"Unfortunately… there is little I can do for you." Errenor paused for several seconds, his gaze steady before continuing. "The north is in chaos. The king's health declines by the day, and the prince moves to silence all who oppose him. He is an S-rank himself and maybe has one on his side. Our only hope of keeping the balance is Osvald. That's why every soldier, mage, and blade I command must remain here."
Arthur's voice was calm, but his eyes were sharp. "Then why say there is little you can do?"
Errenor's lips curved faintly. "Because I can show you the way… and provide some equipment. Beyond that, you are on your own."
Leo let out a slow sigh. "Better than nothing."
Errenor's attention shifted, his gaze fixing on Leo. He studied him in silence, the weight of his stare unsettling.
Leo frowned. "Is there something on my face?"
"You look… familiar," Errenor said thoughtfully.
Leo raised a brow, but kept his expression neutral. 'There's no way he could recognize me as Mr. Clone,' he thought. 'So why say that?'
"Is that so?" he replied evenly.
Luciana leaned forward, brushing off the moment. "Where is Osvald now?"
"He's already on his way here. One, maybe two days at most."
"You're not worried someone might try to kill him?" she pressed.
"He is an S-rank," Errenor replied simply, his tone firm as steel. "Only the prince himself could face him—and he would never risk it."
Briva's eyes flicked toward Arthur, her voice soft but hopeful. "Do you think we'll get to see him before we leave?"
Arthur shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe."
Errenor leaned back slightly. "You'll need at least one day to rest and another to prepare. So yes—there's a high chance you'll meet him before you depart."
That brought a smile to Briva's face.
Errenor raised his hand, summoning the butler. "He will show you to your rooms. Rest for now. Tomorrow… we'll talk again."
The group exchanged glances, then nodded in agreement. Without a word, they rose and followed the butler into the shadowed halls of the mansion.
…
Liamond, still dirty from his patrol, first headed straight for the shower. The hot water worked its way into his muscles, washing away the fatigue. Afterward, he dried off with a towel and dressed quickly.
"You heading home, Li?" Peter asked, glancing up from his work.
He nodded, slipping his coat on. "Yeah, thought I'd head out for the day."
"Actually, the captain wants to see you before you go."
Liamond raised an eyebrow. "He does? Alright, thanks for the heads-up." He turned and walked toward the captain's office.
He knocked on the door and, after hearing the permission to enter, stepped inside.
Edmond was seated behind his desk, his usual stern expression in place. "Have you thought about the offer?"
Liamond had already made his decision to decline the captain position. His main goal was to get stronger as quickly as possible, and becoming a captain would only slow him down. With the Kingdom of Light in chaos, the bishops' control slipping, and the creation of the Golden Knights, he didn't want to get caught up in the political mess. He needed to stay focused on his own growth, not lead others.
He paused, a small frown tugged at his lips. "I've made my decision, captain. I'm declining."
Edmond nodded, as if he had expected this answer. His fingers drummed lightly on the edge of the desk. "Then I have a mission for you. And you cannot decline."
Liamond's brow arched, curious but still guarded. "What mission?"
Before answering, Edmond's gaze sharpened, and his expression turned serious. "Leo is alive."
Liamond froze. His heart skipped a beat, and his mind stuttered. He stood there in silence for what felt like an eternity, trying to process the words. After a long, frozen pause, he finally found his voice.
"What... What are you talking about? We held a funeral for him. His family—they—"
"They already know," Edmond interrupted, his voice tight with the weight of the information.
His confusion only deepened. "What?"
Edmond's expression darkened. "What I'm about to tell you must never leave this room—not until the time is right. I wasn't going to tell you, but... you're needed now. Please, sit down."
Liamond slowly lowered himself into a chair, a rush of emotions flooding his chest. His heart pounded with anger, joy, disbelief, and confusion. The weight of the moment crushed him for a second.
Edmond cast a spell, and a series of wards shimmered around the room, ensuring no one could overhear. "Two years ago, when the attack happened, Leo didn't die. He was saved. But the Pope made a contract—one that kept everyone silent about it. Leo was saved by… a being, and until now, we haven't been able to confirm who or what. But Mr. Edgarth saw him in the capital and brought the news to me. He only told me because he discovered that I already knew about him being alive."
"He was in the capital? Why?" Liamond's voice was tight with confusion, unable to fully grasp what Edmond had just told him.
"It seems that he and Arthur, the Pope's son, are working together. They stopped the God of Light when it possessed Oryu's body," Edmond replied, his tone serious.
"They stopped the God of light? How? And what being are you talking about?" Liamond asked, his curiosity piqued despite the strange news.
"An unknown entity," Edmond continued, his gaze unwavering. "But Mr. Edgarth believes it's an awakened God—one trying to gather enough power to regain his full form. He even gave Arthur power so that he could seal the God of Light away."
His mind raced as Edmond's words sank in. The implications were staggering.
After the attack on the capital, rumors started circulating about the God of Light. Most of the believers were filled with doubt, but some still held on to their faith. The bishops who now control the kingdom decided to release the news slowly, as faith was a cornerstone of this kingdom. If they were to admit that they'd been wrong all this time, it could lead to chaos—maybe even the end of the Kingdom of Light. So, the only ones who know the full truth were those ranked B and above. But even among them, there was still some resistance. Some were still loyal to the old ways, trying to stage uprisings. The kingdom was on the brink of collapse because of it. This was also why the bishop in Flesa was working to establish the Golden Knights there as well—a force created with the sole purpose of bringing order to the kingdom and standing against the prejudice of misguided believers.
