Chapter 159: Looting

  Night had settled over Reinhart, casting deep shadows along the road of First Street. The air carried a crisp chill, starkly contrasting to the warmth that permeated the area during the other three seasons.

  Though reconstruction efforts had been moving swiftly, the scars of destruction were still evident. Wooden scaffolding lined partially rebuilt homes and the scent of freshly cut timber and drying mortar lingered in the air.

  In some places, the skeletal frames of new buildings stood like quiet sentinels, waiting to be completed. Yet, despite the town's progress, one place remained eerily untouched—the Murman Estate.

  For over a month, the once-bustling home of Ike Murman and his kin had been silent. Not a soul had entered or exited. No lights flickered behind its grand windows—no voices called from the estate’s gardens or halls.

  The wrought-iron gate at the entrance remained closed.

  Surprisingly, apart from very minor damage, the building’s structure remained true.

  Rumors swirled among the townsfolk—some believed the family had fled after their sudden disappearance, vanishing into the night with their workers.

  Others whispered that something unnatural had happened within those walls, that the house had become cursed, a place of quiet dread.

  But no one investigated.

  Ike Murman had always been a detestable figure, a man who ruled his estate and properties with a closed fist and a paranoid mind.

  Few dared to step onto his land even when he was present, and now, in his absence, that fear lingered like a ghost.

  A shadowed figure moved through the quiet street, the moonlight tracing his form as he strode toward the back of the Murman estate.

  Cloaked and hooded, his footsteps were nearly silent against the stone pavement. He moved with purpose, his posture relaxed but his mind sharp.

  His long coat billowed slightly as he walked, concealing the figure underneath.

  Abel.

  He had partially recovered.

  The past month had been a test of patience—his broken wrist, fractured ribs, and battered body had left him confined to a slow recovery, forced to rest when his instincts told him to move.

  But time had done its work, and he was almost fully healed. Stronger, even. His body no longer ached with every breath, and his mana felt sharper, more refined.

  Lena, on the other hand, was still undergoing her strange transformation back in the basement.

  Her body remained in a hibernation-like state, the regenerative feline skin merging with her being in ways Abel didn’t yet understand. But she was alive, stable, and her presence was growing more potent.

  He did not doubt that when she awoke, she would be different.

  But tonight wasn’t about Lena.

  Tonight, he was here to loot.

  Abel had seen firsthand the strange flags they possessed, and he knew Ike had been a man who had his hands in things others did not. Whatever remained inside that estate, Abel wanted it.

  No one else had dared to step into this house.

  So, he would.

  As he reached the outer wall of the estate, Abel paused, taking in the sight before him.

  The once-manicured gardens now looked overgrown, the vines creeping higher along the stone walls as if nature itself was reclaiming the land.

  The air was still, unnaturally so. Even the usual sounds of nocturnal creatures seemed absent here.

  Abel exhaled. He had taken his time preparing for this—he had surveyed the perimeter during his daily walks through town, memorizing its weak points. The back entrance was his best way in.

  Without hesitation, he moved toward it, his form dissolving into the shadows.

  The Murman Estate had been silent for a month.

  Tonight, it would not be.

  Abel knew the Murman family had amassed a fortune over the years. Even if much of it wasn’t magical, it was valuable to someone—artifacts, rare goods, and coins hoarded away like a dragon’s treasure pile. And after everything that had happened—the battle with the flower princess—he felt cheated.

  He had left the pocket realm with nothing apart from the Bag of Holding, forced to retreat when he could have taken so much more.

  Tonight, that would change.

  As he moved toward the back entrance, he noticed something strange. The heavy wooden door was slightly ajar, its hinges barely creaking as the wind whispered through the gap.

  Unlocked?

  A slight smirk formed on his lips as he pushed it open and stepped inside. Fitting.

  The Murmans, in their arrogance, likely thought their estate would remain untouched forever. That their presence alone had kept intruders at bay.

  Now, they are gone. And Abel? He was here to collect.

  The grand interior of the estate greeted him with an almost unsettling silence.

