The sun had barely risen.
— "Leo, get up. I have good news."
He half-emerged, his hair a mess. Leo looked up, half-awake, his forehead still pressed to the pillow.
— "Huh...? What time is it...?"
— "Time not to miss your first day."
She smiled proudly.
Her mother stood in the doorway, her bag slung over her shoulder, a faint scent of lavender and medicinal plants around her. She wore a white scrub dress with a small embroidered badge: Nahual Clinic, North District.
— "I've been accepted into a clinic in the North District. They're looking for helpers, even D-rank. My healing magic can help, especially with minor injuries."
— "I'm starting today. D-rank or not, they needed help. I'll take care of the minor injuries." " she said with some conviction.
Leo blinked, then sat up suddenly.
"Mom! That's great!"
Aurona smiled. Tired, but happy.
"Your knight must have a reason to stay valiant, right?"
He smiled back. And that morning, everything seemed clearer.
---
The tavern was called The Fang of the Moa.
An old two-story building, the smell of dry beer, wet wood, and stale sweat. The sign creaked in the morning breeze.
Leo stood in front of the door, his heart beating a little faster than he expected.
You fought a real monster... and you're stressed about serving a beer?
Yeah. Totally.
He went inside.
The atmosphere was still calm, the lunch service hadn't started yet. A few men were playing dice in a corner, two women in traveling clothes were silently eating stew.
Behind the counter, Kragg, a massive half-orc with a tired look, acknowledged him with a grunt.
"You had the courage to come back. Good."
He pointed at a thin, lively redheaded girl who was putting away tankards.
Kragg, the half-orc tavern keeper, pointed at him wordlessly and threw an empty tray at him.
"Kitchen girl will explain. You run, you hold back, you don't break anything. And above all... you don't ask questions."
"Understood."
The "girl" in question was named Eline, a lively, mocking, but efficient fifteen-year-old girl.
Eline looked up and raised an eyebrow.
"Are you twelve, or did you steal an adult's clothes?" »
— "Twelve and a half," Leo replied seriously.
— "Adorable. Come on, follow me, kid."
— "You'll be crying before noon, kid. The regulars bite you if they don't get their beer within two minutes."
Leo shrugged.
— "I've had worse."
— "We'll see."
It was hell.
The tray was sliding. People were talking too loudly. The tables were wobbly.
He knocked over a glass on his first spin.
He banged his hip on a table.
An old guy grumbled,
— "It's lukewarm, kid! My stomach deserves better!"
Eline threw a napkin at his head.
— "Welcome to the bottom of the ladder."
But Leo didn't give up.
He ran. He mentally rehearsed the orders. He made mistakes, yes. But never the same twice.
He was beginning to recognize faces:
The guy who drank two beers and became philosophical.
The old lady who ate with three spoons at a time.
The small group of gamblers who always left an extra coin if they were served in silence.
Around noon, he had a blister on his hand, and his back was burning.
But he was smiling.
Kragg watched him go by, a little surprised to see him still standing.
— "You didn't run away."
— "I signed. I'm staying."
— "You're not fast."
— "I'll get fast."
— "You don't have arms."
— "I have heart."
A silence. Then a squeak that might have sounded like laughter.
— "Fine. Go wipe the tables. And try not to die." »
That evening, when the room was almost empty, Eline approached him, handing him a glass of water and a piece of bread.
— "First day. You didn't faint. Impressive."
Leo took it gratefully.
— "I didn't think serving people was more tiring than fighting."
— "That's because you haven't yet experienced evenings with three drunken dragons and two elves in relationship crisis."
They laughed softly.
And that evening, Leo went home exhausted.
His body in pieces.
But his heart... strong.
He hadn't run away.
He had held on.
He knew...that this was only the beginning.
And somehow, he had taken another step towards what he wanted to become.
Alfonso's (deceased nobleman) mansion was closed to the public, but not to the Cattleya Guild.
A direct order from Maria, a badge of authority, and a hint of quiet charm were all it took for Ruggero to pass through the entrance, under the wary gaze of the guards.
