’t know these people. This could be a trap.”
Eriar burst out laughing, releasing a thick cloud of smoke:
“Cassian, you’re as cautious as an old maid, as always! The prince accepts the challenge! But…” he narrowed his eyes slyly, “there is some truth in your words.” He turned to his son: “Valerian, you will go with His Highness. And take a couple of my men. Just… for company. So these strangers don’t forget their hospitality.”
Frederik grimaced at this coddling but waved his hand, dismissing any last doubts. “Enough of this fuss! Did you hear, Cornell? Your little sister is afraid! Lead the way! Now!”
Liam nodded, and we headed for the exit.
The plan had worked. The mouse was walking right into the mousetrap. Frederik, accompanied by Valerian, who trailed him with sycophantic devotion, and several grim-faced men of Eriar’s, left the gambling house.