"So, why hasn't he contacted us? Even if the Pope made a contract with him, he's dead now," Liamond said, his frustration building.
"The contract was there to protect him and his family," Edmond replied, eyes hardening. "If anyone discovered the truth about him—and the God behind him—they'd come after him, trying to kill him before he could gain more power, and they will use his family against him."
Liamond clenched his fists. "Then we should help him. Where is he now?"
Edmond's gaze darkened. "I don't know. The last place he was seen was in Niver." He paused, raising a hand to silence him who was about to say something. "But even if you find him, you won't be able to help him."
"Why not?" Liamond's frustration turned to confusion once more.
"Leo's an A-rank now," Edmond said calmly, watching his reaction closely.
Liamond's eyes widened in shock. "What? That's even faster than Arthur's rise!"
"Yes, but remember, he has a God backing him. So, it's expected." Edmond's tone was measured, as if he'd already processed this reality. "Now, as for your mission—"
He cut in eagerly, "What is it?"
Edmond's lips curled into a rare smile. "I want you to do two things. The first is simple. Train as hard as you can to grow your rank. I'll assign you the toughest missions to make sure you improve. If you have to, throw yourself into the hardest tasks. That's how you'll grow faster."
Liamond nodded, clearly satisfied with the first task. "And the second?"
"You're going to take on a student," Edmond said with a glance toward the door. With a subtle flick, he deactivated the wards protecting the room. "Come in."
Liamond's gaze snapped to the door as it creaked open, revealing a figure standing in the doorway. His eyes widened once again, and his mouth went dry.
There, standing in front of him, was none other than Rosie Mantine.
…
Deep within the Shadowlands, Alina stood by the window of a dimly lit chamber in the castle. Days had passed since Arlasan ordered most of their companions back to the city, instructing them to avoid conflict and return as quickly as possible.
Now only Arlasan, Alina, and two others remained, waiting for the group Alina had spoken of to arrive. The hours dragged on for her, each moment heavier than the last. Tomorrow night, however, she would attend another meeting and she could finally ask the questions burning in her mind.
Excitement stirred within her. The thought of meeting outsiders—people beyond the suffocating borders of the Shadowlands—was enough to make her heart race. For the first time, there was a real chance they might leave this cursed place behind. She could see the light again. Even imagining it brought a smile to her face.
…
Since starting work at the smithy, Marco's routine had changed. He still rose early, as was his habit, but instead of lingering in the library until noon, he now made his way to the forge as soon as its doors opened. The air around the smithy was always thick with the smell of soot and hot iron, the rhythmic sound of hammer on steel carrying down the street like a heartbeat.
The shop belonged to Edgar Wilkerson, a man who intimidated most before they even crossed the threshold. His eyes were black, the sclera shot through with red veins as if sleepless nights had carved themselves into his gaze. His long brown hair hung loose around his shoulders, tangling into a beard that seemed just as untamed. He spoke little, and when he did, his voice was low and rough, as if unused to conversation.
But Edgar was more than just a smith—he was a B-rank enchanter. Marco had quickly realized that every strike of his hammer carried more than muscle. There was a pulse to it, a faint shimmer that sometimes lingered on the metal before sinking into it, leaving the steel sharper, stronger, almost alive.
Marco had only been working there for a few days, yet the sight of enchantment being woven into steel had already stirred something in him.
"Good morning, Mr. Wilkerson," Marco greeted as he stepped into the smithy.
A single grunt was the reply.
Marco smiled faintly to himself. He already knew what to do. Taking up a broom, he began sweeping the floor and organizing tools, but as always, his gaze kept straying to Edgar. From the corner of his eye, he studied every motion—the way Edgar held the blade, the timing of the enchantment, the precision of it all.
The sound of the door opening pulled Marco from his thoughts. A man in travel-worn leathers stepped in, carrying a short sword with a chipped edge.
"Wilkerson," the man said cautiously, glancing at Marco before focusing on the smith. "Need this repaired... and if you've got time, maybe a fire enchantment. I'll pay double."
Edgar didn't answer right away. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm, then took the sword without ceremony. His black eyes flicked over the blade, then up to the man. "Two days. Triple the price."
The customer hesitated, but Edgar's stare allowed no room for bargaining. Finally, he nodded. "Fine. Two days."
Marco watched the exchange silently, more intrigued than ever. Repairing the blade was one thing—but the enchantment was what caught his attention. If Edgar really was going to work on it, Marco might finally see the process up close.
When the customer left, Edgar set the sword aside on his workbench, muttering something too low for Marco to catch. Marco hesitated, then asked, "Mr. Wilkerson... when you enchant a blade like that, is it different from the ones you make from scratch?"
For a moment, he thought Edgar might ignore him, as he often did. But then the smith gave a low grunt. "Steel remembers how it was forged. Enchantment has to flow with it. Force it, and the blade breaks."
Marco's eyes lit with curiosity, but he bit back more questions. He had learned enough for now—Edgar had offered him more than he usually said in a whole day. As Marco returned to sweeping, his mind raced. Every day in this forge was another step closer to understanding enchantments, and maybe even finding his own path.