A Peacock Husband of Five Princesses by day, a Noble Assassin by Night-Chapter 78 : The Thousand Faced Spider (1/4)

Days went by in a blink of an eye. The shipyard was a racket of noise and movement, the sharp clang of metal striking wood and the rhythmic creak of pulleys lifting beams into place filling the air. The smell of sawdust and salt mixed, a constant reminder of the work that never ceased. Workers moved with newfound urgency, their tired faces betraying the toll of long hours, but their hands did not falter. Gold was a powerful motivator, and Melissa had ensured that no man here had a reason to slacken their pace.

She and Kael walked the length of the yard, boots grinding against gravel and scattered wood shavings. Alongside them was the captain of the knights deployed to protect the shipyard and its assets while it is still in the middle of renovations.

"Faster," Captain Kirke commanded, his voice carrying over the din. "I want the hull finished before the next tide."

A grizzled man near the scaffolding wiped his brow with the back of his arm. "Aye, we're working on it, sir," he grunted. "You keep the gold coming, we'll keep the work going."

Kael gave a brief nod, but his mind was elsewhere. Even amidst the clamor of the shipyard, he felt the weight of a single parchment tucked away in his coat. A simple note, but one that had reshaped his every thought since its arrival.

We narrowed down the possibility of the Clown of Arks' HQ. Location: In the Duchy of Searvale.

The information guild had been thorough, yet frustratingly vague. While they used their extensive network to track down the moments of the Clowns, drawing up a common conjecture, which led to the Duchy of Searvale, it is still not enough. After all, this duchy is over 170,000 square km in area with more than a dozen cities and fifty towns, to even start with.

It's been five days since he informed the information guild in secrecy, and he wasn't sure of his sister's fate yet. One, the Clown of Ark organization itself. Two, Gabriel from this organization of Dawn who knew her whereabouts clearly.

Kael exhaled sharply and forced his focus back to the present. He had no choice but to wait, build his resources, be prepared when the time came. For now, this shipyard was his battlefield, and he would see it fortified to build a future.

Melissa, who was walking with him with her arm locked around his, gave his chest a gentle nudge with her palm. "Kael?"

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As Kael got out of his thoughts, she asked, "What happened?"

Kael smiled, shaking his head. "Nothing. I'm just wondering about Shiera. Do you think she will look at me in a better light if this business venture becomes successful?"

"Eh?" Melissa was taken aback for a moment, her movements halting. "Hmm?" As Kael blinked, Melissa forced out a smile, tightening her grip a little and leaning slightly toward his arm. "I don't know about that but at the very least, she wouldn't dare to treat you bad."

Kael smiled and nodded.

Meanwhile, far away from their location, somewhere deep inside the woods;

The mist clung to Shiera's skin like a second layer, damp and suffocating. It coiled around her boots, thick enough that she could barely see the ground beneath her. There were no clear paths here—only a landscape swallowed by fog, shifting and unfamiliar with every step.

The lair of the Thousand-Faced Spider was not a nest. It had no tangled webs, no swarms of lesser creatures crawling through its domain. It was if the entire place was devoid of another life apart from the trees.

Shiera's fingers hovered over the hilt of her sword, every muscle in her body coiled tight.

She could hear the others behind her—Leiza, Braddis, and Lirien—moving cautiously, their breaths shallow, as if they feared drawing the mist too close. They were experienced fighters, but even they were not immune to the pressure in the air, the invisible weight pressing down on them like a phantom's touch.

"No webs," Braddis murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Are we sure we came to the right place? It didn't seem like we entered a spider lair."

Shiera didn't answer immediately. Her eyes swept the fog, searching for movement, for something—anything—that might betray their enemy's presence. "It doesn't hunt like others," she finally said. "It doesn't need to."

The deeper they ventured, the thicker the mist became, swirling in ghostly tendrils around Shiera's boots. Every step forward felt like walking into an abyss. The air hung heavy with dampness, each breath tinged with something stale, something wrong.

"Stay close," Shiera murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Silence.

She stiffened. No acknowledgment, no murmurs of agreement, not even the shuffle of boots over damp stone. And yet—she could feel that they were right behind her.

So why weren't they responding?

Her grip tightened around the hilt of her sword. The hair on the back of her neck prickled as she slowed her pace, heart hammering against her ribs.

"Orin? Leiza? Lirien?" she called, her voice cutting through the unnatural hush.

Nothing.

A sick feeling coiled in her stomach. "Something's wrong." She halted abruptly, muscles tensed, scanning the mist for any flicker of movement. Then—

A whisper of displaced air.

