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Chapter 26: The Meeting of Shadows
"Meeting's starting already... gee, I already feel nervous," Scott muttered under his breath.
"You nervous?" he asked, glancing at Tayla who stood beside him. Her arms were folded, gaze firm but not entirely unreadable.
Tayla turned to him, her eyes meeting his for a split second. Scott wasn't exactly the most handsome guy, but there was something honest about him. His dark blond hair was cut short, brushed slightly back in a way that revealed a widow's peak. Thick brows and a slightly crooked nose added roughness to his features. He wore a rugged, faded black leather jacket with brown jeans tucked neatly into reinforced boots. His left shoulder and arm were clad in sleek, iron-forged armor plates, slightly worn from battle but polished.
"Yeah... I guess," Tayla finally replied.
A soft voice added from behind them, "Ohhh, I see, Father."
Laura stood beside Raymond, her gaze moving from her sister to the podium. She bore a strong resemblance to Tayla—both had long brown hair and pointed elven ears—but Laura's face bore a trace more softness. Her expression, however, betrayed uncertainty. Her armor was more ceremonial: polished steel with a large emblem engraved on the right breastplate. It was the sigil of their unit—a tiger's head with twin swords driven through its maw. A large black tablet rested in her arm.
She leaned slightly toward Raymond, whispering, "He looks nervous too… is that normal?"
Raymond just gave a quiet, sidelong smile. "Worry when he isn't nervous."
A man stepped forward. He had the poise of a seasoned butler—tall, slim, composed. His suit was dark blue with white trimming, and he carried a tablet that gleamed like obsidian. His voice rang with clarity and authority:
"Esteemed guests—Nobles of the realm, Governor of La Jar, General Augustus and your White Knight officers, distinguished adventurers and scholars—thank you for assembling today. Please, be seated."
A quiet shuffle followed as chairs were drawn. Raymond and Tayla took their seats among their company. Raymond leaned to Tayla and whispered, "I'm sure this is obviously gonna take a while."
The butler stepped forward, activating his tablet with a swift swipe. A brilliant blue hologram expanded upward like mist forming into a board of shifting data and images.
"We are gathered today to discuss the growing concern of the Cult of Vance."
"So that's what they're calling those freaks now," Scott muttered.
"Just listen," hissed the serpentine lady beside him—her green eyes sharp.
Images flickered into clarity—figures clad entirely in black, faces covered, bearing tanned skin. Each photo was tagged with location names and casualty counts. A fresh silence fell over the hall.
"Some kind of terrorist group?" General Augustus questioned, his eyes narrowing.
"Something like that, General," the butler responded. "But with each appearance, they leave behind a message."
A wall photo overtook the others. Written in red: HAIL VANCE.
"That's gotta be blood," Tayla said faintly.
"Yes. It is," Andrea spoke beside Scott, disgust in her voice.
"In every known affected site, the same message appears," the butler confirmed.
"This Vance person... is he a noble? A historical figure?" the Governor of La Jar finally spoke.
"No records of such a name," the butler answered. "He appears only in their symbolism."
Two assistants joined the butler, each revealing new data streams. Among them were logos of companies and graffiti patterns in warzones. The name 'Vance' had been subtly embedded across the world, unnoticed.
"Maybe they all had some shared encounter," Raymond said slowly, drawing all eyes.
A noble raised an eyebrow. "That... might actually be plausible."
"Valid reasoning," Augustus added, nodding slowly. His tone was even, but Tayla caught the way his hand clenched just slightly—hidden under the tablecloth. She filed that detail away.
"We considered that hypothesis as well," the butler confirmed. "And we have more."
Images rotated again, now showing ancient ruins, and a name: Greystone, a community obliterated 200 years ago. Then: The Black Site, an unexplained crater zone still exhibiting gravitational abnormalities.
"Our scientists collected samples there... including preserved skeletons. DNA tests yielded shocking results."
A new image flickered: side-by-side DNA strands.
"This gene here," the butler said, pointing, "matches a trait found in all Vance cultists: the tanned skin gene."
Murmurs buzzed around.
"So it goes back even farther than Greystone..." whispered the White Knight lieutenant.
The butler nodded. "And even stranger—our timeline suggested a pattern. After the Black Site, four years passed before another attack... then another, and so on. Until six years ago."
"Why the break?" the Governor leaned forward.
The butler didn't answer at first. He changed the image.
"Six years ago—Valerian Coast. General Augustus' former home. A cultist attack decimated the region. He led the defense."
All eyes turned to Augustus, who remained unreadable.
Tayla looked at him—no blink, no twitch. But she could feel something twist in her chest. For just a second, the image of Kaido's mother screaming—a memory she'd buried—flickered in her mind.
"That was when Kaido lost his family," Raymond whispered to her. She gave a slow, stiff nod.
"Following year, here in La Jar," the butler continued. "A lone cultist was discovered. Killed by an ex-adventurer."
An image appeared: Douglas Woods – Gunslinger. Status: Resigned.
Tayla's eyes widened.
"That's him! The guy I saw before I got caught."
Raymond turned to her. "What did he have to do with Frank?"
"He was there. He killed the cultist," she said. "But then he disappeared."
"He was detained... then vanished," the butler confirmed. "Now, this part will interest you all... especially Mr. Raymond and Miss Tayla."
Everyone leaned in.
"Among the adventurers killed by that cultist was... Onclave Frank."
The hall dropped into silence.
Frank's profile beamed across the projection, and the reactions were instant.
Tayla stepped forward abruptly, her breath hitching.
"What?!"
Her voice cracked on the edge of disbelief. Her hands clenched tight against her thighs. Her vision blurred slightly as a memory—Frank laughing, offering her half his ration pack—flashed into view and vanished just as quickly.
Raymond's jaw clenched. "He was there?"
The butler nodded solemnly. "That's why the cult took him," he said, voice heavy. "Frank wasn't just a bystander. He was a target."
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