The manor was quieter than usual.
Servants moved carefully, whispers low, as if the walls themselves knew Owen was leaving again. He walked the familiar corridors slowly this time, boots echoing against polished stone, every step dragging memories behind him like chains.
He stopped in front of a door he hadn't visited since the night he broke down.
He knocked once.
"Come in," came her voice, warm, tired but familiar.
The Baroness sat by the window, paperwork abandoned on her desk, afternoon light catching the silver strands in her hair. She looked up and froze.
"…Owen."
He smiled. It was small. Fragile. The kind of smile you give when you don't want someone to worry.
"You're leaving," she said flatly.
He didn't deny it.
She stood, walked over, and before he could speak, she reached out and adjusted his collar like she used to when he was younger. Her fingers lingered, trembling just a little.
"You look much better," she muttered. "I can't help but worry about you."
Owen swallowed.
"I'll be careful this time," he said quietly.
That stopped her.
She looked at him and really looked at him. The dull eyes. The weight in his posture. The scars he didn't bother hiding.
"…That's new," she said.
They sat.
No rush. No urgency.
For a while, neither spoke.
Then she sighed. "When you left before, I was angry," she admitted. "Not because you left but because you didn't trust me enough to say goodbye."
Owen's hands clenched in his lap.
"I didn't want to," he said. "If I stayed longer… I might not have gone at all."
She smiled sadly. "Coward."
"…Yeah."
She leaned back, eyes drifting to the window.
"When I heard about the Manaless S-rank I was honestly relieved," she said. "Not many manaless people are strong enough to reach S-rank."
Owen turned to her.
"I'm sorry," he said. No excuses. No justification. Just truth.
She nodded. "I know."
Silence again.
Then she spoke, softer.
"You've lost people," she said. Not a question.
His breath hitched—but he didn't cry.
"Yes."
She reached over and placed her hand over his.
"You don't need to be strong here," she said. "Not with me. You have been a treasure to be and now its my turn."
That almost broke him.
But he held it together.
"I'm going somewhere dangerous," he said. "I don't know if I'll come back."
She squeezed his hand.
"Then listen carefully," she said. "I don't care how powerful you become. I don't care how many monsters you kill or how many titles they give you."
She met his eyes.
"Come back alive. That's an order."
Owen huffed out a weak laugh.
"Guess I still hate orders," he said.
She smiled through the ache.
He stood.
At the door, he hesitated.
"…Thank you," he said. "For choosing me."
Her voice wavered. "No. You chose me."
He nodded once.
Then left.
The Baroness stayed by the window long after the sound of his footsteps faded, watching the road stretch endlessly beyond the gates.
"…Be safe," she whispered.
The carriage waited at the gates, black and unmarked, its horses restless as if they could sense where they were headed. Steel-plated wheels. Reinforced frame. This wasn't a noble's ride, it was a war carriage.
Owen stepped out of the manor without looking back.
Glauderia was already there, leaning against the side, arms crossed, helm tucked under one arm. She glanced at him once, sharp eyes taking everything in his steadier breathing, the way his mana felt… quieter. Less violent. Still heavy. Still dangerous.
"Say your goodbyes?" she asked.
"Yes."
"That's good," she said, pushing off the carriage. "People who don't say goodbye tend to die stupidly with regrets."
Owen didn't argue.
She motioned toward the carriage. "We've got a few days' ride. No escorts. No banners. From here on, you're not a mercenary, not a noble's son, and definitely not some grieving kid looking for meaning."
She met his gaze.
"You're my blade. And blades don't hesitate."
Owen nodded.
As he climbed inside, he paused and looked down at Seishi, sheathed to his side. He had given it to her but it didn't want to leave him.
The blade hummed faintly, like it was offended at his sudden decision.
Glauderia noticed.
"Hmph," she muttered. "Looks like it doesn't care what you think. Still clinging to you."
"I won't rely on it," Owen said.
She laughed. Loud. Sharp. Unapologetic.
"Glad to know that's what you think."
The carriage lurched forward.
Stone roads turned to dirt. Dirt to forest paths. The Landergrey Barony slowly disappeared behind them, swallowed by hills and fog.