Kael sat on the cold stone floor of his cell, his back against the wall. In his hands, he clenched several chunks of mana-ore. Just a moment ago they had been filled with a faint inner glow, but now that glow had completely faded. The stones had dulled, becoming dead and ordinary.

  Kael’s eyes opened.

  There was no haze left in his amber gaze, no hesitation—only cold, focused clarity. He exhaled slowly and said quietly:

  “It should be night by now.”

  He clenched his fingers, and the drained mana-ore crumbled between his palms. After breaking through to the Steel Mage rank, he had deliberately dispersed almost all of his mana, leaving the Mana Core nearly empty. Immediately after, he had begun forming the contract with the spirit.

  Kael understood that attempting an escape while exhausted would be suicide. So he had spent several hours and a significant amount of mana-ore restoring his strength.

  Kael braced his palms against the floor and rose. The movement was not sudden, but confident—his legs obeyed, his breathing evened out, and the inner sensation of strength returned. In that moment, he finally began to feel the power of a Steel Mage.

  He closed his eyes briefly and thought:

  “Now I can at least fight back…”

  Turning his gaze to the partition, Kael felt anticipation slowly building in his chest. It was time to test the power of the silver ant.

  He took several quick steps and planted his palm against the massive metal partition. The stone beneath his feet echoed dully as his muscles tensed—Kael even tried to shift it by force, more as a test than out of hope. The partition did not budge. The weight-enhancing enchantment was still functioning flawlessly, rendering it immovable.

  “Alright then, little one…” Kael thought without pulling his hand away. “Ready to get us out of this shithole?”

  Something stirred deep within the Mana Core. The silver ant moved, its presence becoming clearer, as if the spirit had accepted the call and responded in its own way. It was neither a word nor an image—rather a sensation of readiness, calm, and predatory at once.

  Kael closed his eyes, focusing. Knowledge of Worker Ant Spirits surfaced in his memory.

  “You must change the properties of my mana…” he muttered inwardly, building the intent.

  He clearly envisioned the process: mana, passing through the bond with the spirit, would acquire a new quality.

  “If I start channeling mana into the partition…” he continued, calculating in his mind, “its mass will begin to decrease or increase. Depending on my will.”

  Kael opened his eyes and swept the grate with a quick, calculating glance. Size, thickness, metal density—everything came together into a clear picture.

  “To infuse an object like this…” he murmured softly, “it’ll take about half a minute.”

  But a quiet excitement was already beginning to rise within him. He understood perfectly well that his spirit was a bit different—stronger. Which meant the result should also be slightly different.

  “Alright,” he said calmly. “Let’s begin.”

  The moment the words left his lips, the Mana Core responded instantly. A distinct pulse echoed in his chest, and almost simultaneously the silver ant stirred within the Core—its presence grew denser, more active, as if the spirit had synchronized with Kael’s heartbeat.

  The flow of mana shifted midstream.

  Passing through the bond with the spirit, Kael’s gray mana acquired a different quality. It surged through the channels, not dispersing but condensing into a clear, directed stream rushing toward his right palm.

  Kael followed the process exactly as described in the books. First—accumulation in the palm, then—the transfer of mana into an external object.

  But the moment the mana left the channels and began pooling within his palm, Kael jerked sharply.

  “What the—” he blurted out.

  He instinctively lifted his hand, expecting the familiar resistance of his own body, but instead the palm snapped upward—abruptly, uncontrollably, as if, in a single instant, it had lost almost all its weight. The movement was so sudden that his shoulder followed with a jolt, and his body nearly lost its balance.

  Kael froze, staring at his own hand.

  “That’s impossible!” he breathed out. “What if…”

  Before Kael could even fully think through changing the polarity of his power, the nature of the mana obediently shifted. The next instant, the palm was yanked downward with monstrous force. The weight returned—but not to its former state, amplified many times over.

  “Damn it!” Kael cried out sharply as he was yanked downward and collapsed onto one knee with a dull thud, slamming his palm against the stone floor.

