Everard… bowed.
Yes, the Everard Gyrfald, high and mighty Duke of the Falcon Duchy, bent his head before a 208-year-old granny in a purple robe. My jaw nearly unhinged.
"Could you please take my son as your disciple," he said.
…And there went my last shred of belief that my father was incapable of humility.
Then I looked at the granny's stats.
Just as I thought, her physical numbers screamed "holding a pen for more than ten minutes would be an Olympic event for her."
But then I saw it — her mana control.
Two hundred and forty-six percent.
If my math's right, that's 100% on elvian scale. which should be the race's cap.
How is that even possible?
But that was not even the end of the weirdness. Right beside the 246, there was a lonely little "(1)".
What does that even mean? A ranking? A footnote telling me "Good luck, kid"?
Celeindra's smile didn't even twitch. Her voice was calm, serious — the kind that makes the air feel heavier.
"I thought I was done with you Gyrfalds. Neither you nor your father contacted me since the time you graduated as my disciple."
Ah. There it was — the 'is this the only reason you came after all these years?' undertone.
Everard cleared his throat. "I was a little busy with border issues and the newly allocated duchy, and did not—"
"You're a duke?" she cut him off, eyes wide.
"Yes. Did I not mention it?"
Celeindra sighed theatrically. "I suddenly feel bad for the humans under your territory." She even wiped fake tears from her eyes.
Sebastian had to catch Everard as he drew his sword. I genuinely think he was considering cutting down a 208-year-old elf in her own sitting room.
"So," she continued, completely unbothered, "why bring him now, when your father brought you when you were six years old?"
Everard's jaw unclenched. "Well… there were some issues back home, so I kept him at the castle for protection. Long story short, I deemed he is now ready to learn from you."
Celeindra's gaze sharpened. "It is not you who should deem him worthy to learn under me, Everard."
Everard raised a brow. "Well… don't test him too much. He mistook a mana slash for an aura blade."
Shit! Why did he have to broadcast that?
Celeindra's lips twitched upward. "It's not his fault. He never got to see your aura blade."
Way to go, Granny. Throwing shade right back at him.
She turned to me, then back to Everard. "If that is your business, wait outside while I speak to your son one-on-one. I don't want your old stench interrupting the talk between our youngsters."
…Did she just lump herself in my age group?
Everard, apparently immune to sarcasm, said, "Young? Other than Hugo, the only one in this room remotely young is me, though…?"
"Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, my dear disciple. Now —get out."
Everard clicked his tongue, rose, and said, "Thanks for your kind dismissal."
Then he left, Sebastian following close behind.
And just like that, it was me and the old lady. Alone.
Just as the door clicked shut behind me, the room's atmosphere… dropped.
And I don't mean "awkward silence" dropped. I mean "oh look, I'm suddenly inside a pressure cooker" dropped.
Inspect started blinking like it was having a seizure. The incoming attack's trajectory formed—
Except the trajectory covered the entire room.
"What…?" was all I managed to say before my face met the floorboards with enough force to introduce us by first name.
I barely lifted my head, just enough to peek at Inspect.
And there it was. What should've been a perfectly reasonable 246% (1) mana control for this old lady now read 800% (3).
"…How is that possible…?" I muttered.
"Child, tell me, who are you?" she asked. "The demon and my disciple think you are human. Are you tricking them?"
I groaned. "I really hope there's a lie detector here, because I have a feeling you won't believe me without it."
She narrowed her eyes. "I won't believe you even with a lie detector. Your soul is darker than that demon servant my disciple tags along with. So tell me… you don't belong to this world, do you?"
I exhaled slowly. "I'll tell you everything… but I need my bones intact for that." I squeezed out the last words my lungs could manage.
The crushing pressure lifted, though she still wasn't smiling.
"Gravity magic, huh?" I said, dusting myself off.
She did smile at that. "My attribute is space," she said. "And I am a Third Circle user."
"Third Circle… what's that?"
"I see," she said, tilting her head, "you're not from that era."
What era? I thought, but decided not to poke the ancient bear. Instead, I adjusted my cuff like nothing had just happened.
(Side Note: For a deeper understanding of circles and attributes, please refer to the "Council of Gods" novel mentioned in the author's note, or kindly wait until this story reaches that point. Thank you.)
"Where are you from?" she asked.
"I'm from another… umm… according to him, universe, maybe?"
Her eyes sharpened. "According to who?"
"The four-headed, multi-handed person… you know, the one the gods of Light, Combat, and Nature call 'Father.'"
Her eyes widened. "What?" She stood abruptly, and I flinched, bracing for another round of magical chiropractic treatment.
But instead, she shuffled closer, her old frame moving with effort, and placed a hand gently on my shoulder.
"Hmm… Only the scriptures I possess—given to us by Mother Sylviora herself—describe the Creator. The fact that you know his appearance…" Her doubt didn't vanish, but it cracked.
Mother? Right. Elves and their family terms for deities.
She sighed. "Well, I will leave you alive for now. But you will remain under my surveillance. I have many questions."
"Of course," I said. "If you don't mind, I have a few questions myself."
She raised a brow. "You are bold."
Lady, you're an opportunity I'm not about to let walk away.
"My questions are about this." I pulled out the S-rank artifact I'd risked my life for.
She glanced at it like I'd just handed her a potato.
That's an S-rank artifact you're looking at, Granny. Show some respect.
She took it, named it exactly as Inspect did, then handed it back. "You could sell this for a huge sum."
"I'm not selling it."
Her brows rose. "It has no use for you."
"It does — just not directly."
She sighed, then explained its nature in the clearest, most precise terms I'd ever heard. Not a single wasted word, just enough for my brain to snap the pieces together instantly.
So this is what experience looks like.
I bowed deeply. "Thank you. I would be honored if you accepted me as your disciple."
She smirked. "You truly do not fear me, do you?" Then she sighed. "Fine. I will accept you."
A light pulse of mana rolled out from her, and the door opened to admit Everard and Sebastian.
Everard started, "He might not have passed the test, it took me eight days myself, but I assure you—"
"Let us meet tomorrow," Celeindra said, cutting him off, her gaze fixed on me. "I will come to your residence myself."
"Of course," I said, bowing again. "I will be sure to receive you well, Master."
Everard looked between us, blinking. "I knew you would pass," he said, clapping me on the back hard enough to nearly fold me in half.
No, you definitely didn't.