The purge did not slow down. Instead, it accelerated since the assassin had never been found.
"Damn it, who dared to assassinate Harry Xavierius? Just because of that one person, we are hunted everywhere now."
"I don't know much. The only thing I know is the assassin was a man. Damn, as if that helps... Was there ever a female assassin in this kingdom? Such useless information…"
"If I find him, I'll torture him day and night. Because of him, every organization nearby is already obliterated. If you want to kill the head of a family, at least don't drag us into it."
The voices came from a damp cellar beneath a warehouse that would not see another sunrise.
Several men with rough hands and thinner patience huddled over the stale ale. Their shadows were shaking under the candlelight.
They were not the assassin but they were paying the consequences for him.
Outside that cellar, the boots echoed against the cobblestone with mechanical rhythm. The patrols no longer moved in pairs. They moved in squads with steel armor that scraped against the scabbards and the torches that burned even before dusk.
The rumors spread faster than the arrests.
Some said the assassin had infiltrated the estate itself while the others whispered that he had been hired by a rival noble house.
A darker rumor suggested the attempt had been staged. No one believed that one man could slip past the layers of noble protection without the inside assistance.
The fear did not distinguish between the guilt and the innocence eventually.
A herbalist was dragged from his shop because he once treated a wounded smuggler. A dock worker vanished because his cousin had been arrested three years ago. Even the retired thieves who had long since abandoned the crime were interrogated.
The purge was no longer about the justice. It was about the pressure. When such pressure increased long enough, something always cracked.
Harry Xavierius understood that. He did not need to find the assassin immediately since he only needed the people to tremble.
In the days following the failed assassination, the Xavierius family did not search quietly. They struck loudly, brutally, and publicly.
The gambling dens were raided, the smuggling routes were burned, and the dark informants disappeared. Whether it was connected to the assassin or not, it did not matter anymore. The official reason was precaution but the true purpose was the consolidation.
No one targeted a noble lightly and no one targeted the Xavierius family without the consequence. Yet, one man had done exactly that and successfully escaped.
The fact gnawed at everyone silently.
Because the more thorough the purge became, the clearer it was. This was not only retaliation since it was clearly an opportunity.
As the head of the family, Harry used the incident like a blade. The hidden factions that were long tolerated had been now labeled as the threats. The guards moved with righteous fury and the old grudges were settled under the banner of justice.
To the criminals, the place became a tightening noose. To the nobles, it became a stability. And inside the mansion, Baston enjoyed his breakfast.
*****
The morning sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the mansion's eastern wing. The buttered bread, grilled meat, soft eggs, thick cream, and fragrant tea were laid before him in generous portions.
Baston chewed slowly, staring at the silver cutlery as though it had personally betrayed him. If this continued, dieting would become impossible. The irony was almost poetic.
At the outside, people were dragged from the shadows. Inside, he debated whether to take a second pastry.
His days had grown peaceful and no one disturbed him. Theodore and his usual companions had stopped seeking the confrontation. If their paths crossed in the corridor, Theodore merely nodded stiffly and passed by.
It was a kind of respect. The attitude was measured, calculated, and conditional. He did not mistake it for the friendship.
Sometimes, when the morning was quiet enough, Baston could almost forget that people were screaming somewhere beyond these walls.
The mansion was insulated not only by stone and magic wards but by the indifference.
The servants continued polishing silver. The gardeners trimmed the hedges with patient precision. And the maids whispered about the fabric patterns and festival dates.
The stability was a luxury reserved for those with power.
He wondered briefly whether the purge would reach the academy one day. Whether hidden networks inside the school would also be cleansed in the name of security.
His fingers brushed against the edge of the table. He had benefited from the chaos and that truth did not disturb him as much as it should have.
Because in this world, the advantage rarely arrived without someone else who was paying the cost.
He then swallowed another bite of bread. The butter tasted rich and almost too good to be real.
After the sparring and the incident, he had claimed his reward from the old book. The performance had been judged to be good. It was not excellent nor perfect. It was just good and that was enough for now.
It seemed even risking his life before the nobles could not break the ceiling that was placed upon someone of poor birth.
Still, he accepted it and the reward this time was an item which was Inferno Insignia.
He had turned it over in his hand the first night, feeling the faint pulse within it. He rarely relied on the insignias since his puppets were already versatile tools. They were silent, adaptable, and terrifyingly efficient.
However, this was from the book. That meant it carried weight and unpredictability.
He did not trust such unpredictability so he stored it away, swearing to use it only when necessary. The insignia should not reveal its full nature unless the situation was urgent.
When he infused a thread of mana into it that first night, the reaction was restrained.
There was no explosion and no dramatic flame. It was just a deep and simmering warmth beneath the surface.
Unlike his flare element which burned with eager volatility, the insignia felt disciplined. It was contained and almost as though it was waiting for the permission.
The old book never explained its rewards. It simply delivered them and watched. That was what unsettled him most since the book truly never wasted anything.
If it had given him Inferno Insignia now, during the political instability and noble tension, then it was likely preparing him for something that required destruction.
He did not like the tools whose purpose that he did not fully understand. In the end, he waited and the insignia waited with him.
*****
Few days passed before the guest arrived at the mansion.
The carriage bore a crest that Baston did not recognize. Unlike him, who had once been placed in the guesthouse as a polite neutrality, these visitors were welcomed directly into the main residence.
Their status radiated from that single decision.
At this time, his room had already been moved into the main house. It was a quiet acknowledgment of his improved standing which meant it would be awkward if he bumped into distinguished guests in plain clothing.
Eventually, he chose to remain inside yet the fate disagreed.
