Later that afternoon, Wensley began wondering the street shops in the capital that offers soul art.
...
"[Eagle Eye]. Two star soul art, usually paired with bows and crossbows. The abilities it grants are all in the high tier." Wensley rubbed his chin and clicked his tongue. "Compatibility is thirty six percent? Even if I had two star aptitude, I still would not be able to bind it properly. Trash among trash."
He moved his hand to the next entry.
"[Giant Warrior]. Two star again. My compatibility with it is not bad, around fifty five percent." His voice softened for half a second before he sighed. "Pity I only have one star aptitude, so I cannot learn it. And if the rumors are true, it barely has any other abilities, just pure brute force. Forget it. Trash."
He glanced to another soul art, his expression growing more impatient.
"[Assassin's Dagger]. One star soul art. I can actually bind this one, and compatibility is pretty decent," he muttered. "But honestly, I do not feel even a spark of excitement. Am I supposed to creep around stabbing people from behind like some frightened thief? Me, Wensley Fauce, reduced to sneaking and stealing? That is just pathetic."
Next.
"[Spellsword]. Three star soul art. Not bad at all. Compatibility is still within an acceptable range. However…" He let out a dramatic sigh. "Three star aptitude. Completely out of reach. I do not even know why they put this on the shelf here. How many people walking these streets can meet that requirement? And even if they could, would they really waste their choice on this little shop?"
He swept his gaze over the glass displays and the neat rows of crystal stands.
"Honestly, is this really supposed to be the largest public soul art collection in the capital?" he grumbled. "The variety is far too thin. The highest rating here is only three stars. This is ridiculous."
His words faded into a long, invisible string of ellipses that no one else could hear.
Across the room, the owner of the Soul Archive Shop sat on a wooden bench and finally could not hold it in anymore. He did not speak out loud, but his thoughts rang clearly inside his own skull.
Of course he recognized Wensley. Anyone who ran a shop in the capital recognized Wensley Fauce. The boy was a walking headline. How could he not?
It was already shocking that this infamous good for nothing had stepped into his shop at all. The fact that Wensley was pacing along the displays, muttering commentary like some seasoned connoisseur, made the whole scene feel almost surreal.
If the boy wanted to spout nonsense, that was one thing. The owner could pretend not to hear.
But to complain that my collection was small? To say the highest level on display was "only three stars" in that tone?
Friend, exactly how high do you think your own aptitude is? Do you not remember your own test? Stop acting like a hidden prodigy.
The owner pressed his lips together and stared at Wensley's back.
If this young man were truly some extraordinary genius, he would not be here. A shop like this mostly served ordinary folk with a bit of savings and minor nobles whose magic potential sat squarely in the middle. If someone with four star or five star aptitude appeared, the great houses and the royal court would snatch them up immediately and escort them straight to a private vault to choose their soul art.
Could the soul arts in this humble street shop compare to those in a royal repository? Even a single three star soul art in the royal repository would be guarded as a treasure.
The private vaults of kings and major nobles were said to hold shelves full of three and four star soul arts, so many that a person could not seriously examine them all in a single day.
If you truly had that kind of talent, the owner thought, would you really still be wandering around my little shop?
"This is boring," Wensley said at last. He closed the shimmering selection panel floating before his eyes and headed for the door.
He had never intended to choose a soul art here. He had only come to test whether the guide he had bought was worth what he had spent.
It was very much worth it.
All he had to do was look at a soul art, focus, and a panel would pop up showing its basic description and his compatibility with it. It was simple and convenient, and more importantly, it clearly marked which choices would cripple him for life.
Since he wanted to choose the best soul art he could possibly obtain, the answer was obvious. He needed a collection far larger and more comprehensive than this.
Under normal circumstances, Wensley had no qualification to set foot there. The royal archive of soul arts was reserved for direct royal blood and a handful of acknowledged geniuses.
Only because House Fauce carried the name of a goddess had the king made an exception. Out of respect for the Fauce family's origins, the king had granted Wensley a pass to the Royal Soul Art Repository.
This generosity stirred no real protest among the other nobles. Instead, it drew smirks and sarcastic whispers.
Some noble brats joked among themselves, loud enough for their words to drift back to Wensley's ears.
"His Majesty is truly cruel. He piles a mountain of gold in front of a starving beggar, lets him look as much as he likes, and then sends him home empty handed. It is almost pitiful."
Their meaning was simple. With Wensley's soul art aptitude, stepping into the royal archive was meaningless. He can glance at the treasures, but he would never be allowed to take any of the good ones away.
The old Wensley might have erupted at those words. But the current Wensley barely spared them a thought.
Let them talk.
He had more important things to do in the capital today.
He tightened his grip on the royal soul art repository pass stamped with the king's seal and looked toward the distant royal city. From here, the colossal walls seemed to stretch on without end.
People said that every polished jade brick in those walls had magic patterns carved into it, and that enchanted crossbows were mounted at intervals along the top. Golden dragon banners fluttered in the high winds.
