The street lamps flickered past, washing his trembling hands in passing light. He tried to still them with his other hand, but the shaking wouldn't stop. Something rose in his chest—sharp, gut-deep—before he forced it down again.
The cool evening breeze caressed his skin, but sweat trickled down his neck still.
He couldn't tell if it was powerlessness or his mind's own way of imagining death—maybe both, fused into something thick and miserable that refused to leave him.
Noah had long ago figured out the reason for his loss.
He'd always thought himself above his peers—and maybe he was. But he'd forgotten what it meant to face someone from a higher realm entirely.
His loss had been written in stone way before the battle had even started.
But it wasn't Leon's superiority that resulted in his loss. It was his own complacency.
Since childhood, he'd been able to sense hostility—a flicker in the air, a pulse behind someone's stare. It had always given him an edge.
But what if someone had aimed their intent to kill at him?
As useful as his ability to perceive hostility was, it was also sensitive.
And Leon had done nothing but use that sensitivity to his leverage. While hostility could be seen as a simple warning, a person's killing intent was completely different.
That kind of intent wasn't mere aggression—it was a blade honed by will itself. And Noah, cursed with sensitivity to every trace of it, had felt that blade pierce before it ever swung.
His greatest weapon had become his demise.
Biting his lower lip, Noah mumbled silently, "Damn it…"
Somewhere in that duel, between fear and resolve, he'd remembered why he left home in the first place—and why he could never go back.
Before he knew it, the carriage had come to a halt. Looking out, he noticed the distant sight of the Academy's main gate.
He stepped out of the carriage and took a deep breath.
Holding the door, the escort sitting inside informed, "Please be prepared; the Imperial Palace will be summoning you once again."
Saying that, the door closed and the carriage took off. It was so sudden that Noah couldn't even reply.
He watched the carriage vanish down the street, its lamps shrinking into the dark. Leon's words still echoed—that he could refuse the call, return to peace. Pretend none of it had ever happened.
But peace was a lie, and he knew it.
If he accepted, an unceasing torrent of hell would welcome him with open arms, and his life would be turned completely upside down.
After a few moments, Noah sensed that the trembling in his hands was no more.
Clenching his fists, he returned to the Academy.
*****
In the Imperial Palace, Elira was sitting with a bunch of documents in her hands. Tirandel was sitting right beside her, listening carefully to the person in front of them.
The escaped mage had finally been traced—southward, to the Central Port City of the Sovran Duchy. A place of ships and gold, where cargo from distant continents poured in daily. High-profile, and all the more dangerous for it.
There, the law belonged more to the locals than to the Empire—a perfect breeding ground for smugglers, syndicates, and quiet disappearances.
Beyond the window stood a statue at the city's heart—a blindfolded man with his hands outstretched, a fine tunic draped over marble shoulders.
The Aetherion. The Bringer of Dawn.
The god that had their followers spread throughout the empire.
'At least the Church is holding them down.'
While people did not trust the government, they did trust their God. So, in such a place, the church served as an organization for jurisdiction. Having a diocese in such a place made things even better.
Robert, the chief executive of the Investigation Bureau, was explaining the key points of their mission.
She scoffed inward, listening to their plan.
For all their precision and paperwork, one thing was clear: the mission wasn't about saving Iriel. It was about saving Leon's name. Elira hated it—but in this palace, dissent was a quiet, useless thing.
Seeing Robert wince as he explained the plan, she was sure it wasn't something he came up with.
On the other hand, Tirandel's job was simple. It was to do his job as a merchant while the rest acted as his bodyguards.
The reason for such inconspicuousness was the oppression from the other factions.
The Church might act as judge and mediator, but its loyalties rarely leaned Imperial. Add to that the web of underground societies, and even Bureau agents had to tread as shadows.
Looking in Tirandel's direction, Robert continued, "While your primary role is to just continue with your normal meetings and negotiations, we'll also be depending on you for deeper intel and immediate whereabouts of our target. While we were able to trace his final destination, we won't be able to help you further."
Clasping his hands, Tirandel asked, "I'm quite certain that the Investigators would have a better chance at finding such information, so why me?"
