After that exhausting political meeting, the night did not end for G6.
Lady Sienna's sneer was easy to dismiss. The Duke's pointed questions and the search he had set in motion were matters G6 could assess: who had been assigned, what they knew, where they intended to look. What continued to trouble her was the Duchess's remark in the exterior corridor. Even after she had slept, she kept returning to it, dissatisfied with every explanation she had tried. By the time she woke again, she could no longer stand the silence.
The surroundings were still dark. The breeze was cold.
No birds chirped. Only branches stirred in the wind. The already vast estate felt even larger. The little forest felt deep—like woods that had never seen daylight.
And now, cutting through the rustle of branches, came the sound of running footsteps.
G6 kept her breathing steady as her boots struck the dirt path. For nearly an hour, she had circled the perimeter of the training hall and woven between the trees at the edge of the little forest. The turns required little thought now. She used each one to bring her attention back to her stride, the ground beneath her, the cold air entering her lungs.
It helped for a few paces at a time. Then the same question returned, as persistent as static she could not tune out.
"I simply thought your change was the will of the Messenger of the Heavens."
The Duchess's murmur echoed back in her mind.
The Duchess knows something. The thought surfaced again, unbidden. At Reise's birth, the statue shone.
G6's stride did not falter. She kept running.
There is no doubt that Witherby is the Messenger. As per Daunt's stories and in the book.
That was one connection she could account for. It did not explain what the Duchess meant by his will, or how much of it she understood herself. Her mother had offered her a home, hesitated over the marriage, and then spoken of the Messenger when she believed G6 was gone. G6 could remember each change in her expression. She still could not decide which part of that conversation mattered most.
She turned sharply, veering toward a cluster of trees where the path narrowed.
Witherby. Her thoughts came in sharp, fractured bursts. What the fuck do you want from me?
She ran through the messages in her head, replaying them like a case file.
"The vessel nears its purpose. The call you hear is the echo of a door beginning to open…"
"Build the home of cleaners, and your body shall be perfect."
G6 stopped.
Her chest heaved. Sweat traced a line down her temple. She stood in the middle of the path, surrounded by trees, the dark canopy above her blocking out the first hints of dawn.
She remembered her conversation with Daunt.
She scoffed—but her expression was insulted.
"Right." Her voice was low, nearly a whisper. "Daunt said I am the chosen one. And that I have to deduce why I am the chosen one."
Her jaw tightened.
"What is happening with me?" The words came out before she could stop them. "Why do I keep making mistakes? Why didn't I realize earlier that I am being somehow… guided?"
Her eyes then narrowed into deadly ones. "Why do I feel like I keep forgetting things? Like someone's purposely diverting my attention…"
The accusation sounded ugly in the empty woods. She tried to put a missing fact to it. The messages came back word for word.
So did Daunt's account, the priests bent over the script, and her mother's face beneath the moonlight. Nothing she reached for would conveniently prove her own suspicion.
What bothered her was how readily she had let each new demand take precedence over the question before it.
She stood beneath the looming canopy, murmuring to no one. If she had overlooked something, she would have to find it among the facts she already possessed.
"Right. The book keeps using the word 'vessel.'"
Another scoff. Hollow.
"Why do I feel like shit right now?" She pressed a hand to her chest. "This is not so me."
Those are just coincidences.
They are all nothing but results of my own journey.
She had been treating the messages like a puzzle. Like there was an answer at the end, if only she followed the clues.
But what if there is no answer?
She stopped moving altogether.
Her breath fogged in the cold air. Sweat cooled on her skin. The trees loomed around her—watching, silent, patient.
What if I am not solving anything?
What if I am just dancing?
The thought settled into her like a stone dropped into deep water.
Adventurer Guild.
Daunt. Dead forest. Temple.
She had questioned the individual encounters. What she had not properly considered was whether they belonged together in a way she had missed. She went back through them in order, refusing, for the moment, to let her anger choose the answer.
She had wanted to go herself. Only afterward had she discovered her strange connection to the dead forest. The priests' arrival had seemed like another coincidence. Her own decisions were there in the sequence, clear enough to recall. That made it harder to tell where her choices ended and somebody else's expectations might have begun.
Or was it?
I was running around looking for someone to decode the stupid script.
And then, coincidentally, people from the temple met with us? And could decode it?
What about Daunt? Does it make sense for him to wander this far near the capital when he is from Scutum?
"I was born from their divine resonance."
"I was specifically blessed by the God of War, the Goddess of Death, the God of Prosperity, and the God of Fate."
G6's eyes narrowed.
"He appeared like a joke in front of me, and dropped the bomb of history. It feels like he is there to guide—" she stopped. "Guide?"
She sat down on the cold ground.
Not because she was tired.
Because she needed to stop moving.
Ither.
The name surfaced like a splinter. Reise's imaginary friend. The bookkeeper she had seen in her dream.
She turned the name over in her mind, tasting it. Ither. I...ther. She had already made the comparison at the meeting. Here, without her brothers arguing beside her or the family discussing the ceremony, she held it against the man she had seen in both dreams.
Her breath caught.