Steel flashed toward her ribs. She twisted just in time, the blade slicing through empty air where she had stood a heartbeat before.

Her attacker turned out to be Orin. He didn't hesitate, his face devoid of recognition, his strikes precise, mechanical as he continued to attack.

"What the hell—?!" Shiera's shout cut off as Lirien lunged from the left, her twin daggers aimed for her throat.

The Princess ducked, pivoted, barely deflecting the attack before Leiza's sword came down from above. Shiera raised her own just in time, the impact sending a jarring vibration up her arm.

"Arghhh… Guys, what's wrong with you all? Wake up…"

*Swoosh*

A broadsword slashed at her in response.

Shiera countered, her blade slashing across Orin's arm. He bled but didn't even flinch. Didn't slow.

"It seemed as if their minds were taken over by something. I need to look for a place to counterattack properly." Shiera steeled her heart. She clenched her jaw, parrying, dodging, countering—each movement precise, each strike designed to incapacitate, not kill.

She was the strongest among them, her tier-8 skills honed for moments like this. Yet, no matter how many times she disarmed them, cut them, forced them back, they kept coming. Their non-vital wounds meant nothing. Their movements never faltered.

Step by step, strike by strike, she was being pushed back, moved through the shifting fog in a certain direction. Toward where the mist thinned, where the air grew colder.

Soon, her feet splashed against something unexpected—water. A stream, hidden beneath the mist's suffocating embrace. Beyond it, the vague outline of a cave was seen. "Let's go there…"

A final strike then came from Orin. Princess Shiera twisted, using his momentum against him, knocking him off balance before darting past him.

She dove into the cave, her breath ragged, her hands trembling. The moment she crossed the threshold, the air shifted. The mist hung outside, coiling, waiting. It did not cross.

Shiera pressed her back against the damp stone, blade still raised. Her team stood at the edge of the stream, motionless, their faces hidden beneath the veil of fog. Watching.

No. Not watching.

Waiting.

Her heart pounded against her ribs as she wiped the sweat from her brow, her mind racing.

"What in the fuck had happened to them?"

And more importantly—how the hell was she going to get them back?

Shiera's breath came in sharp, controlled bursts as she pressed herself deeper into the cave's embrace. The damp air clung to her skin, and the steady trickle of water from unseen openings echoed in the chamber's silence.

*Tap* Tap* Tap*

A set of footsteps started to sound from behind her teammates.

She raised her sword in alert as her team entered the cave one by one. Their movements were steady, unfaltering, despite the deep slashes and gashes she had inflicted upon them earlier. Blood dripped from their wounds, yet they showed no pain. Their breathing remained even, their postures eerily stiff as puppets.

The flickering light from bioluminescent fungi lining the cave walls cast eerie shadows across their faces. That was when the princess saw it.

Her eyes widened. "What the…"

Their skin had turned a deathly pale—almost unnatural, as if drained of life. Their faces were the same, the same sharp angles, the same features she had known for years, yet something was wrong. Their eyes—slits.

Not human pupils. But something that of a snake's golden eyes with vertical slits.

Shiera felt her stomach twist. In an instant, she realized that it wasn't her comrades at all. She lifted her blade, pointing it directly at them, voice sharp and unyielding. "What have you done to them, monster?"

The three figures stood unmoving. Their expressions were neutral, unblinking, as if they didn't even register her words.

Then, the temperature in the cave dipped. A slow, crawling presence finally slithered through the space, like unseen hands running over the stone walls.

A shadow moved behind them.

Emerging from the darkness, a figure materialized. It stood tall—six feet, humanoid in the upper body, but grotesquely wrong from the waist down. A spider's lower half, sleek and segmented, its limbs clicking softly against the stone as it moved.

Its upper form was eerily human, clad in flowing silk-like robes, its face hidden behind a white, featureless mask. No eyes, no mouth, just an emotionless void staring back.

Yet somehow, it smiled.

Shiera's fingers twitched around her sword.

The creature moved gracefully, placing long, delicate hands upon the shoulders of two of the pale figures standing before her. Its fingers curled around them almost affectionately, as if embracing old friends.

"Please, calling me a mere monster is a bit much, don't you think, lady? Call me the name everyone gave me: Thousand-Faced Spider," the creature said, its voice smooth, too human, and too seductive.

Shiera's jaw clenched.

It tilted its head slightly, as if amused, then let out a soft chuckle. "From the moment you entered my lair, everything has been under my control."