Laribaud Seraya.
The name itself was synonymous with legend.
Within the entire Kingdom of Wester, there was scarcely a soul who had not heard of his exploits. He had ascended to the ranks of High Mage at the tender age of twenty, and in a mere three years thereafter, he had joined the Mage Council to become its youngest Archmage. In the wars that followed against the Kingdom of Descartes, he had demonstrated unparalleled power—holding off enemy forces several times his own strength single-handedly, and even turning certain defeat into victory. The Battle of Sunset Valley fifty years ago, in particular, had cemented his reputation as a paragon of wisdom and might. Descartes had intended to use the valley's terrain to ambush Wester's army, only for Laribaud to see through their scheme, turn their own trap against them, and lead the Descartes forces straight into a dead end. In the end, Descartes' most elite Imperial Guard had been completely annihilated in Sunset Valley, and even their renowned commander, known as the Tiger of the Falling Night, had met his end. Since that day, Laribaud Seraya had become a household name—a living legend throughout the Kingdom of Wester. Indeed, if he had not been so utterly consumed by his pursuit of magic, he would likely have commanded one of the kingdom's three great battle legions. Even so, no one in Wester dared to underestimate his power. He wielded authority over all mages within the kingdom's borders and served as the supreme commander of the Royal Mage Guard. In terms of both power and status, he stood unrivaled.
Even His Majesty the King addressed Laribaud with deference, calling him "Master." And yet, this young man before them—scarcely twenty years of age—had dared to speak Laribaud's name with such casual disdain?
At Blake's words, everyone present gaped in stunned silence, unable to utter a single syllable.
This was not mere insolence. Given Laribaud's status, this was nothing short of... of outright defiance!
It was only then that the crowd was jolted into a realization: they knew absolutely nothing about this young nobleman standing before them!
Just who was he, and what was his background?
As this thought dawned on them, everyone's gaze toward Blake was filled with confusion and unease. His casual mention of Laribaud's name had shocked them so deeply that they had completely overlooked his youth. Now, looking closely, they saw that he was no more than twenty years old—a mere boy, barely out of his adolescence. And yet, this boy had just demonstrated the combat prowess of a High Swordsman!
In that moment, Blake's identity took on an air of profound mystery. Many among the onlookers moved in noble circles, yet none had ever heard of a prodigy of this caliber emerging from any noble house. To become a High Swordsman at twenty meant that he was all but guaranteed to attain the rank of Knight in his lifetime! A young man with such limitless potential and formidable power should have been the talk of the entire kingdom—he could not possibly have remained unknown! No, more than that—even if he hailed from one of the most powerful noble families in the realm, he would never have dared to speak to Laribaud Seraya with such condescension. And yet, here he was—a High Swordsman in his early twenties, addressing the kingdom's greatest mage as if scolding a wayward servant.
The members of the Mage Guard were left dumbfounded. They had never imagined that in this backwater town, they would cross paths with a High Swordsman!
"I... I beg your pardon, sir," the lead soldier said, quickly regaining his composure after his initial outrage. He frowned, studying Blake warily, choosing his words with extreme caution. "Might we inquire as to your identity?"
"You have no need to know," Blake replied with a faint smile. He reached into his cloak, pulled out a gold coin, and tossed it toward the soldier.
The soldier stared at the coin in confusion for a moment before instinctively reaching out to catch it. But as his fingers closed around the coin, a flash of cold light suddenly flickered. The coin seemed to be struck by an invisible force, bouncing up into the air, spinning twice, and only then settling into his palm. When he looked down to examine it, he was stunned to find a thin, jagged crack running down its center—forming a strange, Y-shaped mark.
"Give this coin to him," Blake said, sheathing his sword and returning to his usual relaxed, smiling demeanor. "He will know who I am then."
"And now... I would prefer not to see any of you here any longer. Do I make myself clear?"
"P-Perfectly clear, honored sir!"
The soldiers needed no further prompting. After all, they were standing face-to-face with a High Swordsman—a prodigy of one at that! As for the court mage? What a joke! He was nothing more than a run-of-the-mill member of the Royal Mage Guard. Why on earth would they risk offending someone with such apparent connections and power for the sake of a single, lowly court mage? That was a price they were in no hurry to pay.
With that settled, the soldiers wasted no time in retreating. The court mage, though seething with resentment, knew better than to protest. He was well aware that he had no leverage left to bargain with. While mages typically enjoyed a lofty status, they were evenly matched against High Swordsmen on the battlefield—and he was no longer even a mage. A mage without magic was little more than a cripple. The Mage Guild would never risk alienating a High Swordsman for the sake of a broken-down has-been like him. With a final, venomous glare at Ophelia, the court mage turned and stumbled away, his shoulders hunched in defeat.
"Thank you so much for your help, my Lord," Ophelia said, watching the departing figures with a worried frown, her voice soft and tinged with guilt. She still did not fully understand what had transpired, but her sharp mind had already pieced together the likely truth—that the court mage's sudden collapse had been somehow linked to the surge of uncontrollable magic she had felt moments earlier. The thought filled her with a deep sense of unease. If her suspicions were correct, then this entire incident was her fault. And now Blake had risked so much to defend her. If this attracted unwanted attention from the royal court, it could spell disaster for the Twilight Forest and all their hard-won progress. After all, the other party was a court mage—his influence far outweighed that of a minor noble from a remote backwater like Blake.
