Chapter 55

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Chapter 55: Ghost and Spy

In Osmund’s heavily guarded mansion, in the dim night, a pale woman stood with her back to the owner of the mansion. The dog continued to bark, its leash pulled tightly, trying desperately to lunge towards the half-transparent Phantom Shadow ahead.

"Who are you?" Osmund shouted loudly.

He was past the age of losing sleep over people’s lives, not afraid of ghosts seeking revenge – no ghost could do that. Criminals only died due to time, disease, or other malicious people. There were no ghosts in this world, or they were gone.

Aryan had encountered various oddities, the powerful ones had disappeared, and the weak ones were not to be feared. Osmund had seen tricks used by charlatans and knew how lighting and expensive technology could create frightening illusions. He regarded the newcomer as an intruder and cautiously took a step back with his sword ready to call for help.

The woman turned her head, revealing a blank face.

It’s a mask, Osmund thought calmly, trying to ignore the dim mist swirling on the blank face. His gaze moved downward, looking at the woman’s feet… but there were none, her skirt billowed like a curtain caught in the wind, nothing below it. The faceless woman began to move, with her hair and skirt drifting, but her body remained stable, showing no signs of walking.

She is moving towards Osmund.

"Guards!" Osmund shouted, quickly stepping back a few paces, unfastening the collar around the small hunting dog’s neck. The dog lunged towards the figure, crashing into them, as if passing through a beam of light.

Osmund shouted even louder, "Guards! Come quick!" he recited ghost information from the military academy textbook in his mind. Ghosts, spirits, seeing the dog unharmed, showed that she was not a life-draining creature. Most ghosts were harmless, visible but intangible, no danger at all. There was nothing to fear, why was there a creature that had disappeared for countless years here?

The torches around lit up, the doors of the courtyard opened, guards poured in. They looked fierce, weapons in hand, searching everywhere frantically, like headless flies. What are you looking for? Are you all blind? Osmund wanted to scold them like this, but when he turned around, he immediately realized he was the only one standing in the well-lit courtyard. In the moment he glanced at the open door, the ghost that had slowly drifted towards him was nowhere to be seen.

"Sir?" The lead guard looked around in vain for a while, then cautiously asked, "What’s wrong?"

There was no trace of the ghost anywhere, she disappeared inexplicably just as she had appeared. In the courtyard, only the hunting dog was leaping around like a cannonball, running and biting aimlessly, its teeth making a gnashing sound in the air. No one paid any attention, the silly dog spoiled by Osmund’s wife could go crazy all afternoon over a butterfly.

"It’s nothing," Osmund said reluctantly, "I must have been mistaken."

The guards left one by one, taking the torches outside, and the light in the courtyard dimmed again. Osmund vigilantly surveyed everything around, his gaze scanning every corner. He remained on guard for a while, until his eyes were dry and his arms were sore, and even the running dog slinked back to its kennel. "Darling, what are you doing?" his wife’s voice came from the upper floor, a woman in pajamas stood on the balcony, looking down, "Did someone come just now?"

"There was nothing," Osmund said, sheathing his knife and rubbing his tired forehead.

"I must be really tired," he thought, cursing his job. Osmund shook his head mockingly and headed to the bedroom.

"Let’s leave those things that can’t be done immediately for now. That’s the good thing about bureaucracy, you always have plenty of buffer time," his wife started babbling about "everything will be okay". Osmund ignored her and pretended to sleep. After a while, his wife’s voice finally stopped.

Pleasant silence lingered, but just as Osmund was about to fall asleep, the voice spoke again.

"Things will not get better," she softly said in his ear, "The moment of falling from the wire is close."

This hit a nerve with Osmund, and his drowsiness vanished. He abruptly sat up, glaring angrily at his wife who was spouting nonsense. In the dim light, he could only see her blurry figure. Regardless, Osmund was ready for an argument. The terrible situation and the overly ominous words clouded his mind with irritability. It was only when his hand almost touched his wife’s shoulder that Osmund clumsily realized that something was not quite right.

The voice just now seemed to come from his left ear.

His wife was sleeping on his right side.

Osmund slowly turned his head, feeling the stiffness in his shoulders and neck, almost hearing his spine creak like some long-neglected old part.

The window in the bedroom was on his wife’s side, covered by thick curtains at the moment. Even if the moonlight outside was bright and clear, there shouldn’t have been this white light inside. So what was that fluorescent glow next to the bed then? Osmund glanced over to the side and saw a face hovering close behind a translucent veil.

If a face is only considered as having facial features, then it is not a face.

