Chapter 19 – The Beginning of the End

Night had fallen over Urus like a shroud of ink.

From a distant hill, three silhouettes watched the Monteverde estate—now fortified to the teeth.
The rumors of the Phantom of the Opera had done their work.

Guards patrolled in tight formations, and two adventurers wearing adamantite plates stood at the main gate like living statues.

Phantom, hood drawn low, silently studied every movement.

“Once we’re inside… there’s a good chance Monteverde will be with the guildmaster,” he said without looking away.

“That’s right,” Fuga replied beside him. “Gaius and I should be there as well.”

“But this time,” Sonata added softly, “the lineup also includes Atilius, Aseina… and Schubert.”

Phantom gave a slow nod.

“Just as I thought…”

“Hmm… And why isn’t our dear Ada joining this delightful little soirée?” Diana asked, her voice laced with its usual venomous playfulness.

“Because she has another role to play,” Ren answered evenly.

He turned toward the two women.

“Listen—if you don’t want to go through with this plan, that’s fine. I’m not going to force you.”

Diana ran a hand along the neckline of her dress, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle.

“And miss all the fun? Please… I’ve been dying to watch that pig Monteverde fall.”

Fuga, on the other hand, didn’t answer right away.

“Fuga?” Ren prompted, calm as ever.

“I’m not hesitating,” she said at last, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m just… processing all of this.”

“That’s normal,” Phantom assured her. “Before, you stained your hands because someone else ordered it. Now… those stains might have a purpose.”

She lowered her gaze for a moment, then lifted it again with resolve.

“If possible… I’d rather avoid unnecessary deaths. Most of the people trying to stop us tonight are innocent.”

Phantom regarded her with respect.

“Tonight, only Monteverde dies.”

Both women nodded in unison. The decision was made.

Phantom slid the mask over his face.
The air seemed to grow heavier. Colder.

“Then…” he said in a restrained voice, “let the performance begin.”

Inside Count Monteverde’s mansion, chaos reigned in silence.

Soldiers darted through the hallways like aimless insects, shouting orders that dissolved into the air. It was a hornet’s nest ready to burst.

In the grand reception hall—lavish, gaudy, and drowning in fake gold—Monteverde paced back and forth like a caged lion.

Atilius, unhurried, sipped a glass of wine from his seat in the corner.

Ada stood guard at the door in her gleaming crimson armor, a golden sword at her hip, posture regal and unmoving.

Yura watched the city through the window, one hand gripping the hilt of her katana with quiet intensity.

“That bastard…” the count muttered. “What does he have against me?”
“I’m an honest merchant!”
“Does he hate the rich or something?”

No one answered.

Monteverde spoke as if he believed his own words. As if he had never committed a single crime.

Only Atilius, with the calm tone of someone who had witnessed far too many deaths, dared to break the silence.

“I couldn’t say, my lord. But I do see a pattern.”

“A pattern…?” Monteverde turned toward him.

“Curiously enough, every one of the Phantom’s ‘targets’… has been linked, past or present, to the slave trade.”

The count’s brow furrowed.

“Are you implying something, elf?”

“Perhaps your business is legal,” Atilius replied, slowly swirling his wine. “After all, you are the regent of Urus… But tell me—does that make it right?”

The question lingered in the room like a dull, hovering blade.

Yura shifted her gaze slightly. Ada narrowed her eyes. Both women were caught off guard.

Monteverde’s face flushed red, hot as boiling lava.

“Listen to me, you little…”

“Come now, Count,” Atilius cut in, raising a brow. “Do you really expect us to believe you built your fortune cleanly? While we adventurers risk our lives for scraps…”

“Damn elf! I’ll…!”

“Shhh.” Atilius raised a single finger toward him, voice never rising.
“You won’t silence me, you stu—!”

But before the insult could leave his lips, Yura drew her katana in a single fluid motion. The blade hummed with a sharp, cutting ring.

“Something’s coming,” she warned, eyes shifting toward the ceiling.

Atilius’s mouth curved into a faintly amused smirk.

“That’s right, dear Yuki. Our guest is about to arrive…”

For the first time in a long while, he glanced at Ada. And in that smile of his… something hidden, encrypted. As if he finally understood the other role she had been playing all along.

A seam split open in the air—a vertical tear, as if reality itself had been sliced apart.
From it stepped Phantom.

The warmth of the room vanished in an instant.
Frost crept across the marble, cracking beneath it, spreading like the roots of some deadly tree.

“What a pleasant surprise,” he said, voice cold as the grave. “All the actors… have gathered.”

“So you’re the so-called ‘Phantom of the Opera,’” Monteverde spat, still blind to the abyss before him. “You’re not that intimidating. My men will tear you apart.”

Ada reacted immediately, raising her shield and planting herself between Phantom and the Count.

Yura, however, froze in place—her gaze caught somewhere between fear, fury… and something deeper.

“W-why… Why do you have that katana?”

Phantom turned his head toward her, just enough to answer.

“All in due time.”

A beam of light fell from above like judgment itself. Without hesitation, Atilius had unleashed it, forcing Phantom to dive through the window. Glass exploded outward, and the hall trembled.

“Save your questions for later!” the elf ordered. “Aseina, Schubert—keep the Count safe.”

He leapt after Phantom without waiting for a reply.

Ren’s body crashed into the fountain at the center of the plaza. The thunderous impact drew curious onlookers; some stepped closer, others bolted immediately.

From the rubble, Phantom rose, brushing the dust from his coat.

“Simply brilliant… dragging me into a crowded area. I can see why you’re the guildmaster. Not everyone can read their opponent so quickly. Or am I wrong, Atilius?”

The elf landed with elegance, his boots touching down as if the wind itself carried him.

“Given your attack pattern, I deduced you wouldn’t harm civilians. Am I wrong?”

“A very… risky bet.”

“What gave you away was your sword,” Atilius added, gesturing to the katana. “I doubt you took it from its owner.”

Phantom lowered his gaze, studying the pale blade as if it were a legacy in his hands.

“When its owner died… I didn’t have it,” the elf continued. “She gave it willingly to her successor… didn’t she?”

Phantom remained silent. Then, without warning, he began to clap.
Once. Twice. Three times.

“Simply brilliant…” he murmured, a faint smile hidden beneath his mask.

He paused briefly, voice dropping lower.

“But you’re wrong about one thing… It was only a loan.”

Atilius’s brow furrowed.

Phantom raised his hand, pointing toward the Monteverde mansion.

“Its true heir… is in there.”