Unlike the onlookers, who were left to speculate wildly about Blake's mysterious origins, Ophelia believed she knew him fairly well. She was certain that this young lord had no powerful family or faction backing him up. In her eyes, his bold words and actions had merely been another masterful display of psychological warfare—his signature tactic. Ophelia had long since learned that Blake excelled at cloaking his true intentions in mystery. Every word he spoke, every gesture he made, was designed to leave his opponents guessing—and more often than not, those guesses were completely wrong.
But these were just tricks, nothing more. Sooner or later, once the soldiers returned to the royal capital and conducted a proper investigation, Blake's true identity as a penniless, minor noble would be laid bare for all to see. And then what?
Ophelia bowed her head, scarcely daring to imagine the consequences.
"Do not trouble yourself with such worries," Blake said, noticing her distress. He gave her shoulder a reassuring pat, his smile as easy and elegant as ever. "There is nothing to fear. Now, we ought to return to our rooms and get some rest. Having our evening ruined by such a tedious incident is bad enough as it is."
With that, Blake glanced around the hall, his eyes meeting those of the onlookers. One by one, they quickly averted their gazes and stepped back, not daring to meet his stare. After all, if this young man really was as powerful and well-connected as he seemed, the last thing they wanted was to draw his attention—and his potential wrath—upon themselves.
To the crowd, Blake's actions now made perfect sense. They had all heard Ophelia's voice earlier—soft, sweet, and melodious, with the refined lilt of a well-educated noblewoman. It was clear that she was no ordinary girl; she was likely a great beauty, too. A young man coming to the defense of his lovely companion was only natural, after all. The only lingering question in their minds was: why would a seemingly respectable court mage target such an innocent-looking young woman?
Blake had no intention of satisfying their curiosity. Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, he led Ophelia out of the hall and back to their guest rooms. The only person left truly aggrieved was the innkeeper, who stared at the shattered walls and splintered floorboards with a mournful expression. Caught between a court mage and a High Swordsman, he knew better than to demand compensation from either party. With a heavy sigh, he resigned himself to swallowing the loss—along with his pride.
Once they were inside their room, Blake instructed Ophelia to go rest, then turned to face the group of guards who had followed them back—led by none other than Kaster.
"Master Kaster," Blake said, his smile still lingering on his lips. "I believe you have had your fill of entertainment for this evening, have you not?"
"I... I do not know what you mean, my Lord," Kaster replied, his body tensing involuntarily. Though he had indeed intended to test Blake's true strength, being called out so directly left him feeling uneasy and exposed. He had long suspected that this young lord was not to be trifled with—but he had never imagined that Blake would be this formidable! Daring to speak Laribaud Seraya's name with such contempt, and actually possessing the power of a High Swordsman at twenty... By the grace of the saints, what kind of monster had he been sent to deal with?
Kaster cursed inwardly, silently blaming the hapless Viscount Wynn for landing him in this mess. The viscount had assured him that Blake was just a run-of-the-mill noble youth, with nothing worth paying attention to. A High Swordsman at twenty was nothing worth noting? What utter nonsense! The man must have lost his mind!
"The past is in the past," Blake said, waving a dismissive hand. "I have no intention of dwelling on bygones or seeking retribution. However..."
He paused for a moment, letting the weight of his words hang in the air before continuing.
"In the days to come, I expect you and your men to uphold your duties as guards—nothing more, nothing less. I trust this will not be a problem?"
"Not a problem at all, honored my Lord!" Kaster replied, breathing a sigh of relief. He quickly straightened his posture, eager to show his loyalty. "You have my word—we will perform our duties to the very best of our abilities!"
"I certainly hope so," Blake said, nodding his head before falling silent.
Watching the tension between them dissipate, Kaster felt a wave of relief wash over him. If he had been hesitant about Blake before, he was now utterly resolved never to cross him again. Though, he couldn't help but add another curse directed at the foolish viscount who had sent him to this godforsaken place in the first place.
But then again, perhaps this turn of events was a blessing in disguise. If he could manage to curry favor with a figure as powerful as Blake... who knew what opportunities might lie ahead for him?
With this thought in mind, Kaster leaned forward eagerly, his voice filled with newfound deference.
"My Lord, if I may be so bold... by making such a public display of your power, are we not risking drawing the attention of the Zachary family? After all, we are currently in their territory, and we are in possession of... well, shall we say, a rather sensitive package. Would this not run counter to our original objective?"
He left the rest unspoken, but the implication was clear. Blake's high-profile actions would undoubtedly attract the Zachary family's scrutiny—and when they investigated, they would inevitably focus on Kaster and his men. This seemed to fly in the face of their mission's need for discretion.
To Kaster's complete astonishment, however, Blake merely looked at him with a puzzled expression—as if he had just asked the most idiotic question in the world.
"Did I ever say that we were traveling incognito?"
Blake countered with a raised eyebrow and a faint, amused smile.