Osmund’s body hair stood on end as he let out a roar, picked up a book from his bedside, and threw it at the unwelcome guest by his bed. The thick book sailed through the air easily and landed on the floor with a loud thud. He then randomly threw pillows, blankets, and even slippers on the floor. The darn ghost chuckled softly, like a breath, fading into the air before his wife could wake up and complain.

She vanished just like that, fading away instead of dispersing, disappearing like a cockroach into the shadows of the bedside table. Ghosts are harder to trace than cockroaches, more silent. "You are too tired," said his wife, who knew nothing, before drifting off to sleep minutes later. Osmund sat at the bedside, staring into the vast darkness in front of him, sleepless all night.

The next day, even before the sky was fully lit, Osmund had risen from his bed and rushed out of the haunted mansion. He kept busy amidst the crowd all day, returning at dusk with an amulet stuffed in his jacket pocket.

This was no common thing; it came from… certain sources. Colonel Benson wouldn’t approve of this; he had previously shown disdain for all traditional props carried by the "circus," considering them superstitious tricks. You see, those with shallow knowledge and arrogance always dismiss anything beyond their understanding as a joke. Osmund didn’t care about what the colonel might think. He wasn’t as docile as Benson thought; he wasn’t someone to be ordered around.

The Governor assigned Osmund under Benson’s command to provide assistance and surveillance. "Because I trust you," the Governor said. While others, some more blindly loyal without a brain, might have been immensely grateful, what use was this trust to Osmund? Oh, one couldn’t say that; the Governor’s trust was still useful. But if this trust meant being dispatched to a colonel’s side as a secretary, then it was as good as useless to him.

The time spent by the colonel’s side grew longer and more dreadful. Who would have thought earlier that he would be entangled in such troubles beyond his capabilities?

"The moment of falling from the tightrope is near."

Osmund shivered, gripping the protective amulet in his pocket. It wasn’t just a piece of decoration; with this, even harmful ghosts couldn’t touch him, couldn’t harm him.

But the ghost seemed to have no intention of touching him.

She appeared anywhere at any time, from a white figure at the end of a corridor to face-to-face with Osmund in a small space. Even in empty places, she made eye contact with Osmund, and even when Osmund stayed in a crowded area, she could still appear in every corner that only Osmund could find. The ghost never stayed long; she only appeared when Osmund was about to forget her, sometimes near, sometimes far, sometimes as a shadow, sometimes as a voice.

From that head without eyes, ears, mouth, or nose, cursed words were spoken from an unknown location.

"It’s time to fall," she said.

Osmund’s hand trembled as he looked into the mirror in the washroom, unable to see his reflection. A white Phantom Shadow replaced his image, and the mirror echoed with the soft voice of the mourning banshee, saying, "You’re about to fall."

If not for the hazy white shadow, the mirror would have shown a quite haggard face. Pressures from all sides and days of terrible sleep were almost breaking him.

He had called for help, shouted and cursed at the ghostly figures, all to no avail. Osmund had to stop calling out to his subordinates, lest he lose their loyalty at such a crucial moment. He did not want to be seen as a nervous, helpless madman. Osmund was exhausted, gritting his teeth as he said, "I do not know what you are talking about."

He did not expect any response; things like mourning banshees were not like crows that repeated a few syllables over and over. But to his surprise, the faceless ghost answered him.

"You certainly know what I am talking about," she said. "You are forced to dance on three steel wires, with sharp blades below."

Osmund got goosebumps all over his body, and he stiffly repeated, "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"Then cover your ears and wait for the fall," the ghost said calmly, "Mr. Multifaceted Spy."

The final layer of concealment was torn open.

It wasn’t just vague whispers anymore. He could no longer cling to false hopes, mistaking the ghost’s whispers for nonsense or ambiguous judgments. She really knew. The illogical nightmare suddenly materialized, seeping into Osmund’s life.

Osmund was more than just a pawn of the governor.

He was a top student at the Aryan Military Academy, and shortly after graduating, General Norman valued him, placing him among General Shirel’s supporters and by the side of the Governor of Tasmania. Osmund successfully gained the governor’s trust, but despite all calculations, he had never imagined that the governor, like General Norman, had a sharp eye for people – the governor placed Osmund next to his brother as a trusted spy.

Things became a tangled mess, and Osmund had to navigate among everyone, knowing that once people like them outlived their usefulness, being discarded was only a matter of time. The governor’s foolish actions increased Osmund’s level of danger, and he was reluctantly forced to be involved in smuggling airships. He knew too much, had an excellent cover, and although he seemed to have countless options, each one seemed like a dead end.

