The Gaze of the Silver Crowned Dragon

Hai Na had only just left when James Moriarty returned home with a heavy suitcase.

"Have the people from the Bureau of Supervision only just left?"

Old James asked this the moment he entered.

He had clearly run into Hai Na at the manor gate and exchanged a few pleasantries with her.

James was a refined-looking old gentleman, with obvious wrinkles already showing on his face. His gray pupils were somewhat cloudy, his eye sockets deep-set, and his hair white and sparse. His skin, however, was very well maintained. His cheeks were gaunt, and his cheekbones were high. Although he looked thin when wearing his coat, it was immediately apparent that he was not frail when he took it off.

He always spoke softly, with the drawn-out, gentle, slightly rolled elven accent. Anyone could tell that he had received an excellent upbringing, and that his temper was certainly mild.

He set the suitcase down by the door. As he removed his double-breasted long coat and took off his top hat, he handed them to the personal male servant waiting there. "Their people didn't interrogate Iver for several hours, did they...? Mm, thank you, Wade. Remember to send this case to Iver's room later."

"Yes, sir. I'll remember." His personal servant answered softly as he took the items and withdrew.

"Miss Hai Na was late."

The old elf did not choose to conceal the matter for her. Instead, he openly expressed his displeasure. "She's always like this. She thinks about her hat and forgets her tie, always so careless. If she keeps this up, sooner or later she'll miss something important and get a thorough scolding from her superior."

"That's a matter for later. We'll talk about it after 'sooner or later' happens. If she makes a mistake because of her bad habits, then let her mistake teach her a lesson."

The old man merely smiled and narrowed his eyes as he spoke unhurriedly. "Don't scold her now for mistakes she might make in the future, Oswald. You're only her instructor, not her superior."

He was quite kind and familiar with this elf steward named Oswald.

That was only natural. More than sixty years ago, when he had been about the same age as Iver was now, Oswald had also watched him grow up.

Aside from the old steward, this mansion employed sixteen other live-in servants—including a female steward, two personal maids, two personal male servants, two maids, five footmen, a cook, two assistant cooks, and a coachman. Iver's older brother usually did not return home. Besides him and Yulia, the only master of the household was the old master.

James usually acted with low-key composure and was polite even to the servants. Although he rarely smiled, he also never grew angry or lost his temper with those beneath him.

—or, more accurately, no one had seen him lose his temper or grow angry in all these decades. Even when faced with the rudest of guests, the old man always maintained his dignity without being servile or overbearing.

Yes, the old man.

Although James was nominally Iver's adoptive father, he was old enough to be Iver's grandfather.

That was only reasonable... When he adopted Iver, Iver had been only six years old. Now, Iver was already eighteen.

Edward Moriarty, the elder brother of Iver and Yulia, had been adopted by James at the age of eight. He was now thirty-five.

"...Father."

Yulia, who was standing beside Iver, went over and greeted him softly.

She was like a well-behaved kitten, nuzzling her head toward him as the old man lovingly stroked it.

"How are you feeling today, Yulia?"

He asked seriously, "Have you taken your medicine?"

"I already have."

Yulia spoke softly, her voice possessing a dreamlike, transparent quality.

"Go to bed early, and don't read too late. Knowledge is something you can never finish learning."

The old man earnestly reminded her, "You must go to bed no later than nine. Your health isn't good—are you listening, Yulia?"

Seeing Yulia's gaze begin to drift to the side as he spoke, he raised his voice slightly for emphasis. "Yulia?"

"Mm, I know."

Yulia responded vaguely.

The old man sighed helplessly and emphasized again, "Don't stay up late, you silly girl."

"You never go out anyway, so day and night make little difference to you. You might as well go to bed early and read whatever you want during the day. It's better for your eyes, too."

As he spoke, Yulia fell silent again.

Old James was at a loss as well and could only stress, "I'm old now. I can't stay up late anymore. I have to sleep at ten, so if you have any questions, I won't be able to answer them. But if you read during the day, you can come to me anytime when you don't understand something. I don't have lessons tomorrow, and I'll be staying home for several days this time. You can ask me about anything you don't understand, all right?"