Witherby.
The face in the library had turned toward her. At the lake, that same face had been gentle with the child. She lingered over the difference, trying to remember the moment that gentleness had vanished.
What he said…
The line surfaced again, fractured, jagged:
"Let her build a dream… then shatter it. Kill her slowly… so you can reclaim your body."
Reise's diary surfaced alongside it, full of despair and hope for a dream she could never reach. G6 recalled the girl in the library turning a page, still smiling while the man spoke over her. Then the older Reise, hollow-eyed, with the vial in her hand.
She went back to the words rather than the images. Let her build a dream. Shatter it. Reclaim your body. The last part had troubled her from the beginning. There was an assumption inside it that she had never managed to examine properly. She tried now, keeping the diary and the two dreams together instead of pursuing each as a separate puzzle.
Her eyes widened. For an instant, she felt the pieces begin to align. She leaned forward, one palm settling against the cold ground, intent on following the connection far enough to test it.
A high ringing interrupted her concentration.
G6 stopped and took a breath, waiting for it to pass. The sound sharpened. She tried to hold the unfinished thought while drawing another breath, but the air caught shallowly in her chest. Her fingers pressed into the earth. She knew that cold stillness from the temple, though recognizing the sensation did nothing to steady her.
Her heart seemed to miss its next beat. Then pain closed around her chest.
She shifted her weight to rise, and her supporting arm gave way. Her shoulder struck the ground before she could catch herself. Curled on her side, she pressed both hands against her sternum and fought for enough air to move. The ringing filled the space where the rustle of branches had been. She could no longer tell whether she was still following the thought or only struggling to remember what she had been about to ask.
"It is…"
She could not locate the voice. It reached her through the ringing, close enough to seem beside her, too indistinct for her to turn toward it.
"...not time… yet."
G6's vision blurred. The voice faded, and the ringing began to recede with it. She tried to draw her knees beneath her, but her body barely answered.
No—
Her attention drifted despite the effort to hold it. Through her failing sight, she saw footsteps approaching. A man's. No doubt. She tried to lift her head far enough to see him, to fix on something she could recognize.
Everything went black.
Then — nothing. Not even the shape of a dream.
G6 jolted upright.
Like she had been electrocuted. Like her own consciousness had finally caught up to her body and slammed into it at full force.
Her head still hurt.
A dull, throbbing ache behind her eyes. A ringing in her ears that refused to fade. She pressed her palm against her temple, fingers curling into her hair, trying to squeeze the static out.
Then she realized where she was.
Her bed. Her room. The canopy curtains drawn back, pale morning light filtering through the windows.
She looked down at herself. Still wearing her boots. Still in her training clothes. The laces were tight, exactly as she had tied them. The fabric was damp with sweat that had long since cooled.
How did I get here?
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. The room was empty. No Tina. No servants. Just the faint scent of lavender from the extinguished candles.
She pulled the pocket watch from her pants.
6:46 A.M
What the fuck just happened?
She tried to remember.
The forest. The dark. The running.
I woke up around three in the morning. I went to take a jog.
cool off my mind.
I went to the little forest near the training hall.
And then…
She remembered the cold. The static in her head. The branches moving in the wind.
Then I…
Nothing.
She could follow the route as far as the little forest. Beyond that, she could not place one moment after another. She tried again from the beginning, more slowly. Waking. Dressing. The path beside the training hall. None of those details resisted her; they simply brought her back to the same unfinished sequence.
Her brows furrowed. It was possible to remember a place and still have no account of what she had done there. She disliked discovering that distinction from inside it.
She pressed her palm harder against her temple. The ringing in her ears spiked.
She remembered pain—sharp, splitting, like something trying to claw its way out of her skull. She remembered her breath catching, her chest seizing, her knees hitting the ground.
But before that?
After that?
Nothing.
What the fuck happened?
I collapsed? No… how did it happen? Why?
And more importantly… How did I get back to my room?
Her gaze moved from the boots on her feet to the door. The room offered the familiar arrangement Tina maintained, not an explanation. She remembered last night's meeting in detail: the Duke assigning each search, Count Wilfred's objections, Sienna proposing that she light the candle. She could even recall the way her mother had looked at that suggestion. Whatever had happened in the forest had not taken those things with it.
She checked the watch again. The time had advanced normally. Staring at it would not fill the interval before she had opened her eyes.
She took a slow, deep breath. Then another. She sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on her knees, head bowed. She ran her hands up her face, through her hair, pressing her palms against her eyes until she saw stars.
"What a fucking mess," she murmured.
She sat there for a long moment. Breathing. Waiting for the ringing to fade. Waiting for her troubled mind to settle.
It didn't.
So she stood.
She left her room and walked the familiar path through the estate.
The corridors were quiet at this hour. Servants moved in the distance, heads bowed, hands full of linens and trays. They nodded as she passed. But she passed them as if they never existed.
Her boots echoed on the stone floor. Too loud. Too sharp.
She needed to move. Needed to do something. Sitting still felt like drowning.
The training hall came into view—the open archway, the wide, sand-covered training floor, the trees at the edge of the little forest where she had been running.