  The entrance hall was opulent, drenched in excess—golden trimmings lined the walls, intricately woven rugs covered the marble flooring, and paintings of the Murman ancestors loomed from their frames, their cold, painted eyes watching over the empty home.

  A massive crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, shimmering faintly in the dim light, its gems reflecting against the polished walls.

  It was exquisite. It was extravagant.

  It was useless to him.

  Abel took his time moving through the estate, scanning everything with an indifferent gaze.

  Jewelry, paintings, gold-plated furniture—all things that would have made a merchant drool, yet held no real value to him.

  He wasn’t here to rob them of mere wealth. He was here for secrets, for power.

  Something deeper lay hidden within these walls.

  He moved through room after room, searching for anything that stood out. He stepped past ornate parlors, a lavish dining hall, and bedchambers untouched for weeks, all frozen in time as if waiting for their owners to return.

  If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  They never would.

  Not a single soul was present, none of the wives, children, maids, all gone as if they were never here before. Abel noticed coins on the floor in some room, and he wondered if the maids and workers looted a few things before leaving.

  Then, finally, he found something.

  At the far end of a dimly lit hallway, he spotted a narrow staircase leading downward, partially concealed behind a bookcase that had been left slightly ajar.

  A basement.

  Bingo.

  Descending the wooden steps, he felt the temperature drop slightly.

  The air grew heavier, thicker—dust mixed with something faintly metallic, like old blood and rusted metal. The walls became stone, replacing the decorated wood and gold of the upper floors.

  This wasn’t just storage.

  This was something else.

  At the bottom of the steps, another passageway led him even deeper.

  Behind some barrels, a spiral staircase, carved from smooth obsidian, twisted downward into the dark like an open maw. The deeper he went, the more the air felt wrong, charged with something faint, something he couldn’t quite place.

  Then, at last, he reached it.

  A massive metal door stood before him, embedded into the very foundation of the estate.

  It was unlike anything he had seen above—no gold, no embellishments, no engravings—just a cold, unbreakable wall of steel, locked away in the very depths of the Murman domain.

  Abel exhaled, his pulse quickening slightly.

  This was it.

  This was what Ike Murman had been hiding.

  His fingers twitched, instinctively gripping the hilt of his knife.

  Whatever was behind this door, he was about to find out.

  Abel pulled out his knife, its blade shimmering with celestial brilliance as he gathered his energy.

  The room was silent, save for the faint hum of his power as it coiled around the blade, distorting the air.

  With a swift motion, he swung—

  A starry slash erupted forward, colliding with the massive door in an explosion of light and force.

  BANG!

  A deep reverberation echoed through the chamber as the impact sent dust and debris scattering.

  The shockwave rattled the very foundation of the underground space, and for a brief moment, everything was still.

  Then, as the dust settled, the treasures of the Murman family revealed themselves.

  Gold coins, piles of them, stacked in neat towers that shimmered under the dim light.

  Gems of all shapes and colors spilled across the stone floor like scattered stars. Scrolls and parchment paper aged with time, bundled and bound with wax seals—secrets waiting to be unraveled.

  A slow grin crept onto Abel’s lips.

  Jackpot.

  Without hesitation, he began taking everything, shoving gold, gems, and documents into his bag of holding with gleeful efficiency.

  With each item, he muttered to himself, commenting as he pillaged the estate of a man who had tried to betray him.

  “A little compensation,” he murmured, tossing a jeweled necklace into the bag. “For all the trouble.”

  Another golden trinket—into the bag.

  “A shame Ike isn’t here to see this.”

  Scrolls? Parchments? They could be useful. He didn’t bother checking—into the bag.

  There was a thrill in this. The satisfaction of taking, of claiming. He hadn't realized how good it would feel—the weight of power shifting, the spoils of his victories filling his grasp.

  But then… something strange caught his eye.

  Two objects stood apart from the wealth, each emanating a peculiar aura that sent an involuntary chill down his spine.

  The first was a watering pot.

  At first glance, it looked ordinary—made of dark, polished metal, its handle curved in an elegant loop. Yet… it hummed with mana, its surface vibrating as if something inside was alive.

  But—there was no water inside.

