The northern coast of the Empire

The morning sun spilled golden light across coast. Wooden planks creaked under the steady rhythm of footsteps of passerbys, gulls circling high above, their cries carried by the sea breeze.

A man in a crisp brown suit walked calmly down the pier. His lean frame moved with deliberate composure, polished shoes tapping softly against the damp boards. A pair of thin-framed glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, their lenses catching fleeting glimmers of the sun. Behind them, his light green eyes scanned the path with a detached sharpness.

Walking just ahead of him was a woman whose very stance demanded attention. Her aqua-blue hair shimmered under the morning light, trailing down her back like liquid silk. Her arms were crossed tightly against her chest, her chin tilted upward in arrogance, as though the entire dock belonged to her alone. Every stride she took radiated superiority, and the occasional sailor or passerby instinctively moved aside when she approached.

They walked in silence.. until the man suddenly stopped. His steps froze so abruptly that the woman had to halt as well, boots clicking against the wood as she turned her gaze over her shoulder.

"What now?" Maria asked, voice edged with annoyance, aqua hair swaying with the motion.

But the man didn't answer. Instead, he bent down, fingers brushing against a rolled-up newspaper discarded on the ground. He straightened smoothly, flipping it open with a faint rustle.

For a moment his eyes skimmed across the print. Then his lips twitched, his face convulsing through a series of startled expressions as though each line he read struck him harder than the last.

Maria tilted her head, irritation shifting to curiosity as she caught the strange shifts in his expression.

"What is it?" she pressed, stepping closer.

Levy didn't reply. Instead, he turned the paper toward her, his expression unreadable behind the reflective glare of his glasses.

Maria's aqua eyes darted across the inked letters. And the moment the words sank in..

"He did what!?" she gasped, voice echoing across the pier. She snatched the paper from his hand, clutching it tightly as if she needed to feel the material to believe the madness it carried.

Her lips parted, disbelief spilling out in a rush. "I knew he was crazy, but this… He's a fucking lunatic! Trying to rape the daughter of a duke's household.. then admitting it? Even In precence of her Imperial Majesty? He's a fucking mental case!"

She almost choked on her words, mouth frozen open in the shape of an 'O', staring down at the page as though the letters themselves mocked her sanity.

Levy scratched the side of his head, his lips still twitching as though he hadn't fully processed it either. His green eyes flickered uneasily behind his glasses. "Well… he did get into Eternal Hold, at least," he muttered. "That… that much is true."

Maria shut the newspaper with a sharp snap, pressing one palm against her temple, massaging as though the news itself had given her a migraine. For several long seconds, she just stood there, staring at the ground, lost in thought.

Did I really make the right decision…?

Following Razeal had already felt reckless, even insane. Now? It was as if she had willingly tied herself to a madman determined to play games with his own death.

Her jaw tightened. If he had died before fulfilling his promise before finding the way to separate my bloodline I would have been damned.

Finally, she lowered her hand, exhaling through her nose. She turned back to Levy, blinking as if steadying herself before speaking. "But… will he be able to get out of there?" Her voice carried a quiet edge of concern that she quickly masked with her usual sharpness.

Levy adjusted his glasses, eyes flicking out to the sea where gulls dived for scraps. "I don't know," he admitted plainly. "But either way, we don't have time to wait and see. We need to move faster. Prepare the ship, or ill be damned."

Maria blinked, momentarily caught off guard by his certainty. Then she quickened her steps to catch up, lips curling into a sly smile.

His tone was firm, his steps resuming with purpose.

"Well, well," she said, her tone laced with mockery. "You sound awfully confident in him. So much trust… Oho? Do you know something I don't? Any secrets you're keeping from me?"

She walked two paces ahead, posture deliberately superior, eyes forward as though she were above him but her words lingered in the air like bait.

Levy, however, offered no immediate answer. He simply observed her gait, her noble stride that screamed practiced arrogance. Is that how nobles always walk? he wondered silently. Or is she just trying too hard to remind me she's above me?