A few knights of House Worthon were already training. Their wooden swords clacked against each other in practiced rhythm. Their grunts echoed off the stone walls. Sweat glistened on their foreheads despite the early hour.
They noticed her immediately.
Their movements slowed. Their eyes tracked her as she walked to the edge of the training floor and stopped.
G6 did not acknowledge them.
She stood with her arms crossed, staring at the tree line. At the path that led into the little forest. At the shadows that still lingered beneath the canopy.
Something probably happened there.
She could feel it. Like a bruise she couldn't see. Like a word on the tip of her tongue.
But the memory would not come.
Her jaw tightened.
"What are you all staring at?" she asked, not turning around.
The knights flinched. Their training resumed—faster now, more focused. No one dared answer.
G6's eyes remained fixed on the trees.
She kept retracing what she could remember, like a system trying to retrieve missing files.
But still. Nothing.
In her irritation, she grabbed a wooden sword from the corner and walked to the center of the training hall—where the knights were training.
They halted. Stared at her again.
"Spar with me."
Her usual neutral expression was gone. Replaced by something raw, something barely contained. Her voice was cold and low as ever—but there was an edge to it now. A fracture.
The knights exchanged hesitant glances.
"B-but… M-my l-lady… we can't—"
G6's brows curled in irritation. Her glare sliced through them.
"Fuck." The word landed like a slap. "Are you looking down on me?" Her voice dropped lower. "Do I look like some joke to you?"
The menace in her bearing shifted.
It was not the controlled, predatory stillness she usually wore. Her anger showed through it now, cold and barely contained. The knights stiffened beneath her stare; their chests tightened with the instinctive warning of danger.
They were trapped between duty and instinct. Fight the lady of the house? Or refuse her while she looked at them like that?
"In five seconds," G6 said, "if none of you come to me, I will come to you."
No one moved.
She counted. Not aloud. But they could feel it—each second a drumbeat in the suffocating silence.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
A brief rattle of wind. A blur of motion.
Her wooden sword arced toward the knight in front of her. He barely raised his own in time—the clash cracked through the training hall like a whip. He held his ground, but his eyes were wide.
Shock.
She was fast. Faster than they expected. Faster than she should have been.
And she was not done.
Everything blurred after that.
G6 was no longer planning the exchange. There was no elegance to it. No magic. No skills.
Only the force she could drive through this body, spent without restraint. Her trained footwork carried her into each opening; her sword struck before their balance settled.
This feeling of discomfort… is so familiar… like what happened back then—
The thought surfaced amid the clash of wood. She had accepted her old explanation of the vial for so long that examining it now felt almost like questioning somebody else's account. Her own certainty irritated her. She could recall no different version of what had happened. For once, she was questioning the explanation she had always given it.
The morphine. The vial. The stupid, careless mistake that killed me.
She had always believed it was her embarrassing fault. A lapse. A moment of idiocy that ended everything.
But what if it wasn't?
What if someone—something—made me take it?
Taking a wrong vial is almost impossible.
What if I didn't kill myself at all?
The thought froze her mid-swing.
For a moment, she forgot she was holding a sword. Forgot the knight in front of her. Forgot everything except the weight of that question.
She had been so sure it was her own mistake. Her own stupidity. Her own pathetic, careless death.
But what if it wasn't?
Her grip tightened on the sword until her knuckles went white.
Clash. A knight's wrist twisted under the force of her strike. His sword clattered to the ground.
She didn't see him.
For an assassin… making mistakes like that…
Did the stupid Gods of this world really kill me because of that goddamn Reise wish in her diary?
Was I being played all along?
Am I a… marionette in this show?
No… it can't be.
Her killing intent sharpened. The knights tightened their grips as she advanced. Her grey eyes turned colder than frost.
Because if it is…
This world will pay for ruining the life I worked hard for.
Clash. Another knight stumbled back, his block crumbling under the weight of her assault.
I am Akira Gemstone.
I am a Reaper.
I am the Sixth Gemstone
—I am G6.
Clash. A wooden sword snapped—not hers. The knight stared at the broken pieces in his hands, disbelief frozen on his face.
I earned my place.
My title.
No one gave me anything.
I am not a puppet!
She raised her sword.
The sixth knight stood before her, frozen.
His face was pale. His hands trembled around his own blade. Because the woman in front of him was not a lady. Not a noble.
To him, she was grey eyes and killing intent, a stranger wearing the face of the lady he was supposed to protect.
Her wooden sword was not coated with any magic. No wind. No mana. Just wood and fury.
At the angle she had chosen, the knight could see what the next blow would do to his arm.
"My lady!" he shouted.
She did not hear him. Her eyes were gleaming but unfocused.
"WIND BLADE!"
A man's voice cut through the haze.
The crack of a spell striking wood. A sharp sting on her chin. Warmth—blood—trickling down her skin.
G6 blinked.
The world rushed back in.
She saw six wooden swords lying on the ground. Knights standing around her, not terrified—but shocked. Confused. Breathing hard.
What just happened?
