I Died and Received an SSS-Rank Unique Ability-Chapter 93: Property of the Tyne Family

The bartender hit the wall with a wet crunch.

Glass shattered somewhere behind the counter. Mugs toppled. The room stilled for a heartbeat.

Groaning, the man slid to the floor, a trail of blood marking the wooden planks behind him. His lip split, nose crooked. One eye was already swelling shut.

Vale stood above him, fists still clenched, breathing slow and measured—ice beneath the rage.

The tavern was nearly empty now, most patrons having scattered after the earlier fight. A few lingered in corners, eyes lowered, pretending not to exist. No one was going to interfere.

It took days for the government officials to leave the premises of the tavern, but once they were gone, Vale wasted no time. He approached the bartender the same day, demanding answers.

"I saw you talking to Elias," Vale said, his tone calm—dangerously so. "You seemed familiar. You laughed together. Called him by name before he even ordered."

The bartender coughed and struggled to sit upright, propping himself against the wall. "I talk to lots of people. It doesn’t mean I know where they live."

Vale leaned down, letting the glint of the raven-skull pendant around his neck catch the dim torchlight. The bartender’s eyes flicked to it—and then to Vale’s face. Something shifted in his gaze. Fear, recognition, or perhaps just the sharp survival instinct of a man realising he had become prey.

"I’m not here to kill you," Vale continued. "As long as I get my answers, you’ll live,"

"I swear, I don’t know much. Elias comes in, drinks, talks—he pays well. I don’t ask questions."

"But you listen." Vale’s voice dropped, sharp as a dagger. "You hear things. Where does he go after he leaves here? Do you know anything about the family he works for?"

A long silence stretched between them.

Then, finally, the bartender nodded. "He... he’s not just some drifter, alright? He does errands for a family outside the city. Important ones. Rich types."

Vale’s brow twitched. "Where?"

"Property a few miles east, big estate. They’ve been real private since they took over the old lands. People say they were nobles once, but—something’s off about them."

Vale’s eyes narrowed.

He summoned his weapon.

Bartender’s eyes widened at the sight.

"I swear! I swear I’m telling the truth!"

"Good," Vale said as he dismissed the weapon.

He let go of the man’s collar and stood.

The bartender slumped, shoulders sagging in relief.

"I told you what you wanted," he said hoarsely. "You got no quarrel with me."

"No," Vale agreed. "I don’t."

He turned and walked out without another word, fading into the misty night like a shadow given form.

The mansion loomed just beyond the treeline.

It was massive and opulent.

Immaculate in a way that insulted the history buried beneath its foundations.

Vale crouched in the underbrush at the edge of a shallow ridge, peering down at the estate through his relic, the Four-Eyed Raven, as it soared through the sky above. Its extra eyes shimmered with faint blue light, casting his vision in overlapping layers of arcane sight. Each blink of its black-glass pupils showed him something different. Many mana signatures lingered around the estate, many figures guarded the property, armed and ready, their weapons already summoned by their sides.

He’d followed the winding road from the city under the cover of darkness, keeping low, sticking to shadows. He hadn’t slept and hadn’t eaten. The hunger in his stomach was nothing compared to the hunger in his mind—the insatiable gnawing for answers.

Now, the estate stretched out below like a fortress disguised as a nobleman’s retreat. High walls circled the property. Watchtowers marked each corner. Guards in polished armour patrolled the perimeter in tight formation.

This was not an ordinary house for a servant like Elias to live in.

It was a stronghold.

And above the main gate, carved in bold ironwork, a sign hung.

***

PROPERTY OF THE TYNE FAMILY.

***

Vale’s lips curled into a smirk.

He’d found it.

The name behind the mystery of his Uncle’s disappearance.

The family that had buried the truth, and possibly the last remaining ties to his bloodline.

He studied the estate for a while.

He watched the guards with detached precision, noting every movement, every rotation, every blind spot. Their patrols were organised, professional, and armed with more than simple swords—Vale sensed the presence of more than one Awakened. They weren’t trying to hide themselves. No. Instead, it was as if they let their presence be known, like a warning for those who wished to enter without permission.

