[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: Outskirts]

The fog had rolled in thicker than before—so dense it hung between the trees like a heavy curtain, swallowing sound and even the faintest shapes until they were reduced to pale smudges.

Amid that suffocating haze, the silhouette of something unnaturally smooth sliced through the mist. A carriage—sleek, immaculate, and out of place in the dying woods—glided along the crude dirt path. Its polished black body seemed to drink in the surrounding light, while the gold ornamentation outlined its edges.

Its wheels churned quietly through mud that should have slowed it, but did not. The creatures pulling it—two horse-like things with pitch-black skin—moved in eerie synchronization. Their frames were thin, almost starved-looking, yet they pulled the ornate carriage without resistance. Their red, glowing eyes did not flicker, did not blink, did not acknowledge the world. They simply stared forward.

There was no driver, no reins, no sound of commands and no need for any.

The creatures obeyed something else—the concept of obedience had been stitched into their veins.

Inside the carriage, cushioned by velvet and swallowed by the lighting from a single lantern swaying overhead, two figures sat across from one another.

The first exhaled sharply.

"Honestly… we should've skipped this whole theatrical nonsense," she muttered, slumping back in her seat with the kind of impatience only someone accustomed to greater speed could possess. "We could've been there instantly. I could teleport us. Hell, my Null Schema alone is faster than this crawling pace. Why are we wasting time in a carriage? I swear, I feel like my brain is melting."

She was beautiful in an arresting way—long black hair tumbling down her back, its tips melting into a gradient of blue. Her blue eyes were sharp, bright enough to cut through the lighting. The delicate blue ribbon on her chest stood out against her otherwise dark attire: a high-neck, form-fitting blouse reinforced with blue bone-like structures, flaring slightly at the elbows, paired with black thigh-hugging trousers and long boots that emphasized her perfect build.

Her annoyance was tangible, simmering just beneath her words.

"Lady Morgan," she added, her tone almost sour as though each syllable tasted bad in her mouth.

'Morgan' didn't seem bothered by the irritation. If anything, she seemed amused.

"The good doctor did put considerable effort into perfecting these Deseruit Beasts," Morgan replied with an elegant hum. "I imagine he'd be terribly offended if we left them gathering dust when they could be put to use."

Her voice carried a calmness that somehow made the carriage feel colder.

She was breathtaking—a peerless beauty. Her long black hair framed her face immaculately, the straight bangs resting just above eyes of luminous violet. Her outfit blended dark grey and black: a deep V-neck top layered beneath a fitted white long-sleeved button-down. A corset decorated with a sharp pentagram held tight around her narrow waist. One gloved hand rested near her cheek elegantly, her ears adorned with silver-blue fishhook earrings that swayed with the carriage's movements.

Elena scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"Still a damn waste of time," Elena muttered. "We could've been at that idiot Conroy's outpost already. Instead we're sitting here, what—pretending to enjoy a scenic route through mud and fog?"

Morgan's lips curled in a subtle smile.

"So vulgar, for someone so fair," she teased lightly, tapping her gloved fingers on her cheek. "My, my, Elena. The irritation simmering in you—why not share it? Lay your woes bare for me. I can tell you're practically vibrating."

"Yeah," Elena said dryly, "because you're pushing my patience."

Morgan laughed softly—an airy sound.

"You know exactly why I'm pissed," Elena snapped, her blue eyes narrowing sharply. Her words came out unfiltered. "I've evolved. I've actually evolved. I reached the Transverto stage a month ago, and I'm still stuck playing lieutenant to you, while that old prick Conroy waltzes around flaunting the rank of Legatus. Legatus. What the hell does he even do? Cast a few spells and wheeze? Congratulations, what an accomplishment. And he's ancient."

Morgan raised an eyebrow.

"So impatient," she murmured. "You've evolved once and already want the world placed at your feet. You are ambitious, aren't you?"

"Greedy, you mean?" Elena shot back.

"Perhaps," Morgan said, still wearing a playful smile. "But your ambitions are not unfounded. You do possess more raw power than dear Conroy. I'll give you that."

"Power he doesn't have," Elena snorted. "All he has is loyalty. Loyalty without actual strength means nothing in the long run."

Morgan tilted her head thoughtfully.

"Maybe not nothing," she mused. "He did locate an alchemist for me. That counts for something… but tell me, Elena. Why exactly do you believe you deserve his position?"

Elena clicked her tongue.

"He's old news. And he's embarrassing the Guild. Seriously—subjugating some no-name backwater town and calling it a victory? That's not an achievement, that's a joke. I could've secured this 'alchemist' easily. I would've done it cleaner and quicker."

Morgan hummed.

A soft, thoughtful sound.

"You make a compelling case," she admitted. "And with the Rebirth Project approaching… I suppose I will require a powerful Legatus."

She paused for a heartbeat.

