I Died and Received an SSS-Rank Unique Ability-Chapter 91: The Search Continues

The study no longer resembled the quiet sanctuary of Vale’s memories. An hour had passed since his arrival, and now chaos reigned. Books lay torn across the polished floor, some flung open, others reduced to curled, crumpled fragments. The shelves had been gutted, tomes ripped from their homes, and ancient papers drifted through the air like autumn leaves caught in a storm. Even the once-pristine writing desk had been flipped, drawers ripped from their sockets and their contents strewn wide.

Vale stood amidst the wreckage, breath shallow, jaw tight.

His fingers trembled—not with exhaustion, but frustration.

He had searched every corner of the room. Every locked drawer had been pried open, every book spine checked for hollow compartments, every floorboard tapped for hidden panels. Yet nothing—not a single clue—spoke of his uncle’s fate or intentions. Just records of old land holdings, expense logs, and letters long devoid of relevance.

With a snarl, Vale kicked aside a stack of ledgers. His patience, like the study, was in shambles.

He had to have left something. No one vanished so cleanly—not without help, not without a plan.

Vale dropped to one knee, eyes flicking across the floor. Among the discarded papers, something caught the candlelight. A folded slip, old and yellowed, with a wax seal cracked from age. It had been hidden behind the leg of the desk, wedged between the furniture and the wall.

He reached for it, his irritation briefly stilled.

His eyes widened at the sight. It was the exact same seal used for his bounty.

Government Seal.

He unfolded the parchment with care. The script was faded but still legible, and the handwriting was neat and precise.

***

This document confirms that the request for complete identity reassignment has been processed and approved under the Government Seal.

As per regulations under the Classified Reformation Act, the following materials have been prepared for your relocation and integration:

– New government identity papers (attached)

– Civilian registry update protocols

– Transfer of estate documentation under new alias

The bearer of this notice is advised to destroy this communication after reading. Tampering with the enclosed credentials is punishable by exile or execution.

***

Vale stared at the document, heart pounding. The wax seal. The official stamp. The unmistakable handwriting. This was real.

Some parts are too smudged to read. The person who signed it remained a mystery, but its body remained whole.

His uncle had assumed a new identity. He wasn’t assassinated along with the rest of his family. He went into hiding.

He looked again at the empty paperclip that was once meant to hold the new government IDs. They were gone. Long taken.

Of course. Darius wouldn’t have left the most important part behind. He must have left with them, starting a new life somewhere, under a new name, buried deep behind a web of falsified records.

Vale rose slowly, the document still in hand. His thoughts twisted like storm winds.

"Why was the government helping my uncle change his identity? Was it for protection? Or was something else at play?"

Before he could sink deeper into speculation, a sound cracked through the silence.

Wood creaked beneath a single step.

Vale froze, head snapping toward the hallway.

The sound of loud footsteps echoed through the corridor.

They were faint, growing quieter with every moment, but they were unmistakably there.

And then, a noise like a boot slipping on stone, followed by the hurried thump of a retreating run.

Vale’s body reacted before thought could catch up. He bolted from the study, his cloak snapping behind him like a shadow set loose.

The sound echoed through the manor. Someone was fleeing down the eastern corridor, footsteps heavy and panicked.

Vale moved like a predator, silent and swift. In seconds, he rounded the corner, boots gliding over marble, cloak flattened by speed. The figure ahead stumbled near the end of the hallway—a hunched silhouette already struggling to push open the servant’s exit.

Vale crashed into the door just as it opened, slamming it shut again with one arm and grabbing the fleeing figure with the other.

The intruder yelped and flailed, but Vale twisted the person’s wrist and dragged them back into the dim hallway. A knee to the back dropped them to the floor.

They groaned, wheezing with age, and Vale paused, his eyes narrowing.

An old man.

Grey hair thinned at the scalp, his back hunched, wearing patched servant’s garb long out of style. Dirt streaked his cheeks, and he smelled of lavender oil and dust.

