Hacking the Game Didn't Go as Intended [Part Two]

CHAPTER 248: Turning Point

Like lullabies... that never die.

As the final note soared, so too did her spirit—higher, stronger, the vibrato trembling through every bone in the room.

A ripple swept across the chamber—men and women frozen, tears slipping silently down powdered cheeks. Even Stynx and Hynes, so often sneering, watched with parted lips, breathless and spellbound.

This was why they idolized her—why they worshipped her. Her effortless charm, her innocence, her boundless kindness and maternal grace. The way she captured hearts with nothing but her angelic voice.

It was like a drug.

Irresistible to those with a damaged heart.

Out in the courtyard, faces turned upward. Grief was replaced with wonder, with light. Children clutched their parents, men and women held hands, hope returning to the creases of their eyes.

Then came the high note—piercing and pure. People held their breaths and leaned in. It wrapped the room in golden sound, and just as it reached its peak—

A blinding flash of white light.

And then—

The marbled floor, the ballroom, the palace... everything disappeared.

***

Frost clung to the limbs of the trees surrounding the apothecary. Winter's breath had chilled the very soul of the land, yet Zephyr, Midnight, and Fay knelt quietly behind the bramble and undergrowth, hidden from view by the murky veil of night.

Through narrowed eyes, Zephyr observed the building. Several figures lingered outside, pretending to busy themselves with meaningless tasks—stacking wood, sweeping steps, checking doors that had already been locked.

These weren't laborers. They were sentries. Watchdogs. Guardians of something vile. And the scent. The stench of rot and greed clung to their bodies like tar. Their foul mana was unmistakable. It was clear they were Mhaledictus lapdogs.

Fay clutched Silvestia's gift with trembling fingers, her crimson eyes pleading. "...Rai," she whispered, voice nearly a whimper. "What are we doing here? I-I can't afford to lose you too. Please... let's just leave and get help. Please."

But Zephyr didn't respond. His ears twitched, gaze remained fixed on the filth guarding the Kaelmonts' den of evil. His fur bristled. His muscles went taut. And his eyes burned—not with anger, but with something colder. The promise of death.

DING!

[Zephyr has learned the active skill «Faint Trace».]

[Faint Trace]

[Rank: Rare

Classification: Active Skill

Lvl: 1

Proficiency: 0%

A subtle veil shrouds the body in imperceptibility. By dimming natural scent, sound, and aura to near nonexistence, this skill allows the user to move unnoticed—even amidst beasts or those with heightened perception.

Skill Effect:

▪︎ Suppresses detectable scent, breathing, and footsteps.

▪︎ Conceals aura from magical and sensory detection.

Mana Cost: 45

Skill Duration: 55 Seconds

Skill Cooldown: 10 Minutes]

Near the edge of the woods, a familiar man hacked at a log with a slow, careless rhythm.

He was the man who supplied pixie crystals to most of those converted by the Zepharion Church and the Kaelmonts—including Carl and the friendly neighborhood vendor.

The same man who had slipped the satchel of pills to Rue in the square. The one who evidently believed he was safe in the arms of wickedness—protected by the very filth that ruled this city from the shadows.

RUSTLE-RUSTLE-RUSTLE.

The man stiffened, his head snapping to the side.

But he didn't see anything.

Suddenly, another rustle came. Then another.

Panic filled his eyes. Knife in hand, he crept toward the noise. The wind hissed through the branches, but there was nothing. Just the cold and the whisper of his own heartbeat.

He exhaled in relief. "Damn rats," he muttered.

But before he could turn back completely—

"RAWRRR!"

Like death incarnate, a shadow fell from the tree. There was a wet, tearing sound as Zephyr's claws tore through his throat.

"GRAHHK!"

Inside the apothecary, the muffled gurgle echoed like a dying tranquilid. Lugene paused, hunched over a journal struggling to decipher the rest of the formula Lefahne had transcribed for the elixir. Her eyes veered toward the door.

"Honey? Did you hear that?"

Rue barely looked up, fingers trailing through a mound of gold coins they had acquired from selling a rare piece of merchandise. His grin was glassy, greedy.

"Probably just one of the idiots stepping on a rake," he muttered.

Then came the second scream.

And the third—longer, sharper.

Rue froze mid-count.

Lugene stood.

More screams followed, each more brutal than the last—bone-snapping, bloodcurdling.

And then... nothing.

No more cries. No movement.

Just silence.

An awful, choking silence.

Rue and Lugene stared at each other. Their eyes said what their mouths couldn't: something was terribly wrong. Then—without sound, without warning—he was there.

Zephyr.

He stood atop the table, his fur matted with crimson, his form cloaked in silence like a wraith from a child's nightmare. His oceanic eyes churned with quiet fury, liquid ice that threatened to expose them to a fate worse than the flames of hell.