Louis Miller drifted through the boutique like a spring breeze in human form.
"This one and this one… Oh—and this adorable little cape. We're buying it," he declared, plucking garments from displays with the bright-eyed delight of a man who had completely lost all sense of restraint.
At twenty-seven, Louis was a soon-to-be father, a contented husband, and—when he bothered to wear his Sage's robe instead of an autumn coat—one of the Seven Sages, the famed Barrier Mage. Today, however, he was simply a doting parent-to-be whose long braid bounced cheerfully with every step. Each time he added something to the growing pile in his arms, the corner of his mouth lifted just a bit more, as if joy were physically spilling out of him.
Every item he'd collected was baby-sized and frilly enough to make angels blush.
Rynzbelfeid—his contracted wind spirit, currently wearing the crisp uniform of a maid—watched the mound of lace and ribbons with a still, porcelain expression.
"I notice," she said blandly, "that every single garment you've chosen is for a little girl."
Louis didn't even glance up as he held a pair of lacework shoes to the light, admiring them. "Naturally. My child will be an adorable girl who takes after Rosalie."
Ryn blinked. That alone, for a spirit who rarely showed emotion, was akin to a gasp. "Do you have any evidence for that conclusion?"
"My gut feeling," Louis replied smugly, "rarely lets me down."
The pile on the counter swelled—along with the storekeeper's delight and Ryn's sense of impending financial doom. And yet Louis, apparently struck by even greater inspiration, abandoned the infant section entirely and wandered toward outfits designed for teenagers.
Ryn followed, her expression unchanged, but her voice flat with concern. "Master… I believe we are several years too early for that."
He waved her off. "You misunderstand. These are for the Silent Witch."
This time, Ryn's eyes opened more noticeably. "My…"
Louis paused, brows raised in offense. "Ryn. Do you truly think I'm cold-blooded and heartless?"
"I believe," she said without hesitation, "that blackmailing a colleague into accepting a dangerous job fits that description."
"It's called using the right people for the right tasks," he corrected brightly.
His smile was sparkling. His morals… less so.
And nevertheless, he continued shopping with the serene self-assurance of a man convinced he was the picture of generosity. Picking out a simple high-necked navy dress and a warm coat, he murmured, "Knowing her, she probably has nothing she actually wants."
After a final triumphant flourish at the counter and a payment that made the clerk positively giddy, Louis loaded the goods into his carriage and climbed inside.
Only once the wheels began to turn did he issue his next order.
"Ryn," he said, folding his arms with the pride of a benevolent monarch, "deliver these to the Silent Witch at once."
"What message shall I give her?" asked Ryn.
"Tell her it's a reward for capturing Victor Thorn. One must know when to punish and when to praise. Ha-ha-ha."
"I will convey your message precisely." A pause. "Should we send nothing to the other one?"
"The other…?" Louis's expression went blank for a moment before dawning comprehension lit his eyes. "Oh—my apprentice?"
When he'd sent Lillian to Serendia Academy, he'd dispatched his own disciple as a decoy to absorb Prince Felix's sharp suspicions. The boy was large and loud and had once destroyed a school building. Perfect decoy material.
"No need to send him anything," Louis said breezily. "That idiot doesn't know anything anyway."
Ryn tilted her head. "You told him nothing about the decoy mission? Or the prince's guard duty?"
"He's a terrible liar. Best not to burden him with details. Even without instructions, he's a perfect decoy—big, destructive, impossible to ignore… Ha-ha-ha."
Louis's smile was radiant. His plan, less so.
Ryn watched him for a beat. "…I believe using an ignorant apprentice as a human shield qualifies as cold-blooded and heartless."
Louis merely shrugged. "It's a master's job to encourage an apprentice's growth. And growth always requires… suitable trials."
His grin grew even brighter.
He was extremely pleased with himself.
...........
News of a dragon appearing near the town of Craeme swept through Serendia Academy like a gust of cold wind. Students gasped, whispered, and panicked for all of five minutes—and then promptly relaxed again the moment they heard it had already been slain.
By lunchtime, most had returned to their carefree weekend routines as though the threat of a dragon attack were no more serious than rain clouds drifting by.
Only one person watched this cheerful indifference with a tightening jaw.
… So this is the attitude of central nobles… nobles who can afford not to bleed.
The heartland of the Castina Empire—fortified by the elite Dragon Knights and the Magic Corps—was so well protected that dragons were little more than frightening stories told over dinner. Here, threats were handled swiftly and efficiently, with minimal loss.
