Cameraman Never Dies

Noel Rivet stopped in his tracks just before stepping into the black wooden carriage. He swiveled back toward Victor with a finger raised like he'd just remembered something crucial.

"Wait a second! I feel like I forgot something important," Noel said, scratching his head with exaggerated concern.

Victor raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "If you forgot it, it probably wasn't important."

Noel blinked, tilted his head thoughtfully, and then shrugged. "You're right. It's probably just my sense of self-preservation, anyway."

Victor didn't even dignify that with a response, but his lips twitched slightly as if he were suppressing a grin. Noel turned back toward the carriage, muttering to himself, "Yeah, who needs that anyway? Not this guy." Enjoy exclusive content from My Virtual Library Empire

With a dramatic sigh, Noel climbed into the black wooden carriage, which smelled faintly of varnish and, oddly, lavender. The coachman, an older fellow with a perpetually grim expression, tipped his hat but said nothing. Noel settled into his seat as if he were about to embark on the most glamorous vacation of his life instead of a potentially life-threatening investigation.

The journey began with the carriage jerking forward in a manner that made Noel's teeth clack together unpleasantly. He clutched the side of the doorframe and winced. "Fantastic start," he muttered. "This is going to be a magical ride, I can tell already."

He leaned back and stretched out, his mind a jumble of thoughts. He tapped his temple. I've definitely forgotten something. But what? Did I leave the stove on? But I don't even cook much.

Outside, the grand capital of Eldris stood tall, towering spires, majestic domes, and streets paved so smoothly they looked like they had personal stylists. People were bustling about, minding their own businesses. And on the far side, a building that people could see almost everywhere in the city— was the majestic palace of the emperor, or the royal family "rex Eldris."@@novelbin@@

As the carriage drove out of the city, the scene was soon replaced by farmlands coated in a fine dusting of early snow. The flakes weren't heavy yet, just a scattered flurry drifting lazily to the ground, covering the world in a fragile white lace. The countryside seemed to exhale in preparation for the coming winter, the first hints of frost sparkling like tiny diamonds in the fading sunlight.

But Noel wasn't in the mood for scenic appreciation. His attention was thoroughly occupied by the way the carriage seemed to hit every single pothole on the road with pinpoint accuracy.

"Does this thing have a built-in pothole detector or something?" Noel grumbled as the carriage bounced violently, nearly sending him flying off the seat. "Because it's doing a stellar job of finding all of them."

The coachman didn't reply, but Noel swore he caught a faint smirk in the man's reflection. "Oh, you're enjoying this, aren't you?" Noel muttered, crossing his arms and glaring at the back of the driver's head. "You sadist."

The scenery was replaced with a snow-dusted forest and a few red-eyed rabbits darting between trees. They weren't in search of food but seemed to be enjoying the calm before hunters would emerge from their winter hiatus.

But Noel was busy trying to figure out why his brain felt like an unmade bed.

"This buzz," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "Why do I feel like... like I left the oven on? Except I don't have an oven. Is this what anxiety feels like? Or am I just being... weird?"

He tried to distract himself by looking out the window. That lasted about five seconds before the monotony of small animals playing around and the occasional bird chirping made his eyelids droop. But every time he closed his eyes, the buzzing in his head jolted him awake like an overzealous alarm clock.

What is wrong with me? Noel thought, scowling. It's probably nothing. I mean, Victor said it wasn't important. And he's... mostly reliable. Except when he's not. Which is always.

The driver glanced back at Noel through a small sliding window. "You talkin' to yourself back there, mate?"

"No," Noel snapped, his tone making it clear that, yes, he absolutely had been.

As the hours dragged on, they exited the forest and entered the countryside. The carriage still hit every bump and pothole as if the driver was conducting a personal vendetta against Noel's spine. The buzzing in his head didn't help. In fact, it got worse. Noel's fingers drummed against his knee, and he stared at the snowy countryside as if it owed him an explanation.

Slowly, the novelty of the bumpy ride wore off, and boredom set in. Noel rummaged through his bag, which thankfully hadn't been forgotten despite his earlier lapse of memory. He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and a stubby pencil, starting to doodle in the margins.

One particularly violent jolt caused the pencil to stab through the paper, and Noel let out a long, dramatic sigh. "Well, there goes my masterpiece. Truly, the world is not ready for my artistic genius."

The coachman still said nothing, but Noel imagined he could hear the faintest snort of laughter.

By the time the sun dipped low on the horizon, painting the sky in fiery oranges and reds, the carriage rolled to a halt near a tiny village. Noel peeked out the window, his eyebrows shooting up at the sight of the place.

The village looked like it had been plucked straight out of a folktale— except the ominous kind where people mysteriously disappear after dark. The houses were small and crooked, leaning against each other like old drunks. A single weathered church tower loomed in the distance, casting a long shadow over the village.

"Cheery place," Noel muttered as he stepped out of the carriage, stretching dramatically. "I bet the tourism board is really proud of this one."

The coachman tipped his hat again and turned the carriage around without a word, leaving Noel standing alone on the cobblestone road. He sighed and adjusted his coat, pulling it tighter against the chill in the air.

"Well, Noel," he said to himself, looking toward the shadowy silhouette of the church in the distance. "Time to go poke the metaphorical bear. Or shapeshifter. Or cult. You know, whatever horror-show thing I'm walking into this time."

And with that, he set off down the path, his boots clicking against the cobblestones, muttering complaints about everything from the uneven road to the unsettlingly quiet atmosphere. If anyone was watching him, they probably got the impression that this was a man thoroughly unimpressed with life— and they wouldn't be entirely wrong.

The target village was still far off, but this was the place that had been arranged for him to take a midnight train to his next destination. He had to take a really confusing route before he headed to the original destination. After all, he did not want people after him.

He headed to the nearest inn and took a room for the night. By the time he entered the room and laid on the bed— Noel felt like he'd aged ten years. He slowly got up and headed down to eat something, he had not eaten since morning. Maybe it was lunch that he forgot.

The inn was a modest affair, there were quite a few people for a countryside inn. He went to the counter and ordered some questionable stew from the innkeeper.

"Anything else for you?" the innkeeper asked, her smile friendly but her eyes clearly calculating his net worth.

Noel rubbed his chin, debating whether to splurge on dessert. Then the buzzing flared up again. What am I missing?!

"No," he said sharply, waving her off. "I'm good. Probably. I think."

You've got this, Noel. He muttered to himself, You're a professional. You're not weird. You're just... eccentric. Charming, even. Totally normal.

———

Isadora paced back and forth in the small room, her heels clicking against the polished wooden floor. Her red and black dress swished with each sharp turn she made, the fabric mirroring her agitation. "He's unbelievable," she hissed. "Always so cryptic. Always so... distant. He treats me like I'm some fragile vase that'll shatter the moment I know the truth!"

Lucifer remained seated, his posture relaxed, one leg crossed over the other as if the storm of her emotions didn't touch him. "Well, Lady Rivet," he began, his voice measured, "to be fair, your husband has been under quite a bit of stress. Perhaps this secrecy is his way of managing things without burdening you further."

She stopped mid-step and turned to glare at him. "Oh, don't you start defending him now. If he's under stress, maybe he should talk to me about it instead of shutting me out! I'm his wife, not some... some acquaintance!"