Lyra leaned back in her chair, sipping coffee that was still steaming. Every breath felt sharp—her ribs still hadn't healed after being thoroughly beaten by Mr. Gharrick yesterday.
"Damn... old but his strength is terrifying," she murmured softly, spinning the cup in her hand.
She had been watching the man for over a month, sneaking into his house, spying on his every move. But the result? Nothing. After the library was destroyed, all Mr. Gharrick did was scavenge the remaining books and take them home.
"Okay, I understand those books are important. But… why does he seem to be looking for something among them?" Lyra sighed. Since that incident, she started thinking Mr. Gharrick wasn't an ordinary man.
Not just because of his insane fighting style, but also his behavior. He went back and forth to the market, to Mariela's house, to her stall… and strangely, he kept apologizing to the woman.
"Why? What did they argue about? Or could it be…"
Lyra suppressed a smile. Her wild imagination started playing.
"Are they a long-separated couple?" she mumbled, her eyes sparkling.
Mr. Gharrick was indeed much older than Mariela, but… well, if you think about it, they're a match! An age-gap romance like that... ah, how beautiful!
The more she thought about it, the more sense it made.
"Could it be… Neir is their child?"
Lyra almost laughed out loud imagining it. Mr. Gharrick and Mariela, a forbidden couple torn apart by fate! Neir, a child who knows nothing! If this were a novel, it would already be a drama that made readers furious.
But even though her wild thoughts kept spinning, one thing still couldn't be ignored—Mr. Gharrick was too suspicious.
She had infiltrated the man's house several times but never found anything conspicuous. Until finally… that damned afternoon came.
The afternoon she got caught.
---
That afternoon, Lyra infiltrated Mr. Gharrick's house as usual. However, this time was different—she was caught.
As soon as he realized her presence, Mr. Gharrick moved swiftly. Lyra tried to evade, but it was futile. Within seconds, she was thrown to the floor, her hands locked behind her back. Her breath was ragged, not from panic, but from knowing this old man wasn't someone who could be fooled.
The interrogation began. Mr. Gharrick asked who she really was, why she kept watching him, and what her connection was with the witches. Lyra, with a bruised face and split lip from the earlier fight, only gave a faint smile and called herself Althea. She tried to play with words, attempting to divert the man's attention, but Mr. Gharrick's sharp gaze showed he wasn't fooled in the slightest.
Realizing there was no point in lying, Lyra pretended to comply, waiting for an opening. She finally found her chance with a hidden needle in her finger. In one swift movement, she freed herself and immediately attacked.
However, Mr. Gharrick was still superior. He anticipated the attack and hit her even harder than before. Once again, Lyra lost. Her body slammed against the wall, pain spreading throughout her body. Her ribs were broken, and her strength was almost gone.
Just as she was nearly losing hope, the door opened—Neir appeared. That was her chance.
Without thinking twice, Lyra pretended to attack the little girl. As she expected, Mr. Gharrick reacted quickly to protect Neir. That moment was enough for her to escape. With a body full of wounds and ragged breath, Lyra fled from the house, leaving Mr. Gharrick and Neir in confusion.
---
Damn...
Lyra regulated her breathing, her back still aching from the hard impact earlier. Her hand felt her broken ribs, holding back a groan so it wouldn't be heard. She stared into the distance outside the headquarters, but her mind was still stuck on the earlier battle.
"Mr. Gharrick... who is he really?"
From the start, Lyra didn't have high expectations of the man. An old librarian busy scavenging books from the ruins? Sounded like an easy target. But everything changed once the fight started.
"His reflexes are fast... his movements precise... and he could read all my attacks as if they were just child's play."
Lyra clenched her fist, remembering how she had even used a booster pill—something that should have given her an absolute advantage. But still, she lost.
"Is he a former soldier? Or maybe... a hunter?"
One thing was certain, Mr. Gharrick was no ordinary man. He wasn't a frail old man who only knew how to read books. He was hiding something.
And Lyra intended to find out.
"And what's even stranger…"
Lyra rested her head against the wall, staring at the dim ceiling of the headquarters. "Mr. Gharrick... isn't from Beysolun."
She had been investigating him for a long time. No birth records, no family history, even the people in Beysolun themselves didn't know for sure where he came from. All they knew was that he had been there for years, guarding that old library alone.
"An old man with extraordinary fighting skills, no clear identity, and apparently involved in something bigger… Could he be a fugitive? A former criminal? Or someone running from his past?"
Damn, the more Lyra thought about it, the more questions arose. But one thing was clear—Mr. Gharrick wasn't ordinary.
And that meant… he wasn't an ordinary target either.
---
A month ago, Rasmus only told Lyra to watch Mr. Gharrick and the gate, while Kieran and Greva continued their operations. But strangely, Kieran became interested in the open school instead.
That night, Lyra came with a new report—about the cave, about Mr. Gharrick, something unusual. Rasmus listened in silence, his mind starting to work. Something was off.
The next morning, without wasting time, he moved. No orders, no notifications. If there was something in that cave, he would see it himself.
That morning, inside the quiet cave, Rasmus stood still, letting his eyes sweep across the entire room.
The air still carried the residual scent of Etherium, mixed with the metallic smell of blood and damp earth. The carcasses of several Berbalan—wolves with elongated, snake-like bodies, rough grayish skin, and sharp claws—were scattered in the corners of the cave.
He stepped deeper, following the puddles of liquid Etherium gleaming on the cave floor. Not rare, but still valuable. However, something felt off. Its consistency was slightly thicker, its color more opaque compared to pure Etherium.
"Diluted?" he thought, touching the liquid with his fingertip. He observed its color and texture under the faint light. Not ordinary Etherium. But mixed with what?
Then, his eyes fell on the corpse of a witch.
The body lay with a hole in its head, dried blood on the side of its face, and damaged left eye and ear.
Rasmus crouched, examining it more closely with his leather-gloved hands. The wound on the face... from a small explosion?
The damn thing was, this wasn't the first time he'd seen a wound like this.
Around the corpse, faint traces of a magic circle could be seen. However, something was wrong.
"The circle isn't perfect."
No traces of Celestium Crystal. No residue of Black Obsidian Powder. This Etherium liquid? It shouldn't be this color.
"Was he attempting a ritual without preparation?" Rasmus thought. But that theory felt stupid. No sane witch would perform a ritual this complex without the correct materials.
His eyes then fell on the pendant clutched in the corpse's hand.
That was more interesting.
He took the pendant, glanced at it briefly before slipping it into his pocket.
---
However, one thing still bothered him—why did this witch attack Mr. Gharrick's library?
What was he really looking for?
And more importantly, how did he die at the hands of that old man?
Rasmus sighed. Mr. Gharrick was no ordinary man.
"Not a native of Beysolun."
Simple. He was too strong for someone who just guarded a library.
Rasmus didn't care about the man's past. But he knew one thing: someone like that definitely brought trouble.
Without another word, he dug into the soil in a corner of the cave, calmly burying the corpse.
Not because he cared.
Not out of respect for the dead.
Only because leaving a body here would cause a stench and invite new problems.
Rasmus wasn't interested in the witch. He was dead. The dead held no value.
But one thing was certain—this wasn't the end of the problem.
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