WebNovels

Blades of Deception

Varnellov
7
chs / week
The average realized release rate over the past 30 days is 7 chs / week.
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Synopsis
What would you do if you woke up one day to find yourself on trial for murder your hands bound, your name condemned, and the noose of fate tightening around your neck? Accused of murdering a fellow heir, Aden Vasco stands before the Empire’s highest court awaiting his downfall. But when flashes of another life bleed into his mind , memories of betrayal, death, and an ancient Entity offering him a second chance , Aden realizes the truth runs deeper than any verdict. The crime, the Empire, even time itself, are all part of a web he’s already lived through once before. Now burdened with fragmented memories from his future self, Aden must uncover who truly framed him, expose the underground organization controlling the Empire, and face the divine force that governs all existence: TIME.
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Chapter 1 - How Did We Get Here?

"The verdict has been reached."

Aden Vasco stood at the center of the grand disciplinary chamber, his wrists bound in enchanted iron cuffs that suppressed mana. The air was thick with judgment, the gazes of the Walpurgis Academy's Disciplinary Committee drilled into him like nails hammered into flesh.

The Sun's rays filled into the room, illuminating the towering bookshelves and

banners bearing the Academy's crest. The Head Arbitrator's voice rang out, devoid of warmth or hesitation. Silence fell over the room. The students, professors, and noble representatives in attendance barely dared to breathe.

"Aden Vasco, you are hereby found guilty of first-degree murder."

Amongst the midst of all of this, there was only one thing he thought of.

How did we get here?

A sharp pain clawed at his temples, fragmented memories flooding in. The scent

of steel, the sound of flesh being torn, the taste of iron on his tongue. 

This crime wasn't his.

The note was waiting for him, slipped between the pages of a tactical manual.

Your cousin lacks vision. The Public does not. We can discuss your future. Midnight. Scriptorium Annex. - A Friend

Aden Vasco crumpled the parchment in his fist. The Public. His father's words echoed in his memory: "There are all kinds of evil in the world, monsters, flesh-hungry cannibals, and then there's Public"

The fact they'd reached out to him meant they already had tendrils deep within House Vasco. The thought made his skin crawl. His anger wasn't hot; it was a cold, hard knot in his stomach. He went to the meeting not as a hopeful heir, but as a scout behind enemy lines.

The contact was a man named Silas, dressed in the unassuming robes of a junior scribe. He had a calm, rehearsed demeanor.

"The current succession line in House Vasco is… unstable," Silas began, pouring two cups of wine. "We prefer stability. We prefer strength. We believe that's you."

"And what do you get out of it?" Aden asked, his voice flat.

"A strong ally in a powerful house. It's that simple."

It was anything but simple.

A week later, he saw Claire Remes at a "recruitment gathering" in a dusty lecture hall. 

Claire Remes stood across the dimly lit room, her arms crossed, looking as out of place as a diamond in a mud pit.

She stood apart from the others, observing everything with a detached, analytical coolness. Their eyes met across the room. No smiles. Just a silent, mutual acknowledgment: You too?

He engineered a "chance" encounter a few days later near the training grounds.

"Remes," he nodded, falling into step beside her.

"Vasco," she replied, not breaking her stride. "Let's skip the part where we pretend this is a coincidence. They got to you as well."

"They did. Told me they could make me the successor"

Claire let out a short, humorless laugh. "They told me my father's favor was a coin they could flip. I don't like people who treat my family's legacy like a market commodity."

"So what's your play?" Aden asked, cutting to the chase.

"Information," she said, stopping and turning to him. Her gaze was intense. "We play along. We get inside. There's a branch chamber deep in the academy's undercroft. That's where they keep their real records. We get in, we learn what they're really doing here, and we find out who in our families they're talking to."

"Just reconnaissance," Aden clarified. "No heroics."

"Look whose talking, all i want is to get those traitors out from my family."

He offered a grim smile. "Finally, something we agree on."

The air in the chamber was still and dry, thick with the scent of old parchment and ink. They'd found it. The Public's inner sanctum.

Aden kept watch at the door, his every sense screaming, while Claire stood over the central lectern, her fingers flying across the pages of a heavy, leather-bound ledger. Her face was lit by the cool, white glow of a mage-light hovering over her shoulder.

"This is it," she whispered, her voice tight with a mixture of triumph and horror. "Payrolls, blackmail dossiers on half the noble families… and notes on potential 'successors'. They have a file on you and me."

"Can you remember it all?" Aden asked, his gaze fixed on the empty corridor outside.

"I don't need to." She pulled a small, pre-enchanted crystal from her belt and pressed it to the page. It glowed faintly as it siphoned the information. "Just need a sample. Proof."

The crystal dimmed. She tucked it away. "Got it. Let's go."

A shared look of grim victory passed between them. They'd done it. They'd gotten in and out without a trace. They moved back to the heavy oak door, Aden leading the way. He eased it open, peering into the dark tunnel.

It was clear.

He stepped out, Claire close behind. He let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

And then the torches flared to life.

Not one or two, but a dozen, lining the tunnel in both directions. They were surrounded. The flickering light illuminated a full squad of The Public's elites, their grey masks and rune-etched leathers making them look like statues come to life. Silas stood at the front, his expression one of mild disappointment.

"A resourceful pair," Silas said, his voice echoing softly in the confined space. "I'll admit, we didn't think you'd find the chamber. But we always secure the exits."