"Did you snap out of it, Lady Reise?"
A voice behind her. Young. Familiar.
She turned.
Lord Nash Thonson.
His eyes dropped to her chin—to the small cut, the thin line of blood.
"Forgive me, my lady." His voice was measured, careful. "But you almost ended that knight's career. By incapacitating his arm."
G6 looked down at her broken sword. Then at the sixth knight—relief flooding his face, his shoulders sagging.
I did that?
I almost—
The knight still held his arm close to his body. G6 followed the line of it from shoulder to wrist, measuring where her blow would have landed. She had asked for a spar. Whatever had happened in the forest, this man had nothing to do with it. Her fingers loosened around the broken hilt.
"Forgive me." Her voice was flat. Hollow. "That was reckless of me."
She threw the broken sword aside. It struck the training floor and skidded through the sand in the sudden quiet.
She turned and walked toward the exit.
As she passed Lord Nash, she murmured—almost a whisper, just enough for him to hear—
"Thanks."
Then she was gone.
Lord Nash watched her retreating back.
She walked with confident strides—shoulders straight, head high. But he could feel the weight on her mind. The tension in her spine. The storm she was trying to outwalk.
His gaze shifted to the six knights she had disarmed.
Mid-rank. The weakest among the Tempest Knights.
Even the Silver Company would struggle against them in a pure strength duel.
And she had dismantled them with her footwork and a wooden sword. He had seen no magic, no recognizable enhancement.
Just her.
Unbelievable, Lord Nash thought.
Lord Nash looked up to the second open floor of the training hall.
His father, Marquess Thonson, stood there. Along with his uncles—Count Worthon and Count Viremont.
The three men were not concerned. Not alarmed.
They were surprised, beaming with pride and interest, as though they had just witnessed something incredible. From the upper floor, the disarmed knights and scattered swords made an impressive account of her ability. Nash looked once more toward the exit. He had been close enough to see the blow she had almost completed, and to hear her apology afterward.
G6 continued to stride forward, looking down, troubled.
That was so not like me—losing my cool.
I need to calm myself.
She didn't know where she was going. She just kept walking. One foot in front of the other. Movement without direction.
"That is so unlike you, Lady Reise."
A familiar voice.
Something in her chest lightened—just slightly. Just enough to notice.
She raised her head.
Tina stood in the exterior corridor, waiting at the threshold leading inside the mansion. Her arms were crossed, her posture patient. But her eyes—
Her eyes sharpened the moment she saw G6's face.
She hurried forward. Forgetting status. Forgetting protocol. Her hand reached up, fingers gently tracing the air near G6's chin, following the thin line of dried blood.
"What happened, my lady?" Tina's voice was shaken. Just a little. But G6 heard it.
G6 just stared at her. Tina's hand hovered close to the cut, careful not to touch it without permission. That hesitation drew G6's attention more sharply than the wound itself. She knew how Tina looked when irritated, how she adjusted her glasses before answering back. This was different.
"What do you mean by 'so unlike me,' Tina?"
Tina frowned. "Does it really matter right now?" She sighed—the kind of sigh that carried years of worry. "Not so like you in that you're walking straight, but your head is low." She paused. "What on earth happened? You seemed fine last night."
Her eyes dropped to the cut again.
"Where did you get this?"
She looked almost on the verge of tears.
"Lt. Thonson." G6's voice was flat. "He is not in good control of his magic." A pause. "Or maybe he deliberately wounded me to snap me out of it." She said it like she was still piecing it together.
"Lt. Thonson?" Tina's voice rose. "Do you mean Lord Nash? Why would he do this to you? Has he lost his mind?!"
"Tina." G6's voice was quiet. Final. "It was my mistake."
Tina stared at her.
Defeated. As always, by G6's secrecy. By her short words. By the high walls she kept building, higher and higher, with no door in sight.
"Come along." Tina reached for G6's hand. "Let's take care of that cut."
She pulled her gently toward the mansion.
G6, who hated physical touch and recoiled from unexpected contact, did not pull away. Tina's fingers closed around hers with enough care to make resistance easy. G6 could have freed her hand at any moment.
She went along instead, shortening her stride to the pace Tina had set. There was no need to make the woman more agitated over a cut this small. That was the reason she gave herself.
「IN HER BEDROOM」
G6 sat on her couch in silence as Tina tended to her cut.
The room was quiet. The only sounds were the soft scrape of cloth against skin and the faint crackle of the fireplace. G6 held still while Tina worked. When the cloth caught at the edge of the dried blood, she lifted her chin slightly to give her a better angle. Tina's shoulders eased, though her mouth remained drawn tight.
G6 watched the change without commenting. Usually, there would already have been a complaint about her recklessness, an argument she could answer. The missing reprimand left her with nothing familiar to push against.
"I am skipping breakfast," G6 said.
Tina did not answer immediately. She finished patching the cut first—slow, careful, deliberate. Then she looked at G6.
"Do as you wish."
No anger. No frustration. Just acceptance.
She reached for a small vial. "Here. Drink this."
"What for?"
"To remove the cut."
