Mary lay half-submerged in a small wooden bath filled with warm water. Despite its modest size, she was comfortably draped against Altharion’s chest, idly twirling strands of his golden hair around her fingers.

  “We should prepare for the meeting,” Altharion murmured softly against her ear.

  Mary answered with a low, displeased sound—clearly unwilling to move, let alone leave the bath. The journey between the two camps had been exhausting, and they hadn’t even been given a single moment to truly rest. And Rick… Mary knew him well. Once something caught his attention—no, once it obsessed him—nothing could stop him. All he wanted now was to examine the remains of that demon’s armor.

  Altharion tried again to coax her, but Mary merely turned toward him, kissed him lightly, and said,

  “I’m planning to stay with you for a long while after this campaign ends.”

  Altharion blinked, caught off guard.

  “Then why not finish the campaign with us? It’s practically over. Everyone’s already heading back.”

  Mary smiled against his lips.

  “I told you last night, my dear Altharion . I want to return to Raice first—to gather my belongings.”

  “I could send my servants for that,” Altharion offered.

  Mary shook her head gently.

  “I want to say goodbye properly. To my friends. To the people dear to me. I can’t just leave without a word. And besides… I don’t know what my grandmother might be plotting. I’d rather face her prepared.”

  Altharion studied her, then spoke with absolute certainty.

  “She won’t dare touch a single hair on your head while I’m alive, Mary.”

  Mary looked at him for a long moment, then smiled softly.

  “How you’ve changed,” she said. “The boy I first met that night… and the man before me now. That confidence in your eyes—it’s different.”

  “And you’ve changed too,” Altharion replied. “Now… let’s get ready.”

  He stood, lifting Mary effortlessly from the bath, carrying her gently into the tent. He seated her on a small chair, took a cloth, and began carefully drying her long red hair.

  “I didn’t know you were this good with women,” Mary teased, her voice playful. “Are you sure you’ve never been with anyone else?”

  Altharion froze.

  “What are you saying, Mary? I told you—I see no one else in my life but you.”

  Mary laughed softly.

  “Oh, don’t look so flustered. You say things like that so easily now.”

  As Altharion realized what he’d just said, she laughed again.

  “I used to say the same things to Rose.”

  He looked at her then—truly looked—and couldn’t help but think how different she was from the woman he’d first seen that night.Back then, the look in her eyes belonged to someone who had lost all reason to keep living.

  The camp buzzed with restless energy.

  Word of Rick’s arrival spread like wildfire, and soon enough, adventurers began drifting toward his tent—drawn less by curiosity and more by awe. The moment they learned that his escorts were knights of Lord Casper, renowned across the continent, that curiosity turned into open fascination.

  Isaac and Chris noticed the attention immediately.

  They did not react.

  Encased in full armor, visors lowered, they stood like statues amid the noise. Eyes followed them wherever they went, whispers trailing in their wake. A few adventurers worked up the courage to approach—questions half-formed, admiration barely concealed—but each attempt ended the same way.

  A single warning.

  If they had no business with Master Rickard, no summons, no invitation—then they were to leave.

  Most did.

  Those who didn’t… reconsidered after one look at the knights’ unmoving stances.

  Eventually, the flow of people thinned, and the noise of the camp faded into a distant hum. Isaac and Chris took their positions outside Rick’s tent, standing guard as they always did—silent, alert, patient.

  After a moment, Chris broke the quiet.

  “Do you think we’re leaving right after the meeting?”

  Isaac didn’t look at him.

  “Yes,” he said calmly. “Master Rick was clear about that.”

  Chris frowned beneath his helmet.

  “But honestly… why the rush? Whenever he moves this fast, trouble follows.”

  Isaac allowed himself a faint, knowing smile.

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  Moments later, Rick emerged from the tent, looking refreshed.

  “I feel much better after a bath,” he said cheerfully. “Are you sure you two don’t want one?”

