CHAPTER 118: CH 118: DON’T NEED YOU ANYMORE- PART 2

Gozu and his servant stood before Fenrir, both wearing carefully measured expressions—suspicion wrapped in reluctant trust.

They had no other choice.

The deadline loomed, and without the pure mana required, their position on the third floor would be stripped away like dried leaves in a storm.

Gozu cleared his throat.

"We need you to fill the mana device again. Just enough to cover the tribute. No more, no less."

Fenrir nodded without protest. He stepped forward and pressed his hand against the measuring device once more.

Subtly, he activated Master of Illusions, crafting a perfect mimicry of overflowing pure mana.

The orb glowed brighter than before, humming with a sound that seemed to pull awe from the very walls. Gozu and his servant leaned in, eyes wide.

"I believe that should be enough. I... think I need to rest. That drained more out of me than I expected."

Fenrir said, taking a step back and staggering slightly. He pressed a hand to his forehead.

Gozu jumped at the opportunity.

"Of course, of course! You’ve done more than enough. Valtor, show our guest to one of the guest rooms. And prepare something decent for dinner."

The servant—Valtor—sighed, clearly unhappy with the command but not in a position to refuse.

"Follow me."

He muttered, motioning for Fenrir to walk with him.

As they moved through the mansion’s grand halls, Valtor launched into a speech without waiting for Fenrir’s interest.

"You should feel honored. Not just anyone gets to walk these halls. This mansion once belonged to a powerful noble faction. Before they were wiped out, of course."

He said, voice laced with pride.

His eyes flicked back to Fenrir.

"They say the old master of this house was feared across the floors."

"Is that so?"

Fenrir murmured, half-listening.

"Yes. He was called the Tyrant. A warlord from the upper floors. Built this mansion with resources no one else could ever dream of acquiring. People still say his spirit lingers here."

Fenrir chuckled quietly, amused by the servant reciting stories about his past self, without having the slightest clue who he was speaking to.

Valtor continued.

"They say he had secret chambers. Hidden vaults. Strange mechanisms buried deep within the foundations. Of course, those are just rumors. No one’s ever found anything."

"Mhm."

Fenrir replied, eyes scanning the familiar architecture and mentally noting what had changed... and what hadn’t.

Eventually, Valtor stopped in front of a large, well-kept guest chamber.

He pushed the door open with a flourish.

"This is the guest quarters. You’ll find everything you need here. Dinner will be served soon. Until then, I’d suggest you rest."

Then, in a lower voice, he added.

"But don’t think this gives you free rein. You’re not allowed to roam the mansion as you please. Some places are off limits—especially to outsiders."

Fenrir simply smiled in response. That same serene, unreadable smile that had unnerved the servant earlier.

Valtor’s eyes twitched. The hair on the back of his neck stood up.

"What’s with that smile? Whatever. You’ll learn the hard way if you cross the line."

He muttered, turning away quickly.

He stalked off down the corridor, clearly flustered.

Fenrir leaned against the doorframe, watching him go. As Valtor turned the corner, his foot barely missed a pressure plate embedded in the floor.

A metallic click echoed as the mechanism triggered just a hair too late.

"GAH!"

Valtor jumped back, nearly tripping over his own feet. He looked down at the ground, eyes wide with panic.

"Damn it! Who set a trap here?!"

Fenrir chuckled softly to himself as he watched Valtor fume and curse the hallway before stomping off.

’Still works. Even after all these years.’

He thought, amused.

He stepped into the guest room and closed the door behind him.

The room was lavish, clearly meant to impress. Velvet curtains, polished wood, and soft lights filled the space with warmth. But Fenrir didn’t care about any of it.

He sat on the edge of the bed, stretching slightly.

Gozu and Valtor were playing their roles well—greedy, ambitious, and unaware. They thought they’d trapped a walking mana battery.

But it was he who had stepped into his own mansion.

Once Fenrir had entertained himself enough by simply observing from the shadows, he decided it was time to act.

While the urge to destroy the mansion and expose Gozu as a traitor pulsed beneath his calm demeanor, Fenrir resisted.

There was a more important goal here than vengeance or theatrics.

He needed answers—specifically about what happened to his generals after the collapse of his old faction.

And if there were any clues left in this house, his house, then he would find them.

The mansion was still filled with traps, though none were clever enough to fool someone like him.

Fenrir slipped through the corridors like a shadow, avoiding pressure plates, bypassing hidden blades, and ignoring illusion wards that would have sent ordinary intruders into panic.

He scoffed quietly.

"They couldn’t even modify the security systems? Pathetic."

It was almost insulting how little effort had gone into defending the mansion beyond what he himself had originally installed.

The very house that once stood as a fortress during times of war had become nothing more than a fragile relic in the hands of lesser beings.

He turned toward the main hallway that led to the upper chambers.

This was where he and his generals once lived—brothers-in-arms, each with a room that doubled as both sanctuary and command post.

And at the farthest end of the hall stood the master bedroom.

His bedroom.

The massive door was still there, etched with runes and reinforced with powerful mana locks.

When he placed his hand on it, the enchantment stirred. A faint glow emerged, then shimmered and faded as the lock recognized its rightful owner.

Click.

The door opened.

The room beyond was untouched. Everything was exactly where he remembered.

The towering bookshelves, the war banners draped over the walls, the sealed chest in the corner that only he could open—this room was frozen in time.

But what caught his attention wasn’t the nostalgia. It was the single sheet of parchment on the writing desk, weighed down by a rusted coin.

He approached slowly, eyes narrowing.

The letter was short. Handwritten.

[We will survive. We will wait for you.]

There was no name. No signature.

But Fenrir didn’t need one. He recognized the handwriting. He recognized the coin—an old keepsake used among his inner circle to convey messages that couldn’t be intercepted.

One of his generals had written this.

They were alive. Or at least, they had been when the letter was left here.

Fenrir stared at the paper for a long moment. A rush of emotion threatened to rise within him, but he kept it buried beneath the weight of discipline.

He folded the letter and slipped it into his coat pocket.

Then, he turned his attention to the rest of the room.

Money had been hidden beneath the floorboards—a cache he had personally placed there for emergencies. It hadn’t been touched. He took it without hesitation.

A few rare artifacts were also still in place. Likely overlooked by Gozu due to their dormant appearance.

Fenrir recognized them for what they were: tools meant only for the original commanders of the faction. He pocketed them as well.

With everything secured, he gave the room one final look.

This was no longer a place to rest. It was now just another battlefield in his mind, one where loyalty and betrayal clashed in silence.