{ IN THE MEANTIME… }
In the Meeting Hall of the Headquarters, the discussion continued for hours.
After the succession of revelations and speculations that had shaken those present from the very first minute, the meeting quickly shifted toward practical matters, focusing on tight planning for the imminent Raid.
Although Mirac's words had made clear how imminent the threat now was and that every day of waiting constituted a risk, the harsh logistical reality inevitably tempered the general sense of urgency: most of the elite Guilds were currently engaged in missions outside the city, scattered across the entire region.
Recalling them, reorganizing supplies, potentially forging new weapons, and gathering the resources necessary for an offensive on such a large scale required an immense organizational effort.
The minimum time required to complete all these preparations was estimated at three full days.
Thus, having no other choice, "Operation RR" was officially scheduled for March 20.
After that, in light of the complexity of the case, it was decided to divide the forces into two separate armies.
The first, composed of five Guilds, would head toward Point A: the cave in the woods outside Raerno, where Mirac and Carmen had first spotted the Rogthars.
The second, formed of three Guilds, would target Point B: the Carameo Mine, now infested with the transformed workers.
However, the two armies would not depart together.
The first would leave the city shortly after lunch, the second shortly before dinner. In this way, both forces would reach their respective targets at roughly the same time, allowing the Raid to begin simultaneously at both locations.
This coordinated maneuver was motivated not only by uncertainty over which of the two sites hid the true architects of the plot, but also by far deeper concerns.
No one could rule out the possibility that the conspirators had access to a third Chaotic with concealment abilities—superior even to those obtainable through a Syntony with Darkness—capable, therefore, of rendering troops invisible and masking their presence during the transport of raw iron and weapons directly from the Carameo Mine to the hideout in the woods, moving undisturbed even in broad daylight.
Moreover, the existence of such a power would finally explain perfectly how the Chaotic capable of transforming living beings into demonic species had managed to slip undetected into the Raid on the volcanic island two years ago and change the nature of the Varkhul Boss—perhaps to test their powers on a powerful native species, or for some other still-unknown reason.
But if that concealment hypothesis turned out somehow completely wrong, the logical alternative would raise an even more troubling suspicion: the existence of an entire underground tunnel, dug specifically to connect the mine directly to the cave in the woods and allow the safe passage of resources.
Taking all these terrible scenarios into account, the operation's objective remained non-negotiable: strike both points at the exact same moment to prevent the true masterminds from escaping.
However, the official dossiers distributed around the table held an unexpected surprise.
Among the lists of units and divisions already prepared by the higher-ups, Mirac and Carmen discovered they had been assigned to two different formations: Carmen was assigned to the first army, while Mirac was attached to the second.
The masked boy was not particularly pleased by the news, but he did not panic.
On the contrary, he simply accepted the arrangement with his usual composure.
Finally, the following hours were devoted to the final details: marching times, coordination signals, management of the wounded, retreat protocols, and the assignment of command roles within each army.
"…And with that, I officially declare today's session concluded!"
Jun's words rang through the hall like a sharp blow on an anvil.
Immediately, the formal silence that had held the room in check for hours shattered into a chaotic murmur of chairs being moved, papers being gathered, and conversations coming back to life.
The Captains and Vice-Captains of the Guilds rose one after another, exchanging final comments with the colleagues nearest them, collecting the various dossiers handed out during the meeting, and shaking hands with the solemnity of those who had just taken part in something that would soon make history.
Mirac remained seated for a few seconds longer, observing that small choreography of power dissolving before him.
Then he stood as well, gathered his things, and headed toward the exit together with Carmen.
"Isaac!" President Jun called out.
Hearing himself addressed by his false name, Mirac stopped short, turning slowly.
"Can you stay here a little longer?" Jun asked. "I have something to discuss with you…"
Mirac tilted his head slightly, puzzled.
He was about to ask for clarification, but held his tongue when he noticed that Hanaë Evaine, the Captain of the Guild "Veil of Daisies," had also stayed behind with the President.
The young woman with emerald-green hair was sitting with the same composure she had maintained throughout the entire meeting, her hands clasped on the table, her deep eyes resting on the masked boy with an expression that was difficult to read.
'Why has she stayed as well? What exactly do they need to talk to me about?'
Curiosity was devouring him, but Mirac refrained from asking questions, so as not to compromise the image of a mysterious, nonchalant figure he had cultivated under his new identity.
As a result, he limited himself to a nod of the head, letting the President understand that he would stay.
Carmen, at his side, had already grasped everything with her usual silent discretion.
She stepped a little closer to Mirac, lowering her voice just enough.
"I'll wait for you downstairs, in the Association's basement," the red-haired woman murmured.
The boy nodded.