"...All right."

This time, Yulia did not pretend not to hear. She seriously raised her head, her ruby-like eyes fixed on the old man. "I've been reading books on alchemy lately... treatises on the Equilibrium Path. Do you know much about it, Father?"

"Father understands every book in this house."

The old man answered calmly, "I know a little about all Nine Great Paths."

His tone was flat, but it naturally carried a sense of confidence.

"Then I'll definitely go to bed early tonight."

The girl raised two fingers beside her ear toward the sky and said earnestly, "I swear. I mean it—"

"Don't."

The old man merely reached out, gently bent her fingers, and folded them into a fist.

"Don't do that."

James spoke solemnly. "That's a Simple Oath, a gesture imbued with spirituality. If you violate the oath, you really will be punished."

"...I just wanted to try it."

Yulia spoke softly. "I only saw it in a book today... Was my gesture correct?"

"Correct. So don't do it again next time."

The old man sighed, somewhat weary. "Go eat. I have something to discuss with Iver."

Yulia answered and followed Oswald to the dining room. Only the two of them remained in the sitting room.

James fell silent again and sat opposite Iver.

The old man picked up the tea that Hai Na had not touched. After pouring it out, he filled his own cup with hot tea.

Looking at the silent Iver, he wrapped his hands around the teacup and asked softly, "How do you feel... in your current state? Is it still stable?"

He was referring to the shadow demon Iver had contracted.

There was no way to hide something like this from his adoptive father.

Since Iver had awakened lying at home, Butler Oswald had most likely brought him back while he was unconscious. James must have examined his body and applied a simple general seal. At the very least, he had not allowed the shadow demon to take control of Iver's body while Iver was unconscious.

It could be said that he had been exceptionally considerate.

In the scenes of the "future," the mad, gloomy James Moriarty, hunched over, looked so entirely different from the kind old man before him who cared about him that they seemed like two completely different people!

All the memories in his mind were of James doting on him—

When Iver had been a little over ten, he had once mentioned offhandedly that he missed the special fried cod fillets Aunt Misu used to make for them at the orphanage during festivals.

As a result, Aunt Misu had been hired the very next day at a high salary to work as an assistant cook in the household for a while. Not only did she teach the cook how to make her special fried cod fillets, she also taught her all the other "commoner dishes" she knew. When she was later asked to leave, she was given an additional sum of money.

The frightened Iver had then not dared say that he wanted to eat or have anything for at least half a year. He was afraid that the moment he mentioned something, it would be bought and delivered the very next.

Even Little Iver, before recovering his memories of his Previous Life, had always understood himself clearly—he was not James Moriarty's biological son, after all. He had no right to enjoy such preferential treatment as though it were only natural.

It was only because Iver was sensible that he did not become some kind of wastrel under such indulgence.

Thus, whenever Iver looked at his adoptive father now, his feelings were always complicated. He still harbored a sliver of hope.

...Could it be that, when the story began, his adoptive father had not yet been the mastermind? Or perhaps he had only fallen onto the evil path when the Avalon Kingdom fell apart?

That was not impossible.

In the original story, when the Avalon Kingdom fell apart, Iver fled to the Theocracy with the protagonist. From that point on, he and his adoptive father were separated. When they met again, three years had already passed.

Could it be...

that something had happened during those three years? ...But then, that still could not explain why Iver had infiltrated the "players" as a spy.

"—Iver?"

Seeing Iver sink into thought again, the old man called to him softly. "If it won't work, I'll ask the bishop to help dispel the demon possessing you."

"...Ah, I'm fine, Father. Among the demonic knowledge I obtained from those people, there happened to be a method for sealing shadow demons."

Iver looked up and smiled reassuringly. "I was just thinking about something else."

"Then I believe you."

His adoptive father slowly nodded. "I've already brought back the materials you asked me for yesterday. The Rope from the Gallows was easy enough to find... but the nails from the head of someone executed by the wheel were extremely difficult. The Queen abolished the breaking wheel after her accession, so I found them in a museum.