Then her smile widened—gentle and almost serene.

"Very well," she said. "As the holder of the Seventh Seat in the Retorta Guild, I elevate you, Elena, to the rank of Legatus."

Elena blinked.

"Huh?"

Morgan blinked back at her in playful innocence.

"What? Did you not want to be a Legatus?" she asked, tilting her head.

"Isn't there supposed to be— I don't know—some kind of ceremony?" Elena asked skeptically.

"You hate ceremonies," Morgan said with a soft laugh.

"…True," Elena admitted, a grin creeping onto her face. "Alright, then I accept. What about Conroy?"

"You can notify him," Morgan replied casually. "And deal with him however you wish. I dare say I've lost interest in the alchemist altogether."

Elena frowned.

"You were practically ecstatic over his reports. You wouldn't shut up about it for days."

Morgan waved her hand dismissively.

"Someone brought a rather pesky sword into the realm," she said vaguely. "And besides… we've received word of new S-class threats. Registered by Snow and Lindworm."

Elena's lip curled.

"Tch. They're probably only S-class to those idiots specifically. They exaggerate everything."

"Who knows?" Morgan murmured. "Apparently one of them was an angel. Even defeated poor Lindworm."

"Probably just some low-ranking angel then," Elena said with a shrug. "But still—what the hell is one even doing here?"

"I suspect they're after—"

Morgan cut herself off.

Her gaze shifted sharply toward the carriage window.

Elena noticed the change in her disposition and followed her line of sight.

Her eyes widened.

"What the fuck…"

Far in the distance—almost swallowed by the dense fog—something tore through the skies. Not gently or subtly. It punched through the atmosphere with a violence that made the clouds recoil.

It was a massive chunk of rock, a jagged mountain-sized boulder hurled like a toy. It ripped upward, pieces breaking off as it soared, yet its momentum did not falter.

Then—

A burst of golden light erupted above it.

Dozens of cleaving arcs—clean and sharp—slashed through the rock, pulverizing it into dust. Each golden strike carried enough force to shake the air. The shockwave rippled outward, rattling the carriage. The Deseruit Beasts didn't react; their red eyes didn't even flicker. But inside, both women felt the tremor run through their bones.

Elena leaned closer to the window, her mouth half-open.

"What the hell is going on out there?" she muttered. "Are fucking giants fighting?"

Morgan folded her hands neatly in her lap, unbothered.

"Anyone's guess," she replied. "But I sense… two interesting presences. You may go meet Conroy now. I'm changing our route."

Elena gave a short huff.

"Well, suit yourself."

Her body erupted in an intense blue radiance—light bending, warping and folding inward around her form. The carriage filled with distortion as her Schema activated.

And in the next heartbeat—

She was gone.

--------------------

[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: Outskirts]

[Rumpelstadt Mines]

The fog had crept deeper into the forest in the last few minutes, thick enough now that the dead trees looked like silhouettes. The air clung damp against skin, muffling sound, swallowing distance, even Alexander found himself glancing around as if expecting the fog to suddenly grow teeth.

"Well, that takes care of that," he muttered, exhaling sharply as he looked over the scattered bodies of the unconscious Retorta Guild members. His sighed once with irritation. Ivan had insisted they leave everyone alive. ("He's always so damn naïve…") the thought slid through Alexander's mind with annoyance.

Ivan wasn't paying attention to Alexander's internal grumbling. He stood a few paces away, gently reassuring the miners who had come dangerously close to getting themselves killed. The prince's approach had softened their fear, and his words—whatever they had been—were enough to send them trudging off into the fog again, shaken but unharmed.

There was a small, satisfied smile tugging at Ivan's lips as he walked back.

"Glad we managed to stop that," Ivan murmured, brushing off dust from his sleeves as he returned to Alexander's side.

"We wouldn't have had to stop anything if those miners had a brain," Alexander scoffed, voice sharp. "Seriously—walking straight up to Retorta Guild dogs and yelling at them to piss off? They're lucky they didn't end up as stains."

Ivan frowned, just a little. "They've been through so much already. Losing the mines means losing everything. People don't think straight when desperation hits."

"Doesn't excuse idiocy."

"People do a lot of dumb things when emotional," Ivan countered gently.

"Yeah? You speaking from experience?" Alexander snorted, one brow raised.

Ivan's eyes dimmed slightly. "Not my own… but my brothers—" Whatever memory surfaced tightened his expression, shadowing it for a brief moment.

Alexander clicked his tongue and cut him off. "Whatever. Not digging into that." He rolled his shoulders. "Anyway, I can never get a bead on that annoying fox, but I know Dante's scent. Problem is, I'm not picking up anything. Those two probably aren't in the mines anymore."

"Makes sense," Ivan murmured, gaze drifting toward the collapsed entrance. "I imagine they already found something by now."

"What, confident they're still alive?" Alexander asked.