But in the east…
In their home… A dragon raid meant terror, loss, burned fields, and families torn apart. It meant hoping the village's one or two mages could hold out long enough for help that very rarely arrived.
The students around them laughed, chatting about pastries, festival booths, and weekend plans. Meanwhile, the news replayed itself in their mind:
A passing mage had slain the dragon in Craeme. Easily.
Easily.
What an impossible, infuriating word.
If that attack had happened back home, how many would have died before the beast was brought down?
How many neighbors?
How many friends?
They clenched their fist, nails biting into their palm.
Here, in the center territories, powerful mages were everywhere—lounging in cafés, chatting under trees, acting like magic was a casual accessory. Meanwhile, the east bled, village by village, because the kingdom's forces were gathered here… protecting nobles instead of those truly in danger.
Duke Clockford's influence made sure of that.
… That's why things have to change.
Heart pounding, they hurried back to their dorm room, shutting the door with a trembling hand. They crossed to a desk drawer—locked, hidden, rarely touched—and slid it open.
From the very back, wrapped in cloth, they retrieved a small object.
To a casual eye, it looked like a pretty brooch: delicate goldwork, a jewel glowing like a drop of blood. But turning it over revealed the truth—
Three metal rivets, thick and brutal, meant to anchor the device into stone.
A single-use tool. And a dangerous one.
They held it in their palm, feeling its strange weight settle like a verdict.
The decision of the heir is approaching. If I'm going to act… it must be now.
They could only use it once. One chance, one strike, one desperate gamble.
Now that contractors were flooding the academy for the upcoming festival, the timing was perfect. Supplies moved in and out all day. Footsteps and voices filled the corridors. A single extra crate, a single extra worker—no one would question it.
If they planned carefully… If their timing was perfect…
Their fingers curled tightly around the jeweled device, resolve hardening. Behind the peaceful chatter of a carefree day off, a quiet evil began to move.
...................................
As the appointed time approached, Lillian bid Lana goodbye and left the academy grounds, her steps unhurried as she made her way toward an inn known for catering to commoners. The elderly woman at the front desk glanced up at her arrival, then closed the ledger she had been writing in. Without a single change in expression, she stood and motioned Lillian to follow.
The woman walked with a practiced familiarity through the quiet corridor. It was just brushing against dusk, and the inn had fallen into a deep, almost reverent silence.
"He is waiting for you," the woman said as she opened the door to Room 104.
The interior was plain—perfectly ordinary, even. A twin room furnished with a bed, a modest table, and a small sofa set. Yet it was impossible to ignore Ricardo, seated on the sofa with his posture perfectly straight, a large chest placed on the coffee table before him.
Once the door closed behind her, Lillian turned the lock with a soft click and took her seat opposite him. Ricardo lifted the lid of the chest.
Gold coins reflected the lamplight back at her—a carefully sealed mountain of it.
Lillian let out a small sigh. "So you've confirmed that the Southern Imperial Fleet has been dealing with the pirates."
Ricardo nodded. "Yes. And I will give you everything here. You'll need liquid funds for whatever it is you're preparing."
He paused, his expression as unyielding as ever.
"But it won't be for free."
Lillian studied him with quiet amusement. Ricardo was infamous for his rigid adherence to rules—tradition was his backbone, and deviation his enemy. And yet, even he understood she hadn't been sent to the academy simply to study. Gerald wouldn't waste resources on a whim. Especially not his talented beloved daughter. As long as the students, the prince, and nearby towns remained unharmed, Ricardo had no interest in probing further. And besides…he trusted Islar far more than he let on.
"What do you want?" she asked.
Ricardo folded his hands. "We investigated the southern fleet, but we found nothing conclusive. If they are indeed working with pirates, where do we find evidence?"
Evidence. He means the ledger.
The navy and the pirates would never keep a money-laundering ledger themselves. But the nobles backing them? They would. Hidden away, protected, impossible to touch without triggering suspicion. And if an audit began, those documents would be burned before the ink even cooled. Telling Ricardo the names was too dangerous—he could not lie even if his life depended on it.
"It will be difficult to obtain the ledger," Lillian said evenly. "So I suggest an alternative."
Ricardo raised a brow. "An alternative?"
"Capture the First Commander and seize the slush fund he's been collecting. It's hidden in his lover's house—she runs an inn near the port. The one with the blue roof."
Ricardo considered this. "Would that be enough to serve as conclusive evidence?"
"It will be enough," Lillian said, "to collapse the entire operation."
A rare smile touched Ricardo's stern features. "Very well. I'll take your word for it."