From time to time, he caught sight of patrols moving along the battlements. Guards in full gold armor with red tassels marched in strict formation. They wore closed helmets shaped like dragon heads and carried gleaming dragon tooth blades at their waists. The faint glow of enchantments traced their armor, and the pressure they gave off was heavy enough to feel even from a distance.
Those were the royal guards of the Peony Royal Family, the [Raging Dragon Knights].
They were the military force King Carmella trusted most.
The king might not fully trust his own steward. He might doubt his ministers and keep a careful distance from outsiders. Yet he placed absolute faith in the Dragon Knights. In the capital, the appearance of the Dragon Knights' commander was often taken as proof that the king himself had arrived.
This was not only because they served as royal guards.
There was a deeper reason. The Dragon Knights were a knightly order formally created and named by the royal family. Their rank came directly from the king, and their soul arts bound them tightly to the Peony's bloodline.
As a long seated sage family, House Peony possessed its own unique Root Soul Art.
Root soul arts were those created by sages themselves through long years of hard work, experimentation and research, rather than inheritance discovered by chance.
The soul art forged by the Peony family's ancestor was called [Dragon Eye]. It required four star soul art aptitude to bind. That soul art had the highest compatibility with their bloodline, and every king in the royal family's history had chosen [Dragon Eye] as their soul art.
In addition, every member of the [Raging Dragon Knights] also used the [Dragon Eye] soul art. Without exception, that meant each knight possessed at least four star aptitude and enough compatibility to draw out the dragon eye's might. Only people of that aptitude could pass the trials required.
Every Dragon Knight was an elite among elites. That was why the king could trust them so completely.
But, there was another reason as well. The Peony family, as the origin creator of [Dragon Eye] soul art, and its family patriarch possessed the authority take away the [Dragon Eye] away from those who bore it.
In other words, if a Dragon Knight betrayed the royal family, a single order from the Peony patriarch could tear their soul art out by the roots. To betray was to throw away one's power and status, and most likely one's life.
It was no wonder the Dragon Knights' loyalty was unshakable.
As Wensley approached the royal city, a church of pale silver stone came into view before the outer walls. Its courtyard overflowed with pink roses that spilled over the low fence.
He slowed his steps.
This great building belonged to the Dawnglow Church. As one of the most widespread human faiths, the Dawnglow Papacy had branches in nearly every country.
Beneath the bell tower hung a six winged burning cross. That was the crest of House Fauce and also the emblem of the Dawnglow Holy See, which served the Goddess of Dawnglow.
In the past, Wensley would have turned away the moment this place entered his sight. His feet would have changed direction on their own, the way a person instinctively flinches from an open flame after being burned too many times.
Anyone who knew his childhood would understand why.
The memories of what the Church had done to him sat heavy in his chest. Even now, the sight of that emblem stirred a bitter taste in his mouth.
He had never understood how the same church that had treated him so kindly when his parents were alive, sending sweets and smiles, could turn around and tear his life apart once they were gone.
Ironically, the thought of sweets pulled another memory to the surface. Before his parents died, the archbishop of the Dawnglow Church had always treated him with special warmth. The man would call him over, ruffle his hair, and quietly press candies of every color and shape into his hands.
After his parents' deaths, that same Dawnglow hierarchy led a band of knights to ransack his home, then publicly tested his magic aptitude and made sure everyone in the capital heard the result: one star.
Soon after, rumors began to crawl through the city like insects.
Wensley Fauce is a counterfeit descendant of the goddess. Looking back now, each step in that tale felt a little too neat.
He remembered one detail clearly. When the cardinal performed the magic aptitude test, his expression did not hold the slightest hint of doubt. His face carried the calm of a man who already knew the result he was about to announce.
As if he had known from the very beginning that Wensley's aptitude would be one star.
Wait.
A thought flared in his mind like sudden light, and his expression shifted.
Could it be…?
He cut the idea off.
No. For now, it was only a guess. He had no proof, only a stack of ugly coincidences.
When he returned to himself, he realized his feet had already carried him past the gate and into the church.
Directly opposite the entrance stood a towering statue carved from silver white stone. It depicted a young woman of breathtaking beauty.
Her hands were folded in front of her chest in prayer. Her long hair fell past her thighs like a frozen waterfall. She wore a pure white ceremonial dress without ornament, and her eyes were closed, her head bowed in silent devotion. Behind her, six vast wings unfurled, as if they were about to summon a new season of wind and growth.
The sculptors' skill had nearly breathed life into the stone. The holy cross lance beside her seemed to wash away all filth. Her beauty and untouched holiness seemed to clear the dust from people's hearts.
Even the finest flowers outside looked dull compared to her image.
And still, the records said that the master artisans who created this statue had hung their heads afterward, ashamed that they had not even captured half of the true Goddess of Dawnglow's beauty.
The figure before him was the goddess herself.
Founder of the Dawnglow Church. Ancestor of House Fauce. The goddess whose name was worshipped in every human land.