Blake received word the moment that black-and-white carriage entered the Duskwood. Castor was far wiser than the sentries posted at the Byrd family's outposts—or perhaps, having served by Blake's side for so long, he knew better than to make decisions without authorization. So he'd waved the carriage through the Duskwood's entrance without hesitation, then immediately lit a signal fire to report the arrival to the castle.
"Is the information accurate?"
Blake leaned back in his chair, twirling a chess piece between his fingers with a bored expression. He slouched deeper into the cushions, his voice lazy and unhurried.
"Perfectly accurate, Master," Charlotte replied, standing primly at the doorway, a faint, sweet smile playing on her delicate features. "By my calculations, their Excellencies will be arriving at the castle in less than a quarter of an hour."
"Then I suppose I ought to make some preparations."
Blake let out a soft sigh, then pushed himself to his feet, smoothing out the wrinkles in his coat. The elegant, gentle smile that was his trademark returned to his face as he followed Charlotte out of the room and toward the study on the third floor of the castle. This had once been Blake's private quarters, but Ophelia—his adjutant—had taken on the lion's share of administrative work in the Duskwood, effectively becoming the new master of the study. Not that Blake minded in the slightest. While a study might be a symbol of authority, having someone to shoulder the tedious burden of paperwork was far more valuable than any empty title.
He pushed open the heavy wooden door without knocking. Inside, Ophelia was buried neck-deep in work at her desk, surrounded by a mountain of documents. Irene scurried back and forth across the room, struggling to carry armfuls of papers. Under Ophelia's strict tutelage, the once-scatterbrained young maid had become remarkably competent. When she spotted Blake entering, she immediately paused in her work, bowed deeply to him, then straightened up and hurried back to her tasks.
The sound of the door creaking open finally pulled Ophelia's attention away from her papers. She glanced up at Blake, shrugged her shoulders, then promptly lowered her head again, returning to her work.
"My lord, if you've suddenly had a change of heart and plan to share my workload, I would be infinitely grateful."
"As much as it pains me to disappoint a lady, I'm afraid I have no intention of lifting a finger to help with your paperwork, Lady Ophelia," Blake replied with a grin. "As my adjutant, it's your duty to handle these matters. I don't recall there ever being a precedent for the lord doing the adjutant's job, now, do I?"
Ophelia didn't bother to respond with any heat—she'd long since learned that serving under this lord required a great deal of patience and composure. If she let herself get worked up over every little thing, she'd have been driven to an early grave by now.
"Precedents are made by people, not dropped from the sky," Blake said, walking over to her desk and rapping his knuckles against the wood to recapture her attention. "Now then—set those papers aside. We have far more important business to attend to."
"More important business?"
This time, Ophelia's attention was fully captured. She lifted her head, her sky-blue eyes narrowing with curiosity. "Has more trouble arisen, my lord? Has the Byrd family finally sent someone to parley?"
In Ophelia's estimation, Blake's dramatic display of power at the Zach Clan must have caught the Byrd family's attention long ago. The Duskwood was still technically Byrd territory, after all, and now that Blake's strength had been laid bare for all to see, the Byrds could no longer afford to treat him like a mere penniless noble scion. Whether through bribery, coercion, or underhanded schemes, they would surely make their move soon enough. So when Blake mentioned "important business," her first thought was that the Byrds had finally taken action.
But to her surprise, Blake merely waved a dismissive hand.
"No, no—those small fry aren't worth our time. This is about someone far more important… As my student, shouldn't you go welcome your teachers?"
"My teachers?"
Ophelia froze for a moment, her mind still mired in the complexities of documents and decrees. She blinked, struggling to process his words. "You mean…?"
"Your magic teachers," Blake clarified, gesturing toward the window. "I just received word that they've entered the Duskwood and are arriving at the castle any moment now. Come—shouldn't you, as their future student, go greet them properly?"
"Of course I should!"
Ophelia shot to her feet instantly, her face lighting up with excitement. In truth, she had been deeply troubled by the phantom magic coursing through her veins. While she had gained a modicum of control over it, there were still times when it would run wild of its own accord, disrupting her daily life. Ophelia feared that another incident like the one with the court mage might happen again—and as a former royal princess, she knew all too well the immense power of the Mage's Guild. Blake couldn't be expected to antagonize the guild on her behalf every single time, and she herself was utterly unable to master this strange, volatile magic. So when Blake had told her he would find someone to teach her how to wield and control her powers, she had been filled with hope. Now, after waiting for so long, her teachers were finally here—how could she not feel both nervous and elated?
After quickly smoothing out her dress and fixing her hair, Ophelia followed Blake down to the castle's main gate. She stared at the wide, neatly paved road stretching out before her, her heart fluttering with anticipation. Blake had said he would find her teachers—but who exactly were they? Phantom magic was such a rare and obscure power; what kind of mages could possibly possess the knowledge to teach her how to use it? And Blake had used the word "they"—so there were two female mages? She wondered what they would look like… Ophelia bit her lower lip nervously, her mind racing with questions.
Blake watched the girl's expression with amusement. For all her usual calm and poise, she was still just a young woman at heart, easily flustered by the unknown. He couldn't help but wonder what her reaction would be when she finally laid eyes on her new teachers.
*Rumble… rumble…*
The sound of carriage wheels rolling over cobblestones broke the silence. Moments later, the distinctive black-and-white carriage emerged from a cloud of dust, its ornate design making it stand out against the forest backdrop. It came to a smooth halt right in front of the gate.