G6's eyebrow arched. "Then why cleanse and tend to it if you were just going to use a healing potion?"
She paused. A faint smirk tugged at her lips—sharp, but not cruel.
"Don't tell me you used this small cut as an excuse to touch me." Her voice dropped to a teasing murmur. "Do you have a thing for me, Tina?"
Tina just frowned and adjusted her glasses.
"Don't force yourself to be a jerk, Lady Reise."
G6 paused, staring at her. She opened her mouth to snap back, to say something sharp enough to push Tina away. The maid had lowered the cloth into her lap and was waiting, still wearing the same strained expression.
The answer did not come as quickly as G6 expected. Tina was right about the effort, and making her retreat would be easy. For a moment, G6 disliked the prospect enough to let the silence stand.
"Now you act like you know me well."
She took the vial and chugged it down.
The potion took effect immediately. A soft green glow shimmered around the cut, warm and brief. When it faded, the skin was smooth. Unmarked. As if nothing had happened.
"Lady Reise." Tina's voice was quieter now. "I don't really understand you."
She folded her hands in her lap.
"I don't know what makes you restless. After a perfectly fine day. After everything seems settled."
G6 did not answer. She crossed her arms and looked at Tina with an unfazed expression.
"I know." Tina looked down. "I know I said I wouldn't pry."
"Enough." G6's voice was cold. She stood. "Just act like you always do, Tina."
She looked down at her maid, who was still sitting, still patient, waiting even now when G6 had given her no reason to expect an answer.
"Just stick with your role."
A pause.
"A personal maid of Reise Worthon."
G6 walked away, buried her face in the pillow, and did not utter another word. Tina remained seated beside the couch for a moment, looking at her with the same worry. G6's last words had left her no question she could safely ask.
Tina took a deep breath and stood. She just needs time, she told herself. She looked back at G6 once more before leaving the room.
G6 listened to her footsteps reach the door. The cut was gone. Tina had done exactly what a personal maid was supposed to do; there was no practical reason to call her back. G6 remained where she was until the door closed, then turned her face enough to look at the empty couch.
Over the next few hours, Tina explained what had happened to the Duke and Duchess. They nodded in understanding, though worry remained in their faces.
They wanted to check on their daughter, but the preparation of Veneration had already started and the adults of this family were now busy with their own roles.
G6 opened the book of Witherby's that she brought with her. Strangely, there was no message.
"Hmm." She stared at the pages where she had expected another message. "Every time something weird happens to me, this stupid book has a message. Why is it fucking silent right now?"
She looked at the last message Witherby had given her:
"Build the home of cleaners, and your body shall be perfect."
"I know to strengthen Cryomancy is to kill." She said to herself. "But isn't the world-building in this niche kind of messed up? I can view status windows, while others have to view theirs through an orb. Not only that, these ideas just randomly pop into my mind—"
She felt a throbbing pain in her head again. It had never entirely left her. She stopped over the unfinished sentence, fingers tight against the page, and the memory of the temple's cold returned with infuriating clarity. That resemblance was enough to sharpen her anger; it still told her nothing about how she had reached her bed.
She laughed like a maniac. "I get it. This is just what happened back then in the temple, isn't it? You fucking restrict me from telling and knowing anything that you don't allow yet."
She grinned, insulted and bitter, waiting as if the accusation might provoke the answer she had not found on the page. The book remained silent. Her certainty had come more easily than any proof.
"Fine. Do what you want."
She tossed the book and went out of her room again.
The main building of the house was quiet. Almost all the servants were busy in the annex preparing for the ball after the Veneration.
She pulled out her pocket watch. 10 A.M.
The morning felt like it had lasted a week.
She went downstairs and met her two brothers. Their faces lit up upon seeing her.
"Tsk." G6 clicked her tongue.
"Rei!" Lord Ron called.
"Reise…" Lord Ray greeted her.
They both called, smiling. "We heard what happened from uncles earlier," Lord Ray said.
Are they going to nag me?
"Good job!" Lord Ron said, all smiles. "Did you know Father was all smiles with pride hearing uncles praise you?"
"Right," Lord Ray added. "He even claimed you took after him."
"What complete nonsense." G6 frowned.
The praise reached her differently from the way Lord Ron intended. She remembered the knight holding his arm and Nash's careful voice. Her father had heard what she could do; she was still trying to account for what she had nearly done.
"We know you're not in a good mood, huh?" Lord Ron pouted. "You should have woken us up early if you wanted a sparring partner."
"This moron is right," Lord Ray said. "Anyway, where are you going, Rei?"
"Just going to take a walk."
"Perfect! Why don't we continue where we left off yesterday?" Lord Ron suggested.
"Good point. I heard Nash is going to spar with Sienna." Lord Ray nodded.
A spar?
Good. Maybe I should go see, instead of moping about something I can't even recall.
G6's ears perked. "I want to watch."
Both her brothers looked at her and smiled.
"Alright, let's go. They're probably up on the hill." Lord Ray turned toward the exit.
They started walking.
"Why there?" G6 asked.
"They're going to spar pure mage combat." Lord Ray's voice was cautious. "Father and Mother will skin them alive if they damage anything in the training hall."
