"I am sorry once again, my lord… I truly thought I had locked the door, but it seems I forgot," Zhara said, kneeling before Areth.
Hearing her words, Areth remembered something. In the game, there had been a mechanic where characters could gain passive abilities. Because Blood Banner was filled with countless hidden treasures, chests, and sealed vaults, he had chosen a passive skill for his character: the ability to open all non-magical locks. Thanks to that skill, he had stuffed his storage with endless items. That was precisely why Zhara's door had opened so easily.
"Stand up, Zhara. I am the one who should not have barged into your home like that," Areth said, gesturing for her to rise and take a seat across from him.
Zhara hesitated. The cold stone beneath her knees, despite the lord's words, was not enough to lift her from where she knelt. Her head remained slightly bowed, her gaze fixed on the tip of Areth's boot.
"Zhara," he said again, calmer this time, but with a tone that left no room for debate. "This is not a request."
She flinched, as if a spell had been dispelled. Bracing herself with her hands, she stood and sat in the chair opposite him. She was still embarrassed by what had just happened, but she had regained her composure.
"The reason I came here is to ask you to create a scroll for me. But this must remain between us. The people of the island must not learn of it."
Zhara lifted her head at Areth's words. The alertness in her eyes revealed that she expected far more than an ordinary commission. Her mastery of scrollcraft had brought her many secret requests over the years, but Lord Areth's voice carried a weight beyond the whispers she was used to.
"You need not worry about secrecy, my lord. I would never defy your orders," she said slowly, her fingers unconsciously interlacing on her knees. "Then I assume this is a scroll of great importance. Am I mistaken, my lord?"
Areth let his gaze wander around the room. Scrolls lined the shelves, sealed vials, half-written parchments. All of it reminded him of the game menus he used to spend hours with in his old world. There, everything was clear, numbers and descriptions laid bare.
"I do not want a simple power scroll," he said at last. "Neither attack nor defense. I want something instructional." He looked back at Zhara. "Not a scroll that makes magic happen, but one that makes it understandable. One that explains how it is done."
Zhara's brows furrowed instinctively. This was a dangerous request. Scrolls usually guided will and shaped mana. Imprinting knowledge directly into the mind was far more difficult. But it was not impossible. She had already embedded the elven language into minds through scrolls, and she was currently working on copying scrolls that taught the human tongue. Imprinting knowledge was already a craft she had mastered.
"So… a guide," she said hesitantly. "But not an ordinary one. You do not want the trigger for a spell, but the structure behind it?"
She fell silent for a moment. Her fingers slowly loosened on her knees, then clasped again. Her eyes were no longer on Areth's face, but fixed on empty space, as if examining an invisible diagram behind him.
"What I am asking may be difficult even for you," Areth said, then took a deep breath before continuing. "But I believe you can do it. I want you to invent a type of scroll that allows even the spells cast by a mage like myself to be understood once it is consumed."
Zhara's breath caught.
Until that moment, she had viewed Areth's request as difficult, but still a solvable craft problem. Mana flows, mental seals, layers of perception. All familiar territory. But his final sentence shifted everything at once.
She slowly raised her head. This time her gaze was not hesitant. It locked directly onto Areth. Her pupils had noticeably constricted.
"My lord…" The word slipped from her lips involuntarily. She fell silent, swallowed. "Do you realize what you are asking?"
"There are scrolls that describe a spell," Zhara continued, her voice faster now. "And there are scrolls that allow one to imitate a spell. But what you are suggesting…" She could not finish the sentence. Her fingers trembled uncontrollably.
She stood, not to kneel this time. She took a few steps across the room, as if her thoughts refused to stay still.
"Lord Areth," she said at last, her voice thick with restrained shock. "The spells you cast are still spoken of as disasters by everyone on this island. Mana density, precision of shaping, pressure of will. These are not taught in academies. They cannot be taught. There is no standard for them."
She stopped, her back turned to Areth, but her words were clear.
