Chapter 94: Chapter 94: The Inquisitor’s Ghost

Morning in Elarwyn no longer felt like the peaceful, arboreal sanctuary it once promised to be. Inside Dayat’s makeshift wooden shack, the air was heavy, stagnant, and thick with the scent of unwashed denim and drying sap. On a workbench crafted from a repurposed bough of the World Tree, a tiny metallic fragment—no larger than a fingernail—lay bathed in the clinical, white glare of a manifested LED lamp. To the uninitiated, it was a mere sliver of trash; to Dayat, it was a death warrant signed in cold, industrial ink.

Dayat stared at the holographic screen projected from Dola’s electric-blue pupils. Rows of binary code, chemical spectrum graphs, and structural blueprints scrolled by at a dizzying speed as the AI dismantled the identity of the intruder. Dayat massaged his throbbing temples. Outside, the World Tree continued to groan—a low-frequency vibration that rattled the floorboards and made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The tremors shaking the boughs of Elarwyn were a constant, grim reminder that their time was evaporating.

“Dola, give me the raw report. No fluff, just the data,” Dayat said, his voice a low, raspy growl.

“Commencing material analysis report, Master,” Dola replied, her voice steady and anchoring. “The base alloy of this fragment is military-grade Enchanted-Brass. This is a standard material mass-produced by the foundries of the Brassvale Kingdom. However, the molecular crystallization reveals an anomaly. The forging patterns indicate Thermal-Forging at a constant temperature exceeding two thousand degrees Celsius. In this entire continent, only the Kingdom of Ignis-Sol possesses the volcanic furnace technology capable of such thermal stability.”

Dayat leaned back against the rough wooden wall, his jaw tightening. “Brassvale and Ignis-Sol. Two empires that usually only care about their own gears and fires, suddenly playing games in Verdia. Since when did they become so cozy?”

“Intelligence data synchronization indicates rising diplomatic tensions between the Eastern Alliance and Verdia,” Dola continued. “This sabotage was not triggered by our arrival, Master. It is part of a larger, coordinated military campaign. They are attempting to paralyze Verdia’s primary energy resource—the World Tree’s sap—before launching political pressure or a physical invasion. We simply happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, making us the perfect scapegoats for their operation.”

Dayat let out a sharp, cynical snort. “So Elarwyn is just a pawn on the board, and I’m just a bonus they want to sweep away. Great. Just great.”

Suddenly, the door to the shack swung open with a violent crash. Kancil burst in, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. The boy from the gutters of Bakasa was deathly pale, his eyes wide with a terror that looked ancient. His hands shook uncontrollably as he gripped the doorframe for support.

“Big Bro… that smell… it’s back,” Kancil whispered. His voice was nearly lost in the rumbling groans of the tree outside.

Dayat moved instantly, gripping Kancil’s shoulders to steady him. “What smell, Cil? Take a breath. You’re safe here.”

“The smell of Holy Oil, Bang,” Kancil said, his voice trembling with a morbid dread. “In Brassvale, especially back home in Bakasa… whenever the Inquisition of the Gear-Breaker Church was coming for a ’cleansing’ or a mass arrest, they always used machine lubricants mixed with holy incense. It’s a specific scent… hot scorched metal meeting burning myrrh. I caught a whiff of it on the West bough, right where that shadow vanished last night. The Inquisitors are here, Bang. The ghosts of Brassvale have already infiltrated Elarwyn.”

Dayat clenched his fist. The presence of the Brassvale Inquisition meant this was no longer a simple technical sabotage. These were fanatics who would dismantle an entire city to prove a point of dogma. If they were collaborating with internal elements of Verdia, Dayat was facing a conspiracy that was as deep as the roots of Vaelith.

Outside the shack, the atmosphere was reaching a boiling point. Governor Caelmir stood in the center of a circle of Paladins, trying desperately to calm a crowd of panicked Elves. Beside him sat seven figures in opulent robes, their presence radiating an ancient, unyielding authority. They were the Council of the Root Guardians, the true masters of Elarwyn who had lived for centuries.

One council member, a male Elf draped in shimmering, metallic-silver silk that caught the morning light like liquid mercury, appeared the most impatient. His beauty was haunting, but his silver eyes held a depth of arrogance and hidden malice.

“Governor Caelmir, how much longer will you allow this foreign human to desecrate the heart of our city?” the silver-robed councillor asked, his voice smooth and dangerous. “The tree wails! Its voice is the cry of the Ancestors, screaming in rage because we have allowed the ’dead iron’ of an outsider to pierce our sacred veins!”

The Senior Druid, feeling protected by the councillor’s presence, chimed in with a shrill, accusatory tone. “Indeed! Queen Verene’s policy of allowing ’outside technology’ is the beginning of our collapse! Look at the result! The World Tree is dying because of the selfishness of a man who calls himself a savior!”

Dayat stepped out of the shack. His boots struck the wooden bough with a firm, rhythmic resonance, each step asserting an authority that refused to be shaken. Dola followed behind him, her blue eyes scanning the body temperatures and heart rates of everyone in the clearing. Kancil walked by Dayat’s side, fighting the urge to flee from the shadows of his past.