He wandered slowly through the corridors, hands in his pockets, gazing intently at the dusty paintings and ridiculous busts.
— "Have you cleaned the place yet?"
A guard shook his head.
— "Just secured. The room is as we found it. Well... almost."
— "Hm. Perfect."
**
The room was dark, wide, and sumptuous, with the acrid smell of blood still embedded in the wood. The carpet had been rolled up, but signs of a struggle were still visible. One of the bed legs was broken. A wardrobe had a panel dented.
Ruggero closed the door gently, then placed his palm against the wall.
— "Lock."
An invisible wave spread around him.
Magic, airflow, particles, everything slowed down.
The outside world continued to move... but the air in the room was frozen.
He watched.
— "Everyone leaves a residue of aura as they move... Even those who aren't aware of it."
His eyes turned slightly silver. He began to walk slowly, silently.
On the floor, he traced a thin line invisible to the normal eye: aura particles—old, faint, but there.
Some came from the door, others... from the window.
But what caught his attention was a dark, dense, almost vivid residue.
No magic. Just pure aura, charged with tension.
He stopped by the broken window.
"The guards said they heard noises in the forest... but found nothing."
He stared into space for a moment.
"A diversion. Well thought out. That kind of noise attracts patrols... and empties the interior."
He bent down. A chipped tile was wedged under the bed, thrown in at a precise angle.
"Hmm... so he was upstairs. On the roof."
He pulled out a stabilization bead and crushed it between his fingers. A fine blue mist revealed the air currents frozen in the room thanks to his Lock.
He clung to the windowsill, then...
stepped onto the air itself.
Like an invisible staircase, he advanced horizontally, tracking the aura currents left in the assassin's wake.
— "No cloaking spell. No aura sealing. Either he's very confident... or he's just starting out."
He silently jumped onto the roof, walked on the tiles, observing the missing patches, the small irregularities.
Then he stopped.
One spot, just above the bedroom, contained an almost explosive density of aura.
As if someone had been holding back a scream.
As if immense anger had been concentrated there, silently.
— "Too raw for a professional killer."
He placed his hand on the ground, still feeling the vibration in the tile.
— "Either he didn't know the aura left a trace..."
He stood up.
— "...or he's only just awakened his power."
He followed the traces further, jumping from rooftop to rooftop. Slow, disordered, not entirely controlled residue. He traced it to the neighboring buildings.
But as soon as he approached the central market, the residue faded.
Too many people. Too much movement.
Too many overlapping auras.
He grimaced.
— "Gone. Dissolved into the crowd. Clever... or lucky."
He stood there for a moment, hands in his pockets, thoughtful.
— "Not a killer. A vigilante? Revenge? Young anger, still raw."
He closed his eyes.
An accidental awakening. An extreme emotion. A protective instinct.
Ruggero smiled softly.
— "He's not a murderer. He's a man who hit too hard."
He put away his tools.
— "The question is who. And why."
And he disappeared into the alleys.
Back at the manor, Ruggero had a clear idea:
The guards had grown accustomed to his figure. Ruggero went almost unnoticed, even in his eternally baggy shirt and the gold coin he twirled between his fingers.
But today, he didn't come to observe.
He asked:
"I want to question the maids. One by one."
"Why? They're just cleaners."
"And cleaners hear more than walls. Trust me."
He introduced himself calmly, wielding his Guild authority with a mixture of nonchalance and detached charisma.
He had asked to see each maid, one by one, in the former guest room converted into an improvised interrogation room.
"Bring the first one in."
He made himself comfortable... and placed an absurd object on the table.
A huge, old, golden tome, covered with stars and sweet symbols.
On the cover:
"The Thousand Love Poems Dedicated to Attira, Goddess of Compassion and Emotional Awakening."
The guard helping him stared at him, perplexed.
— "…What is this?"
— "The secret weapon. The Attira Method."
— "…Excuse me?"
— "Everyone has a threshold for embarrassment. When I reach that threshold, tongues loosen."
