Keller stood rooted to the spot, staring dumbfounded at the scene before him, utterly lost for words. The colossal magical inferno had vaporized the entire room, leaving nothing behind. Even the ground surrounding them had melted into a smooth, glassy expanse of crystallized earth. There was nothing left—not the walls, not the floors, not the furniture, not even the bodies of the nobles. Every inch of space beyond where he and Ophelia stood lay in utter ruin. It was only by the grace of Keller's quick wits that he'd dodged behind Ophelia at the last second, taking shelter within the ring of phantom energy swirling around her, that he'd narrowly escaped the same fate. Otherwise, he would have been reduced to ashes along with the rest.
Just then, that same lazy, unhurried voice sounded out once more.
"How dreadfully boring."
Blake had appeared beside them without a sound, still resting one hand casually on the hilt of his sword. He cast a curious glance between Ophelia and Keller—and it was no wonder. That uncontrolled magical fire had laid waste to nearly everything in its path, yet it had been completely powerless against the phantom energy. Not a single lick of flame had dared to encroach upon Ophelia's side; even the red carpet beneath her feet had been spared from the inferno. This left their small patch of unscathed ground glaringly conspicuous amidst the vast, scorched wasteland of crystallized earth.
"My lord—are you unharmed?"
At the sound of Blake's casual complaint, Ophelia and Keller finally seemed to snap out of their daze, roused from the shock of the brief yet earth-shattering battle. For Ophelia, she was long accustomed to Blake's inexplicable and often outrageous antics. This "experience" allowed her to recover her composure far faster than Keller, who still stood trembling beside her. She smoothed her expression and spoke first.
"I'm fine," Blake replied, his eyes glinting with amusement as they flickered to the spot where the old Council Elder had stood moments earlier—a spot now empty of all life. "A mere mage thinks he can kill me? He's far too weak for that. Let him come back when he's earned the right to wield a *Mage Artifact*."
A Mage Artifact? What in the world was that?
The strange term that slipped from Blake's lips left both of them blinking in confusion, but Blake paid their bewilderment no mind. He waved a dismissive hand, then turned his gaze to Keller, who still stood frozen beside him.
"Well then, Mr. Keller… Hmm. While the execution was a touch more chaotic than I anticipated, I'd say this counts as me fulfilling my end of our agreement, wouldn't you?"
In that final moment, Blake had severed the old elder's arms, sending his spell into catastrophic chaos. A spell of such immense power, once unleashed uncontrollably, would consume its caster without mercy. And the boy standing beside the elder had been caught in the crossfire, incinerated along with him. This outcome was far from ideal for Blake—but for Ophelia, it was perhaps a small mercy.
"Y-yes! Of course it does, Lord Blake!"
Keller jolted violently at the sound of Blake's question, then stumbled over his words in his haste to respond. Until this moment, he'd never truly grasped the extent of Blake's power—but the battle he'd just witnessed had laid it bare for all to see. As a swordsman, Blake had toyed with the old elder like a cat playing with a mouse! Though Keller had no idea what rank the elder had been, the sheer destructive force of his spells had made it abundantly clear that he was a formidable mage, one who'd hidden his strength for decades. Keller had expected an epic clash between two titans—yet what he'd gotten was something far more terrifying. In the face of that powerful mage, Blake hadn't so much as broken a sweat, unlike other melee fighters who would have been hard-pressed to defend themselves. Instead, he'd dispatched the elder with the same casual ease one might use to slaughter a chicken—tie it up, lay it on the block, and with one swift stroke, it was done. Clean. Efficient. Final.
This was no feat just anyone could accomplish!
Shock wasn't the only emotion coursing through Keller right now—he also felt an icy chill creeping down his spine. For the first time, he realized with a sinking dread that he might have allied himself with a being he could never hope to control. Blake's power was so overwhelming that betrayal or haggling were simply not options. Keller had no doubt whatsoever that if he dared to defy Blake, the young lord would kill him just as easily as he'd killed the elder. He would simply walk up to him, drive his sword through his heart, and that would be the end of it. Just like that. Simple.
With that thought firmly entrenched in his mind, Keller made a silent vow. Even if it meant sacrificing the entire clan's interests, he would curry favor with this terrifying lord. If he could earn Blake's goodwill, then not only would he be unassailable within the clan, but he would also hold his own against even the most powerful noble families in the realm!
In the span of a single heartbeat, these calculations had raced through Keller's mind. His demeanor immediately grew even more obsequious, his tone dripping with fawning enthusiasm.
"Rest assured, my lord! I shall fulfill my part of the agreement without delay! I will deliver everything you require to you as quickly as possible!"
"Good."
Blake noted the shift in Keller's attitude with a faint smirk, but said nothing more. It was clear the man knew when to bow his head and accept reality. Blake had never believed for a second that Keller hadn't entertained thoughts of double-crossing him during their negotiations. Despite the vast gulf separating their status, strength, and power, such an imbalance could easily become a tool in Keller's hands. After all, once Keller became clan leader, he would be a noble in his own right. Blake might be far stronger, but he couldn't openly bully a weaker noble without facing consequences. If he dared to do so, Keller would cry foul—and if word got out that Blake, a high-ranking lord, had bullied a lesser noble who'd bent over backward to accommodate him, it would become a laughingstock throughout the realm.