Without adding anything further, Carmen collected the documents Mirac was holding and headed toward the exit, disappearing beyond the door along with the last of the delegates.
The murmur thinned.
Footsteps in the corridor faded away.
Then, silence.
Only three people remained in the meeting hall: Jun Rassing, Hanaë Evaine, and the masked boy, standing there, his long black coat draped over the back of a free chair.
Without lingering any further, Jun rose and approached the center of the table, where the light of the chandelier fell most directly, and stopped there with almost theatrical ease.
"Allow me to make the proper introductions," the President said, with a cordial smile that had the rare quality of always seeming sincere.
He turned first toward the woman with green hair.
"This is Hanaë Evaine, Captain of the Guild 'Veil of Daisies,' and nothing less than one of the most formidable healers our Association has ever had the privilege of working with."
Jun paused lightly, while his gaze softened for an instant.
"To tell the truth, it is precisely to her that I owe my life. After the battle against the Varkhul Boss two years ago, by then transformed into a half-Demon, it was her healing magic that removed the traces of Corrupted Mana from my Original Core in time, before the Core Surgeons could complete the work."
Mirac felt a jolt cross his chest.
'Wait a moment… So it was her who saved the President?!'
His eyes, hidden behind the dark lenses of the mask, snapped toward the elven Captain with renewed attention.
'That explains why she knew about the Boss's transformation on the volcanic island…' the boy concluded. 'She was one of the Healers in that Raid!'
Setting a natural rhythm to the conversation, the President then turned toward Mirac.
"And this is Isaac Belgram, a newcomer who has already demonstrated potential rarely seen these days in Swordsmen his age."
Hanaë rose with grace and extended her hand toward the masked boy for a handshake, apparently unaware—or perhaps simply discreet—regarding the cascade of realizations her words had just triggered in Mirac's mind.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," the elven woman said, in a voice light as a breeze.
"The pleasure is all mine," Mirac replied, instinctively finding the right tone—neither too formal nor too casual, despite the whirlwind of thoughts still crowding his mind.
After the usual courtesies, the masked boy turned toward Jun and gave voice to his curiosity, asking:
"Mr. President, may I ask why you wanted me to stay?"
Jun smirked to himself.
He turned toward the window, his hands sliding behind his back in that gesture Mirac had by now learned to recognize.
He studied the city's skyline for a few seconds through the half-drawn curtains, letting his gaze run over the rooftops of Raerno silhouetted against the afternoon sky—orange at the edges where the sun was beginning to descend.
"Operation RR, which we discussed today, will undoubtedly be one of the most dangerous operations in recent years," the President said at last, in a voice that had slightly changed register. "We don't even know what awaits us in enemy territory, so we must be ready for anything!"
He paused briefly before turning toward the boy.
"And beyond being well organized, we need every one of us to be at full strength…"
He turned slightly toward Hanaë, who nodded in silence, then back toward Mirac.
"Captain Evaine's extraordinary abilities," Jun resumed, choosing his words with the care of someone who knows that certain things weigh differently depending on how they are said, "include the ability to restore what has been lost: an ear, a limb, an amputated leg… Or even an arm, for example…"
The masked boy started abruptly.
"W-W-Wait a moment, hold on!" Mirac stammered, feeling a sudden tingling run through the stump of his left arm. "A-Are you by any chance implying that…?!"
President Jun nodded.
"We would be happy to restore your left arm."
The silence that followed seemed to stretch on for an eternity, but in reality lasted only a few seconds—just long enough for him to process that revelation.
"I-I can't believe it! Really?!" His incredulous gaze flickered between the President and the Healer, both smiling. "I-I-I don't know what to say, I really don't!"
President Jun laughed heartily, finally resting a hand on the boy's shoulder.
"I can understand how you feel, young man! An offer like this doesn't come along every day. And even among the most renowned warriors, not many can afford the expenses for such a treatment… But we are willing to grant it to you free of charge, on the condition that you take part in the upcoming Raid. So, what do you say: do you accept this offer?"
If the mask had not been covering his face, Mirac's facial expression would already have answered for him: "Of course!"
But in his heart, something cracked all of a sudden…
Something heavy enough to extinguish his smile and overturn his mood in the blink of an eye…
'Wait a moment… Why am I so excited?!' Mirac asked himself, his gaze slowly drifting toward an invisible horizon. 'It's been a long time since that day, but I still haven't forgotten why I lost my arm… Or the reason why I never wanted it back…'
* * *
{ 6 YEARS, 10 MONTHS, AND 16 DAYS EARLIER… }
Wednesday, April 30, 1415.
The lessons with the new professor, Professor Warnock, had just ended.
