Within the Cavendish family mansion, the once-dignified atmosphere steeped in elegance had noticeably faded following the departure of Joseph Cavendish, who had been both the pillar and heart of the family. The funeral ceremony had shaken everyone to their core.
The maids and servants knew well that the mansion now carried the shadow of grief. Instead of being filled with lively conversations and smiles, every hall remained silent, with only the soft footsteps of those performing their morning and evening duties. No matter how much time passed, not a single person dared knock on the bedroom doors of the master or mistress of the household.
"Sh-should we go in?" one maid whispered to her companion as they stood hesitantly outside the master bedroom, their faces filled with concern. Breakfast should have been prepared by now, but from morning until midday, no one had seen Richard or Lady Alice come down from their room.
"They're grieving deeply... especially the master," the other maid replied in a trembling voice. "Even though it's mealtime, I fear we shouldn't disturb them."
Both froze when footsteps echoed from the end of the hallway. Miranda approached, a woman who held the rank of Brigadier in the army. Yet now, her usually strong and determined expression was solemn, hiding deep sorrow. Her eyes swept over the two maids who stood with bowed heads in reverence.
"Don't be afraid," Miranda said, trying to keep her voice steady. "If anyone should go in, it would be me..."
She took a deep breath and knocked softly on the door.
"Father... Mother... it's quite late now. May I come in?"
With no response from inside, Miranda decided to turn the doorknob and enter slowly. Within the room, thick curtains remained tightly drawn, allowing only thin rays of midday light to filter through. She could barely make out Richard's silhouette sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands as if immersed in some profound emotion. Beside him was Lady Alice, clutching her husband's hand tightly.
"Father, Mother..." Miranda called softly. "Please come down and have something to eat."
"Miranda..." Richard looked up at his daughter, his eyes visibly red. He tried to compose his expression, but the sorrow remained evident.
Lady Alice was the same, her once-gentle eyes now slightly swollen from crying. She took a deep breath, suppressing her grief, and forced a smile for her daughter.
"Let's go then... at least sit in the dining room. Otherwise, everyone will worry terribly."
Richard nodded silently before standing up. He carried himself like a man bearing an indescribable burden, but having Miranda by his side seemed to support his spirit somewhat.
The three walked down the mansion's staircase, through the grand hall that once exuded luxury. It used to be where the Cavendish family welcomed guests or hosted lavish gatherings, but now everything was quiet, as if mourning the loss.
At the dining table, Richard took his seat at the head as usual. His eyes drifted across the other empty chairs. Some were beautifully set but never occupied, as certain family members never returned home. Others... belonged to those who would never return.
Lady Alice sat on his right, wearing a finely made black mourning dress, symbolizing an irreplaceable loss. Miranda sat next to her mother. On the left were several empty chairs, followed by Rebecca, who had just entered to join them last. She moved in silently, her face sorrowful, eyes slightly swollen, lips pressed tightly together.
She had been Joseph's wife... but now he was no longer in this world. The chair that once belonged to Joseph looked empty and cold.
The atmosphere at the family dining table, once lively and filled with laughter, was now as chilling as rain shadows in the wind. Richard looked up at everyone before him. He knew they were all in pain, but no one spoke of it. He was the pillar of the house and should comfort others, yet his own heart wasn't ready.
He sighed deeply and spoke in a soft voice, "I always hoped we would all be together again... I held onto the belief that if Edward returned home, if Miranda came back from the border, if Joseph and Rebecca could remain a complete family... but my desires have been utterly destroyed."
No one said a word. Everyone stared at the one empty chair that would likely never be filled again—Joseph's chair.
Suddenly, the sound of shoes striking the stone floor broke the silence. The family butler rushed in with a startled expression, sweat beading on his forehead.
"Master... Lord Edward has arrived..."
Richard froze, turning sharply to look at the butler as if not believing his ears. "Edward?"
Before the butler could extend a proper invitation, a tall man in simple attire appeared in the dining room uninvited. Beside him was Isabel, a young woman with long, flowing light brown hair.