"I didn't know whether you would need them later, so I brought back all four that still existed. I also dealt with the collection records cleanly, so there's nothing to worry about. If you need anything else, tell me... Don't trust outsiders so easily again."

...He found them this quickly?

Iver could hardly believe it.

He had not expected his adoptive father to actually find them after only one day.

Was this the power the Moriarty Family could wield while the Avalon Kingdom still existed?

"Wonderful! With them, I'll be able to seal the shadow demon more stably."

Iver's heart warmed, and he thanked him sincerely. "Thank you, Father!"

The two ritual materials he had requested were not actually for sealing the shadow demon. Using a wheelchair was the simplest and most stable sealing method. That was the optimal solution the Demon Scholars of the Stibium Kingdom had discovered four years later.

"Then I won't eat dinner tonight!"

His heart itched with anticipation, and he looked eager to get started. Iver had always been a fanatic of the occult, so this behavior did not seem out of place at all.

"I'll do it."

Seeing Iver about to leave by pushing his own wheelchair, Old James hurried two steps forward, held the back of the chair, and pushed Iver toward his room.

On the way, the old man spoke softly. "Iver, you might not like hearing this, but Father still has to say it.

"When performing rituals, you must never use humans or human remains as materials or sacrifices. Aside from that, Father will find any materials you need somehow... Can you promise me that?"

Hearing this, Iver, sitting in his wheelchair, slightly widened his eyes in surprise.

It was not because he was surprised that his adoptive father, the mastermind, had actually made a request that seemed so moral...

It was because he knew the old man was completely right.

Only after the arrival of the Fallen Angel, when the level cap for Demon Scholars was raised, did the Demon Scholars of the old era realize that they had taken the entirely wrong path.

They had all believed that the key to being a Demon Scholar lay in "demon," never realizing that the key lay in "scholar."

Humans could not use humans as ritual materials, and elves could not use elves. If someone had been transformed into an undead, they could not use the bones of any animal as materials. This was the taboo of Heavenly Sin.

Any Demon Scholar who had used a sacrifice of their own kind and incurred the punishment of Heavenly Sin would be unable to advance in this profession to become a Great Sin Scholar. Those Fifth Level Demon Scholars could only transform themselves into various demons. That could not even be considered advancement; it was merely exchanging their professional level for a racial template stronger than that of a human.

Without a doubt, both their limits and abilities were far weaker than those of a Great Sin Scholar, a hero-class profession.

Players, however, had been unable to use members of their own kind as ritual materials from the very beginning, and thus could not satisfy the conditions for an erroneous advancement.

Yet James had stated this secret so clearly.

Was it a coincidence, or...

Something stirred in Iver's heart, but he merely nodded seriously.

He raised the two fingers of his right hand beside his ear and spoke the oath word by word. "I swear that I will not use the lives or remains of my own kind as ritual materials or sacrifices."

As soon as his voice fell, he suddenly saw a scene of illusion—

In the dead of night, atop a Snow Mountain.

A resplendent dragon wearing a silver crown, its entire body resembling crystal, diamond, and silver all at once, silently gazed at him.

The illusion lasted for only an instant, not even half a second. Yet when Iver came to, his entire body was drenched in cold sweat.

You felt the gaze of "Authority"

You obtained the Trait: Authority - Silver Scale

Authority - Silver Scale: With this mark as its seal, the Silver Crowned Dragon is watching you. One of the oaths you have sworn cannot be violated. When you attack anyone who violates an oath, gain +1 advantage (divine)

"...I don't know whether it's your luck or misfortune, but a Simple Oath alone attracted Its attention. It should be a coincidence..."

The old man behind Iver seemed to have sensed something as well and stopped walking.

He remained silent for a long while before slowly pushing the wheelchair onward again. "Regardless, the God of Authority heard your oath. You can't violate it now."

"Of course..."

Iver wearily closed his eyes. He felt his heart pounding so violently that it seemed to interfere with his breathing. "I will never set foot on that path of no return—the path of corruption."