Mirac was walking through the corridors of the royal palace toward his room, clutching the study volumes between his right arm and the corresponding side.
Every step was accompanied by that familiar, subtle sensation of emptiness: the weight of an absence that he was now desperately trying to turn into habit.
The left stump, hidden beneath the dark fabric of his shirt, still ached on humid days—a constant and ruthless reminder of that cursed day when the assassin Klark Minet, posing as Professor Shirkenn, had tried to kill him, severing the limb without hesitation.
'After three weeks, the pain has finally started to give me some respite…' Mirac thought to himself, pressing the volumes a little tighter against his side to fill that sense of incompleteness.
Driven by a weariness that was not only physical but rooted deep in his soul, Mirac opened the door to his room, determined to set the books down before heading to the dining hall.
'This afternoon I'll stop by the library to look for more clues about-'
His thought cut off abruptly halfway through when he realized his room was not empty.
There was already someone there.
Inside, waiting for him in solemn silence, were two unexpected guests.
The first figure was unmistakable: his father, King Arthur, standing upright with his regal and inflexible composure. Beside him stood an elderly man with an extraordinarily vivid gaze, dressed in sober yet finely made robes.
Out of sheer habit, ingrained through years of strict courtly education, Mirac immediately bent into a deep formal bow.
"There is no need for you to bow, young Prince," the old man murmured, offering a kindly smile and raising a hand slightly to stop the boy's gesture.
King Arthur took a step forward, his green eyes fixed on his son.
"Mirac," the father began, introducing the guest in a firm, measured voice. "This is Master Oryn, a Healing Mage in Syntony with Nature, one of the most illustrious and formidable on the entire continent."
The young Prince straightened, resting his gaze on the old master with a mixture of respect and astonishment. "It is a true pleasure to meet you, Master Oryn."
The king paused briefly, letting his words weigh in the air before resuming with solemnity:
"With his abilities, Master Oryn is considered a living legend, capable of regenerating tissues and regrowing what has been lost. Therefore, the day after that incident, I personally summoned him to the Royal Palace for a very precise purpose…"
Mirac started, already understanding where his father was heading. "A-A very precise purpose? Do you mean by any chance…?"
King Arthur nodded firmly. "I want him to restore your left arm. With his healing magic, you will be as you were before."
For a single instant, a shiver of pure and unexpected excitement ran down Mirac's spine.
'Of course, how could I not have thought of it! In this world, there are people with talents capable of healing even the most impossible injuries! And as a Prince, I can easily afford this luxury!'
The joy of having his whole body back, of erasing that mutilation that every day reminded him of his vulnerability, ignited like a sudden spark.
'I-I can't believe it… I'll get my arm back!' The thought exploded in his mind, carrying with it an ephemeral warmth, an almost childish impulse to seize that grace at once. 'It will be as if nothing had ever happened!'
He was about to move, to step forward toward them with a heart full of sudden, almost childish hope. He felt an almost irresistible urge to run toward the promise of a normal life.
But the first step froze halfway.
His gaze accidentally slid across the large surface of polished glass of the window, which caught the sharp light of the afternoon sun. Through a cruel distortion of the mind, that transparent pane stopped reflecting the interior of the room and showed another image.
The deep red of blood on the white gravel.
'As if… nothing had ever happened…?' A sudden, icy, and ruthless grip clenched his chest so tightly it stole his breath. 'Damn it, what am I saying?!'
Time seemed to shatter.
In that precise instant, the present vanished, overwhelmed by the violence of a memory that had never stopped bleeding.
The elegant room dissolved, replaced by the nightmare of that cursed day.
In his eyes, reflected in that glass, the body of Mr. Edward rose once more.
A mild, kind man who had cultivated flowers his entire life, and who by misfortune had found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time, ending up sliced into two perfect halves by the assassin's blind fury.
'He wasn't the target…' Mirac felt his heart suddenly grow heavier. 'They were looking for me! And he lost his life in my place…'
The fingers of his right hand began to tremble violently, making it increasingly difficult for him to hold the books pressed against his side, while the illusion of simply being able to "go back to the way things were" shattered against the blood-soaked wall of reality.
Master Oryn furrowed his brow, surprised by that reaction, while the king stood motionless, observing every single change in his son's features.
After shaking his head and taking one last deep breath, Mirac managed to regain control of the turmoil within him.
He straightened his shoulders, though his expression had settled into one of stern, painful clarity.
He raised his gaze, meeting first the confused eyes of the old healer, then the impenetrable ones of the King.
"I thank you… I thank you immensely for this extraordinary opportunity!" His voice was barely above a whisper at first, almost choked with emotion, but gradually grew firmer and more resolute. "But unfortunately, I must refuse the offer…"