Later that day,
[The assembly had gone far more smoothly than I expected. No one dared raise their voice. All stood in solemn silence, listening to the Emperor's words and final verdict. Even those ministers who found little comfort in the decision held their tongues, suppressing discontent behind practiced expressions.
This unshakable silence and unwavering order, was only possible because of the Law of the Absolute Word—a sacred law that makes the Emperor's spoken word beyond contest or challenge.
If the Emperor hadn't personally witnessed the incident, we never would've gotten this far with the plan. The fake execution of Miguel—somehow, it actually worked. Still… I can't believe no one saw through the illusion spell Gina crafted for the occasion. What level was that spell, anyway? It masked everything—Miguel's presence, the switch, even the blood. Not a single detection ward went off. Not a single skeptical glance. Nothing. We never know how a person will grow...]
The thought sticks with him as he walks out of the assembly hall, the echo of the Emperor's voice still ringing in his head. As he makes his way through the eastern wing toward Miguel's lab, he notices the commander standing motionless in front of the entrance. Seeing him there—still as a statue—puts Marcus slightly on edge. The commander's facial expression remains unchanged, unreadable. That worries him.
Commander… Commander…" Marcus calls out.
"Oh—yeah…" the commander replies, startled, as if waking from a deep thought. His eyes flick to Marcus, then back to the door, still unfocused.
I thought i lost you somewhere else....
"No, you don't have to worry about anything," the commander says, forcing a weak smile. "It's just that… my destiny hasn't been very kind lately. Thinking about it stirs feelings I've never experienced before."
Without saying a word, Marcus stands in silence, realizing that offering words of comfort won't do any good. Instead, he simply raises his hand and gently pats the commander on the back.
For some time, both of them remain silent.
A few moments later, the commander speaks up, his voice quiet but steady.
"After our meeting—and the signing of the pact—I went to the Emperor. I asked him about Miguel," he says. "Back then, I still held onto hope. Hope that maybe Miguel hadn't done anything wrong… that maybe some external force was behind it all."
He lets out a weary sigh before continuing.
"But the only answer I got was—as much of it as the Emperor claimed to know. He said there was nothing more to hide. That's why he called the meeting… to bring together those closest to Miguel and tell them exactly what he had seen."
"And it's not just about Miguel," the commander continues, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's about my girls too—the two daughters I lost in that same incident. The only thing he told me was that when he reached the room… they were already dead."
He pauses, his hands clenched at his sides.
"I even asked Kumara if he sensed anything strange—anything off about the girls or Miguel. But he said he didn't feel any trace of malice from anyone." His voice breaks slightly. "Which leaves me with no choice but to—"
Marcus steps in, cutting him off gently but firmly.
"All we can do now is pretend we've accepted it," Marcus says quietly. "Even if our hearts refuse to. And also there is nothing we can do to deny his Majesty words and also all evidence are against it."
"Didn't you confirm it yourself?" Marcus asks, his gaze narrowing slightly. "You visited him today, didn't you? I thought you were the one assigned to escort him to Blackwater Prison…"
"Yes, I did," the commander replies, his voice low. "And that's exactly why I have no strength left to go against the truth… no way to prove his innocence. After I saw him, the Emperor came to the secret chamber where Miguel was being held. He told me not to escort him myself—it would affect me too deeply, he said. So instead, he took my apprentice, Kumara, and Lord Damon with him."
That's… really kind of him," Marcus says quietly, his expression softening for a moment. Then he straightens, his tone shifting.
"Now, I think we should head inside. Gina's waiting for us."
With that, he steps toward the door, the weight of the conversation still hanging heavily between them.
"It's been a long time since I've stepped into these chambers," Marcus says, glancing around. "Still as nerdy as ever…"
The commander lets out a faint chuckle. "What did you expect? It's filled with research papers, scattered notes, half-finished theories, unique written spells and what not.."
[I'm happy, I am able to distract his thoughts for a little while…]
Marcus thinks to himself, watching the faint smile flicker across the commander's face.
They walk deeper into the chamber, their footsteps quiet against the polished stone floor. On either side, towering bookshelves stretch toward the ceiling, packed with worn tomes, scrolls, and leather-bound journals—some of them humming faintly with residual mana. The air smells faintly of aged parchment and enchanted ink.
