Emery had known Gwen long enough to recognize when her words carried weight. This time there was no jest, no playful challenge in her eyes.

But her request—to follow him beyond Earth—was not something he could easily accept.

The Magus Universe Prime Directive was clear: no one from a lower realm could leave their planet unless they had already broken through into the Magus realm. There were temporary permits, true—something Emery, with his current status and resources, could secure for her. But he knew at once that was not what she meant. Gwen was not talking about a fleeting journey, a travel permit that bound her by rules and return dates. She wanted to leave Earth behind entirely.

And, strangely, she had already prepared for it.

That detail struck him the hardest. Gwen could not have known he would arrive today, and yet she seemed ready, as though she had anticipated this moment for a long time.

"What's actually the plan?" Emery asked at last, his voice calm but lined with tension.

Gwen drew in a long breath, as though steadying herself, then let it out slowly. "I will tell you," she said, "but do not overreact."

She crossed the chamber with unhurried steps, her fingers brushing over the stone table and rest upon a plain wooden chest. When Gwen lifted the lid, a faint light spilled out.

From within, she drew a glass vial filled with liquid that shimmered like molten silver laced with threads of crimson. She hesitated and then extended it toward him.

"Here," she said softly.

Emery's eyes widened the instant he saw it. He did not need long study; his knowledge of apothecary, and confirmation by VIA told him at once what it was. His pulse quickened.

"A Magus Ascension Elixir…"

This was no common potion. It was infamous among practitioners: a concoction designed to force the breakthrough into the Magus realm. Not impossibly rare, no—but nearly banned by the Apothecary Association for its reckless danger. Its success rate was abysmal, under ten percent. There was the infamous case of a faction that had invested everything, administering a hundred such vials. Only one survived the transformation, and he took his own life months later from despair of loosing all of his comrades.

Emery's grip tightened on the vial as he turned toward her, his voice sharp with emotion. "Where did you get this?"

"I told you… don't overreact," Gwen said firmly.

Gwen's voice softened as she explained the fateful duel with Kronos two decades earlier, when she was wounded, one of their healers had reveal such potion as her salvation, she then manage to acquired it before her return to Earth.

The explanation did nothing to ease Emery's mind. If anything, it only deepened his unease. He stepped closer, unable to restrain himself, and gently clasped Gwen's wrist. His spirit sense flowed into her veins, tracing within her.

What he discovered made his chest tighten. Despite her cultivation at the Saint realm, her vitality was thin, fragile—like a flame guttering in the wind. Saints realm individual often lived two or even three centuries, their strength enduring well past their prime. Yet Gwen's reserves were diminished to a mere shadow. Emery's heart sank as he calculated: five, ten years, perhaps, was all that remained to her.

His thoughts churned darkly.

The Kronos healer's motives were unclear—malice or pity, he could not tell. Intentions mattered little now. What Emery knew with certainty was that even the strongest, healthiest Saint realm had only a slim chance of surviving the potion's violent trial. For Gwen, already so frail, the outcome was undeniable.

"With your current condition," Emery said at last, his voice low and raw, "drinking this will surely kill you."

For the first time, her composure cracked. The calm poise she had worn like armor wavered, and her lips trembled. "…I suspected as much," she admitted in a whisper.

"Then… why?"

The question escaped him, heavy with pain.

Gwen did not answer at once. She turned her face aside, gazing into some distance. When her reply finally came, her voice was faint but unyielding.

"Because I wish to see more. I wish to do more."

The words struck him with the force of truth.

She had been born a princess, bound by walls and duties. With stubborn courage she had broken free of that cage, venturing from Britain to distant shores, chasing a dream of freedom. Yet once she had glimpsed the vastness of the wider world, the Magus universe, Earth itself had become another prison.

Her eyes met his then, steady and burning with quiet defiance.

"I have spent a lifetime here," she said. "I have done my duty. But I refuse to settle—refuse to wither away—knowing there is something more out there."

The room held a heavy silence after Gwen's declaration, her words echoing in Emery's mind like the toll of a bell. He was still struggling to reconcile her determination with the frailty of her body when the door creaked open and a cheerful voice called out.

"Sister Gwen, I am here—happy birthday!"

Glita entered with her usual brightness, but her steps faltered as she caught sight of the somber mood that hung between the two. Her eyes darted between Gwen and Emery before she broke into a nervous laugh. "Ooh… I hope I didn't interrupt something. What happened?"

Gwen, ever composed, turned toward her with a practiced smile. "Nothing to worry about. I just told your brother here about the plan."

Glita's expression lit up with excitement, her earlier hesitation vanishing in an instant. She bounded closer, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm. "Yes, brother Emery! Sister Gwen and I have been planning to travel together. And now that you're here… it's even better!"

The words struck Emery harder than he expected. In that moment he understood—this was it. This was the shadow his future self had warned him of. Had he lingered, delayed even a little longer, Gwen would have taken the potion in secret, and her life would have ended here in silence.

Both women looked at him now, their eyes alight with hope, waiting for his answer. Gwen's calm resolve, Glita's eager anticipation—it pressed against him from both sides.

Emery did not answer immediately.

The thought of Gwen's dreams resurfaced—the girl who once longed for freedom beyond her castle walls. That same yearning now lit her eyes, fragile yet resolute. At the same time, Chumo's choice flashes on his mind; he could not change Chumo's fate, but he could change hers.

Emery drew a deep breath as he made his decision.

"Alright… but do not drink that potion. I will find a better one for you."

A flicker of relief softened Gwen's features, though the weight of her choice still lingered in her expression. Glita, on the other hand, broke into a radiant smile, her joy unrestrained. To her, it was as though everything had been solved in an instant.

For Emery, the words marked more than a promise—they marked a vow. He silently set another goal: to craft a potion powerful and safe enough for a Saint to break through to the Magus realm. Until then, she would follow him under the safeguard of a temporary permit.

The matter was settled, at least for now. Gwen asked for a few days to bid farewell to her people, to prepare for departure. Then she led Emery down into the depths of Camelot.

Below the castle, hidden within secure stone chambers, lay the divine sword, Excalibur.

The blade rested upon a pedestal of black marble, its silver edge faintly glowing even in the dim torchlight. Since the Kronos duel, Gwen had never wielded it again. An imitation had been forged for ceremonies, while the true sword slept in secrecy.

"You should decided what to do with this sword"

Emery's gaze lingered on it. A Tier-7 artifact, legendary and filled with divine weight. He thought again of Gwen's frailty, the unnatural drain on her vitality. A suspicion hardened into near certainty—the divine sword itself was the cause.

"This blade cannot remain here. Not anymore."

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