Osmund could report the situation to General Norman, who would undoubtedly use it as a reason to take down General Shirel. As a clandestine figure, Osmund faced the risk of either being silenced or being convicted alongside a colonel under his public identity. Osmund could also try to offer his services to General Shirel, but this risky behavior had a high chance of the governor dealing with him directly – and the governor was not an easy adversary. Being a multifaceted spy carried multiple risks, with a surprisingly high potential for either being silenced or framed.

What should he do? What could he do?

"Maybe you should find yourself a new safety rope," said the ghost.

"Like you guys?" Osmund sneered.

From the nightmare entering reality, it became traceable, without a doubt the monster persuading them now came from the Hybrid force they failed to attack. Osmund just didn’t quite understand why they came looking for him, he wasn’t a very important person.

"You better consider quickly, before falling." The faceless ghost said, "You are irrelevant to all of them, but on the other side, you can get more attention and security."

"Just you guys? A few Druids, a few flying dragons?" Osmund said coldly, "If you think Aryan only has this little ability, you are mistaken."

The ghost did not get angry about that, she simply nodded calmly.

"Exactly," she said, "Aryan cannot have so little ability, these small-scale, covert attacks can only come from local forces. The gambler sets up repeatedly, only risking what they can afford to lose, keeping the loot all to themselves, not sharing with others. When they’ve lost everything, that’s when they hesitate to expose the scheme of stealing public funds to bet against. Report this gamble to those above."

She was very accurate in what she said, Osmund wasn’t surprised, as long as the other party wasn’t a mindless monster, with such high concealment ability, they undoubtedly could secretly gather enough information. Clearly, this ghost had human-like intelligence.

"You should pray this is kept hidden longer, rather than trying to scare me," Osmund said, "Once the kingdom notices you, destroying a dungeon is very easy, like breaking a dead branch."

"We are currently finding it very difficult to stand up against the whole Aryan," the Phantom said. "That’s why I didn’t go to find the Governor and the clueless Colonel, I came to find you. Aryan may win, after paying enough price. And you, a small figure caught in the middle, are destined to be the first batch of cannon fodder in this war."

"Let’s wait and see!" Osmund said confidently, pretending. "You underestimate our loyalty to Aryan!"

He is lying, at least not telling the truth. A spy’s loyalty comes with a price, not wanting to switch sides is simply because the chips aren’t enough. Osmund was waiting for the Phantom to raise the stakes, say more about the dungeon’s power, and offer better recruitment terms. However, the Phantom didn’t say anything, she just smiled mysteriously and vanished.

"Alright," Osmund said. Clenching his fist, he looked at his bloodshot eyes in the mirror and thought, he is not at the end of his rope yet.

He still has a chance, and that chance is the day after tomorrow. Key figures involved in the incident in Tasmanian will gather on that day for a meeting, sealing the deal. Osmund is prepared to meet certain people, drafting various scenarios in his mind. He has some connections, some favors, and he’s responsible for arranging the venue and security for that day’s meeting. Osmund has made up his mind, if he can’t find a good way out, he will find a way to escape and slip away.

When the third day arrived, Osmund finally tidied up his messy self, looking like a reliable professional again. The Phantom still hadn’t appeared, not sure if she had finally given up on Osmund. Not coming is your lucky day, Osmund thought viciously, if you keep bothering me, you’ll regret it.

The morning meeting went smoothly, by smoothly meaning, arguments, bickering, compromise, back to square one, going on endlessly. But who expects it to really finish everything in a morning’s time? There are a lot of unspeakable tricks in this. Lunch arrived amidst great anticipation, Osmund had no appetite, excusing himself to smoke outside, he once again reviewed the order of visiting certain people, still pondering when he noticed a figure in white.

The Phantom didn’t flash mysteriously again, her appearance no longer unsettled Osmund. Osmund put out his cigarette, looking at her expressionlessly, wondering what she was going to persuade this time.

The faceless Phantom stood confidently in place, tilting her head slightly towards the meeting hall and said, "If I walk in now and give evidence of your treason, what will they do?"

"What?" Osmund sneered, "Do you think you can threaten me with that?"

"You’re mistaken," the ghost said with a smile, "Since you won’t join us, you are of no use to us. I just wanted to have some fun before leaving."

Osmund looked at her in disbelief, unable to imagine why she would reveal herself for such a reason. What benefit did she get from doing this? But she wasn’t even human, who knows if she had any logical reason – she had been following and scaring Osmund for so many days! No reason at all!

"They won’t believe you," Osmund said numbly.