"If a scroll, the moment it is consumed, allows someone else to comprehend how you construct spells at your level…" She turned her head slightly. "That is not teaching magic. That is creating a god."
She turned slowly to face him. The expression on her face was no longer hidden. The words lingered in the room. In Zhara's mind rose images of the monstrous entities on the island. Mana storms. Collapsed vaults. Threats Lord Areth had suppressed alone. And now…
"I will not ask why you want this," she said finally. "But you must understand this." She deliberately lowered her voice. "The moment such a scroll exists, it becomes a danger. If it falls into the wrong hands, it will not be the island that collapses, but the world itself."
She drew a deep breath, her chest rising and falling.
"And the most unsettling part," she added, "is that I know this is theoretically possible."
She paused, then locked eyes with Areth.
"That you would ask for this..." she said carefully. "If I am being disrespectful, punish me, my lord. But why do you want such a scroll?"
Areth had thought long and hard about how he would answer this question before coming here. He could not say that he had forgotten magic, nor could he ever admit that he was a foreign soul reincarnated into this body. That would turn everyone on the island into his enemy. Instead, a devilish idea came to him.
"Your curiosity is understandable, and you have the right to know the truth," Areth began. "The reason I am asking this of you is because I am afraid…"
He deliberately left the word unfinished.
Zhara's gaze hardened instinctively. That single word was more unsettling than all the technical discussion before it. Fear was not a concept associated with Lord Areth. To the people of the island, he was disaster itself, not one who feared it.
Areth remained silent for a few seconds. The silence was intentional, allowing the weight of his words to settle.
"It is not fear of someone, nor of the unknown in this new world," he continued. "What frightens me is what will happen to you if something happens to me."
Zhara's breathing became uneven. Her lips parted, but she could not speak.
"This island," Areth said, his voice low but firm, "remains in balance as long as I stand. You know this. If I were gone, some of you would harm each other, others would leave, or in the worst case, you would be defeated by this new and unknown world."
Zhara lowered her head. These words were not spoken from arrogance or threat, but from a crushing sense of responsibility. Areth's voice did not tremble, yet the meaning struck the walls of the room and echoed back.
He continued.
"That is why, if something happens to me, I need someone who can keep you together. And that person must be my heir, carrying all my knowledge and power."
Zhara's head snapped downstairs.
The heavy silence shattered into a restrained but overwhelming emotion. Her eyes unfocused for a brief moment before returning to Areth. There was no fear in her gaze. No shock. Only belief. Not blind, but unshakable.
"No..." she said. The word escaped her lips before she realized it.
Then she repeated it, clearer, firmer.
"No, my lord. You cannot speak to me like this," she said, her voice trembling with protest. "As if… as if you could break, like the rest of us."
Her eyes filled with tears. She did not try to hide them.
"This island does not see you merely as a mage," she continued. "Nor only as a leader." She swallowed. "You are a constant. Like something that determines the direction of storms."
She took a step forward. The distance between them closed, but the line of respect remained intact.
"Even those of monstrous power..." she said, her voice growing faint, "speak your name with caution. Because your power is not a calculation. It is a fact."
A tear slid down her cheek. Zhara did not wipe it away.
She shook her head slightly.
"I do not believe this," she said. "I do not believe anything will happen to you. There is no order that would allow it. No mana. Even the gods…" She stopped mid-sentence, gathered her breath. "They would not dare."
She inhaled deeply. Her eyes were still wet, but the resolve in her voice returned.
"If I ever create such a scroll... it will not be for someone to replace you, but for someone who can understand you."
She looked at Areth. Her gaze was no longer that of a craftswoman toward her patron, but of a believer toward something sacred.
"Because you... you cannot die."
The room fell into silence.
At last, Zhara bowed her head. She did not kneel this time, but respect was present in every movement.
"Still," she added in a quiet voice, "if this is what you desire… and if this is your will…" Her breath trembled. "I will create this scroll."