  The pain was sharp but brief. Kael instantly dispersed the mana, dispelling the effect, and the palm immediately returned to its normal weight. He drew a deep breath, steadying himself, and for several seconds simply stared at his hand, as if unable to believe what had just happened.

  The corners of his lips slowly curved upward. Not a smile of relief—but one of understanding.

  “Worker Ant Spirits definitely couldn’t do this…” Kael muttered, still looking at his palm, as if it might pull another trick at any moment.

  He clenched his fingers, then relaxed them, listening to the sensations.

  “I can affect not only external objects, but my own body’s weight as well,” he continued more quietly, mostly to himself. “And not just affect it—the speed of mana infusion and transformation is several times faster.”

  His thoughts aligned quickly and clearly, without the usual clutter. He mentally replayed what had just happened, assessing the sensations in the Mana Core and the silver ant’s response.

  “The spirit itself is stronger,” Kael stated coldly. “But that’s not the only factor.”

  He felt it distinctly: his Soul of Formless Void did not suppress the spirit’s ability, did not limit or distort it. On the contrary—it allowed it to manifest in full.

  Kael’s eyes seemed to glimmer with a cunning light.

  Ideas began surfacing one after another. Jumps. Acceleration. Shifting the center of gravity. Strikes amplified by mass at the right moment. Or, conversely—movements stripped of inertia entirely.

  Kael straightened, rolling his shoulders back, and slowly exhaled.

  “Reducing the weight of only one part of the body is dangerous,” he noted. “It’ll twist joints, tear muscles. I’ll need to be extremely careful.”

  He closed his eyes, briefly sinking into the sensations of his own body, and asked himself the next, far more dangerous question: “What if… not a part, but the entire body?”

  With that thought, Kael set his mana in motion once more. The flow began to spread throughout his body—through all the mana channels. The silver ant also responded to Kael’s intent, allowing him to use its power.

  Mana seeped into muscles, bones, tendons, into the very flesh itself, and along with it, the sensation of his own weight began to change.

  At first, barely noticeable. Then more clearly.

  It felt to Kael as if his body had become almost twice as light. His movements responded faster, more easily, as though inertia no longer dragged him down with the same force. But the farther the mana spread, the more clearly he felt it: the effect was weakening. About halfway through, the silver ant’s power began to dissolve, giving way to Kael’s ordinary mana, no longer capable of maintaining the altered property.

  “I see…” he murmured softly, opening his eyes.

  In that same instant, Kael pushed off the floor sharply.

  His body shot upward with startling ease, almost without effort. He jumped higher than he ever had in his life, and when he landed, he touched the stone almost silently, as if he were not human, but a shadow. His knees absorbed the impact with ease, without a trace of pain.

  For a moment he froze, then he couldn’t hold back and let out a short laugh—genuine, brimming with exhilaration.

  “The spirit and I aren’t strong enough yet,” he said, feeling the mana gradually disperse. “When mana is distributed throughout the entire body, the effect weakens.”

  The words carried no disappointment—only a statement of fact.

  The next instant, he pushed off sharply to the side. His body tore from the spot almost instantly, and Kael flashed to the opposite wall of the cell, covering the distance in a single leap.

  He straightened, caught his breath, and smirked.

  “But for evasion…” he added more calmly, “perfect.”

  With the same short leap, Kael vaulted toward the partition. Lightly, almost gliding over the stone, he closed the distance and hooked his fingers around the cold metal.

  “But if I pour all the power into a small object…” he muttered, narrowing his eyes.

  This time, he changed his approach.

  The mana no longer lingered in his palm or spread through his body. Kael clearly defined his intent—and the flow surged outward, rushing through his fingertips.

  But in that same instant, a new shock washed over him.

  The mana behaved differently from what he expected.

  It did not seep in, slowly accumulating as he had expected. The stream of mana burst outward at a frightening speed, instantly flooding the partition. It was as if it had become a predator that had scented its prey.

  Kael’s eyes widened.

  “What kind of… insane speed?!” flashed through his mind.

  He felt it clearly in the Mana Core. The silver ant was savoring what was happening. That predatory edge was coming from it.