"You won’t know until you try," the ghost said cheerfully, "I know where you hide your secrets, spy, wait until they find the evidence as I suggested…"

This was the limit.

Osmund had endured so much pressure, running on overload for so long, working like a beast under a bunch of brutes, and not being able to rest properly due to the ghost’s harassment for so long. Under his calm exterior, a volcano had been suppressed for so long, and at this moment of the ghost’s provocation again, the tense nerves finally snapped in the middle.

He abruptly drew his dagger, which bore patterns similar to talismans. Over these days, he had found a way to exorcise, just waiting for a real test. Come on! You mongrel who wants to destroy my life! All the anger brought by others was directed at the instigator, Osmund swung his dagger at the ghost, who dodged to the side, but still got hit partially.

She let out a sharp scream, her grey-white body dispersing a bit.

"This is effective!" Osmund felt a surge of wicked joy. The ghost panicked and ran away, with Osmund closely following, grinning and holding up his sword. If his rationality hadn’t snapped, he might have wondered why the ghost didn’t disappear on the spot but instead floated ahead to dodge.

But Osmund had no energy left to think about that.

He chased and swung his sword continuously, getting closer and closer. When the ghost hurriedly flew into a small house to hide, Osmund’s sword was about to touch her. He impatiently pulled the door handle — great, it wasn’t locked! — and swung the sword with force as the door opened.

He hit something with his sword.

The ghost’s body could be severed, feeling like cutting through smoke. But this strike was different, as if blocked, though it was easily cut through by Osmund’s full force. Warm liquid splashed on his face, followed by a scream, a man’s voice.

A quite familiar voice.

This should have been a small room for storing odds and ends, supposed to be empty, as Osmund, who set up the site, knew well. But now the governor lay on the ground, clutching his chest wound, glaring angrily at Osmund wielding the sword. Behind him stood Colonel Robert.

What bad luck, stumbling upon a secret conversation between the governor and the colonel.

Was it really just "bad luck"?

The ghost disappeared, leaving Osmund stunned. Before he could react, the Colonel stepped forward, grabbed Osmund’s hand holding the knife, and stabbed the Governor in the chest, stirring around in his heart.

Everything happened quickly. The Colonel moved forward, reached out his hand, let go, then stepped back. Suddenly, cries of shock came from behind. Osmund turned around to see Colonel Benson and the Mayor of Ribe Lake running towards them. They had followed the ghost to this place and were now astonished by what they saw.

"I have made my choice," Colonel Robert said quietly, so only Osmund could hear. "Now it’s your turn."

Colonel Robert was an exception in the military hierarchy of Aryan. He was a demoted failure, as Osmund had heard that he had chosen the wrong side in internal conflicts, angering his superiors, which led to his demotion to this quiet place for survival. He had never challenged the Governor’s authority, even tolerating the Governor’s younger brother, Benson, who was only a Lieutenant Colonel, occasionally overstepping his position. Despite being a rather insignificant Colonel among the important figures in Tasmarin, Osmund had always been wary of him. Colonel Robert, even as a failure, still possessed considerable strength.

Osmund understood.

"What have you done?!" Colonel Benson shouted hysterically, "You murderer! Traitor!"

"Guards!" Osmund called out.

The anger had dissipated, and the bone-chilling cold had faded away. With only one choice left to make, Osmund calmed down. He dropped the knife, wiped the blood off his face with the back of his hand, and called for the guards.

"What are you doing? He’s the killer!" shouted Colonel Benson as the guards apprehended him.

The guards stood still, they were the most trustworthy people under Osmund’s command, and he had originally planned to run away if things didn’t go well today. Now he couldn’t run away, but giving orders was still possible.

"Colonel Benson killed the governor in a dispute," Osmund said solemnly, "with the enemy so close, we must not let this news leak out."

"Indeed," Colonel Robert replied shortly.

"It seems that killing his elder brother personally has greatly affected the major, he is mentally disturbed," Osmund nodded towards the guards.

Someone stuffed cloth into Benson’s mouth, making him only able to whimper and cry. Two pairs of eyes evaluated the mayor of Ribe Lake, who was sweating profusely. When several cold glances fell on him, he immediately straightened up and nodded vigorously, saying, "Indeed! It’s truly a family tragedy!"

The mayor’s wit saved him from the fate of "being killed by the mentally disturbed Colonel Benson".

With the governor assassinated, the major needed to take responsibility. The military representative from Tasmarin made a decision, and Osmund, who had secret connections with the upper class, couldn’t escape anymore. After long observation and brief turmoil, without losing a single soldier, the dungeon was given more time to develop.