Ivan hesitated. "I don't know… Dante feels strong. Right?"

"I mean, he did kill some huge Deseruit Beast," Alexander replied with a shrug. "So sure. He's tough."

"It's not just that," Ivan murmured, brows drawing together. "He… has a presence. Heavy. Like something telling me he's stronger than he lets on. Maybe it's instinct. Or intuition. I don't know." He shook his head, frustrated that he couldn't articulate it cleanly.

"Like you—being a Nil?" Alexander offered.

Ivan shook his head. "No. Different. Yours is… an emptiness. His is more like—pressure." He paused. "…It's hard to explain."

Alexander scratched the back of his neck. "Weird. But whatever. What now?"

Ivan opened his mouth to answer—

Then froze.

Alexander's nose twitched. His muscles coiled without conscious thought.

"Ah," a voice slid through the fog, smooth and far too pleased. "Familiar faces."

Shapes emerged from the shifting gray as if peeled out of the mist—boots crunching leaves, cloaks brushing branches, pieces of armor clinking. One by one, Retorta Guild members stepped into sight. Twenty of them at least. Maybe more obscured behind the fog.

And leading them—

Legatus Conroy.

Alexander's eyes narrowed to slits. Ivan stiffened beside him.

Conroy didn't seem the least concerned.

"Now, now," Conroy said casually, spreading his hands slightly as if greeting old acquaintances. "What's with those glares? I would think our last meeting wasn't quite sour enough to justify such hostility."

"It wasn't exactly smooth either," Ivan murmured, voice steady but guarded.

"I suppose your fox friend had much to do with that… Prince Ivan." Conroy's tone dipped just enough to curdle the air. His gaze slid downward, taking in the prone, unconscious forms of the soldiers scattered around the path. "I see you two have shown my men a rather… personal type of hospitality."

"They were asking for it," Alexander growled immediately.

"I doubt that," Conroy hummed, amused but not warm. "I came here to investigate who stole my prize—my alchemist—for Lady Morgan. It does not seem to be you two, though surely you have some idea who."

Silence.

Conroy stepped forward, boots sinking into the damp soil, hands folding behind his back.

"Negotiations are possible," he said smoothly. "A bit of information from you both, and perhaps we avoid an… unfortunate escalation."

"We ain't got shit to say to you, pal," Alexander snarled.

"Oh?" Conroy tilted his head. "Is that your final answer?"

Ivan inhaled slowly, readying to speak—

BOOOOM!!!

But the world detonated.

Sound followed with pure force.

A massive shock tore through the earth like an enormous fist had slammed into the continent. The ground buckled. Soil split open in lightning-shaped fractures that raced outward faster than thought. Entire tree trunks snapped, not at their bases but at their middles, exploding into splinters that whistled through the air like arrows.

Retorta Guild members screamed as the shockwave lifted and flung them—some tumbling head over heels, others launched like ragdolls into collapsing trees.

The ground beneath them heaved upward. Sections of earth folded back on themselves like churning waves.

Alexander staggered violently, boots carving trenches as he forced himself upright. Ivan nearly fell face-first, catching himself on shaking, unstable ground.

The mine entrance collapsed in an instant—not slowly or in stages, but all at once. The wooden supports snapped like brittle twigs, the stone overhead crumbling into a roaring cascade that swallowed the entire opening. Dust erupted outward in a thick, choking cloud.

The trembling didn't stop.

A second tremor followed, then a third, smaller but sharper—each one sending loose rocks bouncing and trees quivering violently.

"W–what the hell!?" Alexander shouted, panic and disbelief twisting his voice as he braced against the rolling earth.

"Look!" Ivan cried, voice cracking.

They turned.

And saw it.

A monstrous shape tearing through the sky.

A boulder—no, not a boulder. A mountainside.

A colossal mass of stone, easily the size of a mountaintop, hurled with such ferocity that the air screamed around it. Chunks sheared off mid-flight, trailing behind like disintegrating meteors.

The shock of its passing alone bent trees and kicked up spiraling funnels of dust.

It rose higher—

Then the sky ignited. A burst of golden light erupted above it—blinding and violent. And from the center of that light: a storm of cleaving arcs.

Thin and impossibly fast golden lines carved across the boulder in dozens—no—hundreds of intersecting paths. Each slash split stone cleanly, carving massive fragments into smaller fragments, and smaller fragments into dust.

The massive structure didn't just break. It disintegrated.

A golden shockwave unfurled from the impact point, flattening trees in a perfect circular radius. Air rippled visibly, bending. The backlash hit them—

Ivan was blown back meters, skidding across torn earth. Alexander dug harder, teeth gritted, boots nearly snapping under the pressure as he held his ground by sheer force.

Conroy stared, face pale despite himself.

A single collective thought pulsed in all their minds:

("What the hell is happening!?")

Because whatever caused that—

Was no human act.

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