NOVEL NEXT Chapter 5: Like a house of cards
The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting a muted golden light over the town, as though even the day was reluctant to witness the ruin that had befallen it. The shadows stretched long across the scene, softening the edges of destruction but not concealing it. The smoke still curled into the sky, drifting lazily through the hazy afternoon air, merging with the remnants of mist that clung to the streets. It was as if the town itself exhaled a final, shuddering breath, reluctant to let go.
The sharp cries of children and women echoed through the silence, their haunting wails cutting through the stillness like a blade, though the sounds were not as frantic as they had been earlier. Now, they were weighed down with a deep, painful exhaustion. Bodies were strewn across the cobbled roads—townsfolk and knights alike. Some leaned lifelessly against crumbling walls, others lay where they had fallen, faces frozen in fear and pain. Blood seeped into the cracks of the stone, forming dark stains that would never fade. The few surviving knights had been captured, dragged into the town square and bound with whatever the villagers could scavenge—frayed ropes, rusted chains. Their hollow eyes stared at nothing, burdened by defeat and the grim knowledge of their fate.
The townspeople stood among the ruins, their rage now dulled into a heavy, crushing grief. The fires had taken more than homes and goods; they had consumed entire lives. What little had remained after the flames, the riots had destroyed. The town was no longer a place of life and community. It was now a graveyard of shattered dreams and irreparable loss.
Church priests and acolytes moved through the wreckage, tending to the wounded with trembling hands, offering whispered prayers to the broken. The town chief, his face deeply etched with exhaustion, directed volunteers to clear debris and search for survivors. He carried himself like a man trying to hold back an avalanche with bare hands, his voice faltering as he surveyed the devastation.
"We have nothing left. Why did this have to happen to us? What evil did we commit to deserve this?" a woman whispered, her voice raw with sorrow.
A child tugged at her skirt, his voice small and trembling. "Mommy, when will Daddy come back?" She knelt, gathering him into her arms, her own body shaking with silent sobs. "It's okay, sweetheart. I'm still here. We'll be okay. I promise." But her eyes, rimmed with tears, betrayed the lie.
The town chief's voice cracked as he tried to rally the people. "We'll rebuild. We have to. I know it seems impossible now, but help will come. The nobles and the king will hear of this. Until then, we cannot lose hope. Stay strong." His words hung in the air, brittle and fragile, a promise made as much to himself as to the weary faces surrounding him.
The church, once a sanctuary in times of crisis, now stood as a ruin. Its roof had collapsed, and soot-blackened walls leaned precariously, threatening to fall. The townhouse—once the heart of the town's governance—was a hollow, smoldering shell. These places of strength, of refuge, were now symbols of loss.
Volunteers worked tirelessly, pulling bodies from rubble and tending to the injured with makeshift bandages and salvaged herbs. The overwhelming scale of the destruction was suffocating. There were no supplies, no shelter, no plan. Everything that could have helped—food, medicine, tools—had been consumed by the inferno.
Children, dazed and hollow-eyed, wandered the streets, calling for parents who would never answer. An old man sat on the steps of a burned-out home, cradling a charred photograph, silent tears carving paths through the soot on his face. Nearby, a young woman knelt beside her brother's lifeless body, rocking back and forth, whispering his name as though the sound alone might bring him back.
The town fell into a weighted silence, broken only by the occasional clatter of debris being cleared and the distant cries of those still searching for their loved ones. The weight of the loss pressed down like a suffocating blanket, smothering what little hope remained.
The head priest, his robes tattered and stained with ash and blood, moved among the people, offering quiet prayers and words of comfort. "We must have faith," he murmured, though his own voice trembled. "Even in the darkest times, there is light. We will find it." But his eyes, filled with uncertainty, told a different story.
As he knelt to comfort a grieving child, a group of men approached, their faces grave. One of them spoke softly. "The town chief requests your presence near the remains of the townhouse. He says there is something important to discuss."
The priest nodded solemnly, rising to his feet. "Don't lose hope, it will be fine," he whispered to the child before following the men, his heart heavy with the knowledge that whatever lay ahead, it would test them all.
