Chapter 7: Truth Above  

“The moment I saw him, I passed out.”  

“When I woke up, I was already in an unfamiliar room.”  

In the Soth Kingdom, mustaches were a mainstream aesthetic for adult men, so Donahue Bobby’s words didn’t raise suspicion among the others—except for Rosie.  

Her mind flashed to her recent experience: the eerie sounds from just beyond the door and the lurking menace behind the curtain that was never pulled back.  

Could the mustached man Donahue saw have been… himself?  

And what about the original owner?

Did she see something before passing out? 

Damn it, she couldn’t recall any key memories.  

Rosie grumbled inwardly.  

“A man with a small mustache.”  

Hannah softly repeated Donahue’s words, frowning and shaking her head.  

“Such men are too common in Glenn City, Mr. Bobby. 

Do you recall any other details?”  

“Like hair or eye color, age, height, anything?”  

Donahue gave a bitter smile.

 “Sorry, Miss Carter, that’s all I remember.”  

“No, compared to us, you’ve already provided valuable information, Mr. Bobby.”  

Hannah nodded slightly, then turned to her friend. 

“Rosie, after you woke up, did you see Janice?”  

Janice—Rosie reacted to the name.

A memory surfaced of a graceful girl her age, Hannah’s personal maid.  

Rosie shook her head. “After waking up, I followed this path to here and haven’t seen anyone else besides you all.”  

“I see…”  

Hannah touched her forehead and chest, then placed her palm on her left shoulder, saying earnestly, “Truth above, may fate protect her.”  

Donahue mirrored the gesture. 

“Truth above, may fate protect her.”  

Even the stoic Dennis Sandek made the same motion.  

This time, Rosie’s mind didn’t supply any corresponding memory or knowledge, but she was quick to mimic, blending in seamlessly.  

Truth? 

Was this a church, the dominant faith of this world?  

Rosie, unfazed by posing as a false believer, speculated about the gesture’s meaning.  

After the brief prayer, Hannah lowered her hand, synthesized the current information, and suggested, “We’ve each come from three directions of this crossroad. Now, the only path left is straight ahead.”  

“I think we should stick together and explore forward. Any thoughts or suggestions?”  

When the sky falls, the tallest one holds it up. Dennis, the bodyguard, clearly seemed like a tough, no-nonsense type. 

Rosie naturally wanted to follow the big shot and lay low, so she quickly agreed.  

“I think you’re absolutely right, Hannah.”  

The mustached man nodded in agreement, and the four formed a temporary team to move forward together.  

Along the way, to ease the tension, they kept up quiet conversation. 

Thanks to Hannah’s solid social skills, the atmosphere never grew too awkward.  

After about ten minutes of walking straight, they reached the end of the corridor—a gray brick wall. 

On either side were two brass lion-shaped ornaments, mouths open, each holding a burning wooden torch.  

Between the torchlight’s glow was a wooden ladder leading upward to a slightly worn iron-edged wooden trapdoor.  

An exit—or a trap?  

Rosie looked up at the trapdoor, frowning.  

“Miss, please step back. I’ll open the door.”  

The usually silent Dennis Sandek bowed slightly, requesting permission.  

“Thank you, Mr. Sandek.”  

He nodded, pulling a long stick-like tool—similar to a baton—from his open coat collar.  

Instead of climbing immediately, he tapped the ladder to test its sturdiness, then began ascending, one hand and foot at a time.  

Amid the creaking of the ladder, Dennis reached the top, pushed the trapdoor with one hand, and gradually opened it fully.  

Unlike the torchlit corridor below, the area beyond was pitch black.  

Unfazed, the seasoned bodyguard stood in the darkness, observing carefully.

After a moment, he called down, “No danger, Miss Hannah. Have Mr. Donahue climbed up first.”  

The climbing order was deliberate. 

With two ladies in skirts and a high ladder, there was a risk of exposure. 

Having another man go first avoided embarrassment.  

Donahue had no objections and stepped forward to climb, but a clear, sweet voice stopped him.  

“Mr. Bobby, would you mind taking this up?”  

He turned to meet a pair of misty blue eyes, shimmering like a starry river, tinged with apology and a hint of expectation.  

Of course, this was Donahue’s overly romanticized perspective.  

Rosie was simply holding the candelabra, thinking that since the upper area was dark and the corridor had torches, lighting the way sooner would be better.  

Truth above, Donahue, you mustn’t betray your sacred marriage!  

“Sure.”  

He quickly took the candelabra and climbed the ladder.  

Hannah turned to her friend, her tone lighter, half-joking. 

“Rosie, do you want to pull me up later, or should I pull you?”  

Facing the girl, Rosie felt a lingering guilt for occupying someone else’s body. 

She volunteered to take the rear.  

“You go up first, Hannah.”  

Hannah nodded, saying nothing more, and climbed after Donahue.  

“Rosie, come up. I’ll pull you.”  

“Alright.”  

Rosie responded, stepping onto the wooden ladder.  

Her peripheral vision caught something—the torches on either side had burned down to mere stubs.  

The lion statues seemed to come alive, their brass surfaces speckled with dark red patches under the encroaching darkness.  

Trouble!  

The torches were nearly out. 

What would happen when darkness fell?!  

Rosie had no interest in finding out.  

She gritted her teeth, scrambling up toward the light of the candelabra with all her might.  

But the ladder seemed to stretch endlessly, with no end in sight.