Carefully arranged on display tables and within glass cases are dozens of mana artifacts—ranging from crystal orbs and etched runes to mechanical devices powered by physical cores. Though everything seems to be placed in an orderly fashion, the sheer volume of material makes the room feel more like a scholar's altar turned chaotic archive.
It's not messy—but overwhelmingly full. Every surface, every corner speaks of years of relentless study, obsession, and profound curiosity.
Reaching the end of the chamber, they open a discreet door at the back—one that leads into a smaller, quieter adjoining room. Inside, Gina sits on a low stool, intently flipping through the pages of a thick, rune-covered book. Just beside her, the young prince sleeps soundly in a cushioned cart, his breathing soft and even.
"You've got the focus of an archer, Gina," Marcus says with a slight smirk, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the room as he tries to catch her attention.
Gina doesn't look up right away, but her fingers pause on the page—then she slowly lifts her gaze toward them, eyes sharp but calm.
"Oh—Marcus… I mean, Lord Marcus. And Commander," Gina says, quickly standing and setting the book aside. "I'm sorry—I didn't notice you come in a minute ago."
"It's alright, kiddo," the commander says with a reassuring smile. His voice is gentler now, steadied by the familiar presence. He steps closer, eyes briefly flicking to the sleeping prince before returning to her.
"So… did you find anything about that ancient ritual you mentioned back in the council room?"
"I did," Gina replies, her expression growing serious as she picks up the book again. "In Lord Miguel's revised notes—where he re-evaluated all the failed spell rituals from ancient times, originally recorded in the Book of Reverence—I found something."
She flips to a marked page, tapping her finger gently on the parchment. "There's a ritual called the Reversed Rite. It's designed to mimic—or rather, gimmick—the power of the Fruit."
Her tone shifts, more cautious now.
"But the problem is… it's a long ritual. Much longer than I expected. If we're not careful—if we try to rush any part of it—it could be fatal. Not just for the baby…" she pauses, her gaze drifting toward the sleeping prince, "but for the entire palace."
"Are there any consequences to this ritual? Every ritual has them," Marcus asks.
Gina nods. "Yes, there are—but they're relatively minor. The revised notes are incredibly detailed… what Lord Miguel did with the original spell is nothing short of masterful. Compared to the flawed version in the Book of Reverence, his corrections make it far more stable."
She hesitates for a brief moment. "Still… even minor consequences can spiral if the process is disrupted. That's why precision is everything."
"You don't have to worry about the birth ceremony," Marcus says, folding his arms. "It's going to take place much later than we originally expected. And if you're not able to complete the ritual in time…" —he gives her a subtle smile— "we'll use your illusion spell as backup. It was impressive, by the way—what level was that? No one in the entire assembly caught on."
"It was a Level Nine spell," Gina replies, a hint of pride slipping into her voice.
"Oh wow… that explains it," Marcus says, eyebrows raising slightly. "No wonder no one noticed a thing. Such a high level spell is really undetectable..."
[As it's beyond the threshold level of detection even for high-ranking nobles…] the thought comes to Marcus immediately.
"How much time will it take to start the ritual?" the commander asks, standing just beside Lord Marcus, his arms loosely crossed.
"A few hours… I think," Gina replies confidently, closing the book and looking up at them.
Marcus lets out a quiet breath. "Well, I suppose that means we're staying here a couple more hours," he says, half to himself, casting a glance toward the prince still sleeping in the cart.
At the same time, near the edge of Nightfall Forest…
The wind howls gently through the twisted trees, their branches whispering secrets to the dusk.
"It's about time…" an old man mutters, standing at the forest's edge, his weathered eyes fixed on the horizon. "The tide of faith is shifting—toward a destination no one can see. No path is guaranteed. No future is fixed."
He grips the end of his wooden staff tightly, his voice barely above a whisper.
"A time is coming when no one will know what leads to what… and the cost of every step will only be clear once it's too late," the old man murmurs, his voice carried by the wind like a forgotten echo.
"This unpredictable future… it won't just reshape this uninhabited realm," he continues, eyes narrowing as if seeing beyond the veil of reality, "but the realm beyond—beyond what we know of this world."
He falls silent for a moment, the forest around him unnaturally still.
"The balance is shifting. And with it… so will the fate of all things," he whispers, his gaze lost somewhere far beyond the forest.
"All the characters are in place. And now… the only thing that remains is the choices they make along the way."
A faint breeze stirs the leaves at his feet, as if the forest itself is holding its breath.