Dayat stopped directly in front of the Senior Druid. He stared at the old man with a gaze so cold the Druid actually took a step back.

“Can you shut up for a second, old man?” Dayat’s voice thundered, instantly silencing the murmuring crowd.

“You! How dare you speak to a Guardian of Tradition in such a—”

“Your tradition won’t be worth a damn if this tree dies ten hours from now!” Dayat barked. “You say the tree is crying because of my tools? I proved forensically last night that my system is clean. This tree is crying because an insider would rather keep his seat warm than save his people! This tree is crying because it’s being betrayed by the very people who claim to protect it!”

Dayat then turned his sharp gaze toward the silver-robed council member. “And you, Master Councillor… your robes are remarkably clean for someone whose city is facing a catastrophe. Too clean. It’s almost as if you already knew you wouldn’t need to get your hands dirty to fix this mess.”

The silver-robed man offered a thin, enigmatic smile—a smile that never reached his cold eyes. “A bold accusation, Manusia. Do you truly think your empty bluster can cover for the failure you’ve brought upon us?”

Dayat didn’t bother with a verbal retort. He raised his right hand into the air. “I don’t need bluster. I have data.”

In an instant, the sapphire-purple light enveloped Dayat’s palm. He focused his imagination on the most advanced material analysis tool of his world. He visualized silicon drift detectors, micro-focus X-ray tubes, and an instantaneous data-processing system, all housed in a rugged, impact-resistant polymer casing.

The manifestation happened in a blur of light. A device shaped like a futuristic pistol appeared in Dayat’s grip. This was the Handheld XRF Analyzer. The Elves stared at the object with a mixture of suspicion and instinctive fear.

“This device is called a Spectrometer,” Dayat said, his tone dropping to a clinical chill. He aimed the muzzle of the device at the metallic fragment he held in a pair of polymer tweezers. A small, red laser dot painted the surface of the metal, followed by a sharp, rhythmic beep.

Dayat rotated the device’s screen toward Governor Caelmir. “Look at this, Governor. Elemental data doesn’t lie. This metal is an alloy of Tin-Bronze with traces of Sulphurous-Ignis. This specific blend can only be produced in Brassvale using the heat signatures of Ignis-Sol. Now, let me ask all of you: how does a fragment from the two greatest enemies of Verdia end up inside the vascular tissue of the World Tree if not for an insider opening the gates for them?”

Caelmir’s face turned a ghostly pale. He stared at the data on the screen, then looked up at the silver-robed councillor, whose jaw had visibly tightened.

“Brassvale… and Ignis-Sol?” Caelmir muttered. “Their kingdoms are far beyond our borders. Why would they be here?”

“Because they want Verdia crippled from the inside,” Dayat said loudly, his voice carrying to the edges of the crowd. “They want Elarwyn dead so Verdia’s energy drops, making it easy for them to march in.”

Dayat locked eyes with the silver-robed man. “Governor, I found residues of Holy Oil on the West bough. The Brassvale Inquisition is in this city. They couldn’t have entered without logistics and access provided by someone in this very council. He might call himself ’The Ghost,’ but to me, he’s just a coward with a clean robe.”

The silver-robed councillor narrowed his eyes, struggling to maintain his composure. “Caelmir, are you going to allow this foreigner to slander the Council of Root Guardians? This is an insult to the sovereignty of Elarwyn!”

“What sovereignty?!” Dayat snapped back. “The tree is dying! If you were really a protector, you’d be helping me find who smells of machine oil, not worrying about your pride! Now, Governor, lock down all access to the West bough. I want the irrigation sector guarded by your personal Paladins, not council guards.”

Caelmir took a deep, shaky breath. He saw the cold, hard numbers on Dayat’s device, and he saw the genuine trauma in Kancil’s eyes. As a weary leader, he knew when to trust a man’s competence over a politician’s rhetoric.

“Do as he says!” Caelmir commanded his Paladins. “Secure the West bough! Anyone found carrying the scent of foreign oils or metals is to be detained and brought before me immediately!”

The Senior Druid could only stand there in silence, his face a bright crimson of shame and fury. His dogmatic arguments had been dismantled in a heartbeat by data points and physical proof.

Dayat walked past the stunned crowd, heading back toward the irrigation hub. He leaned in and whispered to Kancil. “Cil, find out that silver-robed guy’s name.”

Kancil nodded quickly, his eyes alert. “I’ll find it, Bang. But be careful… if he’s really working with the Inquisition, he’ll do anything to keep us quiet.”

Dayat stared toward the towering Kenanga groves to the West. Somewhere in the shadows of the withering leaves, he knew the enemy was watching. The Brassvale Inquisition, the Ignis-Sol alliance, and a traitorous Elf—all converging on this city. But they had made one fatal mistake: they had provoked an engineer who had no fear of using the full imagination of his world to hunt for the truth.

“Dola, prepare the CCTV Protocol,” Dayat whispered. “We’re going to give this ’Ghost’ a stage to show his true face.”

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