  “It’s as if it’s acting in perfect sync with me, responding precisely to my intent. Interacting with a spirit like this is unbelievable. No—wait… it’s not that. My spirit is unbelievable.”

  Kael’s thoughts faltered.

  In that moment, a crystal-clear understanding of the spirit he had obtained finally settled into place. A Worker Ant Spirit used its ability purely as a tool of labor. The silver ant, in contrast, used it as a weapon—a tool for hunting. Their efficiency and intent were fundamentally different.

  “Thank you…” Kael said inwardly, and those words were not addressed to the ant.

  They were directed elsewhere.

  To the Divine Spirit of Time itself, which—consciously or not—had nudged events so that this silver predator ended up in his hands. For an instant, a strange feeling clenched in his chest—a mix of gratitude and cold awe.

  Kael swallowed, pulling his attention back to reality.

  He regripped the partition from below, planted his feet against the stone, and put everything he had into the effort.

  “Khgaaah!” he growled through clenched teeth.

  The partition trembled… but remained heavy. The weight-enhancing enchantment still held it, refusing to let it shift as easily as he wanted. The metal resisted, as if it had grown into the floor.

  Kael crouched lower, changing the angle of pressure, straining his back and shoulders harder, forcing the mana to flow without reserve.

  And in that moment, he felt an answer.

  The silver ant in the Mana Core seemed to understand that its master was struggling. A thin, barely visible silver mist began to emanate from its body, as if it, too, were straining. As if it had latched onto the partition alongside Kael.

  And then Kael felt it distinctly.

  The weight changed.

  Not sharply—just by the slightest amount. But it was enough.

  “Got it…” he exhaled through clenched teeth, continuing to push.

  The metal finally gave way. The partition began to rise slowly, slipping free of the retaining bracket. Kael did not allow himself even a second of joy—as soon as the opportunity appeared, he drove his shoulder into the door.

  “It worked!” he breathed inwardly, feeling a tremor run along his spine.

  He immediately began to lower the partition carefully, controlling its weight so it wouldn’t crash onto the floor with a deafening clang. The movements were slow, controlled—every second demanded effort, but now it was a manageable effort.

  When the metal finally touched the stone almost soundlessly, Kael froze, breathing heavily.

  Kael slowly lowered himself to the floor, bracing one hand against the cold stone. His breathing was heavy, uneven, the residual tension still lingering in his chest. He let out a short exhale and muttered:

  “We did it… Now we’re almost free. Thank you…”

  The words hung in the air—then trailed off on their own. Kael froze, realizing a simple thing: the spirit still had no name.

  He frowned, thinking for a second, listening to the sensations in the Mana Core. The silver ant was there—calm, collected, attentive. It was the key that had given Kael a chance at escape and freedom.

  And the name came to him on its own.

  Kael smirked, the corners of his lips lifting.

  “Thank you, Libero,” he said quietly.

  The ant seemed to like the name. But Kael added, half-jokingly:

  “Although…with that kind of power, maybe I should have called you Liberator?”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  The response came instantly.

  Inside the Mana Core, the silver ant stirred sharply. Kael clearly felt it click its mandibles and lift its front legs—the gesture was simple, but unmistakable. In clear displeasure.

  Kael let out a quiet snort.

  “So, Libero?” he asked.

  The tension vanished at once. The ant moved happily, scurrying in a small circle around the Core. It truly seemed satisfied.

  Kael briefly touched his palm to his chest—the gesture came almost unconsciously, as if he had truly touched Libero himself. To his surprise, the ant tapped one of its legs against the walls of the Mana Core as well, as if in response.

  Satisfied with their mutual understanding, Kael rose to his feet and took a few steps forward, then stopped and glanced back at the cell. His gaze slid over the corners, the floor, the walls—he hadn’t left anything important behind.

  “Alright, Libero,” Kael whispered softly. “Now we move on to the more dangerous part of the escape.”

  At that same moment, he felt Libero gently nudge its power into his body. Not insistently—more like a subtle hint.