Everyone at the dining table widened their eyes in astonishment, shocked by the unexpected return of someone who had left the family long ago.
Edward briefly met Richard's gaze. Richard was immediately speechless. Many words rose in his mind, but none could form into coherent sentences. At that moment, he realized he had clenched his fist so tightly that his nails dug into his palm.
Isabel said nothing, merely bowing slightly as a formality.
Finally, Richard decided, "Welcome home... Edward," he said in a hoarse voice, his eyes still red and filled with mourning for someone who would never return.
Edward remained silent for a moment before slowly walking to one of the empty chairs. Isabel sat down beside her father.
Every chair around the dining table was occupied today, with only one remaining empty—Joseph's position, the important person who would never return.
It was hard to tell whether the atmosphere was warm or bitter. The two brothers exchanged glances while occasionally looking at Joseph's chair.
Miranda and Rebecca observed the scene before them. Rebecca's fingers gripped the hem of her dress tightly, tears welling in her eyes as she thought of her husband who would never return.
...
In the dim light of dawn, Charles—the once-famous investigator now branded as the murderer in the case of the Treasury Department Head and his dear friend Joseph—sat leaning against a large tree trunk on a remote hill. Before him stretched a great river, with soft sunlight filtering through the surrounding trees.
Remarkably, the wounds from his battles and torture had completely vanished. The skin that had been burned or bruised was now surprisingly smooth. Even the fingernails that had been torn out had regrown normally. It seemed there was no evidence left to indicate just how severely he had once been injured.
Charles slowly flexed his fingers and sighed deeply. "Like a dream..." he murmured while examining his body.
Last night, after embedding the Soulstone into his heart through the second-level elevation ritual, all of his memories had returned.
'Thara Watson is my real name. My father is English, my mother Thai. I'm twenty-five years old now. I was a university student in Bangkok before coming here. I remember receiving a phone call from home saying my father was critically ill with a brain hemorrhage. I rushed to take leave from work and my professors, driving through the rain to watch over him at the hospital.'
'That night, while in my bedroom, I fell asleep. When I woke up, I was on a ship. I looked at the sky and encountered a storm at sea. It was the same day I lost my memories.'
Thara, or Charles, remained silent for a moment. The return of his memories brought joy, but also deep concern.
Worry about his father lying ill in another world still gnawed at his heart. 'How many years have passed in that world... Is my father still alive? How are my mother and sister?'
"I must return," Charles murmured, his voice growing firmer. "But before that, I must settle this debt of vengeance." The image of Joseph lying in a pool of blood appeared in his mind.
"You villain, I will find you and make you pay for what you've done," Charles closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and made this vow in his heart before rising to his full height.
He walked back into the abandoned hut to retrieve the wooden barrel containing his belongings. Turning toward the capital city, he stood in silent tribute to his only friend in this world.
This was all he could do now—the one who couldn't attend the funeral. Then he turned away, his eyes resolute, and set off with the wind following at his back, like a farewell signal to the wanderer in this strange land as he departed.
...
Pure white stone architecture, smooth and without cracks, gleamed with pristine whiteness, without a source of light, without shadows, as if darkness had never existed there since the beginning.
The high ceiling was adorned with mysterious golden letters which, upon closer inspection, flowed together like threads. These threads wove together like a tapestry depicting various events, moving as if alive.
In the center of the room, a white and gold quill pen slowly wrote characters in the air, with no visible hand guiding it.
Suddenly, in the corner of the room, a blue flame flashed brightly for an instant. Though the light was barely enough to cause any effect, it made the large, pure blue eyes in the center of the room turn sharply to look.
But after observing for a while and seeing no other anomalies, the blue eyes turned back as if nothing had happened. The white and gold quill pen continued writing in serene silence.
...
And in the endless darkness void of all light, quiet and without sound, a voice now emerged:
"The axis of fate begins to move... The deceased returns."
(End of Volume 1: The Return of the Deceased)