Shaun sat at the large, polished table in the mansion's grand dining room, the faint clink of the porcelain teacup against the saucer breaking the heavy silence. Steam rose from the tea, but he didn't drink it right away. His fingers absently traced the rim of the cup, reminding him of the fire he caused yesterday at night and how easy it was to make Gafnar knights look like the villains. I mean, they were, but at least this time they were innocent. I'll call this a success.
A quiet chuckle escaped his lips, low and almost imperceptible. "Well, now nobody will bother me for some time, I hope." He lifted the teacup, swirling it as if the ripples in the liquid were the only thing worth paying attention to. "Count Heron, you thought you could scare me into giving you my property, right? But I'd like to see the faces of your grumpy knights when they fought for their lives."
He took a sip, the warmth of the tea hitting his throat, though it did little to distract him from the bitterness in his chest. He set the cup down again, fingers lingering on the handle. "Everyone's attention should be on this event. Count Heron funded Gafnar knights; it's a widespread and known fact. Watching how much it's escalated, he'll have to give some kind of answer, even if just for a public show. But he has to. Though, I doubt it will end. Heron is powerful and influential. He won't suffer any harm, but it will still give me some time before he starts eyeing my belongings again, which he will. People's greed knows no bounds. Not to forget, he would himself like to know who was behind the fire and pin all the blame on them. I'm safe, though—who in their right mind would think a 10-year-old, broke no-name noble could pull this off?"
He leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him. A cold smile tugged at his lips. "But hey, this'll buy me some time. Not much, but time is all I really need. I can figure out my next move while everyone else scrambles."
Shaun picked up the teacup again, almost absentmindedly thinking. "You know, I'm personally a pacifist. I don't like making conflicts, but it's either me or them. Gafnar knights would threaten me in the future, and they wouldn't feel any remorse. Instead, maybe they'd have enjoyed it, likely justifying it by their same logic: that they're more important than their victims. And other bullshit. It infuriates me to some degree as I refuse to bend to anyone like that. Now, could there be another way? Sure, there could be. But all of them are hassle, and why should I go through all that when it's not even my fault? So I just took the most efficient approach I had. Though I still made sure no civilians died in the fire. My explosives had a loud beep before they exploded. All of them were at palaces where no civilians were, at night too. It gave them enough time to escape. All the deaths that happened were because of the riot they caused. Still, sad. I didn't mean to go this far. I just hoped they would shun the knights, do some minor things, and put the civilians against them. But these people are emotional fools who took weapons on the spot. Not that I am refusing my accountability, but I am just stating that level of conflict could have been avoided, but in the end it did hepled me out. "
He put the cup down, his smile fading into something darker. "Of course, I'm not gonna lose sleep over it. What's the point? They wouldn't have cared if I was thrown out, beaten, or sold as a slave by knights and Heron. In the end, the townspeople knew the knights were ruthless mercenaries who did all kinds of evil, but they treated them like normal citizens. So why should I give a damn about them?"
Shaun stood, walking over to the window and looking out again, watching the smoke twist in the air, carrying with it the weight of his actions. The town, the people, the destruction—it all seemed so far away now. "Selfishness. Hypocrisy. It's human nature. There is evil in everyone's heart; it just waits for the right moment to show up. But that's fine. I don't have to like it. I don't even have to pretend I care."
"No reason to feel anything," he muttered, staring at the tea leaves swirling at the bottom of his cup. "Not anymore."
The group approached the gates of Shaun's mansion, a building that could easily be mistaken for a haunted house. From a distance, the mansion appeared to be ancient and forsaken, standing out like a relic of a forgotten time. Its once grand exterior was now weathered and covered in an eerie layer of grime, with cracked windows that looked as though they hadn't been cleaned in decades. The garden around it was more of a jungle than a yard—untamed, overgrown with vines and weeds, and wild with vegetation that seemed to swallow the paths. The house was secluded, situated about two kilometers from the town, further adding to the sense that it had been abandoned for a long time. Only the occasional flicker of light from the windows suggested otherwise.
As the group of town officials stood before the gates, one man, the youngest of the group, spoke up with skepticism.
