"Ivan was… expelled from the guild?"
Shane instinctively repeated it, thinking he must've misheard.
The impact of that news hit him far harder than Ultear's sudden departure.
Makarov had always treated every guild member like his own child. He rarely gave harsh punishments—rarely even raised his voice. And this was his actual son.
How was this possible? That was Shane's first reaction.
But when he felt the suffocating silence in the hall, and saw the seriousness in Cana's eyes, he had no choice but to accept it as fact.
"Where's the master?" his voice dropped.
"Upstairs," Cana jerked her chin toward the second floor and lowered her voice. "His mood has to be awful right now. You should probably not—"
Before she could finish, Shane had already turned away.
He bent his knees, kicked off the floor, and vaulted up to the second floor.
He pushed open the office door.
Makarov wasn't in his usual big chair, but standing at the window with his back to the door.
The setting sun stretched his small silhouette into something long and thin. The shadow on the floor radiated an unspeakable exhaustion and loneliness.
Without looking back, he spoke, his voice heavy, trying to keep up some semblance of authority. "Didn't I say the second floor is off-limits unless you're S-Class?"
"Master," Shane said, gently closing the door behind him and stepping into the room, "with a mood like this, maybe skip the lecture."
He pulled over a chair and sat down, eyes settling on Makarov as the old man finally turned.
The face that was usually lined with laughter or warmth was tight. Pain, anger, and something like… disappointment churned in his eyes.
Clearly, the blow had been severe.
So this hit him harder than I thought, Shane realized.
He went straight in. "Why did you drive Ivan out of the guild?"
Makarov circled back around the desk and slumped into his chair with a heavy sigh. "I thought this wasn't the sort of thing you'd care about."
Shane leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers pressing together until his knuckles cracked.
"Back when we left Magnolia on that job, Gray, Erza, and I ran into Ivan on the train," he said, choosing his words. "He seemed… off. So I paid attention."
At that, Makarov fell silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was still tired—but firm, like iron.
"He crossed the line, Shane." The old man lifted his head. "No matter who it is—if they threaten the lives of my comrades, I cannot allow them to stay in this guild."
"Threaten their lives?" Shane's pupils shrank. His body tensed without meaning to. "He went after guildmates?"
The warmth of the guild had made it hard even to imagine such a thing.
Ivan had always felt dark, ambitious—but actually attacking his own guild…
"Why?" Shane couldn't help asking.
Makarov shook his head, grief clear on his face. "I don't know all the details yet. But whatever the reason, I can't keep him here."
At that moment, the communication lacrima on the desk started vibrating urgently, cutting them off.
Makarov scowled and pressed a hand to it. Once the magic link formed, a weak, broken voice came through. "Master… I'm awake. What is… Lumen Histoire…? Why… why does Ivan… want Lumen Histoire…"
Those four words hit Makarov like thunder.
BANG!
His chair screeched backward as he shot to his feet. The hand not on the crystal suddenly grew to giant size, and with a roar of fury he slammed it down on the desk.
The solid wood shattered like a cracker, splintering into chunks and dust.
"That bastard!! He actually has his eye on Lumen Histoire!!"
His low bellow sounded like a wounded lion. His mustache and hair bristled; his oversized hand trembled with rage.
He regretted it. Bitterly.
He'd thought expelling Ivan was the harshest punishment he could give—enough to make him reflect on his mistakes and sever guild ties.
Now he saw it wasn't nearly enough.
If—if Ivan leaked any information about Lumen Histoire, the consequences alone made his anger feel like suffocation.
"M–master? What was that?" The voice on the other end clearly heard the noise and sounded panicked.
Makarov gulped a few breaths of air, chest heaving, forcing his rage back down. "It's nothing! Forget what you said. Forget that name—Lumen Histoire. I'll handle it. Focus on recovering!"
After soothing the caller, he cut the link. The office fell into a dead, heavy silence.
Shane quietly watched all of it, turning the unfamiliar term "Lumen Histoire" over in his mind.
Just from the reaction, it was clearly something terrifying. A chill crawled up his spine. Did I just hear something I definitely shouldn't have?
"Sorry, Shane," Makarov's voice pulled him back.
His expression had gone deadly serious. "I have some urgent things to deal with. As for Lumen Histoire, pretend you never heard those words. That secret is tied to the guild's survival."
Seeing the old man could still be that open even now, Shane sighed and pushed down his own untimely curiosity.
He nodded. "Got it. You're going after Ivan?"
"That's right." There was no hesitation. "He's holding information that could endanger the whole guild. I have to find him as soon as possible—
"And make sure he doesn't… cause a catastrophe!"
"In that case," Shane said, standing and rolling his wrists, "I might be able to help."
Makarov looked up at him, question in his eyes.
Shane shrugged, lifted his right hand, and brushed a finger across his eyelid.
When he opened his eyes again, his pupils had become those flame-like, shifting shapes—the Eyes of Karma.
"When we ran into him at the door earlier," Shane said evenly, "I took note of his karmic line."
He paused and added silently:
And definitely not because I wanted to get even for that hit to my throat. It was just… instinct to keep a backup.
Joy burst across Makarov's face. "Really?! Come on. Take me to him!"
Shane nodded, knowing how urgent it was, and turned to lead the way.
He didn't get far.
The office door exploded inward with a crash of electricity, slamming against the wall.
"OLD MAN! WHY DID YOU KICK MY DAD OUT OF THE GUILD?!"
~~~
Patreon(.)com/Bleam
— Currently You can Read 120 Chapters Ahead of Others!