"Those mongrels!"
Micah spat the words as he stared out the window.
He lifted the unlabeled bottle to his lips. Before he could swallow, another explosion thundered somewhere in the distance.
With only one eye, he struggled to pinpoint the source. A faint crimson glow bled into the night sky, reflected in his vision. An unamused grin tugged at his lips.
Scratching his thick beard, Micah let out a hollow chuckle.
"That should teach her something… Wait."
The meaning of his own words sank in. His grin disappeared as he clenched his jaw instead.
'They shouldn't have hit the Investigation Bureau. Whatever they were planning is going to fail miserably now.'
He pushed the thought away and took another long drink.
Despite having distracted himself from the situation, Micah couldn't help but feel bad for the people of the city.
Unlike him, who had locked himself inside the Lighthouse, the citizens here were simply living their normal lives. After a long time of war, they had started to dream of peace. A period without having to constantly be on the run, scared of the consequences after their nation's defeat.
All day, he would gaze out of his small window, looking over the entire city as he drowned himself in alcohol. The young girl who was afraid of even talking to others now led her own tavern near the docks. The elderly man down the street who had lost one of his hands in the war found himself working in a merchant guild, finding the stability he must have lost in his youth.
The settlers who found themselves staying in Venis were starting to slowly build their own homes, returning a faint sense of life the lower districts had lost.
But slowly, all that hope was getting buried under the putrid smell of rotten eggs and burnt metal.
Things were spiraling beyond the Bureau's control. Innocent people were already getting caught in the fallout. Meanwhile, the nobles watched from afar, waiting for the perfect moment to intervene.
The thought of the nobles turned the alcohol bitter in his mouth. Clicking his tongue, he shut the window and stepped back inside.
Inside was no better.
The furniture was old enough to be called ancient. Even though he barely left the lighthouse, the inside was filled with dust and cobwebs. The sharp smell of the alcohol was the only thing keeping his thoughts from wandering.
'Curses… I need to call that kid to clean up.'
As his thoughts wandered through old memories, a nagging sense of something missing surfaced.
Micah raised the bottle to his lips, then stopped an inch short.
'Why now? Why wait till the tension rises beyond their control?'
He returned to the window and pushed it open. People ran through the streets below, shouting for help, while others struggled to contain the spreading fires. For a brief moment, the chaos pulled his attention away.
But the longer he watched, the more uneasy he became.
'As expected… not many casualties near the hospital. So the Revolutionaries aren't deeply involved after all?'
As he focused farther into the distance, the air around him thickened. Aether gathered like a silent current, condensing near his eye and shaping itself into a single translucent monocle. The glass shimmered faintly, almost unreal.
He squinted slightly and adjusted the monocle.
Instantly, the space before him seemed to bend, as though his vision were being pulled forward. His focus sharpened until the world appeared to slow.
Not truly frozen, but muted.
Movement dulled. Voices faded into silence.
In front of him was a lavish estate that could not be seen all at once. Its walls sprawled as far as one could see, so tall that breaching them would be unthinkable for any ordinary man. The gate itself was large enough for three carriages to pass through side by side.
It was indeed the estate of the Count of Venis.
'Was it always this big?'
High above in the lighthouse, Micah narrowed his gaze again.
Instead of wasting any time, he examined the entire place. It hadn't been that long since he had last looked inside, so almost everything was the same. But there was a big difference that no one could ignore.
'... So he has arrived.'
Inside the mansion, the barracks that had once been built during wartime were overflowing with soldiers. The soldiers, meanwhile, seemed completely on alert, as if ready to face battle anytime their lord gave the command. But the tension between them was just as apparent, since few of them were there by choice.
Seeing that they were all unarmed and just waiting for orders, Micah exhaled heavily.
'Where's the demon lord…'
He examined the entire outer estate in a matter of seconds. Unfortunately, the conclusion he had come to was not a good one.
The count's soldiers had increased lately. But the number now seemed almost double what it had been. But unlike true soldiers, most were hired mercenaries.
But the count's forces were not the main concern.
The forces that seemed to have arrived just today were far more daunting. They weren't simply soldiers but trained knights of a royal house.