They were prepared.

But not for him.

He already found a way in. With the sight of the Four-Eyed Raven, scanning the area was nothing more than a glance through the relic’s vision. There was a blind spot, a stretch of stone behind the western tower, obscured by ivy and neglected by patrols. There was a drainage culvert tucked just behind it, wide enough for a man to squeeze through.

Vale grinned.

He adjusted the straps of his cloak and slid down the ridge into the night.

Vale moved like smoke.

He slid down the ridge and across the clearing, hugging the earth.

Each step was calculated. Each breath was slow, calming his racing heart. His mana wrapped tightly around him, dampening his presence. The Four-Eyed Raven extended its senses ahead of him, guiding him between searchlights and the soldiers’ eyes.

He slipped through the drainage pipe, knees scraping against cold stone. The inside stank of mildew and stagnant water, but he didn’t flinch. The stink of rot was familiar—no worse than the battlefield.

On the other side, he emerged into the underbrush of the inner courtyard—silent and unseen. Just another shadow beneath the moonless sky.

He stayed there for a while.

Watching and listening, as he gathered as much information as he could.

This didn’t seem like a place one could storm head-on.

It was a maze of patrols, reinforced entrances, and trained eyes.

He spotted servants moving between the manor and outer buildings—dressed plainly, their shoulders hunched, lips tight. None smiled. None lingered. They walked like prisoners in gilded clothes.

There was something wrong here.

The atmosphere felt dense, heavy with dread or fear.

Vale narrowed his eyes.

He wasn’t just walking into the den of some exiled noble. This was something deeper. More sinister.

He crept closer to the stone wall of the manor, pressing his palm against it. Cold, flawless, and humming faintly. The walls were reinforced with mana, a very rare protective measure that required a great expanse of mana crystals. Not something a simple noble family could afford.

He tilted his head upward.

The windows above were faintly lit. Silhouettes moved behind the curtains. One figure paused by the balcony, a glass in hand, another lounging in the background. A conversation passed between them, muffled and indistinct. Then, laughter—cold and empty.

Vale’s fingers curled into a fist.

Something about hearing a joyful laughter coming from this family ticked Vale off. He wasn’t sure if any of his suspicions were true, but if so...

He only knew one way to set matters straight.

But first, he had to get in and find his way toward the man called Sir Tyne.

Vale exhaled slowly, calming his racing mind and continued onward.

The hallway was dim, lit only by the flickering orange glow of wall sconces. Polished floors reflected the light like a mirror. Vale’s steps were muffled by a thin runner carpet which stretched down the entire length of the corridor. He moved with calculated precision, keeping to the edges where shadows clung to the walls.

He passed rooms with cracked doors, pausing at each to listen—servants’ quarters, storage closets, parlours dim with unused finery. He noted every creak of the floorboards, every echo of distant footsteps. Somewhere deeper in the mansion, a piano played softly, haunting, almost mournful. Vale didn’t recognise the tune.

Two staff members turned into the corridor ahead.

Vale vanished into a side alcove, crouched behind a heavy curtain. His heart and breath froze.

The pair passed, one muttering about the lord’s sleeping draughts, the other complaining about night rotations. Vale stepped back into the corridor as their voices faded, silent as a ghost.

He reached the grand staircase, ascending it with deliberate slowness. A vase nearly toppled as he brushed past it. He caught it mid-fall, then gently placed it back. His eyes never stopped moving.

On the second floor, a long, lavish, and quiet hallway stretched out. Velvet drapes hung from high windows, and the scent of lavender and old paper drifted from behind a door.

Vale’s gaze settled on the largest double door at the far end.

Master bedroom.

He crept toward it, noting there were no guards outside.

He pressed his ear to the wooden door, but no sounds came from the inside.

He pushed it open.

Inside, moonlight streamed across fine carpets and gold-lined bookshelves. A fireplace flickered low.

And on the bed, a single figure lay beneath silk sheets—older, face sunken with time, but unmistakably noble.

Vale’s breath hitched.

The man sleeping before him bore the Tyne family crest upon his ring.

And the face... despite a few familiar features, was unknown to him.