"Besides," Lord Ron added, "none is allowed in the mage training hall other than us. So they've got to do it on the hill or not."
"I see."
Interesting. Pure mage combat, huh?
I wonder if it's like the time me and Earl sparred.
I wonder how that geek and the other morons are doing now.
The siblings continued toward the hill, the two brothers pestering G6 all the way. She followed their bickering without having to decide which question to answer first. The morning remained unresolved, but for the length of the walk she let their voices occupy her attention.
»»ROYAL COLLEGIUM OF SORCERY AND STEEL««
「BASTION OF PHALANX」
While G6 drowned herself in confusion, questions, and frustrating situations, she was not alone in that feeling. On the second floor of the Bastion Department, where the office of the prickly second prince lay, there were three young men on the verge of losing their minds.
Inside Prince Dio's office, the center table that used to be decorated with books was now scattered with documents. The couches, once clean and pristine, now held two men—one green-haired whose eyes were about to turn red when they should be green, and one teal-blue-haired whose eyes used to be like oceans but now looked like the night sky without stars.
"This sucks!" Lord Keith yelled, scattering the document he had been reading into the air. "It's been over a week. And none! I am telling you, none!"
Lord Earl looked up. He had no energy left to nag Lord Keith about his childish act. He was resigned. His head turned toward the table where Prince Dio sat behind his desk, eagerly reading the reports of guards on patrol that day. His amber-fire colored eyes burned through every detail—a stark contrast to how pale his skin looked, the silver-white hair disordered above his forehead.
"Your Highness," Lord Earl said, "we should halt this investigation for a while."
"Now you bother with titles?" Prince Dio shot back without looking up from his work. "That aside, you know how dangerous this is. The emergence of a vanished house? Artificial mages?" He finally looked up at the two. "Do you know how scary it is if someone out there in the kingdom is secretly doing this kind of experiment and building their own people? Much more, what will you do if this comes to the ears of the three kingdoms and they misunderstand it as the Royal Family's deed?"
"Are you afraid that if the rumors get out and the truth is twisted, the Southern Kingdom might get the wrong idea?" Lord Earl asked. "Is that what you're trying to imply?"
"Come to think of it," Lord Keith said, "the emergency meeting we had last month about their movement—or prompt recruiting of knights—couldn't it just be them strengthening their own prowess? After all, they are a kingdom of swordmasters. Just like how Einston is a kingdom of mages."
"That makes sense." Lord Earl nodded. "I heard that their signature blessing also came back and it is on the third prince. He is now the holder of Supreme Warrior's Aura, no?"
Lord Keith and Prince Dio looked at him.
"What?" Lord Earl frowned. "Did I say something wrong?"
"It's just a rumor," Lord Keith scoffed. "Why would you believe it? It's been centuries since the signatures vanished."
"What is this?" Lord Earl shot back. "We can have our signature back, but it is impossible for other kingdoms?"
Lord Keith went silent.
"That is enough." Prince Dio's voice cut through. "Back to the topic. We need to find a trace of this assassin."
"It is not good to obsess over things, Dio." Lord Earl's voice was measured. "You know it yourself—there's not enough evidence or even trace to catch the culprit. Not to mention, those frozen crystals seen on the scene could be another experiment of theirs."
"But you know that brother is also obsessed with this case, right?" Prince Dio said.
"His Highness the Crown Prince might be on edge as someone who is the right hand of His Majesty," Lord Earl said. "However, he made a blatant mistake the other day, no? Didn't he accuse Marquess Eis without any solid evidence?" He massaged the bridge of his nose. "We have to take a break on this case. No matter what we do, we can't find him. And I am sure Duke Worthon and Duke De Lune are doing their best too."
"Do you think Duke Worthon will be helping us in this case?" Prince Dio asked.
"Don't kid yourself." Lord Earl's voice was flat. "Every state threat is always handled by the Three Pillars secretly anyway, and you know it. We have to rest. They will call us anyway if they find a lead."
"Yeah, Earl's right." Lord Keith grinned. "We both know here that those old pups are just using us as a front for taking the case. But the truth is they are also moving on their own. They probably talked about it right now—the Veneration ceremony is a perfect cover to talk about state affairs with your family without giving suspicious movements, no?"
"I guess you are right…" Prince Dio said exhaustedly and ran his hand through his messy hair, making his features more… endearing. "It's been a long time since I last saw Reise…" he murmured, almost whispering.
Come to think of it, I haven't even given her the sword I promised. It is a wonder she didn't persecute me about it, Prince Dio thought.
"Should we get back to our daily lives then?" Lord Keith asked.
"Arrange the documents accordingly," Prince Dio said. "I will go to the Sanctum and report to brother that we will halt the investigation for a while."
Lord Keith jumped straight up. "Does that mean after sorting these documents we can go home and sleep?"
"Look at this idiot suddenly having the energy," Lord Earl scoffed.
"Yeah, so do it quickly if you want to meet your bed again." Prince Dio started to fix the scattered documents on his table. The two did the same.