But now? The situation had changed. Everything had changed.
"I trust you know exactly what you need to do," Blake said, his gaze drifting to the distance, where the sound of approaching footsteps grew louder by the second. To keep their plans hidden from the Reformist faction, the Traditionalist nobles had gone to great lengths to maintain secrecy. They'd deployed only a small contingent of guards to secure the area, driving away all unwanted onlookers to ensure the Reformists couldn't get their hands on any information about the young master's return. Of course, none of those nobles had ever imagined they would meet such a gruesome end. And such a massive explosion could never hope to escape the notice of the clan's elite guards.
"I understand your meaning perfectly, my lord," Keller replied, bowing deeply to Blake. He then turned on his heel and strode toward the approaching guards, his boots crunching against the still-scorching hot ground. Blake's gaze lingered on his retreating back for a moment, then shifted to the young woman standing beside him, her expression a complex mix of emotions.
"Well, Lady Ophelia? How did it feel to be my human shield? Was it more enjoyable than you expected?"
"!"
Ophelia's face paled at his words. She looked up at him, her mouth opening as if she wanted to retort—but in the end, she simply let out a long, weary sigh and shook her head.
"It was certainly more bearable than I anticipated, my lord."
"Oh?"
Blake arched an eyebrow, studying her face intently. He'd fully expected Ophelia to fly into a rage—but judging by her reaction now, it seemed the storm had passed?
"You're not angry?"
"Of course I'm angry," Ophelia shot back, her voice sharp with indignation.
Ah. So it was a case of the calm before the thunderstorm, then.
Yet despite her words, there was a flicker of helplessness and hesitation in her eyes.
"But I also know that by your side, I am utterly useless—especially in battle. Whether it was before this moment or now, all I can do is stand idly by and watch… I won't deny that it galls me to no end. But I'm well aware that I cannot help you—not in the way you need. At least…" She paused, then lifted her head, her sky-blue eyes clear and unwavering as they met his gaze. "At least this time, I *did* help you. Did I not, my lord?"
"You certainly did," Blake replied, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He reached out and patted her gently on the shoulder. "But you needn't look so dejected… Say, what day is it today?"
"Huh?"
Ophelia blinked in surprise, caught off guard by the abrupt change of subject. She racked her brain for a moment, then answered, "Today is the fifteenth day of the Month of the Sacred Blossom. It has been approximately three months since you took possession of the Duskwood."
"Three months… Yes, that should be just about right."
Blake lifted his head, his gaze drifting toward the distant horizon. Ophelia watched him curiously, noting a flicker of emotion she'd never seen in his eyes before—a strange blend of nostalgia and quiet anticipation.
But the emotion was gone as quickly as it had come. When he turned back to look at her, his face was once again split by that familiar, lazy grin.
"Then your teacher should be setting off soon enough. Trust me—you'll be very busy in the days to come. *Extremely* busy… And when that time comes, you'll never have to worry about being unable to help me again."
---
**The Gloomy Canyon**
Howling gales whipped through the canyon, carrying clouds of stinging sand that blotted out the sun, shrouding everything in a hazy, suffocating veil of dust. Through the swirling maelstrom, two dark figures struggled forward against the wind, their swords clutched tightly in their hands as they huddled against the leeward side of a jagged rock face. Even so, their progress was agonizingly slow.
"Brother Scar! Let's give up!"
The younger boy stumbled along behind the taller man, shouting at the top of his lungs to be heard over the roar of the wind. His plea was cut short as a mouthful of sand was forced down his throat, sending him into a fit of violent coughing. He doubled over, spitting and gagging, before wiping the grit from his mouth and scrambling to catch up with his companion. He cupped his hands around his mouth, his voice still laced with frustration. "We came to the Gloomy Canyon to undergo our trial! Why are we wasting our time following some noble's orders, searching for someone who probably doesn't even exist? The canyon is huge—how long do you expect us to keep looking?!"
"It's not an order," Scar replied, his voice low and steady. He was far more experienced at navigating the harsh desert winds, keeping his head bowed as he scanned the ground for any sign of a path. "It's a commission."
Scar and the boy were the same two adventurers Blake had encountered in that small town where he'd purchased the bodies of the maids. At the time, they'd been in the midst of their trial, passing through the town when they'd joined the hunt for the aberrations. Scar had owed his breakthrough to the rank of Mid-Ranked Swordsman to that very battle. Before they'd left the town, Scar had struck a deal with Blake, accepting a commission from the young lord to deliver a single message to a small town located somewhere to the east, deep within the Gloomy Canyon.
"We accepted this commission, so we must see it through to the end. Besides, that gentleman paid us a very generous sum for our services. As mercenaries, it is our duty and our honor to fulfill the tasks we've been hired to do. Would you have your master think of you as an irresponsible coward?"
"That's not what I meant, Brother Scar!" the boy protested, his cheeks flushing with anger. "But nobles are all the same—scheming, conniving bastards! Who knows what kind of underhanded plot this is all part of? And haven't we already asked around? That town was abandoned over fifty years ago! There's no one left there to receive the message!"