The guard stared at him incredulously.
— "You're sick."
— "Not at all. Just deeply in love with a goddess who has never looked at me."
---
The first maid entered.
A middle-aged woman, looking tired, but not hostile.
Ruggero smiled.
"Hello." I'm Ruggero. And you are... charming. But even more: precious. Every living being is a jewel fashioned by Attira, you know."
The first one blushed but didn't know anything.
Next maid
— "Hello. Before we begin, would you like to hear an excerpt from my poem number 483? 'When Attira cries, the sky offers her star-shaped handkerchiefs...'" he said.
— "...I'm not paid enough for this."
She raised her hands.
— "The lord was a pig. A real one. Everyone knew that."
— "Mh. Good. Thank you."
Next maid.
A young woman with hard eyes.
— "He touched me without asking. Once. After that, I threatened to make him eat a pot."
— "And you didn't hear anything unusual the night he died?"
— "Just the windows breaking. It was beautiful." »
— "Thank you."
Next maid.
The same method.
The same big book.
And each time, the same embarrassment, the same shifty glances, the same sighs.
They didn't mourn Alfonso.
They hated him.
Almost all of them knew that he had used his power to force, manipulate, destroy.
Some had remained silent. Others had fled.
Ruggero took note. Silently. Observing their actions more than their words.
Until a young girl entered, her hands sweating, her eyes shifting.
She was trembling.
Ruggero put down his love spell.
He understood he didn't need to recite it this time.
— "You saw something."
She hesitated.
He straightened up, more serious. — "You know... the Goddess Attira doesn't impose the truth. She reaches out to listen. She forgives. But she hates it when people shy away from the light."
— "You can speak. No one will listen to you here. And I won't judge you."
A long silence.
Then she broke down.
— "I... I heard. The night he died."
— "The... the lord... he tried... again... to force a servant. He told her he would kill her son if she refused."
Ruggero remained motionless.
His voice became almost soft.
— "Did you see it?"
— "No. Just heard it. I was upstairs."
Her voice was almost inaudible.
— "Then... there was a noise. Windows shattering. He... he screamed."
— "Did you kill him?"
She shook her head violently.
— "No! I swear! But... Just after I heard the windows breaking... I saw the maid leave the manor. She was alive."
— "You saw her leave?"
— "Yes. Through the service entrance. She was shaking. She turned around several times. Then she ran."
— "Are you sure?"
— "I saw her. She quit the next day."
Ruggero nodded slowly.
— "Does she have powers? Telekinesis, matter manipulation, shock spells?"
— "No... she just has a little healing magic. Rank D. Nothing to break a window. She's never been able to hurt a fly."
— "She didn't kill him, then."
He picked up his spellbook and carefully placed it in an enchanted satchel.
— "Can you tell me her name?" And where she lives, if you know."
The maid nodded and handed him a piece of parchment with scribbled information.
"Aurona. East Ward."
He thanked her with a respectful gesture, then remained alone in the room.
His fingers slowly turned his coin.
Later, he thought.
> It's too specific to be a coincidence.
The nobleman attempts another assault.
Windows shatter.
Tiles thrown. Strategic position on the roof. And an abnormal amount of explosive Aura undisguised on the roof…
No camouflage. No magical discipline.
An act of protection. No sadism. Just… efficiency and controlled fury.
He analyzed calmly as he paced the room.
> Either he was in love with the maid, furious to see her suffer again…
Or he was a close relative. A friend. Someone close to her. Or he was an enemy of the nobleman.
But if he was an enemy of the nobleman with no connection to her… why wait for her to leave before acting? Why create a diversion?
He stopped. He closed his eyes, then opened them again, shining with intuition.
"He sent her away. So she wouldn't be accused. He protected her until the end."
Ruggero smiled, almost touched.
— "So you're not a killer. . . He's a shield. Immature... but ready to take it. An angry man... and protective."
He put the paper away.
And turned on his heels, leaving the mansion and heading towards the eastern district.
— "It's time to go talk to that maid."
To be continued