"Are you sure someone lives here? First, it's two kilometers away from the town, and now look at this. I doubt any sane person could live in a place like this. Forget about a noble."
The town chief, with a heavy frown on his face, replied, "Well, believe it or not, a single boy lives here, and he happens to be the only noble in our town. I thought I had asked him for help, but it looks like he himself needs help." His voice was laced with disappointment.
The head priest, ever the optimist, interjected, "Don't be like that. Let's at least talk to him. At the very least, he could provide shelter for the civilians. Any help counts."
The town chief nodded, though the frustration was still evident on his face. "That is, if he agrees. You know how nobles are. No matter how rough their situation gets, their ego never softens. Whatever happens, we need to proceed with all our might to get him to say yes."
The group began walking toward the entrance, their footsteps crunching on the overgrown path. The youngest man, who had been silent until now, spoke again, clearly amazed by the mansion's state.
"I never knew our town even had a noble. I've never seen him either. I always thought this was some abandoned area."
An older man beside him sighed deeply. "From what I remember, there used to be a family living here. They were going through hard times. The son left the family to do his own thing. His daughter-in-law also left after a while. They had a son who was left with his grandfather. The grandfather raised him for a time, but he passed away not long ago. I remember the funeral well; I was a good friend of his. I got a glimpse of his grandson. He was about eight back then, so now he must be ten, perhaps."
Hearing this, the others felt a pang of sympathy. Despite their lack of ill will, the situation seemed almost pitiful. Maybe, they thought, the boy would be easy to convince.
The head priest sighed. "Everyone has it rough, don't they? The poor boy living like this at such a young age…"
Up ahead, two of the men who had walked ahead stopped in their tracks and frowned at the mansion. "There doesn't seem to be any guards. Are we supposed to just go in like this?" one asked, glancing back at the group.
The other replied, "You think someone who can't afford a gardener can afford a guard? Let's just go in."
The town chief quickly corrected them. "No, that won't be right. We're not thieves. Young, shout out, see if anyone comes."
The youngest man hesitated for a moment but complied, calling out for someone to come. For five minutes, his voice echoed through the empty air, but there was no response. Just as they were beginning to doubt if anyone was home, two elderly servants, Harold and Smith, appeared at the entrance, stepping out from the shadows of the mansion.
Harold, his wrinkled face and gruff demeanor seeming to mirror the house itself, raised an eyebrow at the newcomers. "And who might you fellas be?"
The town chief and head priest introduced themselves, explaining that they wished to meet the master of the house. Harold listened quietly, his eyes narrowing, before he spoke again.
"You'll have to state your reasons first. You see, our master is already bothered by many scammers and con artists. Tell me why you're here, and I'll relay it to him. It's up to the master whether he allows you to meet him."
The town chief and the head priest exchanged a glance, then quickly explained their purpose. They outlined the desperate situation of the town, the civilians needing shelter, and the hope that the young noble would be willing to help. Smith, who had been standing quietly by, stepped forward moving to relay the message to Shaun.
Shaun sat in his study, reading book.
The faint sound of footsteps echoed in the hall before the door creaked open. Smith stepped inside, his old form slightly hunched, a breath escaping him as he lingered near the threshold.
Shaun didn't look up from the book, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "What is it, old man? It looks like you've just participated in a marathon or something." He didn't even bother glancing over, continuing to flip the page lazily.
Smith took a breath, steadying himself before he spoke. "Master, there are people from the town who wish to meet you. They're outside—the town chief, the head priest, and some others." He paused, looking for Shaun's reaction.
Before Smith could continue, Shaun set the book down with a quiet thud, finally lifting his eyes. His expression remained as cold and detached as ever. "Let them in. I'll be in the same place." He paused for a moment, adding, "Also, tell the old lady to make tea for the guests."
Smith nodded and turned to leave.
" I've already got an idea of why they're here. More importantly, it looks like the main story of the novel is about to kick off. According to this book written by the original Shaun, anyway."
Shaun leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as he considered the words in front of him. How will my actions affect the story? The question lingered, but he dismissed it almost immediately. "I doubt it'll have any impact. And even if it did… it doesn't concern me. I'm an unimportant character anyway."