「MEANWHILE IN THE CORNER OF THE TRAINING HALL」
Pete swung his sword for the 489th time without rest. Sweat dripped from his head to his neck. The heat bore down on him directly and the sand was disturbed with every swing. In front of him stood a man in a butler's attire, arms crossed, sunglasses making him seem not so butler-like. His rolled-up sleeves and wooden sword made him look more like a strict instructor.
"It took you almost an hour to swing 500? And you're not even finished?" Edmund's voice was smug. "Why don't you just go back to the street and beg?"
It's been four days since Sir Edmund started to teach me. I heard that Lady Reise went home two days ago… Is he venting his sulk into anger and taking it out on me for being left out? He is being extra evil right now, Pete thought.
"What are you looking at, brat? Another 100 swings for you!"
"Are you kidding me?!"
"What did you just say?!"
"Nothing, sir!"
"That's what I thought. Tsk." Edmund crossed his arms. "You should be thankful I am not Lady Reise who suddenly punches you and throws you off the railing. I am being generous enough. Heh."
"500! 501! 502…" Pete counted, almost out of breath.
I swear—I swear I will get stronger so these evil people can't do this to me anymore! Pete promised himself.
"I will tattle on you to Lady Reise if her first apprentice collapses," Lady Brenda said, having just finished her spar with Lt. Nocturne, who stood beside her.
"Ahem." Edmund bowed slightly. "Greetings, Lady Brenda and Lt. Nocturne. This training is nowhere close to Lady Reise's! And if she found out I am going easy on this kid, who do you think will have it?"
Lady Brenda pondered for a moment, then raised her pointer finger in the air like she had figured it out. "Of course, you two! Lady Reise is after all very cool!"
"Is she hearing herself right now?" Edmund murmured. "If you only knew how demon that woman could be," he whispered.
"Anyway," Lady Brenda said, "it's almost lunchtime. Give Pete a break!"
"Lady Brenda is right, Sir Edmund." Lt. Nocturne smiled. "How about making him rest? His training drill is much worse than the other recruits…"
Edmund looked at Pete, who was sweating and doing his best to give this cold old man puppy eyes.
"What a shame I don't have a weakness to such things," Edmund said, making the three feel defeated. "However, I am also hungry. So let's end here for today and have lunch. And Pete, spend your afternoon training under the recruits' standard. Will that be okay, Lt. Nocturne?"
"Of course!" Lt. Nocturne nodded. "You guys have been leaving Pete every afternoon to us since then. And why don't we all have lunch together at the cafeteria? I have something to discuss."
"Hmm. Very well. Let us go then." Edmund gave Pete a signal to halt. Pete immediately put down his sword and smiled with relief.
"Look at this carefree smile of his. Tsk, tsk." Edmund murmured and went ahead first.
"Edmund is really like Alistair, no?" Lady Brenda said to Lt. Nocturne.
"You are right. They both sparred with us before when we were briefly staying at the West Villa. We were so young back then. Lucky you, Lady Brenda—you didn't go through it."
"Well, if we all did something to upset Chef Alistair, he nags at us and even plays tricks on our food!"
"Hahaha, that is so classic of Sir Alistair!"
The two followed suit as Edmund and Pete walked into the cafeteria.
When they arrived, they saw the respective companies of knights having their own meals. Miss Eliza was helping the servers with all her smiles.
"Thank you so much for helping us, Miss Eliza… You are truly a favorite child of God Eldrin," an old server woman said, touched by Miss Eliza's kindness.
"Oh my, granny! To say I am a favorite child of God Eldrin…" Miss Eliza said, blushing.
"Oho, don't be so modest, you little angel!" another old server chimed in.
"What is she doing there?" Lady Brenda murmured as they approached to get their own food. "She should just become a staff in the cafeteria rather than a support on the battlefield. Tsk."
Lt. Nocturne nudged her to keep her mouth shut.
When they arrived, Miss Eliza's smile briefly vanished—then grew brighter when she saw them in front of her. "Hello, Lady Brenda! Lt. Nocturne! Are you also having your lunch?"
"Obviously. Why else would we be in the cafeteria?" Lady Brenda's jab made Miss Eliza go quiet with surprise. Lady Brenda had never shown her blatant hostility before.
"Bree." Lt. Nocturne called.
"Whatever, brother!" Lady Brenda grabbed a food tray and shoved all the food she could see onto it, then walked away.
Is Bree still mad about Miss Eliza's complaint to Her Majesty about Lady Reise? She is oddly attached to Lady Reise after all… Lt. Nocturne thought as he picked his own food.
"Oh, let me help you, Lt. Nocturne!" Miss Eliza offered.
"It's alright. I can manage." Lt. Nocturne turned back to Edmund and Pete, who were quietly picking their own food. These two act like Miss Eliza doesn't exist at all, he thought. "Sir Edmund, I heard you like meat. They have sour meat here." Lt. Nocturne offered.
"Indeed I do like meat," Edmund responded. "But it is my lady who is crazy about meat. We just eat whatever she craved." He almost smiled.