He shook his head faintly. It didn't matter. What mattered was that he didn't provoke her ego too much. She was volatile, prideful.. and in Levy's mind, maybe even more unhinged than Razeal himself. She's a psychopath too.

After all, who else would willingly throw themselves at the side of a man branded a monster, knowing he would drag her into danger, into infamy, into becoming one of the most wanted criminals alive? That wasn't bravery. That was Lunacy.

Finally, he replied, his tone as dry as driftwood. "I don't trust him. It's just… I know if he comes back and finds no ship here, he'll torture me until I wish I was dead. I don't know but he doesn't seems like a person who be kind to anyone"

At which maria blinked once. "Well, isn't that trust then?"

She turned her head forward again, deliberately lengthening her stride so she remained a step ahead of him.

Levy didn't answer. He only sighed quietly, focusing on the sight ahead.. the bustling docks, where sea-sellers shouted over one another and ships swayed gently in the tide.

Maria's footsteps slowed slightly as she glanced sideways at him again, this time more thoughtful than mocking. Strange… she mused. When did our conversations stop feeling awkward?

Just yesterday, they had been uneasy allies at best even little hostile, two people tied together by necessity rather than choice. She had looked down on him as nothing more than a pawn, while he had treated her noble superior she was ofcourse.

But now… they were speaking more naturally. Almost like equals.. though she still clung to her posture of superiority.

And in that shift, she noticed something else.

This man.. whoever he truly was had far too many connections.

It wasn't just the way sailors stepped aside for him as he passed. It wasn't just how easily dock workers nodded respectfully when he gave the smallest instruction. It was deeper than that. Maria had seen him yesterday whisper a single word to what looked like a beggar slumped against a wall… only for that same "beggar" to arrange a meeting with a wealthy merchant that very afternoon.

A meeting that actually happened.

Maria had assumed, at first, that her own influence as a noblewoman would be required to grease the wheels. She had even been prepared to throw her family name around. But to her surprise, Levy hadn't needed her.

Everything had gone… disturbingly smooth. Too smooth.

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Far From the Empire – A Remote Village

Thousands of miles away from the Empire's capital, hidden deep within barren plains and cracked mountains, a forgotten village clung stubbornly to survival. Its homes were crumbling clay and timber, its streets packed dirt, and its people worn thin by poverty. Dust hung heavy in the air, stirred by the occasional dry gust of wind, coating everything in a dull shade of brown.

By the roadside, leaning against the shattered remains of a stone wall, an old man sat slouched. His clothes were little more than rags, his yellowed teeth visible whenever his mouth gaped open, and his hair a tangled nest of gray and black streaks. He looked half-asleep, eyelids drooping, lips muttering faintly to himself like a man caught between dreams and reality.

Then her shadow fell over him.

A tall woman, her build regal and commanding, stood before him. Her long royal-purple hair cascaded down her back like a flowing banner, catching the faint sunlight that managed to break through the haze. Her face was striking, breathtaking in its sharp beauty, but there was no warmth in it.. no smile, no softness. Only an icy mask, as if carved from marble. And her eyes… those deep purple eyes. They bore into him with such weight that his very breath stuttered in his chest.

"Old man," she said, her voice cool and steady, carrying neither kindness nor cruelty.. only authority. She extended a hand, holding out a portrait. "Have you ever seen this face? Or anyone resembling him around here?"

The old man blinked, confused, his mind sluggish. "Uhh… who.. who are you?" he stammered, his voice rough like gravel. He lifted his head, trying to focus on the woman.

And then he saw her properly.

For a moment his mind went blank. He had lived a long life, seen countless women in his youth and old age alike, but never.. never had he laid eyes on beauty like hers. It was otherworldly, beyond the reach of mortals like him. Yet before he could linger on that thought, a sudden chill ran through his body.

Her expressionless gaze locked onto his. Cold, Sharp and Unwavering.

It wasn't beauty he saw.. it was power. Power that made his knees weak even though he was already seated. His instincts screamed at him: Look away.

And he did. His eyes dropped instantly to the ground, his body trembling. He dared not meet those eyes again.