"Perhaps so," Scar conceded, holding up a hand to shield his eyes as he peered into the distance. "But a commission is a commission. Even if the town really is deserted, we must see it with our own eyes and confirm it for ourselves before we give up."
He squinted, studying the terrain ahead. "The wind is dying down. I think I see something up ahead—some kind of structure… We're almost at our destination. Now, no more complaining."
The boy fell silent, quickening his pace to keep up with Scar. Despite his endless grumbling about the mission, he knew he had no other choice.
That damned noble! He ought to drop dead a hundred times over! Since when did us mercenaries become errand boys for stuck-up lords? If they want someone to run their errands, they should hire those spineless lackeys who grovel at their feet! Are we not mercenaries to protect the weak and the powerless, those who cannot defend themselves?
As the sandstorm gradually subsided, the two men picked up their speed, eager to escape the choking clouds of dust. They stumbled out of the worst of the storm, then paused to brush the sand from their clothes and stretch their stiff, aching muscles. Only then did they lift their heads to survey their surroundings—and what they saw left them both staring in stunned silence.
Beneath the pale light of the sun, the landscape was littered with nothing but broken walls and crumbling foundations. It was clear that some terrible disaster had struck this place long ago, reducing it to utter ruin. There wasn't a single intact building as far as the eye could see. The desert winds had buried nearly all traces of civilization beneath a sea of sand, leaving only an atmosphere of deathly silence and desolation hanging over the town's shattered remains.
"Just as I thought—completely abandoned," the boy muttered, his brow furrowed with disappointment. He turned to look at the taller man beside him. "Brother Scar, let's rest here for the night, then head back. The town is a ghost town—there's no one here to deliver the message to. It's a waste of time to stay any longer."
Scar glanced at the boy, but said nothing. Instead, he strode forward into the heart of the ruins, cupping his hands around his mouth and calling out loudly. "Is anyone here?!"
"Is anyone here…?"
His voice echoed through the empty ruins, bouncing off the broken walls before fading away into the silent wind. The dead town seemed to offer no response to his call.
"Is anyone there?! I come bearing an urgent message from a noble! I beg you to show yourselves!"
Only the soft whisper of the wind answered him. No other sound disturbed the stillness of the ruins.
"Brother Scar," the boy said, his voice tinged with impatience as he watched the taller man. "There's no one here. You've seen it with your own eyes. Stop shouting—it's useless."
This time, Scar didn't argue with him. He scanned the ruins carefully, his experienced eyes taking in the desolate scene. Deep down, he knew the boy was right—abandoned ruins like these rarely harbored any signs of life. He sighed, then sank down onto a nearby rock, his shoulders slumping in defeat. It seemed this commission was destined to remain unfulfilled. He would have to report back to the noble once their trial was over… Come to think of it, what was the noble's name again?
Just then, something happened. Something unexpected.
"Giggles!"
"Hehe!"
Two clear, sweet voices suddenly rang out, like the tinkling of wind chimes, echoing through the ruined town. The sound made both men jump, their hands flying to the hilts of their swords as they spun around, scanning their surroundings for the source of the noise.
Then the voices spoke again, rising and falling in a playful, melodic duet.
"Sister, someone's here!"
"Yes, sister—someone's here!"
"Who are you?"
"Where do you come from?"
"What do you want?"
"What are you doing here?"
The two beautiful voices wove together like a song, repeating their questions over and over again.
"Are you guests?"
"Are you enemies?"
"Who…"
"…are you?"
"We are mercenaries," Scar replied, straightening his posture as he called out into the empty ruins. Though he had no idea who was speaking, he kept his voice steady and respectful. "Forgive us for intruding. We accepted a commission from a noble to deliver a message to someone in this town—a single sentence: *'The white rose has bloomed again.'* That is all."
"..."
The voices fell silent at his words. Then, a soft breeze stirred through the ruins, carrying with it the faint, sweet sound of wind chimes.
"Is that all the message says?"
"Is that all your task entails?"
As the two questions hung in the air, two tiny figures suddenly materialized out of thin air before Scar, stepping out from behind a crumbling wall. They were two beautiful young girls, dressed in elegant black-and-white dresses, their small hands clasped tightly together as they stared up at the two mercenaries with wide, curious eyes. They opened their mouths in unison, their voices ringing out clear and bright.
Scar stared at the girls in surprise, but quickly recovered his composure, nodding his head respectfully as he took a cautious step backward. "That is exactly what the noble gentleman instructed me to say."
"Then it's true, sister!"
"Yes, it's true, sister!"
At his words, the two girls broke into identical, radiant smiles, squeezing each other's hands tightly as they beamed at each other.
"Daddy's coming home!"
"Brother's coming home!"
"He needs our help!"
"Then let's go!"
They spoke as if to themselves, echoing each other's words in perfect harmony. Then they turned to face the mercenaries, a faint glimmer of red light flickering in their eyes for the briefest of moments before vanishing without a trace.
"Then let's go home," the two girls said in unison.