  “Thank you, Master Rick,” Chris replied, “but it’s not necessary.”

  “As you wish,” Rick said lightly. “Now—where’s Altharion’s tent? I want to check on Mary. Interrupting their fun should be entertaining.”

  “Master Rick,” Isaac said quickly, “please don’t make our job harder than it already is.”

  Rick smiled at him.

  “Relax. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  Neither Isaac nor Chris wanted to imagine the answer—especially if it involved Mary… or Lord Altharion.

  “Now then,” Rick said lazily, glancing between his escorts, “would either of you care to tell me where Lord Altharion’s tent is?”

  Isaac and Chris exchanged a look.

  “I’m not sure, Master Rick,” Chris admitted. “But we could ask one of the adventurers.”

  “No need,” Rick replied.

  Suddenly, his expression tightened. His mana flared outward for a brief instant—controlled, sharp—before he let out an annoyed click of his tongue.

  “Damn it. I can feel Mary approaching.”

  His gaze sharpened.

  “And judging by the… unpleasantly overwhelming presence beside her—Lord Altharion is with her. Seems there’s no point in trying to surprise them.”

  He turned and started walking without another word.

  “Come on. Let’s meet them halfway.”

  Isaac and Chris followed immediately. Adventurers nearby instinctively stepped aside as Rick passed, sensing the pressure rolling off him, though he paid them no attention.

  A few minutes later, the two knights spotted them.

  A woman with long crimson hair walked calmly across the camp, her posture relaxed, her presence warm and unmistakable. Beside her strode a man whose hair shimmered like strands of molten gold, cascading down his back like light given form.

  Even from a distance, Isaac and Chris could feel it.

  Lord Altharion.

  A presence that radiated power without needing to announce itself.

  And yet—

  Chris couldn’t help but think, It’s always Mary that throws people off.

  Despite being centuries old—even by elven standards—she looked barely in her early twenties. Youthful. Vibrant. Almost gentle.

  Almost.

  Chris had seen her fight during the last battle.

  That alone was enough to know she was someone no one should ever underestimate.

  Rick stopped a short distance away, his lips curling into a familiar, dangerous smile. His eyes flicked first to Altharion… then settled on Mary.

  “My dear Mary,” he drawled, “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you this… refreshed. It seems Lord Altharion has been keeping you quite busy at night.”

  For once, Altharion was caught completely off guard.

  He opened his mouth—then closed it again, clearly unsure how to respond.

  Mary, however, smiled sweetly.

  She stepped closer, placed her hand gently against Rick’s cheek, and turned her head slightly toward Isaac and Chris.

  “If I remember correctly,” she said calmly, “Sir Rainer’s orders were for you two to escort Rick and ensure his safe return. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, my lady,” both knights replied instantly.

  Mary’s smile didn’t change.

  “Then if I were to break a few of his bones… would that be a problem?”

  Chris and Isaac didn’t hesitate.

  “No,” Chris said.

  “I don’t believe it would,” Isaac added. “We could even carry him afterward, if necessary.”

  Rick laughed nervously and gently caught Mary’s wrist.

  “Now, now, my dear Mary,” he said lightly. “It would seem Lord Altharion might grow jealous if you keep placing your hand on another man.”

  Mary turned her head toward Altharion.

  “Is that so?” she asked.

  Altharion answered immediately, his voice steady.

  “Rickard is a dear friend of yours. I feel no jealousy.”

  Mary turned back to Rick, her smile sharpening just a fraction.

  “You see? Altharion isn’t jealous.”

  Then she leaned closer.

  “But unlike kind-hearted Keith… I can think of many things I could do to you, my dear Rick.”

  Rick raised both hands instantly.

  “I apologize! Completely! My fault!” he said, laughing. “I surrender.”

  Mary withdrew her hand at last.

  “Good,” she said. “Now that you’re here—are you ready to meet the Magestate?”

  Rick nodded, composure returning.