"Look carefully," the woman repeated, her tone hardening ever so slightly. She extended the portrait closer, as though pressing the weight of her will into his very chest. "Tell me if you've seen him. Anywhere. Anytime."

The old man's hands shook as he took the portrait. His mind screamed at him to answer quickly, to not test her patience. He didn't know who she was, but the way she stood, the way her words felt like unshakable commands.. it was as though he were speaking to a queen or princess of unimaginable standing.

He forced his blurred eyes to focus on the drawing.

A young boy stared back from the page. Purple hair, jet-black eyes, his face sharp yet youthful, no more than twelve or thirteen years old in the portrait. The old man squinted harder, racking his memory, trying to see if he had ever glimpsed such a child in this forgotten place.

The seconds stretched. He swallowed hard.

Finally, with a trembling voice, he answered, "I… I haven't, your lady. I swear it. I don't recognize him." His head bobbed slightly, almost in apology, as he quickly handed the portrait back. "I've never seen anyone like that here. Not once."

A faint click of her tongue escaped her lips. "Tch."

The sound was soft, but it made him flinch as though struck. Without another word, the woman turned on her heel, her long hair swaying behind her as she began to walk away.

The old man let out a shaky breath of relief, lowering his gaze back to the dirt. He dared not speak another word, let alone call her back.

Nova's boots pressed into the dry soil as she left him behind, her stride strong, yet her mind restless.

From the reports gathered by her intelligence team, she'd learned that Foreverine metal had been discovered by mistake in this small kingdom.. five years ago. The exact time Razeal disappeared. A perfect match. And this place… it was supposed to be the center of it all. This should have been where he was.

She had sent her entire team searching for clues, but nothing had turned up. How could someone just vanish without a trace? Was it the wrong place? That was the only possibility, wasn't it? Or was Razeal truly so intelligent that he hadn't left behind a single clue?

And the difficulty was compounded by what made him different. He had no mana. No aura. His bloodline lay dormant, silent. There was nothing supernatural to sense, no energy trail to follow. They were forced to search him physically through eyes, rumors, word of mouth. And still, nothing.

It was unbelievable. Almost impossible. And yet, it was reality.

After all, one cannot track what leaves no trace. A physical being without mana or aura was like smoke in the wind.. there, but untouchable.

Nova's steps slowed as she moved away from the old man. Disappointment tugged at her, but stronger than that was rage.

Rage that had been smoldering inside her since the day she learned of what had happened to her brother. She wanted.. no, she needed to destroy whoever dared to do that to him. Every single one of them. Their lives were nothing but offerings for her brother's vengeance.

She imagined it already: heads rolling at her feet, enemies begging for mercy they wouldn't receive, and then presenting those trophies to Razeal himself. Maybe then.. just maybe he would accept them, even if only as a small gift. Perhaps, he might even see it as recognition of her effort.

And she wanted to do it fast.

Before tomorrow.

After all, they were going to bring him home tomorrow, and what better way to greet him than with the gift of vengeance? It wasn't just about pleasing him it was for herself, too. She wanted to see the ones who dared touch him bleed.

But despite the fire inside her, disappointment still weighed her steps. Her investigation had led her here, yet again, with no progress. How could someone vanish so completely? How could there be no trail, no whispers, no rumors? For someone without aura, without mana, without even an awakened bloodline, her brother had eluded not just common eyes but her entire intelligence network. It was maddening.

Her boots tapped sharply against the rough stones of the path as she walked away, her cloak trailing behind her like a shadow of frustration. Her violet eyes burned, her mind replaying the rage and helplessness over and over.

That was when the old man sitting behind stirred again.

His eyes flickered, as though a thought had begun to claw its way out from the murk of memory. He blinked rapidly, confusion swirling in his cloudy gaze, as if the portrait she had shown him had awoken something.. but only halfway.

"H-Hellow, lady… madam," the old man croaked from behind, his voice uneven. He tried to sound respectful, but the words tumbled out clumsily, betraying his lack of refinement. Still, desperation pushed him to call out.

Nova froze mid-step. Her head turned slowly, her gaze snapping back toward him.