Before Robert could answer, Elira picked up the coffee cup kept on the table gracefully and answered, "During these past few wars, the Ashen Veil and a few houses that were annexed previously have formed a silent alliance. While the Ashen Veil doesn't excel in intel gathering, it is still capable enough to know if someone working in the Imperial Palace has entered the city."
"How can a few rats trouble the Empire?" Tirandel asked, half-laughing.
This time, Elira didn't answer, yet a sense of indignance could be felt from her.
Robert stayed silent for a while; when he answered, his tone was heavy.
"Once, we did try to root them all out. We had targeted 3 cities to be their major hideouts. Several troops were sent, including Imperial Knights. But instead, it turned into a massacre. Not only did they flee successfully but also dealt irreversible damage to all three cities. It was a failure that has forever tainted the Imperial Knights."
The memory still hung in Robert's voice, like dust over an old wound.
For a moment, there was complete silence across the room.
Tirandel nodded at last. "Understood. I'll help however I can."
With a nod, Robert continued, "Also—limit any contact with the Church or the Revolutionary Front. Only when necessary. We just got the news that the Famine Front has dissolved in the Revolutionary Front, making it akin to a broken vase that can break any time. Due to this, once you enter the city, you'll only be able to contact a few agents we have deployed in the location."
Reading the document in her hand, Elira asked, "What about the Duke? Is he going to provide any assistance?"
Robert replied after a few moments, his look filled with embarrassment, "Unfortunately, the Duke remains uninformed. That's why your team will need to stay quiet. If the news of Leon entering the Sovran territory without even meeting the Duke spreads, your search will get much harder. Worst case scenario, the mage will flee with Iriel."
As he said this, a man sitting on the other sofa asked, "Excuse me, why am I even here, Robert?"
Robert looked at the person. The person was currently wearing ragged armor, made for extreme mobility. His eyes were bloodshot, and he was simply sprawled on the sofa. It was apparent that the person was in his mid-thirties.
"Once Iriel is rescued, this whole affair will turn public. The Emperor wants you there as a witness—to keep the Imperial faction's hands clean."
Raising his head slightly from the armrest, Bernard asked, raising an eyebrow, "Does that mean I don't have to do anything?"
Massaging his forehead, Robert replied, "Yes, just make sure that everything goes according to plan." Choosing his words carefully, he continued, "Also, clean your tracks before you take action."
Bernard's gaze suddenly turned solemn for a moment. But it was soon replaced with a carefree grin. "Sweet. A vacation, then."
Elira glanced at the person with the corner of her eyes.
'Ugh, I just hope we get to Iriel as soon as possible.'
As they discussed further, the door creaked and opened. Leon entered the room, his body clad in armor similar to Bernard's. Due to his disguise, he looked more like a mercenary than a knight. But despite all that, the air around him was too sharp to be considered that of a mercenary.
Trailing him was a woman of modest height. Her amber hair was braided yet elegant. Unlike Leon, she had a rather rough and barbaric air around her.
Elira's gaze locked with Leon's for a moment before moving on to the person behind him. Raising her hand, she waved at the person with a smile.
Noticing Elira, the person waved back. A playful grin tugging at her lips.
Suddenly, the door opened once again. Both Leon and the person accompanying him looked at the door.
Noah entered the room, his hand resting on the hilt of the sword attached to his waist. Unlike the others, he was clad in simple leather armor, consisting of only bracers and a thin cuirass.
There were dark bags under his eyes, and his gaze carried a weight it hadn't before.
As soon as he entered, his gaze locked with Leon's for a moment. A tremor ran through his hand—fear, pure and unwelcome—but he stilled it, fingers tightening on the hilt. Leon looked at him, his gaze ever so burdening.
Standing between the two, Alice couldn't help but sense the tense situation getting to her. She backed up and stood behind Elira.
Leaning forward, she asked in a dubious gesture, "Um… Who's the kid?" While she didn't look old, Alice was younger than Leon.
"He's Leon's disciple," Elira said, still watching the boy's hand on his sword. A faint smile touched her lips. "Brave, or foolish. We'll see."