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

CHAPTER 254: No Shadow. No bribe. No title.

Night hung over the Pembroke estate like a curse. A horse-drawn carriage idled just outside the front steps, its mana lanterns illuminating the darkness. One of the horses let out a soft, uneasy neigh, as if it too sensed what was to come.

Inside the master bedroom, chaos unraveled. Lord Ignatius Pembroke was hunched over a trunk, sweat pouring down his brow as he stuffed it with everything his greedy hands could grab—jewels, sealed documents, gold, fine coats.

His movements were erratic, panicked. Every few seconds, he barked orders at his trembling wife and son. "Pack faster, damn you! We need to leave now!"

His wife, pale and shaking, clutched a pearl necklace with both hands as tears welled in her eyes. "Ignatius... what's happening? Why are we abandoning our home in the middle of the night?"

Her voice was gentle, confused—but that was enough. He turned and struck her across the face with the back of his hand. She collapsed with a cry, eyes quivering with dread as she cupped the stinging bruise.

"Do not question me!" he snarled. "You'll do as I say or I'll have you gagged like a sow! Get up!"

She whimpered and began gathering clothes with shaking hands, blood staining her lip. In the corner, their son, a small boy with ash-blonde hair, clutched the bedpost.

"Papa..." he whispered. "I-I can't find Hootie. He's gone. Can I look for him?"

"Hootie?" Ignatius roared, faintly recalling the child's Owlbear plushy. "That damned owl-rag? Forget the wretched thing! I'll buy you another when we get to safety!"

He stormed to another wardrobe, yanking it open and tossing its contents about. He was rambling under his breath now—about the Mhaledictus, about the Absolution Guild, about Lumielle.

The man had long coveted the fertile farmlands of Zorno. Absorbing them into his own estate would have expanded his holdings tenfold, and he'd seen in that opportunity a path not just to wealth, but to power.

Desperate to prove his worth and curry favor with the Mhaledictus, he personally commissioned the assassination of Lord Alaric and his family, orchestrating the bloodshed that would clear the way for his annexation. It was meant to be both a bold gesture of loyalty and a calculated power play.

But now, with the Absolution Guild moving under the king's banner, he realized the scale of his miscalculation. Even the Mhaledictus, for all their reach and menace, would not—could not—shield him from the dark guild.

Why would they?

Aside from his loyalty, what else had he offered them?

Tonight. This hour. Now. He had to flee before the guild arrived and discovered the truth. Before they dragged him from his bed and carved him open like a hog in a butcher's stall.

"She's ruined everything," Ignatius muttered with absolute loathing. "She's signed my death warrant. That conniving wench. If only I could wring her neck myself."

His wife had risen to her feet, her expression hardening as she clutched her son's hand. "I knew it," she said, trembling but defiant. "You've gotten tangled in something again. I won't let you drag us into it this time."

The man froze, turning his bloodshot eyes on her. "What did you say?"

"I-I said I'm done," she snapped. "I'm taking our son and leaving. I'm tired of your secrets. Tired of your lies. And I'm done being physically abused by you."

"You think I'll let you take my heir?" he hissed, hand raised to deliver another punishing blow.

But it never landed.