Inside the box lay a metal plate, covered with densely inscribed alchemical runes. Beside it was a sheet of parchment.
"Lady Pestis?"
Hel opened the box completely and looked toward Pestis.
But Pestis didn't take it. Instead, she lifted the parchment into the air with a tendril of spiritual energy, reading its contents carefully. After a long moment, her gaze drifted back to the metal plate.
"A spell scroll made from Aural Gold and fresh blood? If it truly does what that person claims, then she's quite the genius."
Murmuring to herself, Pestis activated the golden plate with her spiritual power—then turned her eyes toward Hel.
"Wag your tail."
"Huh?"
Hel froze, but quickly realized what Pestis was doing. Without changing expression, she gave her tail a discreet wag.
"Good," Pestis continued. "Now, go catch me an insect and a bird."
"Yes, ma'am."
Hel stepped outside, soon returning with a tiny ant and a sparrow, both struggling helplessly under her psychic control.
As soon as Hel reentered the hall, Pestis eagerly pressed her power into the glowing gold plate, linking it to the ant.
Within moments, the little creature began performing a tap dance on the floor. Then she turned to the sparrow—who promptly began rolling across the ground like a clown.
However, this was only a test scroll Hel had given her—an alchemical prototype that would self-destruct after three uses.
A soft whoosh flared to life. The runes across the plate ignited with ghostly blue fire, dissolving in an instant.
The flickering light painted Pestis's face in shadow and flame. She stared at the burning metal, a storm of thoughts swirling in her eyes.
"A brilliant design," she whispered.
"I don't know how she managed to seize the Beast Authority, but to merge three authorities this flawlessly… that's true genius."
Her gaze brightened with rare admiration—then dimmed again as she shook her head.
"Deliver the Witch of Recovery to you, is it? Hmph. But the Divine Summoning Festival's mastermind is no one to trifle with either."
She waved a hand. A surge of inky-green poison mist enveloped both parchment and plate. Moments later, they melted into puddles of thick, viscous liquid.
Knight Empire – Capital City of Nait.
At the heart of the imperial palace, a small girl with pale-golden hair knelt silently before a tombstone. She had been there all day, unmoving.
The man who had once carried her out of despair, who had taught her what it meant to be a ruler—the man who had treated her as his daughter, even knowing she was merely a doll created by the Fallen Goddess—had passed away.
And ever since then, the girl often found herself kneeling here in a daze, lost in thoughts she didn't quite understand.
A being that was never meant to have emotions… had somehow learned what family felt like.
"Zephyra."
A gentle voice called out from nearby.
A knight girl with the same light-golden hair approached quietly. Her expression was complicated—tinged with sorrow and tenderness—as she looked at the small figure by the grave.
"Uncle may be gone," she said softly, "but I'm sure he wouldn't want little Zephyra to drown in grief like this."
"Oh."
The girl gave a faint response, eyes still fixed on the tombstone, saying nothing more.
The knight sighed. She hesitated, then steadied herself and continued.
"Do you remember what the astrologers in the Tower of Stars said about your future?"
"Mm."
"They predicted that south of the capital, there's someone who could change your destiny entirely. So… I plan to take you to the Scholar's Nation, to study magic."
"All right."
Zephyra nodded, her movements delicate, mechanical—like the perfect doll she appeared to be. She let Irina take her hand and lead her away, glancing back at the grave with every few steps.
As she guided the girl from the courtyard, Irina's thoughts turned bitter.
She remembered the sneering words of the imperial elders:
"That girl's origin is unknown. Even if Roland himself vouched for her, we can't let her into the royal family."
"Roland disappeared for months after the Cataclysm, and when he returned, he brought back that child. I'm certain there's something wrong with her."
And some extremists had gone even further, calling Zephyra a devil's creation, claiming Roland had been corrupted by demons.
Irina clenched her teeth. When Roland was alive, none of you dared utter a single word. Now that he's gone, you hound his daughter like cowards.
If it hadn't been for Roland's two sons and Irina herself defending the girl, Zephyra would likely have been "disposed of" in secret by now.
She exhaled heavily.
Three thousand years of empire… far too long. Long enough for rot to seep into every corner.
Those in power fought desperately to preserve their empire's strength—while those outside of power would do anything to gain more.
They failed to see that, when the empire truly falls, none of them will have anything left at all.
Mandrake Duchy – Gates of Golden City.
A plain-looking carriage rolled slowly toward the city walls, accompanied by twenty armored riders.
Each knight was clad head to toe in mithril plate, faces hidden behind polished visors. Curved blades hung at their waists, long lances slung across their backs. Even their warhorses were armored from mane to hoof, leaving not a patch of flesh exposed—each one resembling a walking engine of silver death.
As the procession approached, the city gates creaked open. From within stepped a young man in a tailored suit—more scholar than noble—moving with composed elegance.
Reaching the carriage, he removed his hat and bowed deeply.
When the coach came to a stop, he stepped closer and spoke respectfully:
"Young master, your academy acceptance letter has arrived. However… with your talent, you could've easily entered the Advanced Division. Choosing the Beginner Division instead—don't you think that's a bit too…"
He trailed off, struggling to find a polite word.
"It doesn't matter," Hel said lightly.
"If I entered the Advanced Division at my age, it would only draw unnecessary attention."