  “Yes. And I’d also like to examine the remains of the demon’s armor.”

  Altharion inclined his head.

  “We’ve already informed Master Kaelen Veylor. He examined the metal personally and will be attending the meeting to share his findings.”

  Rick raised an eyebrow.

  “Master Kaelen? I didn’t expect that old smith to leave his forge.”

  Altharion smiled faintly.

  “He volunteered. He’s aided the campaign more than I ever anticipated.”

  Rick’s grin widened.

  “A legendary blacksmith like Kaelen may finally help me confirm a suspicion I’ve had for some time now.”

  He gestured forward.

  “Shall we?”

  “Of course,” Altharion replied.

  Together, they turned toward the Magestate’s tent—the agreed location for the meeting—while the camp seemed to quiet around them, as if sensing that something important was about to unfold.

  Rick and the knights followed Altharion toward a tent positioned at the very heart of the camp.

  At first glance, calling it luxurious would have been an understatement.

  The structure looked less like the command center of an expedition deep within a demon-infested forest and more like a pavilion prepared for a royal hunting retreat. Rich fabrics, reinforced supports, and elaborate banners adorned its exterior—an indulgence that would have seemed absurd anywhere else.

  Rick, however, had expected nothing less.

  At the entrance stood four soldiers clad in golden armor bearing the insignia of the Kingdom of Thalorien.

  Altharion stepped forward. One of the guards saluted sharply.

  “Lord Altharion,” he said. “Lord Malrik is expecting you.”

  He pulled the tent flap aside.

  Altharion entered first, followed by Mary and Rick, with the two knights close behind.

  The guard raised a hand.

  “Your guards must remain outside.”

  Rick stopped.

  He turned slowly toward the soldier, his expression calm—but his eyes cold.

  “My friend,” Rick said mildly, “you can try to stop them. But trust me—it would be far better for you if you didn’t.”

  The guard stiffened.

  “I have my orders. They are not permitted to—”

  A voice echoed from within the tent.

  “Let them enter.”

  The guard immediately stepped aside, allowing Chris and Isaac through.

  The interior of the tent matched its exterior.

  Fine furniture, ornate carpets, and carefully arranged lanterns filled the space, creating an atmosphere more befitting a noble court than a military camp.

  At the center stood a large table where three men were seated.

  The man in the middle rose to his feet.

  There was no doubt—this was Lord Malrik.

  “Welcome,” Malrik said smoothly. “It is a great honor to finally meet a man such as you, Master Rickard.”

  Rick smiled faintly, studying the man’s face.

  It didn’t change—not even slightly.

  “The honor is mine, Lord Malrik,” Rick replied. “Please—call me Rick.”

  Malrik’s gaze shifted to Mary.

  “And it is good to finally behold Princess Marial,” he said. “I have heard much about you—but seeing you in person makes it clear that those stories did you little justice.”

  Mary smiled politely.

  “You flatter me, my lord.”

  Malrik then turned to Altharion.

  “You are a fortunate man, Lord Altharion.”

  Altharion responded without the slightest change in expression—calm, composed, unreadable.

  Malrik gestured toward the others at the table.

  “Allow me to introduce Aurelian and Cassian.”

  Servants immediately moved forward, pulling out chairs and pouring wine into crystal goblets.

  Malrik glanced toward the two knights standing behind Rick.

  “I have heard many tales of Lord Casper’s knights. Please—be seated as well. There is no need to stand.”

  As servants brought additional chairs, Isaac inclined his head.

  “Your generosity is appreciated, my lord, but that will not be necessary.”

  The servant hesitated, looking to Malrik for instruction.

  Malrik raised a hand, dismissing the matter, then turned his attention back to Rick—who was calmly sipping his wine.

  “Now,” Malrik said, “would you care to tell us the reason for your visit, Master Rick?”

  Rick placed the goblet down gently.

  Then—without hesitation—he looked directly at Aurelian.

  And spoke.

  “Killing this man.”

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