That brute man who used to swing wooden swords at us when we were kids—is smiling? It is almost a nightmare to think he's capable of it, Lt. Nocturne thought.
"Oh… does Lady Reise never ask you what you want to eat, Sir Edmund?" Miss Eliza asked, her voice dripping with pity. "That's… so not good."
"Don't misunderstand, Miss Eliza." Edmund's voice was flat. "Probably we are the only servants who ever had a chance to eat every meal at the same table and the same food with our lady." He looked up. "Lady Reise is a daughter of House Worthon and a fiancée of His Highness the Second Prince. How will our food not be good?" He nodded like a bow and left, followed by Pete, who was dragging himself with shaky hands from swinging swords nonstop earlier.
Miss Eliza bit her lower lip at Edmund's answer. Lt. Nocturne only observed her for a moment, then also left.
Why were they still so dismissive? Had the old women's words meant so little to them? Surely being favored by God Eldrin deserved some consideration, Miss Eliza thought, struggling to contain her irritation.
"Hello, Miss Eliza! I would like that side, please!"
Miss Eliza shot a glance at the one who had just come and upon seeing the bronze top, she immediately wore her sweet smile. "Of course, Sir Knight!"
A noble is still a noble. I have to widen my connections. And make these people realize how Eliza Hanson can make them not dependent on the Holy Kingdom's priestesses—and even the potions those Sanctum nerds make! Miss Eliza thought.
They settled at a table near the arched stone windows that revealed the beautiful forest and fresh air.
"What does Lt. Nocturne want to talk about?" Edmund started.
"Oh… it's just that I heard the West Villa is packed right now with residents."
"By 'heard,' you mean it is from your sister, Lady Brenda. Correct?"
"Nothing really gets past you, Edmund!" Lady Brenda chimed in innocently.
"Yes," Lt. Nocturne replied, almost scoffing. "Forgive me for snooping. It's just that I wanted to ask about Zen's well-being."
"I told brother that Zen's doing fine," Lady Brenda said. "He is just busy as Her Majesty requested him to give a hand at the main palace library."
"You need not worry about Lord Zen, Lt. He is faring well," Edmund assured.
"I see." Lt. Nocturne smiled. "You know that I practically raised Zen, right? Hehe. That must sound absurd, but I—"
"I understand." Edmund nodded. "I know you are the one who helped him control his mana and even improved his combat skills—both magic and sword. Lord Zen is overflowing with talent. If I dare to say, for someone like him who came from a branch house and a noble mother whose family has no inherited any affinity, him inheriting the prominent prowess of Nocturne is one in a million in the sense of magic affiliation theory."
"You are right. Zen is indeed a genius." Lt. Nocturne sighed. "It's just that he likes books and artifacts more… even though his mother came from a noble family with no affinity, he still has an abundance of mana as he is from a pure-blooded noble. No?"
"So not all nobles have magic?" Pete chimed in, making the three look at each other.
"Right. That's how it works…" Lt. Nocturne trailed off.
"Don't worry!" Pete said innocently. "I can keep my mouth shut well. You can ask Sir Edmund!" He made Edmund shake his head. "Besides, I respect Lord Zen! He always helps me gently—unlike certain someone."
"This brat…" Edmund muttered.
"Anyway, to answer your question, Pete—yes, not all nobles in Einston Kingdom have an inherited elemental affinity." Lady Brenda explained. "But they still possess abundant mana than the commoners and can learn General Magic. That's why even those without affinity are still useful in Omnia and Sanctum, where mana imbuement is important in making a potion or a magic tool—or say, magitech."
"Wow. That's new breaking knowledge." Pete's eyes widened. "It is not known to us commoners."
"Well, that's because it's a stereotype for everyone to think every noble in this kingdom has magic. Since nobles were known for their abundant reserve of mana." Lady Brenda said.
"But there are also nobles who are born with little mana or not aligned to their familial magic." Lt. Nocturne added. "It often happens—as such magic is harder to pass down than direct lineage. That's why almost most of the noble houses with their respective magic—the one who inherits the family head house is neither who is the oldest but who is most prominent in their familial magic."
"Oh!" Pete's face lit up. "As expected! Nobles are hard to understand!"
"Well, Einston is the only one who has complicated implications like this." Lt. Nocturne sighed. "Because Vester, Elora, and the Holy Kingdom—these three, whether commoner or noble, can have their respective affiliations. Like Warrior's Aura, being an elementalist, or even being a priest or priestess." He shook his head. "It's only our kingdom that is so complicated to understand in the theory of affiliation of magic. This kingdom has the worst hierarchical tendencies."
"Brother! Shush!" Lady Brenda hissed. "What if someone hears you?"
"But it is true." Lt. Nocturne's voice was low. "There's so much magic in this kingdom and all are powerful in their own way. That's why there are lots of power-hungry people."
"I agree with Lt. Nocturne," Edmund said while eating. "And I am sure it is also what concerns the Royal Family and where their problems root from."
The brother and sister just sighed in agreement and continued their food. Pete had already forgotten what they were talking about, too focused on stopping the shake in his hands.
(1/2)
— To Be Continued… —