Outside the count's mansion, where he lived himself, a dozen exquisite carriages were lined up. The one in the front seemed even more outstanding than the rest, the flag attached to it moving in the wind's direction.
On the flag was a crest, simple at first glance but far more imposing. It was the crest of House Sovran.
Or more precisely, Duke Sovran.
Across the Empire, only a handful of houses could truly be called its pillars.
In the north stood House Beaufort, guarding the Empire from the endless battles against the beasts of the Evernight Ridge. In the east stood House Lancaster, once a sovereign kingdom whose king had sworn allegiance to the Empire.
In the west stood House Valcrest, a lineage as old as the Empire itself.
In the south stood the house that openly opposed Valcrest, House Sovran.
Micah squinted his eyes again, shifting his focus toward the interior of the Count's mansion.
Inside a vast hall that appeared to serve as the dining chamber, two figures sat across from each other.
On one side sat the Count himself. His face sagged, his posture slouched, and his belly pressed against the table. Nothing about him resembled a noble. He looked more like a man who had eaten too much and done too little. Even as a Master Adept, his presence was faint.
'He is eating here while his city is burning. What a pig…'
But the man seated at the head of the table was not the Count. He was much younger, dressed in garments woven from materials that could never be found in Venis.
Edward Sovran.
The only son of Duke Sovran, and one of the few Ascendents in the Empire.
In that moment, when almost everything seemed as if it had been tremendously slowed, Edward's hand shifted slightly.
Micah frowned without realizing it.
'What?'
Edward slowly turned his head, as if looking with only one eye.
Before their gazes could meet, Micah dismissed the monocle. The air around him returned to normal, as if nothing had happened.
He hissed under his breath and took a long drink from the bottle.
"The nerve… the kid's still wet behind the ears and already trying tricks on me."
Despite his words, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end, as if he had brushed past death itself.
Scratching his beard, he turned away and headed for the spiral staircase.
'Now it makes sense. With the Duke's son here, the storm is unavoidable. Is this what they were waiting for?'
Heading up the stairs, he reached the chamber right below the lantern room. It had been an empty storage room until a few days ago. Then a guest arrived at the lighthouse.
Now it was no longer empty.
In the center of the room, a man sat cross-legged. His equipment was placed neatly beside him, his folded shirt resting between the weapons as if even that had its place.
The man was Leon.
His back was perfectly straight, his mind buried deep in meditation. With each breath, the air around him trembled faintly before settling again. Cold sweat covered his body. Despite his still posture, he looked restrained, like something held him in place.
A strange tattoo spread across his torso. At intervals, the ink glowed with a faint azure light, pulsing as if it were holding something back rather than decorating his skin.
Micah leaned against the doorframe, narrowing his eye as he watched.
'Every time I see him… he somehow raises the bar again.'
About a week earlier, Leon had appeared at his door without warning. He asked for an empty room and paid in advance, offering no explanation.
When Micah asked why he needed the space, Leon gave only one answer.
I need to break a seal.
The words alone had stunned Micah. But what truly unsettled him was the name behind the seal.
It had been placed by the Archmage herself, the woman regarded as the peak of sorcery in the Empire.
And Leon intended to break it.
'A seal specially made by the Archmage… and he is just breaking it like it's routine for him. Well, he's always been like this.'
As his mind drifted, Micah found himself reminiscing about the old days. But it was only for a short moment, because Leon finally opened his eyes.
He exhaled slowly and turned his gaze toward the doorway, meeting Micah's eye without surprise.
Micah simply took another sip from his bottle and said in a raspy voice.
"How long are you planning to stay? The Duke's brat is already here, and the city is tearing itself apart. Is this what you were waiting for?"
There was an unusual dullness in his eyes. The sharp, commanding gaze that once forced others to look away was gone.
'I'm the one drinking and he looks drunk instead.'
Leon rose slowly and walked to the window behind him. When he opened it, warm air rushed inside, stirring the damp sweat on his skin.
His gaze settled on the burning city beyond.
Leon watched the smoke rising over Venis.
"It has started."