Louis's brief reply was enough to make Garrick's eyes glint.
Louis knew Garrick well. Once Garrick found something special, he tried to possess it, even if it meant getting his hands dirty.
"That young man named William is very interesting," Garrick said with satisfaction, as if he had found a gem on the black market. "Defeating a Wrath-level Demon is no small feat. I want to meet him. In fact, if necessary, recruit him without the selection process. That kid will be a superstar."
Garrick's gaze revealed a blend of excitement and greed.
Louis remained calm.
"I'm sorry, Captain Garrick. But I don't think William is the type to be approached easily. He's free and doesn't like to be tied down."
"Human nature is unique," Garrick replied, his lips curling slyly. "There's no telling whether he'll stay on the right path or start to deviate. If he finds an easy path, he'll naturally be attracted to it."
Lady Ginerva made a comment as sharp as a knife.
"That's just your interpretation, Captain Garrick."
Garrick just snorted and looked away. For the umpteenth time that day, he had lost the argument.
The meeting ended without any significant results, leaving only a lingering sliver of ego.
---
Outside the Palace of the Royal Order, Louis briefly bowed to his older brother, James, before they went their separate ways.
Since there was no urgent business, he decided to tour the city in a caboose—a small, two-passenger carriage pulled by a common horse with the driver sitting high in the back. While it was far from the luxury of a nobleman's carriage, it was quite practical.
For Louis, that wasn't a problem. He was accustomed to walking and mingling with the people.
He stopped at a street corner to buy some fruit from Aunt Grace's modest stall.
The old woman looked at him with tears in her eyes.
"Young Master Louis, thank you for your help last week. If it weren't for you treating my husband, he might still be in bed."
Louis replied with a faint smile.
"It's nothing, Aunt Grace. Nobles and commoners are still human. Status only distinguishes in the eyes of the world, not the heart."
"Is that really true?"
The question was cut short by the sound of light footsteps coming from inside the stall.
A teenager emerged from the shop carrying a wooden box filled with pears. His red maple leaf suit fit neatly around his slender frame. His jet-black hair, tied back in a ponytail, glistened in the midday sunlight. His handsome, charming face and porcelain skin contrasted sharply with his status as an orphan.
William Langley.
His brown eyes met Louis's—clear and full of energy—and somehow, that gaze seemed to drown out the bustle of the city around them.
***
The sky that afternoon was clear, as if washed by the hand of spring. However, that beauty no longer comforted William. He had barely left the orphanage in a week due to endless chores. He hadn't been hiding in his room; he spent his days helping Father Albert repair the rickety roof that groaned every time it rained.
Donations from the nobles had indeed arrived—enough to transform the old building from near collapse to merely shabby. But the patched walls couldn't quell the orphanage's restlessness.
To him, staying in one place for too long was akin to chaining his soul. The worst chain he knew was named Arthur.
"Will, could you go to Aunt Grace's fruit shop?" Father Albert asked, his voice calm yet weary. "Her husband is still ill, and she must be overwhelmed. Perhaps you'll receive a small reward for your help."
William put down the hammer he had been holding and glanced sharply at the figure beside him.
"With pleasure, Father. It's better than being trapped with this annoying brat."
Arthur, with his curly hair never quite in place, lifted his chin defiantly.
"I'm more disgusted by your face—the face of a hero who once saved Sister Margaret, then thought the whole world owed him."
William lifted one corner of his lips.
"I am a hero. It's nobler than being a latecomer like you."
He stuck out his tongue briefly, then stepped aside before Arthur could throw the ball at his head.
The path to Aunt Grace's fruit shop was a familiar one, with rows of red brick buildings and rusty iron fences. The air smelled of charcoal from the fireplaces of nearby homes. Aunt Grace always greeted him with overly sweet praise, as if he were the best shop assistant in Valmorra's capital. Customers would sometimes slow down, pretending to choose fruit, just to watch his face. Of course, behind his friendly smile, William often hid words as sharp as shards of glass.
That day, after finishing lifting the wooden crate of pears, he stepped outside.
Unexpectedly, the figure standing outside stopped him in his tracks.
It was a man in elegant, noble robes. But the look in his eyes remained the same: Deep and calm.
Louis Percival.
William had overheard Louis talking to Aunt Grace. Aunt Grace had said that nobles and commoners were merely human beings and that the only difference between them was status. Such a remark would have normally struck William as humorous, yet the words lingered in his mind for some reason, like ink that refuses to dissolve from paper.
A wooden bench stood near the shop door. William sat down on it and placed the crate of fruit beside his feet. The air carried the scent of fresh fruit mingled with a light mist coming in from the river.
Louis was still staring at him. It wasn't a hostile gaze, but rather the gaze of someone trying to read a book whose cover had been sealed shut.
The midday sun cast a golden glow upon the stone path, yet it could not penetrate the thin mist hanging in the air. William leaned back on the cool wooden bench, feeling the throbbing ache in his arms from dealing with customers and lifting crates of pears as heavy as tombstones. His pale skin flushed only faintly in the sun's heat—never darkening, as if the rays were reluctant to stain it.
He was different. He always had been.
He overheard a conversation between Louis and Aunt Grace through the crack in the shop door. The idea that nobles and commoners were the same, differentiated only by status, stuck in his mind like a shadow that refused to fade.
He turned to the nobleman.
"Is that really so?" he asked, his tone light but his eyes scrutinizing.
Louis paused for a moment, as if choosing a gemstone as a gift—not because he didn't know the answer, but because he wanted to deliver it perfectly.
"If you look at it from the perspective of a humble person, all men are equal," he replied calmly. "But from the perspective of a proud man, you and a commoner inhabit two different worlds. Neither view is entirely wrong nor entirely right."
William smiled lopsidedly, then let out a short laugh—more like the draw of a pocketknife than a sound of joy.
"Then it's clear. The proud far outnumber those willing to humble themselves: Sentinels, for example, with their magic and titles. The higher their power, the higher their noses."
He spoke the words casually, but beneath that tone lay something far older than his youth.
Louis stared at him, seeing a glimmer of recognition in the nobleman's eyes.
"You're young, but your mind is sharp, and your magical abilities are rare," he said, sizing him up as if he couldn't fully understand him.
William shrugged. "It's nothing. I just like fun things. Even if they happen right before my eyes."
Louis paused for a moment, nodded politely, and took his leave. He walked away as calmly as someone who knew where he was going.
However, William's eyes caught sight of another figure. A tall elderly man shrouded in a long black coat walked silently behind Louis. His movements were too regular to be a coincidence.
William's fingers tapped the side of the bench in a slow rhythm only he understood.
He leaned forward and watched the backs of the two figures until they disappeared around the corner.
"How mysterious," he murmured softly, a smile curling his lips. "Perhaps...fun."