Aden and Claire fell back-to-back, swords drawn, Claire's free hand crackling with raw energy.

"The crystal, Miss Remes," Silas said, holding out his hand. "And your compliance. This doesn't have to end in a mess."

"Go to hell," Aden snarled.

"Then i'll see you there."

He gave a slight nod. The elites moved in.

The fight was a brutal, chaotic symphony of clashing steel and concussive spells. Claire fought with controlled fury, blasting one elite off his feet with a whip-crack of force. Aden was a whirlwind, his Vasco training allowing him to hold two at bay, his blade a silver blur.

But for every one they parried, two more stepped forward. They were a tide, and Aden and Claire were a crumbling sandcastle.

Aden took a gash to his thigh, grunting in pain. Claire cried out as a well-aimed dagger hilt struck her wrist, her mage-light flickering and dying. The darkness became a strobe of torchlight and violence.

"Aden, I can't-" Claire's voice was strained, panicked.

"The side tunnel!" he yelled, spotting a narrow, dark passage twenty feet away. "Go!, break it over!"

He redoubled his efforts, creating a wall of steel to cover her. He saw her break from the circle in his peripheral vision, heard her footsteps retreating.

But they didn't head for the side tunnel.

He risked a glance. Claire was running full-tilt back down the main corridor, away from the fight, away from him. Their eyes met for a fractured second. There was no apology in her look, only raw, animal fear. Then she rounded a corner and was gone.

The betrayal was a colder shock than any blade.

His focus shattered. An elite's sword slipped past his guard. He twisted, avoiding a fatal blow to the heart, but the tip still sank deep into his shoulder. He cried out, his sword arm going numb. Another blow to the back of his knee sent him crashing to the stone floor.

Silas walked over, looking down at him with that same infuriating calm. The elites formed a silent circle around them.

"A predictable outcome," Silas murmured. "The Remes girl has a stronger survival instinct. A useful trait. You, Lord Vasco, are simply a liability."

He nodded to one of the masked figures. "Make it clean."

An elite stepped forward. Aden, on his knees, tried to raise his sword, but his arm wouldn't obey. He could only watch as the elite reversed his grip on his blade, point aimed downward.

There was no ceremony. No grand speech.

The sword fell in a short, efficient thrust.

A white-hot agony, more profound than anything he had ever known, exploded in his chest. He couldn't even scream. The world swam, the torchlight dimming as he slumped forward onto the cold, wet stone.

The last thing he heard was the sound of retreating footsteps, leaving him alone in the dark with the sound of his own heartbeat slowing to a stop.

The world faded from a symphony of pain to an unnerving, absolute silence.

One moment, Aden was on cold, wet stone, the iron scent of his own blood filling his lungs. The next, he was… nowhere. And everywhere.

He was lying on a surface that was neither warm nor cold, hard nor soft. It was simply there. Above him stretched not a sky, but an infinite, starless black void. The air was still and empty, devoid of smell or sound.

He pushed himself up. His body felt whole, but distant, an echo. The agonizing wound in his chest was gone, leaving only a phantom memory.

Is this death?

"Not yet."

The voice was calm, resonant, and seemed to come from all directions at once.

Aden turned.

A figure stood before him, tall and draped in robes of pure, blinding white that seemed to generate their own light. It had the shape of a man, shoulders, arms, hands, legs, but where a face should have been, there was only a smooth, featureless expanse. The Entity.

"You've run a long way, Vasco," it said, its voice echoing softly in the vast nothing.

Aden found his own voice, though it sounded strange in the silence. "Where am I?"

"A place between. A moment outside the flow." The Entity tilted its head, a disturbingly human gesture from a faceless being. "Aden Vasco, heir to a legacy of steel and ambition. Do you ever lie awake at night? Staring at the canopy of your bed, and think… if only?"

Aden stared, unnerved. "If only what?"

"If only you could go back. To the words you shouldn't have said. The trust you shouldn't have given. The blow you failed to land." The Entity's hands, pale and long-fingered, gestured vaguely. "If you could reverse it all, and fix every single mistake."

The question hit him with the force of a physical blow. Images flashed in his mind: his father's turned back, Claire's terrified eyes as she fled, the cold certainty of the blade entering his chest.

"Everyone thinks that," Aden said, his voice low and raw. "It's a useless fantasy."

"Is it?" the Entity challenged, its faceless gaze feeling more intense than any stare. "What if it weren't? What would you sacrifice for that chance? To unmake your greatest failure?"

Aden's mind raced. To undo Claire's betrayal? To expose The Public before they ever laid a trap? To see a flicker of pride, just once, in his father's eyes? The desire was a physical ache.

"Anything," he whispered, the word tasting like both truth and damnation.

"Are you saying that you can give me that chance?"

The Entity went perfectly still. "The one who can truly give you that chance is not me."

As if on cue, a soft footfall echoed in the silence. From the void behind the Entity, another figure emerged. A man in dark, travel-worn clothes, a simple wooden mask obscuring his face. He moved with a heavy, weary grace that spoke of a long, losing war.

He stopped beside the Entity, his masked gaze fixed on Aden.

"Then who is?" Aden asked, his eyes locked on the newcomer.

The masked man reached up. His hands, scarred and familiar, lifted the mask.

Aden's breath froze in his chest.

He was looking at his own face. Aged by a decade of hardship, etched with lines of grief and bitterness he had not yet earned. The eyes were the same, but they held a chilling depth of failure.

Older Aden offered a grim, tired smile. "It's us."