That single word—Reformation—hung in his mind, demanding to be understood.

Revan’s eyes scanned the remaining parchment at full speed, dissecting every line of text that had survived the flames.

His fingertips traced the rows of logistical numbers written there: raw material supplies, black market distribution routes, and the production quota for the Crimson of Tears.

His brain instantly processed the anomaly.

These numbers were far too massive.

’That’s crazy,’ Revan cursed internally, his jaw clenching. ’They are seriously preparing for a full-scale massacre.’

Initially, he thought Duke Vespera and the other rotten nobles were funding this bloody project purely to stockpile military power or to monopolize the black market for mountains of gold.

But seeing the word ’Reformation’ repeated alongside such a massive production quota of cursed energy, his conclusion drastically changed.

’A reformation? A coup? Are you kidding me?’

This wasn’t just deviating from the main storyline anymore. It had completely gone off the rails.

According to the original game’s storyline, the Crimson of Tears Arc never had this level of political intrigue. Its main plot was supposed to be purely about a mad professor holding a grudge against the world and trying to challenge the gods.

In the original script, the conflict centered on a war between the Church and an anti-church faction disillusioned with the gods’ "blessings." The professor only used this product for guerrilla tactics—sending it to a few power-hungry nobles and inciting academy students to create small-scale chaos.

’Then why would the Vespera Family want to execute a reformation?’

Revan’s mind raced, piecing together the political fragments of this world.

The kingdom was currently in a highly stable condition. Of course, slums and poverty still existed, but the kingdom’s laws protected its citizens quite equally. The people actually benefited greatly from this government; there were hardly any waves of protests, let alone a trigger for mass rebellion.

Even in the game, King Alderic was known as a humble, generous figure who possessed respected, absolute power.

His leadership in this era wasn’t about conquest, but purely about maintaining the legacy of peace left by the previous king. He maintained alliances, strictly avoided military confrontation, and focused the budget more on building infrastructure and securing trade routes.

Overthrowing a tyrant king was logical.

But staging a coup against a passive, stable, and pro-people king? 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝙚𝔀𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝒐𝒎

What for?

’Unless... that very stability and peace are exactly what disadvantages them,’ he thought in horror.

To the elites thirsting for evolution and limitless power, peace was stagnation. They didn’t need a king who liked building highways; they needed the flames of war to restructure the world’s hierarchy and place themselves at the top of the food chain.

That fact made Revan’s skin crawl violently in the middle of the silent archive room.

"Bastards..." he hissed softly.

He truly hadn’t expected this.

Duke Vespera—the middle-aged man with a friendly face who always smiled warmly and seemed to dote on his daughter so much—was actually one of the main architects behind this treasonous plot.

Revan recalled the Duke’s figure back at the mansion. The man looked so fatherly, wise, and almost perfect.

It was such a stark contrast that Revan often sneered at Sylvia inwardly, wondering from which pit of hell the girl had inherited her heartless and incredibly infuriating personality.

’Could it be from her mother?’ Revan had cynically thought at the time.

However, he immediately dismissed it. Even though Revan had never met Duchess Vespera—as the woman had died giving birth to Sylvia—the paintings and photographs displayed in the mansion’s hallways stood as silent witnesses.

The late Duchess was extremely beautiful, elegant, and radiated a smile no less genuine than the Duke’s.

Now, that warped puzzle piece finally found its place.

Duke Vespera’s warm smile wasn’t a sign of kindness. It was a sociopath’s mask, designed all too perfectly.

’Yep. Never put too much trust in someone who always smiles warmly, especially in this insane world,’ Revan warned himself, swallowing the bitter taste of his own naivety.

’Or you’ll be stripped bare, and die a miserable death without ever knowing which bastard stabbed you in the back.’

Ultimately, this underground facility wasn’t just some filthy place to produce illegal drugs.

The scale of its planning, the reach of its distribution, and the obsession of its higher-ups... all of it was the foundation for a national-scale execution stage.

However, to set this massive rebellion machine into motion right under the Crown faction’s nose without a single trace, they couldn’t just rely on the gold coffers of one or two noble families.

They needed a colossal financial backer—an entity with an absolute reputation that the general public would find impossible to suspect.

Revan’s gaze slid to the very bottom of the document.

The answer lay there, printed in the form of an institutional stamp that was half-burnt but still perfectly legible.

Consortium Verdanthia.

The name echoed in his head, bringing with it a wave of reality that made Revan’s breath feel heavy.

Who didn’t know Verdanthia?

If there was someone in Valtheris who didn’t recognize that name, that person must have just crawled out of a cave.

They were a giant patron network supporting science and commerce that had been operating for over eight decades. Their reputation was truly flawless; they were the ’holy’ entity that funded the six largest universities on the continent, facilitated cross-kingdom shipping routes, provided thousands of scholarships for poor families, and built networks of hospitals and orphanages in every capital.

A deeply bitter, cynical smirk formed on Revan’s face.

’This is genuinely insane breaking news. I can only imagine how many gold coins I’d get if I sold this information to the press guilds,’ he thought with a dark sense of humor.

’These bastards are absolute geniuses. They are far more ruthless than anyone I’ve ever known.’