  Kael sensed it instinctively.

  He allowed the mana to spread through his body without haste, guiding the flow the way their connection suggested. His weight began to decrease once more.

  And the moment Kael took a step, he understood Libero’s idea.

  The stone beneath his feet barely made a sound. Now his movements were nearly silent, like those of a true predator.

  “Libero is extraordinarily intelligent for his level…” Kael noted to himself, without letting his guard down. “I didn’t even think of using his power this way at first.”

  With that thought, Kael began moving along the corridor, carefully, stealthily, with a natural silence he had never possessed before.

  Kael allowed himself a faint smirk.

  “Looks like,” he thought, continuing toward the exit, “we’ll get used to working together faster than I expected.”

  Only a few seconds later, he came to a quiet stop in front of the door.

  He approached soundlessly and lowered himself beside it, dropping onto one knee. The stone beneath him did not even creak. Kael leaned forward and carefully pressed his ear to the cold metal.

  Muffled voices drifted to him.

  “Someone’s standing near the exit…” he noted instantly, without effort. “Two of them. Judging by the timbre, they’re men.”

  He held his breath, listening more closely, trying to sense their auras and manner of speech.

  “Most likely Steel Mage–level.”

  Kael clenched his teeth, feeling a cold tension gathering inside him.

  “I still don’t fully understand the limits of my power. If I commit to a full fight…” he thought, “I’ll be at a disadvantage. Which means I’ll need to improvise.”

  His gaze slid over the door—its hinges, the lock, the direction it opened. Everything came together quickly.

  “The door opens inward.”

  For a brief moment, a cunning glint flashed in his amber eyes.

  Kael carefully placed his palm against the metal, taking his time. Mana flowed in a thin, controlled stream. The weight of the door began to decrease—not sharply, but just enough for it to stop being an obstacle and become a tool.

  He moved with deliberate care.

  With his free hand, Kael pulled a belt from a spare outfit stored in his spatial ring. Then he quickly and silently secured one end, cinched the knot around the door handle, tested the tension, and shifted slightly to the side.

  ? ? ?

  On the other side of the door, in a dimly lit corridor, two guards stood watch.

  One was a short, stocky man with a thick beard and a noticeable belly, lazily leaning his shoulder against the wall. The other was slightly taller, thin, with neat mustache and a nervous look. Both wore identical blue robes and, judging by their posture, were openly bored. They stood on either side of the door, staring down the long, empty corridor where absolutely nothing had happened for several hours.

  The pot-bellied guard broke the silence first, snorting in displeasure:

  “I hate having to stand around here. I wonder which servant screwed up this time.”

  The mustached guard shrugged lazily, not taking his eyes off the corridor.

  “Hell if I know. The guys from yesterday’s shift were whispering that it’s not even a servant this time. Elder Zeiran doesn’t come here in person for nothing…”

  The stocky guard frowned, then muttered:

  “Then we’d better shut up. And pretend we’re just here to hold the walls up.”

  “Reasonable,” the mustached one agreed and was about to change the subject. “Listen, tomorrow let’s go to—”

  He didn’t finish.

  Behind them came a barely perceptible sound—too quiet to raise the alarm at once. The mustached one didn’t react at first, but a moment later something about that sound scratched at his awareness. He snapped his head around.

  The heavy door was slowly opening inward.

  Not with a creak, as usual—but smoothly, silently, as if it were an illusion.

  “Grad…” the mustached one whispered and quickly jabbed his partner with an elbow. “Look.”

  The fat one turned and stared at the door, which was already almost fully open. The strangest part was that there was no one behind it. Just an empty corridor.

  They exchanged a glance.

  That look held everything: confusion, unease, and a vague sense that something was very wrong.

  “A draft opened it?” the mustached one ventured uncertainly.

  Grad grimaced and cursed quietly:

  “Are you stupid? Those things are so heavy that a gust of wind wouldn’t even make them budge.”

  “Then…” the mustached one swallowed. “Go check.”

  “Yeah, right,” Grad snorted. “You saw it—you go, Laszlo.”

