Chapter 85: A Good Liar Doesn’t Have To Speak

Aden’s expression didn’t change in the slightest as the question reached his ears, but internally, he was slightly intrigued, not scared, intrigued.

His blue eyes met Horen’s green eyes steadily. The inquisitive glint in them couldn’t be mistaken for anything else, but that also told Aden something else.

“What makes you think I have anything to do with whatever happened?” Aden replied as he leaned into the chair.

Horen pushed his glasses upwards with a light cough. As he packed the rumpled Resonance charts and broken bottles littered on his chair into the drawer beneath his desk, he began.

“You left here two months ago with a crazy promise to kill the Baron who was majorly responsible for stopping the circulation of the Shard, and in less than a day, reports came flying in about his death and the subsequent explosion of his mansion.”

A low hum left Aden’s lips at the latest statement. He didn’t remember blowing up the Baron’s mansion nor his death.

’Did my supposed brother do that or was it the Princess?’ Aden pondered.

The Alchemist must’ve misinterpreted his thoughtfulness for surprise as he continued with a hint of smugness.

“You promised to come back with the Shard after our last meeting, but the only people I met at my door were the Royal Guards and their associates asking for someone with a Veloras Mask.”

Horen pulled out a torn up piece of paper from the left side of his desk, there were strange Violet stains on the sides, but it failed to block the image recklessly drawn on it.

’My Hannya Mask,’ Aden concluded after looking at the image for less than a second.

At this point, even he knew that the Alchemist had stronger evidence against him, but there was something within him that wanted to find out if he was right.

So, he said nothing in return, but silently slid the piece of paper back to Horen.

Horen looked at him with narrowed eyes before he bent sideways and placed the paper back into the drawer.

“So? Are you going to tell me what you’ve been up to all this while or am I right to believe that you’re indeed responsible for the disasters that have befallen Grey Rock border?”

Aden kept quiet for a while, whether it was from the sequences of thoughts that ran through his mind or the nonchalance that had grown within him, no one could tell.

Aden let out a low chuckle afterwards and said, “None of that means anything. The Baron’s death could have been a coincidence. After all, he had stronger enemies who must’ve heard about the Shard,” he raised his left finger that showcased his slightly elongated fingernail. “And I have no idea why you showed me that mask. I have no relation to it.”

It was the Alchemist’s turn to fall silent. Only the distant sounds of explosions and screams of manic scientists filled the air.

Then for the first time, the tired expression he carried cracked to reveal a hint of… Excitement?

“The Bartender came here with his kid. Both of them had turned a stony grey,” his fingers moved to clean the mist that had formed at the bottom of his glasses automatically as he spoke. “Their eyes were filled with tears as they explained to me your impromptu Ascension to the heavens above.”

A low chuckle left Horen’s lips as he recalled the memory, but the sound wasn’t characteristic of joy.

“They came day after day to ask if you had returned from your quest for their salvation— each time their conditions growing increasingly worse. Then one day, his kid didn’t come with him.”

He let the silence settle for an uncomfortable length before he continued.

“The Father had turned to a shell of a man, but that didn’t stop the Grey Cough from completing his task. Every day he dragged himself here, more and more parts of his body turned into stone, until he turned into stone and then ash,” Horen leaned forward. “Right before me.”

“This was before the Princess’ Purification ceremony and the strange Stage 4 Earthquake that happened before her departure,” he concluded evenly.

“So, tell me, Silver God. Will you shirk responsibility of the deaths of your fanatics or tell me where you’ve been?” Horen questioned.

Aden’s face had turned into a mask of pure, unfeeling stone. The light from the sputtering oil lamps danced in his blue eyes, but it didn’t reflect, it seemed to be swallowed by them.

“Fanatics?” Aden repeated the word as if it were a foreign language he was slowly deciphering. “I have no fanatics, Horen. I have tools. And if a tool breaks under the weight of the task I give it, that is a failure of the material, not the craftsman.”

His voice was devoid of malice or any emotion at all, which made the statement infinitely more chilling.

“It’s simple logic,” Aden continued, his fingers tracing the rough grain of the alchemist’s desk. “A builder does not mourn the hammer that snaps, nor does the alchemist weep for the beaker that shatters under heat. They simply find a better grade of glass.”

Horen’s expression faltered. He had expected anger, perhaps a flash of guilt, or even the indignant roar of a fallen noble. He had not expected the absolute, arctic indifference that now radiated from Aden.

“I must say, I’m quite curious about the adventures that shattered the once Foolish Warrior into… This,” Horen took to his feet, his bulk vibrating lightly under the pressure. “But I’ve gotten more than enough information out of you for now.”

Aden’s eyebrows furrowed, but he didn’t voice his question.

Watching Horen go back to his titrations like the conversation never happened, Aden decided to take his leave.

But as he got to the door, Horen’s hoarse voice reached his ears.

“I must ask, whatever happened to the Essence?”

Aden’s finger hovered above the crooked handle. After giving it less than a thought, he decided to reply straightforwardly.

“I drank it.”

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