  Abel felt an unnatural pull, an ominous weight hanging over it, whispering in the air.

  Something about it was wrong.

  His gaze shifted to the second object—

  A painting.

  It hung on the far wall, encased in an ornate black frame, yet its contents…

  Abel’s brow furrowed.

  What… am I looking at?

  The painting was indiscernible—blurry, shifting, unreadable. No matter how hard he focused, his mind refused to grasp its details, like his very perception was being repelled.

  It was there—but it wasn’t.

  Something about it gnawed at him, a whisper in the back of his head, an itch he couldn’t scratch.

  A test. A trick. A trap?

  His instincts screamed at him not to touch it—but Abel wasn’t one to hesitate.

  He stepped forward.

  He reached out.

  And the moment his fingers brushed the frame—

  BOOM.

  A deafening, mind-splitting explosion erupted within his skull.

  His vision shattered, the chamber disappeared, and suddenly—

  A scene appeared before him.

  A world unlike any other.

  Abel floated in an endless expanse, weightless, as if untethered from reality itself.

  The air, if it could be called that, was thick with ethereal mist, swirling in translucent waves of silver, violet, and blue.

  Vast, titanic mountains stretched infinitely into the sky, their jagged peaks piercing the clouds like spears of the gods.

  The heavens above them churned, an incomprehensible cosmos in motion.

  The world resonated with a series of hums that exuded from the world itself through Abel’s being.

  Hum… Hum Hum Hum… Hum…

  And then—he saw it.

  A white being beyond description, standing atop the celestial peaks as if it were the protector of the realm below.

  It was not human. Not beast. Not spirit.

  It was concept made manifest, an entity whose mere presence sent ripples through the very fabric of existence. Power exuded from it in waves, vibrating through the land like an unrelenting heartbeat.

  Hum… Hum Hum Hum… Hum…

  But it was not alone.

  A disturbance from above.

  A presence greater than the protector.

  Abel looked up, and for the first time in his life, he regretted it.

  Something moved in the void.

  A mass so vast, so incomprehensibly large, that it defied scale.

  A tentacle—no, many tentacles—coiled through the endless cosmos, their sheer enormity making the vast land below look like dust.

  They were not flesh.

  They were something else, something that should not exist.

  And yet—they did.

  The protector and the horror stood at an eternal stalemate.

  How long had they been there?

  Eons. Perhaps since before time was even conceived. The universe itself had been holding its breath in the presence of these two.

  Then—

  It happened.

  A collision. A flash of pure, unfiltered light—

  Brighter than anything Abel had ever seen.

  Reality itself is fractured.

  The protector shattered, its form breaking into an infinite spectrum of colors, each hue dispersing and raining down upon the world below like falling stars.

  Each color carried something within it—an essence, an affinity, a law of existence itself.

  And among them, one shimmered faintly, a light unlike the rest—

  A color that resonated with Abel.

  Something connected.

  His mind ached trying to grasp it, trying to understand what it was. It wasn’t simply Star Affinity, it was something beyond it, deeper, more ancient—but his mind was too small to comprehend it. It was as if something within him did not allow him to understand.

  The eldritch terror was gone and so was the strange protector.

  The world below had changed.

  The land breathed, pulsating with the colors that had been scattered, filling it with life, energy, and purpose.

  Abel felt his very soul stir at the sight, an inexplicable sensation curling through his veins. Was this the birth of everything?

  Was this a creation myth?

  Or was this something entirely different?

  Before he could dwell on it further, reality snapped—

  And Abel was wrenched back into the present.

  His eyes shot open.

  The painting was in his hands.

  His breath came in short, uneven gasps, his pulse wild and erratic, his mind thumping in pain.

  He stared down at the painting, but unlike before, it no longer blurred. Its colors had settled, frozen into a scene that he couldn’t unsee now—

  A titan standing upon the heavens, a horror above, and a war lost to time.

  Abel clenched his fingers around the frame.

  Something about this painting was dangerous.

  But he had no answers.

  Only more questions.

  Without hesitation, he slid the painting into his bag of holding. He glanced around one last time, making sure he had taken everything of value.

  Then, without a sound, Abel turned and left.