Ophelia tensed instinctively, her eyes fixed on the carriage. But then she noticed something was off. As a maid, it should have been Charlotte's duty to step forward immediately and open the carriage door to welcome the guests. But instead, Charlotte stood quietly at Blake's side, smiling serenely, as if she had no intention of performing her usual duties. And while Blake wore his usual enigmatic smile, Ophelia noticed that his right hand had drifted to the hilt of the sword at his back. From everything she had learned during her time by his side, there was only one reason he would make that gesture.
At that exact moment, the double doors of the carriage swung open slowly—one white, one black.
"Long time no see, my lovely ladies," Blake said, a broad smile spreading across his face as he strode forward.
But before he could take another step, two figures—one clad in white, the other in black—leapt out of the carriage like streaks of lightning, lunging straight for him. At the same time, the black sword at Blake's waist slid out of its sheath with a soft *shing*, cutting through the air to meet their attack.
*CLANG!!!*
A deafening clash of metal rang out. In the blink of an eye, two petite figures stood before Blake, their parasols pointed straight at his chest like spears. Blake blocked their strike with his sword, the force of the impact sending a shockwave rippling through the air.
"Long time no see," the two girls said in perfect unison. Then they spun on their heels, leaping backward in a synchronized movement. As they jumped, the closed parasols in their hands slid upward, tracing beautiful yet eerie runes in the air.
The air twisted and writhed.
Ophelia felt the very atmosphere around her being sucked away in a violent gust, the transparent space swelling and bulging as if something invisible was pushing against it from within. Then, with a sharp crack, the black and white parasols crossed paths, and the energy contained within them erupted outward, transforming into a storm of invisible air blades hurtling straight toward Blake.
Faced with this relentless onslaught, Blake didn't make the slightest move to dodge. He paused for a heartbeat, then thrust his black sword forward in a single, straight line, meeting the tempest of air blades head-on.
The air blades were fast—but Blake was faster. Amidst the howling gale, all anyone could see was a flash of black light. The crossed parasols were smashed apart by the sheer force of his strike, flying in opposite directions. But the girls showed no sign of surprise or alarm at this turn of events. They immediately retracted their parasols, leaping backward once more—only to find Blake performing a strange, intricate gesture with his hands.
He gripped his sword tightly with both hands, pointing it at the girls from a distance. A faint, almost invisible halo spread out from under his feet, quickly enveloping the two girls within its radius. At that exact moment, the girls—who had been darting around nimbly—suddenly froze in mid-air, as if trapped in a block of solid ice. They stared at each other in shock, their eyes wide with disbelief. Before they could react, Blake's black sword pierced through the white-haired girl's chest without hesitation.
"!!!"
Ophelia clapped a hand over her mouth in horror, her eyes bulging. She had never imagined that Blake would attack without warning—let alone that he would strike down two innocent-looking young girls! Why would he do such a thing?
But Blake paid no heed to her silent question. His sword lingered inside the white-haired girl's body for a split second, then was pulled out with a sharp *shink* and driven straight into the black-haired girl's chest in one fluid motion. A spray of crimson blood arced through the air, splattering onto the ground in a beautiful, deadly arc. Then, like a venomous snake returning to its nest, the black sword slid back into its sheath obediently at Blake's command.
*Click.*
The sound of the sword hilt locking into place shattered the invisible barrier that had held the girls captive. Their petite bodies crumpled to the ground, motionless.
Blood seeped out from under their dresses, staining the cobblestones crimson.
Ophelia's face had turned as white as a sheet, while Irene huddled in her arms, squeezing her eyes shut and daring not to look. Only Charlotte remained as composed as ever, her smile never wavering, as if the gruesome scene unfolding before her eyes was nothing out of the ordinary.
"Phew—done and dusted."
Blake didn't spare so much as a glance at the two "corpses" on the ground. He turned on his heel, clapped his hands together, and walked back over to Ophelia, a playful smile tugging at his lips as he looked down at her pale, shocked face.
"I suppose that was a bit of a shock for our dear princess, wasn't it?"
"M-my lord… they were our guests, weren't they? How could you—"
Ophelia was completely flustered, her gaze darting between the two motionless figures on the ground and Blake's calm, unconcerned expression. She couldn't make heads or tails of what had just happened.
"Just a little greeting—no need to get so worked up," Blake said with a chuckle.
"A greeting?!"
Before Ophelia could press him further, two soft groans echoed from the ground. To her utter astonishment, the two girls—who had suffered fatal wounds and should have been dead—pushed themselves back to their feet. They glanced at the gaping holes in each other's chests, then down at their own bodies, breaking into identical smiles of pure, unadulterated joy—like children who had just received the most wonderful gift from Santa Claus.
"Truly worthy of being our brother," the white-haired girl sighed, her eyes shining with adoration.
"Truly worthy of being our father," the black-haired girl echoed, her voice equally reverent.
"What a magnificent strike."
"What an exquisite swordsmanship."
"I'm glad you approve," Blake said, letting out a dry laugh. He tapped the hilt of his sword lightly, then held out his hands to the two girls. "Welcome home, Messiah. Welcome home, Semia."
The girls exchanged a glance, then giggled and threw themselves into Blake's arms, hugging him tightly.
"We're home, Brother!"
"We're home, Father!"
"It's been far too long since we last saw each other," Blake murmured, gently stroking their hair. He then released them, stepping back with a warm smile. "Now then—you know what needs to be done next, don't you?"
"Of course we do," the girls replied in unison, their smiles fading into solemnity. They took two steps back, lifted the hems of their dresses, and bowed deeply to Blake in a formal noble's curtsy.
"Messiah, Commander of the Order of the Holy Wings, reporting for duty!"
"Semia, Commander of the Order of the Dirge of the Fallen, reporting for duty!"
"Starting today," they said together, their voices ringing out clear and strong.
"We return to the *Order of the Apocalypse*—ready to obey the command of our Grand Master, Lord Blake!"