  For several seconds they stood without moving. Then, as if silently agreeing, both stepped into the cell at the same time. Carefully, tense, and quickly scanning their surroundings.

  But there was nothing strange in front of them.

  Laszlo was the first to sense that something didn’t add up. His intuition warned him to be careful.

  He slowly placed a hand on the hilt of his dagger and took a cautious step to the side, peering behind the steel door. He moved without sudden motions, steady and soldier-like, keeping his weapon ready.

  But he didn’t get the chance to look.

  From behind the door, a massive ladle suddenly flew out—heavy, bulky, the very kind used in alchemical laboratories to stir ingredients in cauldrons. It flew out so unexpectedly, so out of place, that Laszlo only managed to gasp in shock:

  “What the—”

  Instincts kicked in before reason. He threw up his arms, trying to catch or at least deflect the incoming object.

  And in that same instant, his eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets.

  BAAM!

  The ladle slammed into him like a collapsing cliff. The weight was monstrous, wildly disproportionate to its size. Laszlo didn’t even have time to scream—he was simply driven into the floor, pinned flat by the full weight of it.

  “Kgaah!” A strangled sound tore out of him.

  Grad jerked sharply, already about to rush to his partner, but events cascaded forward, leaving no time to think.

  The door lurched forward and slammed shut almost without a sound, as if it weighed nothing at all.

  A figure burst out from behind it immediately.

  “You little rat!” Grad roared, reacting instantly.

  The dagger in his hand flashed like lightning. He slashed forward, precise and without wasted motion—clean and lethal.

  But Kael was faster.

  He didn’t just jump back—his body jerked with unnatural sharpness, as if it had lost weight at precisely the right moment. The blade passed so close it nearly clipped his clothes. And in that same motion, Kael arched, snapping his leg out and striking straight into Grad’s wrist.

  BAAM!

  The strike, however, turned out to be incredibly light. Too light even to knock the dagger away.

  Grad even managed to smirk—for a fraction of a second.

  Then his arm crashed downward, as if molten iron had been poured into it in an instant. The dagger slipped from his fingers with a clang and struck the stone.

  “What the?!” Grad swore, reacting instantly.

  He forced mana into his arm, forcibly pushing out the foreign influence. Kael’s mana resisted for only a moment, then dispersed instantly. Mobility returned, but that brief hesitation was enough for Kael’s counterattack.

  Kael was already there.

  He lunged onto Grad, clamping onto him with both arms. In the first instant, Kael’s body was barely perceptible: light, yielding, like a feather settling onto Grad without inertia or weight. Grad didn’t even understand what was happening at first.

  But in the next instant, everything changed, as if Kael had turned into a cast-iron cauldron.

  Grad’s legs buckled, and Kael slammed him onto the stone floor with a dull thud. The air was knocked from the guard’s chest in a short, painful wheeze.

  “You little bastard?!” Grad cursed, trying to jerk free, brace with his elbow, throw the attacker off.

  But Kael only hissed irritably:

  “Shut up.”

  He casually raised his hand—the motion almost lazy, without a windup. In the next instant, its weight changed again.

  The feather turned into a sledgehammer. The fist crashed down with monstrous force.

  BAAM!

  Grad’s blood splattered across the stone walls, and his body went limp at once. The merciless blow knocked him unconscious, just short of killing him.

  Kael sucked in a sharp breath and immediately grimaced, feeling a sharp pain run through his arm.

  “Damn it!” he cursed. “I almost broke my arm!”

  He instantly dispersed the mana, shedding the weight, and rolled aside, giving himself no time to recover. His gaze snapped to Laszlo.

  Laszlo was still pinned to the floor by the massive ladle, groaning, frantically trying to shift it, not even having time to understand what had happened to his partner.

  Kael clenched his teeth and held his gaze there for a moment.

  “I need to be more careful…” he muttered under his breath. “Otherwise I’ll cripple myself.”

  At that moment, Laszlo sharply turned his head.

