—Fifteen months after Serin woke up—
Serin walked through the castle corridors with great familiarity, smiling amicably as he acknowledged the bows and greetings of the servants, guards, and maids passing by.
Young maids would pause momentarily, entranced as they watched his silky black hair flutter in the breeze, his well-toned body, and his chiseled face lit by an easy, confident smile. Then, they would lower their gazes immediately, not daring to look further.
It was quite tiresome for Serin to keep a smile plastered across his face all the time, with servants stealing glances at him filled with a mix of fear, awe, and reverence. But it couldn't be helped.
Leaving the East Wing of the castle, Serin squinted momentarily as sunlight flared into his eyes. The castle walls stood firm in his vision, inner watchtowers visible in the distance.
Serin turned westward and entered the inner castle—the administrative, or central, wing. He took a flight of stairs and stepped into a long, spacious corridor, suddenly feeling a little cold.
Along the sides were many slanted windows curving inward, providing excellent ventilation and cooling the black stone. Serin always felt a sense of wonder at the clever architecture. Of course, such designs had existed on Earth as well.
As he walked through the castle, Serin often recalled an exhibition match he had once played in a European castle much like this one. It had been quite an experience back then, though he would never have imagined that he would one day live in such a place.
As he drew closer to the Count's office, Serin began to see more and more people moving back and forth, busy with their duties.
He quietly noticed that everyone seemed tense and hurried, while the guards stationed at their posts looked troubled and concerned. Servants and staff were unusually quiet and restrained.
Serin's expression fell as he quickened his pace.
Could it be the bandits' issue again? Serin thought, recalling certain rumors he had heard. Apparently, despite sending many letters and envoys to the Earl of Casper, there had been no progress.
Lost in thought, Serin found himself standing before the large office doors. He knocked lightly, then entered a moment later.
Serin recognized all the faces present. He bowed first to the white-haired, stern-looking veteran—the Count's advisor and a former lieutenant, now overseeing the training of Serin and other knights in the Archaic Arts. His name was Gerard Barnes.
There were others as well: Alaric, who greeted Serin with a troubled smile; Eldric; the Steward; two knights; a clerk named Bert; and two unfamiliar men—one a merchant, the other likely a commoner or a slave, judging by his appearance.
One of them was fat and short, clad in luxurious robes, quivering with fear and apprehension as his eyes darted nervously around the room. He wore a badge Serin recognized—it belonged to the Trading Guild.
The other man was in far worse condition: disheveled, hands trembling, eyes blank. He muttered incoherently under his breath.
Everyone wore serious, pensive expressions. Feeling unnerved, Serin glanced at the two unfamiliar men and asked cautiously, "What has happened?"
"Prince Serin, come…" the Count said, making an inviting gesture. He then added, "Just more troubling news…" before turning his gaze to the nervous merchant. "Say it now. What's the matter?"
The merchant jolted out of his daze and hurriedly bowed to Serin, confusion written all over his face. "P-prince?"
The Count scowled impatiently. "Answer the question."
The merchant looked at the Count in distress, then muttered blankly in lament, "Ahh… my lord… my magnificent Fairlight… she… she was such a beauty, I tell you… oh heavens!"
"Enough!" The Count slammed the table in anger. A sharp cracking sound rang out as he glared at the merchant, his eyes nearly spitting fire.
The merchant was startled out of his wits. He apologized in a panic, then turned to Serin and began speaking again, still shaken, his face filled with regret.
"My lords… and… uhh… Prince?" He stopped abruptly, eyeing Serin suspiciously. A moment later, he continued, "It's terrible… my beautiful Fairlight has sunk, my lords!"
"How?" Serin asked.
The merchant hesitated, glancing at the disheveled, disturbed sailor beside him.
"That… my lord… this slave here is the only survivor. But his mind… well… as you can see…"
Alaric stepped forward and faced the merchant. "Other vessels have informed us that there was a storm at sea. Sir… Velor Mor, was it?"
The merchant nodded and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Alaric continued, "Then why are you here? Forgive me, Sir Velor, but bad weather is not our liability. You should know this."
Velor Mor fell silent. Then, in a quieter voice, he said, "But… what if it wasn't the weather?"
The Count snapped, "Preposterous! What else could it be if not the doings of a storm?"
"My lord, please calm down… hear me out," Velor pleaded.
The Count leaned back in his chair. "Fine. Speak. But say it clearly—don't waste our time."
Velor Mor composed himself, then gestured toward the slave beside him. "My lord, when this slave was found ashore and woke up, he was terrified. In broken fragments, he told us that it was not the storm that caused the ship to sink."