When the maid knocked the door with the lunch, he opened the door to relieve her of the tray.
At the same moment, a tall nobleman rounded the corner, carrying a heavy crate with visible strain. He paused upon seeing Baston and the relief crossed his face.
"Excuse me…" the man said briskly, mistaking him without hesitation, "Can you guide me to the meeting room? I forgot the way... I'm in a hurry to bring the goods but it's quite heavy. Could you help me carry it?"
The maid stiffened. Baston saw her hesitation and he raised a hand subtly just to help the maid.
"I will help…"
He did not correct the misunderstanding. After all, there was an advantage in his anonymity.
The crate was heavier than it appeared but it was manageable. His strength had grown considerably since completing the quests.
They walked through the long corridors that were lined with ancestral portraits. The nobleman spoke a little but Baston noticed something odd.
The crate was sealed carefully yet the locking runes were faintly scratched. Even though it was not damaged but he wondered if it would be fine. He said nothing to this found because he had no authority.
Still, his mind cataloged the details automatically. The scratches were too deliberate to be accidental.
They curved around the locking rune in symmetrical arcs, almost like someone had traced its structure before resealing it.
It seemed like someone was testing it again just to make sure everything would be alright. There was also other case yet he wasn't sure. For now, he pretended not to notice.
In the noble houses, noticing too much could be dangerous.
They passed the portraits of ancestors who had built the family's authority through war, negotiation, and strategic marriages.
Every painted gaze seemed to follow them as if they were silently questioning what new force had just entered their halls. In the meantime, they soon reached the meeting chamber.
Inside sat Harry, several elders, and three distinguished guests. The conversation paused when they entered. The recognition flashed across a few faces and confusion across the others.
"Here…" the nobleman gestured, "Place it there..."
Baston complied, setting the crate down gently. He intended to leave but the guest spoke again.
"Lord Harry, these goods are delicate. My assistants may mishandle them. Since this servant seems capable enough, may he stay to assist with the demonstration?"
Harry's gaze rested briefly on Baston. A subtle understanding passed between them. In the end, the old man did not correct the guest.
"Very well…"
In the end, Baston remained as the new servant out of nowhere.
*****
The crate was opened. Inside, there were magic stones, crystalline rods, silver frameworks, and etched plates. Some of them required the assembly.
Baston followed the instructions quietly, lifting the components, stabilizing the frames, and inserting the energy cores.
When he inserted the final crystal core, he felt a faint tremor. It was like sliding a key into a lock that had already been used.
The energy flow aligned smoothly as though the device had been activated before it was arriving here. He did not mention it and he simply stepped back.
When it was completed, the device resembled a circular platform with a palm-sized glass panel and thin veins of silver branching beneath it. This thing could be called as magic scanner.
"Previously…" the guest began smoothly, "We could only measure raw magic power. This upgraded model assesses the proficiency consisted of casting speed, elemental resonance, mana stability, and efficiency."
For the nobles, the measurement was power. Such power was hierarchy and such hierarchy required precision to be recognized.
The young members of the family were summoned and Theodore soon stepped forward first to try. The scanner hummed and the numbers appeared.
"Magic power is 300 and Wind proficiency is 75..."
Theodore smiled faintly. It was not exceptional but it was respectable.
One by one, the younger generation stepped up. The scores varied. Some was high and some was average. Each result was watched closely.
Alicia stepped forward last. She measured her strength before the device glowed brighter.
"Magic power is 350 and Wind proficiency is 85…"
Harry nodded and he was quite satisfied. The presentation slowly continued.
The guests explained that the distribution would be limited. It was only for prestigious families since the investment had come from the nobles and royalty alike.
The nobles controlled the knowledge, growth, and the future. Such strength was truly a justice toward the society.
Baston listened in silence and he noticed something else.
Every time someone removed their hand, the scanner's inner silver veins flickered which was slightly longer than necessary as though it was recording more than displayed.
He suppressed his thought and curiosity.
Even though he briefly considered sending a puppet closer, he then dismissed the idea. It was too early to suspect anything. It was better to do the observation first before assuming the action later.
The assistants began dismantling several outer panels of the scanner to demonstrate the internal craftsmanship as the guest proudly described it. The silver casings were lifted carefully, revealing the layered conduits beneath.
Baston's eyes narrowed slightly.
The internal structure was elegant, almost excessively so. It was too refined for something meant to be used only on measuring the magical strength. The mana channels intertwined like the veins around a hidden core.
Still, there was something inconsistent.
The outer construction followed a traditional arcane that was taught in the academies. The inner lattice, however, curved differently. The angles were sharper, more experimental, and almost modern.
It was as if the two design philosophies had been merged. One for the presentation and one for the function.
Perhaps, it was nothing strange or perhaps, it was the result after so many development after going through many years.
After all, the people were moving forward to the better future.
*****
Soon, the lunch was announced. The dining hall shimmered with polished crystal and a quiet calculation.
Baston was seated far from the main table as expected. He ate carefully and watched discreetly.
The guests conversed about the trade routes and the magical regulation. Harry listened more than he spoke.
The magic lamp radiated steadily along the long table. The crystal goblets reflected the golden light across the floor. The laughter rose and fell in controlled waves.
To an outsider, this was nothing more than a successful diplomatic exchange. But for him, he felt a faint tension beneath the elegance.
The visiting guest who had mistaken him earlier was unusually attentive. It was not to the conversation but to the servants that were moving near the scanner case that was stored against the wall.
His gaze lingered and measured as though he was waiting.
And then, a tremor happened inside him. It was subtle and cold.