Vale crouched beside the man, his hand still locked around the man’s shoulder like a vice.

"You’ve got three seconds to tell me who you are," he said, voice like frost, as he raised the blade of Hellfire above his head.

The man flinched, coughing violently. "P-please! There’s no need for violence! I’m just the housekeeper!"

Vale’s eyes narrowed. "Of an abandoned manor?"

The old man’s voice shook with panic. "I-It was supposed to be abandoned! I only come once a week—to keep things tidy, that’s all! I was paid in advance years ago! Told to keep it clean and stay out of sight if anyone ever came by!"

Vale’s grip tightened. "Who paid you?"

"Sir Tyne! But I never met him in person. The money always came through his servant... Elias."

Vale’s expression darkened.

Sir Tyne. Could it be? A new name taken by the man he once called family? Or the children who vanished with him?

"And where can I find this, Sir Tyne?" he asked, voice low and steady.

The old man hesitated, lips quivering. After a loud gulp, he stammered, "Through Elias! H-he’s his right hand—knows everything!"

Vale studied him for a moment, then, with a flick of his hand, dismissed Hellfire. The crimson glow vanished, and the old man let out a shaky, audible breath of relief.

"Where do I find Elias?" Vale demanded.

The interrogation stretched on for another twenty minutes. The old man, sweating and hunched under the weight of fear, spilt everything he knew. Eventually, he described a nearby city—one where he would meet Elias every Sunday morning at a forgotten old tavern to collect his payments.

Vale committed the details to memory.

That gave him four days. Four days to reach the city. Four days to find Elias. And through him... perhaps uncover the truth behind Sir Tyne.

Once he was certain the man had nothing else to offer, Vale released him. But before the man could scamper off, Vale leaned in close, voice dropping to a whisper edged with steel.

"If Elias isn’t there on Sunday... I’ll come find you instead."

The old man didn’t need telling twice. He turned and fled into the trees, stumbling over roots in his hurry, desperate to escape the shadow Vale cast behind him.

With the interrogation over, Vale left the manor, vanishing into the cover of night. The darkness shielded him as he moved quickly and silently, putting distance between himself and the ruined estate.

Under moonlight, he unfolded a worn map he’d picked up weeks ago. His finger traced a faded route to the nearest city—the one the old man had mentioned. Without delay, he set off.

The journey took two days and was uneventful. Vale kept to back roads, avoiding travellers and patrols who might recognise him from the bounty notices. The tension never left him, but no one came. Just wind, trees, and the steady rhythm of his footsteps.

By the third morning, the city rose before him—tall stone walls wrapped in mist, with crooked rooftops peeking above like jagged teeth. Inside, the streets were a maze of cobbled alleys, timber-framed buildings, and hanging lanterns. Merchants shouted prices while smoke from chimneys and food carts filled the air with a mix of spice, ash, and sweat.

He found an inn near the centre—The Crooked Lantern—and paid for three nights with a few gold coins. The room was cleaner and better kept than the cheap taverns he was used to, with fresh linens and a small hearth that warmed the space.

Another day had passed, and now, on the morning of the fourth day, he made his way to The Hollow Cask, a shadowy tavern on the city’s edge where Elias was said to appear.

Inside, the air was thick with smoke and ale. Rough men crowded worn tables, talking in low voices. Candles flickered, casting twitching shadows across the stained walls. Vale ordered a drink and took a seat near the window, scanning every face that entered.

Then it hit him—he didn’t know what Elias looked like.

He cursed inwardly and watched everyone more closely. Was it the lean man by the fire? The cloaked figure near the stairs? He couldn’t tell.

Then the bartender chuckled, voice raised in sudden cheer.

"Elias!" he called, sliding a mug across the counter to a hooded man entering the tavern.

"Thank you," the man replied, his tone calm and composed.

There he was.

Vale rose, leaving his drink untouched. He moved through the crowd with quiet purpose, eyes fixed on the hooded figure.