  In the half-light, two amber eyes stared at him—cold, predatory, devoid of hesitation. There was no rage in them, no haste. Only calculation. Only resolve. With horrifying clarity, Laszlo suddenly understood: he was alone, face to face with a predator.

  His will faltered.

  A spasm ran through his body; his mana twitched chaotically, and he tried again to free himself, hunching his shoulders, arching, scraping his fingers against the stone. The ladle didn’t budge. The weight felt as if part of the wall had been dropped on him.

  Kael stepped closer, and his voice sounded calm, almost lazy:

  “And you call yourselves Steel Mages? Pathetic.”

  From their movements and their use of mana, Kael had already noticed an important nuance. Neither Grad nor Laszlo had fully formed mana channels.

  Taking another step, Kael said coldly:

  “Half-measures. Arrogance. The desire to take a shortcut to power by stripping yourself of its foundation.”

  Laszlo wheezed, his voice breaking:

  “No! Wait! I—I’m just a guard! I don’t know anything!”

  Kael didn’t answer right away. He leaned down, and his shadow swallowed Laszlo completely. The next moment, Kael’s fingers closed around his throat.

  “If you want to live,” Kael said quietly, “don’t resist the flow of my mana.”

  “W-what?! I…” Laszlo jerked instinctively.

  The grip tightened slightly. Just slightly.

  “Either I kill you,” Kael said evenly, looking him straight in the eyes, “or I put you out of commission for a few days. Choose.”

  Laszlo trembled all over and nodded quickly, almost frantically, as if afraid Kael might change his mind. There was no resistance—neither in movement nor in mana.

  In that same instant, Kael’s mana surged into him.

  “Kgah!” Laszlo jerked and coughed, spitting blood. His body arched, his fingers scraped the stone in a frantic clutch, and then strength abruptly left him. His eyes rolled back, foam gathered at his mouth, his breathing turned ragged and sparse.

  He didn’t die—but he came close.

  Kael struck deliberately at the mana channels, not destroying the Core, but breaking their structure. Recovery would take days, if not weeks. Still better than death.

  Kael touched the alchemical ladle, pulling his mana back. It immediately returned to its usual weight, and he calmly stowed the ladle away in his spatial storage.

  After that, he moved to Grad.

  Grad was still unconscious, his breathing heavy, uneven. Kael didn’t hesitate—the motion was precise, practiced. His mana surged forward again, breaking the channels just as coldly and carefully.

  When he finished, he straightened and thought, “I’d like to kill them… but they’re only pawns.”

  But quickly driving off the unnecessary thoughts, Kael pulled the blue robe off Laszlo, changed clothes, adjusted the belt, and dragged their unconscious bodies into his cell.

  Returning to the door, Kael carefully cracked it open just enough to look out.

  Empty.

  “I need to get out onto the streets as fast as possible,” he noted to himself. “The moment they notice these two are missing, the hunt for me begins.”

  Kael lowered his body’s weight again and slipped forward, barely touching the floor. After moving quickly down the corridor, he stopped at the first turn and peeked out for a moment.

  “I need to hurry. As soon as I escape, I have to warn my family and ask the Hall for help. I won’t let them be harmed!”

  Without stopping, he headed toward the spiral staircase, which clearly led up from the lower floors. Step by step he moved forward, hiding his aura, slowing his breathing, listening to every sound.

  Right now, a single mistake could cost him his freedom.

  ? ? ?

  At the same time, in another part of Lasthold, beyond the underground corridors and dungeons, deep within a carefully sealed hall, sat an old man whose return many were awaiting.

  It was Magister Duran.

  The chamber was sealed by numerous wards and magic circles. Thin lines of runes covered the stone walls, and the air trembled under the density of mana. There were no windows here—only the faint light of crystals suspended beneath the vault, and even that light barely flickered.

  Duran sat at the center of the hall, his legs crossed.

  His eyes were closed, his breathing even—but deep inside, a storm raged. His Mana Core blazed, pulsing at such a speed that the space around him was subtly distorted. Streams of mana spilled beyond his body, returned inside, burst forth again—the power no longer fit within familiar bounds.