Velor paused and glanced around the office, gauging everyone's reactions. Serin and Eldric looked clueless, the Count remained expressionless, while the others frowned as if recalling something troubling.
Then, all the hair on Velor's body stood on end as he said in a shaking voice, "Just as we were questioning him… the slave suddenly began screaming, 'Monster! Monster!' my lords!"
A brief silence followed. Only the sound of Velor swallowing could be heard.
Serin studied everyone's reactions but found nothing—except for his teacher, Gerard, who wore a thoughtful expression.
At that moment, Eldric muttered, "A monster? Could it be—"
The Count's stern gaze swept over him, freezing him instantly. "The slave is delirious from trauma. Truly ridiculous."
Velor Mor sighed. "My lord, there have been rumors of… bizarre sightings for some time now. Forgive me… you know me well… but after such an accident, I'm afraid—"
"Afraid of what?" the Count asked, though he clearly already knew the answer.
"My lord… no one wishes to risk such heavy losses of men, slaves, and goods. Not every vessel is registered with the Guild. Please consider…" Velor said, his expression troubled.
The Count tapped the surface of his desk, his face unreadable. Then, as the silence grew oppressive, he stood and spoke at last. "Sir Velor, I understand your concerns, and you have my condolences for your… Fairlight."
Velor Mor sniffled, wiping away a lone tear. "Thank you, my lord."
"I will take appropriate action immediately. There is no need for alarm. Steward, see Sir Velor out—and take the slave away as well."
Steward Bartley bowed and led the merchant out while two knights escorted the distraught slave away.
Count Hainar sat back down and turned to the clerk. "If what the merchant says is true… how much loss are we looking at?"
The clerk quickly scribbled calculations on a sheet of paper, handed it to the Count, and replied, "Significant, my lord. Even before these rumors, we were already affected. But now…"
The Count sighed and turned to his advisor. "Old Gerard, what do you suggest?"
Gerard took a moment before answering seriously. "My lord, many fishing boats and merchant vessels have reported strange occurrences near our territorial waters, but all accounts were vague and unreliable."
"But now, this slave is our only eyewitness. This is a small crisis—but if mishandled, it could become dangerous. Especially at a time like this…"
The Count tapped his desk again, deep in thought. Then he turned sharply to Alaric. "What of Earl Casper?"
Alaric sighed. "The Earl claims there is nothing he can do. The bandits have grown in number, hide quickly, and their base remains difficult to locate."
Eldric narrowed his eyes. "Isn't that suspicious? The Earl commands a strong force of knights. I've even heard he has a mage in his service. How can he fail to deal with simple bandits?"
The Count regarded his second son with a mix of appreciation and doubt. "You're right. This matter has dragged on far too long—it is suspicious. But… the Earl has never conflicted with us. Our houses have shared good relations for years."
The discussion continued. Serin listened carefully, observing everything as he had learned to do over the past year.
In his mind, a diagram formed.
House Hainar was struggling to reach the Emperor regarding the extension of the salt permit.
The land trade was being obstructed by bandits.
And now… even sea trade faced trouble—placing immense pressure on the house's finances and influence.
A nagging feeling crept up on Serin. It was the same sensation he experienced in chess—when a position seemed equal, yet his instincts screamed for him to look deeper. His eyes might not see the truth, but his subconscious always caught hidden patterns.
He felt that same unease now.
A sudden jolt ran through him—physical enough that the room fell silent, all eyes turning toward him.
"Uncle…" he said.
"Yes?"
Serin hesitated. Even in chess, his instincts were not infallible; he had lost many games by trusting them blindly.
He didn't want to raise false alarms—but staying silent felt worse.
Stepping forward, his expression serious, Serin said, "Uncle… perhaps it is my Divine Blessing, but I had a faint premonition just now. I sense that these events may not be unrelated."
He lied through his teeth, fabricating a justification he knew would make others listen.
An ominous silence settled over the room. Divine Blessings could not be dismissed lightly—no one knew their true limits.
Finally, the Count made his decision. "Prince Serin, you will take that slave to the cathedral. Perhaps the priests can get him to speak."
Serin nodded.
The Count turned to the clerk. "Draft a letter—for my brother."
Then to Alaric and Gerard: "Take a squad of advanced knights and head to the Earl's territory. Investigate the bandits discreetly. Do not confront them. If you sense danger, retreat immediately. Understood?"
Alaric nodded solemnly.
"We will get through this," the Count declared, clenching his fists. He rose decisively and left, and one by one, the others dispersed to carry out their tasks.