Revan realized just how untouchable Verdanthia’s position was.

Who would dare attack them?

If this secret were leaked, there would undoubtedly be public backlash everywhere. The people themselves would take to the streets to protest against the royal faction. Verdanthia commanded the public’s sympathy far more than the royal family members themselves.

If the Crown faction dared to attack Verdanthia, it would be synonymous with destroying educational facilities, shutting down hospitals, and abandoning orphans to the streets.

They monopolized kindness and used it as the thickest shield, impenetrable by any weapon.

Revan rubbed his face, which felt frozen.

’How many more of these monsters in suits in this kingdom are actually involved in this madness? How deep do these rotten roots run?’

However, as Revan narrowed his eyes and scrutinized the document again, he noticed a strange anomaly.

In those logistical details, not a single name of another noble or supplier was listed. Everything was redacted. Even the Vespera Family’s code name was made completely anonymous.

Revan frowned sharply.

’Hold on... What the hell is this? They censored the names of all the families and suppliers involved, but the main investor’s stamp—Verdanthia—is left clearly displayed here? Are they stupid?’

He let out a rough sigh and immediately buried the question.

Time was running out. Revan couldn’t afford to linger here. It was the rule of an assassin—never get lost in thoughts and emotions. Considering the ongoing activity in this place, and the fact that he had forced his way in, they should have realized his presence by now.

This fact was too crucial to be left to turn to ash.

Reflexively, Revan focused his mind to open a rift to his Shadow Storage, intending to throw the dangerous document into his pocket dimension for safekeeping.

Until finally, Revan cursed his own stupidity for completely forgetting that his Shadow Storage was unusable.

’Damn it, then where am I supposed to hide this cursed paper? This butler uniform I’m wearing doesn’t even have proper pockets.’

Revan swept his gaze around the messy room. His eyes accidentally caught sight of a thick brown coat lying over a pile of overturned chairs.

A faint smirk reappeared.

’After being battered by a series of misfortunes, it seems I’m getting a little break. I feel like I’m starting to believe in the gods again.’

With his body still aching, Revan prepared to crawl across the metal floor toward the coat.

But, right before his muscles could move—

Thump.

Revan’s heart felt like it stopped beating.

Clank... Clank... Clank...

Two pairs of metal boots struck the steel floor. The echo of heavy, rhythmic footsteps traveled closer from the outer corridor, heading straight for this archive room.

He immediately buried his intention to grab the warm coat deep within his mind.

Without wasting a single second, Revan pulled his body back, sliding silently to slip beneath the red metal desk in the middle of the room.

He folded his posture as compactly as possible in the deepest shadows, hastily tucked the Verdanthia document behind his waistband, and suppressed his breathing rhythm until it was practically inaudible.

His left hand slowly crossed in front of his chest. His fingers traced the spring trigger on his metal gauntlet.

Without the blade, this gauntlet was his only remaining weapon. If his position was discovered, he would be forced to fire the Spring Technique directly into their faces.

However, with his remaining mana at absolute zero, one amplified aura strike was suicide. Activating energy now was no longer burning mana, but cutting directly into his remaining lifespan.

The footsteps now stopped right in the outer platform area of the room.

Simultaneously, the muffled sound of a conversation began to echo.

Revan’s eyebrows furrowed sharply in the darkness.

The language they were using sounded... incredibly bizarre.

"...mationrefor... cannot be delayed," spoke a deep voice with a static rhythm.

"...toryinven of ours... still needs to be sorted," replied another, hoarser voice, accompanied by the faint clinking of steel armor scraping as the speaker moved.

’What kind of nonsense language is this?’

Revan tried to filter the sound.

Within seconds, his deductive reasoning found an epiphany.

Their pronunciation wasn’t using a foreign dialect. They were using the structure of Valtheric Common—the official language used throughout this world.

But somehow, there was some sort of cheap distortion magic that inverted and spliced every syllable in the wrong places to deceive outside listeners.

’Mationrefor... Reformation. Toryinven... Inventory,’ his mind concluded the cipher’s pattern.

Suddenly, the steel-plated tips of the boots stopped.

Right at the threshold of the slightly ajar archive room’s sliding door.

Revan held his breath completely, preparing for the worst-case scenario.

If they stepped in even just a single meter, there would be no room for him to maneuver. He would have to dart out and kill them both in under three seconds, before either of them had the chance to sound the alarm crystal.

The silence hanging in the room felt so thick and suffocating.

However, after a pause that felt like a prolonged torture, the shadows of the boot tips at the threshold began to move away again.

The guards abandoned their intention to check the room, continuing their patrol along the platform toward another, deeper corridor.

Revan slowly exhaled the hot breath that had been tormenting his lungs, letting the foul air of the archive room cool the sweat on his face.

He thought he was safe.

But, right before the echo of their footsteps faded away entirely, a voice struck his hearing faster than a flash of lightning—a sentence that made all the blood in Revan’s body freeze.

That single final sentence slipped right through. Spoken very plainly, without magic distortion.

Because, in any language encryption no matter how good, a person’s name could never have its sound altered.

"...make sure Cassian doesn’t see that area."