She saw it immediately the glimmer of confusion, of recognition, fighting in his wrinkled face. Without hesitation, her tall figure blurred. In a blink, she was in front of him, standing so close that the man nearly collapsed in fright.

The old man's soul nearly fled his body. His heart hammered in his chest, his dry throat croaking out a strangled sound as the overwhelming presence of the woman pressed on him.

But Nova's eyes sharpened. For the first time today, something other than cold frustration flickered across her face. There was… hope.

"You remembered something?" she asked, her voice cold but edged with the faintest ripple of excitement.

The old man clutched his chest, steadying himself, his words trembling out of him. "…C-Can I… see the portrait again, Lady?"

Nova didn't waste time. With a flick of her wrist, the parchment appeared once more, her long fingers holding it up directly in front of his weathered face.

The old man squinted hard, his eyes darting over the boy's features. The sharp black eyes, the shape of the jaw, the angle of the nose… it nagged at him. He blinked several times, the frustration building as recognition itched just beyond his reach.

Then suddenly, his eyes widened. A thought struck him.

"Madam… can you… please remove his hair?"

Nova's brow arched. "Hair?" she muttered, her voice tightening with confusion. But then, without hesitation, she allowed a sliver of her power to flow. Purple energy flickered faintly across the parchment, and in an instant the portrait shifted.. the boy's violet hair vanishing, leaving behind a perfectly bald head.

The old man gasped sharply. His hands shot up, clapping together as his eyes went wide with recognition.

"Yes! Yes.. it's him! That beggar kid!" His voice cracked as he nearly shouted the words, forgetting himself, forgetting the fear for a heartbeat in his excitement.

"Beggar… kid?" Nova repeated slowly, her voice like a blade dragging against stone.

The old man froze, horror dawning on him as the weight of his words sank in. He felt as though he'd signed his death sentence. His body trembled, his breath caught, but to his shock… she didn't kill him. She didn't even strike him.

Nova sips curved up dangerously, but she controlled herself, letting the words slip past her lips again, quieter this time: "…Beggar kid."

The old man swallowed hard. His lips quivered.

But she didn't give him a chance to recover. Her voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding. "Where did you see him last?"

The demand sank into his bones. He couldn't resist. His mind scrambled, searching his memories, until the truth spilled out.

"H-He used to rob… bits of food, scraps here and there," the man said quickly, his words tumbling over themselves. "He was in bad condition that time. Maybe injured i don't know… But the last time.. yes, the last time I saw him being taken away by… by the Klatonic Church. After that… never saw him again." His voice shook with every word, his body nearly collapsing under the pressure of her gaze.

"The… Klatonic Church," Nova whispered. The name rolled off her tongue with venom, but she didn't say more.

Instead, She raised her hand.

"Here. Take this."

A coin, deep purple in color, landed in his trembling hands. The old man looked down at it, his breath caught in his chest as he saw the intricate crest engraved upon its surface:

A silver raven with a third eye, flying over a shattered mirror.

The insignia of the Virelan family. But he didn't recognised anything.

Nova didn't give him time to ask. Her violet cloak swirled as she turned, her tall frame already striding away with long, commanding steps. The faint glint of her hair caught the dull village sunlight before vanishing into the distance.

The old man's hands trembled violently around the coin.

"What… what is this?" he whispered. His chest heaved with shallow breaths, his eyes glued to the strange, ominous crest. He didn't know what it meant, but it chilled him to the core.

His gaze lifted, following the direction where the woman had disappeared.

"Who… who was she?" he muttered hoarsely. His throat felt dry. "She's so… scary… so dangerous…"

He remembered the way she had appeared in front of him in a blink, the way the portrait itself had changed at her command.

"And wait was that… sorcery?" His voice broke. "

The coin burned cold in his hand as he clutched it tighter, fear and awe mixing in his trembling body. The image of the woman.. her piercing violet eyes, her terrifying calm.. would haunt him for the rest of his days.

And this light but heavy coin.

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Guy's why sending author into depression 😭😭

Why so less golden tickets 😞 Don't bully this already poor author.

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