  He felt it.

  For the first time in many years, he truly felt it.

  The barrier was near. Thin, almost transparent. Just a little more—and it would crack.

  “I’m close…” The thought took root deep within him and refused to let go. “One more step.”

  There was no ecstasy or madness on the Magister’s face. Only focus. Only cold resolve. He had waited too long for this moment, seen too much, to allow himself to falter.

  Within him, a thought formed—solid as an oath:

  “I will become a Jade Mage.”

  The mana responded, as if in agreement.

  “And then the elites of Lasthold will no longer be able to hoard power and knowledge with impunity. They are used to deciding who is worthy of strength and who is not. To hiding truths. To crushing those who step beyond their limits.”

  His Mana Core flared brighter.

  “Your time is drawing to an end.”

  The power within him continued to grow—slowly, but inexorably, like a tide that no longer cared whether anyone wished to stop it.

  ? ? ?

  But while Duran sat in seclusion, balancing on the edge of a breakthrough, three formidable women had already gathered in his home.

  Each of them was a Golden Mage.

  Magister Priscilla sat calmly, her posture impeccable, hands folded on her knees. Her gaze was cold and focused—the way one looks not at people, but at tasks. Beside her, leaning back slightly in her chair, was Principal Riada—outwardly relaxed, yet with that dangerous attentiveness that marked someone accustomed to making decisions under pressure.

  Opposite them sat the Black Rat.

  She occupied a carved chair of dark wood, arms crossed over her chest. Her teeth were clenched, her fingers trembling faintly—a rare sight for someone who usually kept the entire underbelly of Lasthold under control.

  All three were waiting for one thing.

  The moment when Magister Duran would emerge from seclusion.

  The Black Rat broke the silence first. Her voice was low, restrained, but irritation rang clearly within it:

  “The Council of Elders meets tomorrow. I can stage a diversion at the Vengeful Thunder Family estate. A loud one. Loud enough to draw half their forces.”

  She narrowed her eyes, as if already running through the details in her mind.

  “That will give you a window. You’ll get inside and try to find Kael.”

  She fell silent for a moment, then grimaced and exhaled through clenched teeth:

  “If I’d known this kid was that… unstable…”

  “Even we underestimated him,” Priscilla said calmly.

  As she spoke, Priscilla involuntarily returned to her recent conversation with the Black Rat—the very one after which her attitude toward Kael had ceased to be merely cautious and had become genuinely troubling.

  Back then, she had asked directly, “Why is the Forsaken Brotherhood suddenly taking such risks for Kael?”

  The answer had been too significant to ignore.

  The Black Rat had told her about the enhanced mana elixir recipe Kael had given her. And that was when Priscilla had felt a chill run down her spine for the first time at the thought of Kael.

  She couldn’t help but think of Duran. A “hidden ally” had given him the same elixir, along with a new Canon of Magic. It was because of these astonishing gifts that Duran had gone into seclusion, devoting all his time to pursuing a breakthrough.

  Now everything was beginning to align into a single thread.

  “The same source. No doubt about it,” crossed Priscilla’s mind.

  She slowly clenched her palm, her nails digging lightly into her skin, but her face remained calm.

  “I don’t know who Kael really is,” she thought coldly and clearly. “But he is no ordinary boy.”

  Her gaze swept across the room, over the Black Rat, over Riada, as if she were seeing the full picture for the first time.

  “He has already influenced too many people. Quietly. Without drawing notice. In a way we didn’t even realize in time. And his knowledge… it goes far beyond what is reasonable.”

  There was no doubt left inside her—only a decision, final and measured.

  Priscilla slowly unclenched her hand.

  “We must do everything to bring him back alive and intact. We cannot allow the Three Families to take control of his knowledge.”

  She lifted her chin slightly, as if returning fully to the present, and there was no hesitation left in her gaze.

  “We wait until dawn,” she said sternly. “If Duran doesn’t make it in time, we will have to act without him.”

  The Black Rat and Riada merely nodded in agreement, understanding that far too much was at stake.