Some time earlier.In Lyris’s territory within the Royal Palace of Vaelthorn, there was an ancient tree standing in the corner of the garden, its trunk larger than the others, with branches that had grown in directions no one had ever planned, yet somehow produced an incredibly dense canopy.On one of its highest branches, Lein sat cross-legged.His eyes were closed. His back was straight. Both palms rested on his knees in the manner of someone so accustomed to this position that his body no longer needed to think about adjusting itself into the proper posture.In Xollos, the spiritual energy flowing through the air possessed an extraordinary density.Because of that, not even a single day could be wasted without absorbing as much of it as possible.Sleep could be postponed, even ignored.Progress, however? Never.The night in Vaelthorn passed in much the same way as the nights before. A wind that was not particularly strong, the sound of crystals mounted on the outer pillars shifting

Her hand trembled against the floor.She raised her gaze toward Lein standing before her, and within her, something that had not existed for a very long time found its place for the first time.Fear.Not a small fear. Not something that could be suppressed through sheer stubbornness or by reminding herself of how much she had already endured.This was fear that came from the deepest part of her, from the most primitive part of herself that still understood the difference between something that could be fought and something that could not.This man had defeated her without showing even the slightest expression that indicated he had exerted any effort. One finger to stop her sword. One flick to break a blade that had long surpassed the limits of ordinary iron. One punch to make the entire foundation of her abilities collapse.And the way he stood now had not changed from the way he had stood at the beginning, as though what had just happened was not significant enough to alter the way h

His expression had already changed before the door finished moving, shifting from an expression that revealed nothing into something that could not be completely concealed, even by someone as skilled at hiding almost everything as he was—the happiness of someone who had just seen the end of something long and arduous finally within his grasp.His right hand moved naturally, without any instruction from his mind, toward his waist.Making sure once again that the knife was still there.It was.“Come in quickly.” His voice was low, not a whisper, but far quieter than his usual volume. “Make sure no one sees you.”The Silent Reaper did not move.Bravan frowned.One second, two, and the silhouette before him was still standing in the same position, not turning around, not responding, in a manner unlike someone who had just finished carrying out a mission and returned to report its completion.“Damn it.” His voice dropped even lower, but something within it was different from the calmness t