The S class Guide belongs to the Duke

~Chapter 7~

The three froze mid-motion.

Their eyes darted between one another in silent, panicked agreement before they bolted into the darkness, disappearing between the trees before either Cedric or Nevan could get a clear look at their faces.

Nevan's hand flew instinctively to his hip. He shifted forward, ready to give chase.

Cedric's arm shot out, stopping him.

"Let them go."

"Captain, they were assaulting—"

"The priority," Cedric said flatly, already walking toward the shivering figure crouched on the riverbank, "is finding the young lady something to wear before she freezes to death in front of us."

Nevan's face went spectacularly red.

"Right. Yes. Of course."

He quickly shrugged off his jacket and thrust it toward Cedric without looking anywhere near Elewisa.

She sat hunched in the mud, soaked from head to toe, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her teeth chattered too violently for her to speak.

Cedric took the jacket and draped it over her shoulders in one efficient motion.

His gaze remained fixed on the treeline rather than on her.

"Nevan."

"Sir?"

"Go."

Nevan cleared his throat.

"Of course."

He disappeared up the bank at a near-jog.

Silence settled over the riverbank.

Only the quiet churn of the water and Elewisa's ragged breathing remained.

She pulled the jacket tighter around herself, fingers trembling too badly to properly grip the fabric.

"Thank you," she managed at last.

Cedric finally glanced at her.

Something about the sight of her—shivering beneath his jacket, mud streaking her face, eyes lowered in embarrassment—felt strangely familiar.

He couldn't explain why.

"Why is it," he said, "that every time our paths cross, I find you in some manner of crisis?"

Elewisa blinked.

"Every time?"

She looked up at him properly for the first time.

"This is the first time we've met."

For the briefest moment, surprise crossed Cedric's face.

Then it vanished.

"My mistake."

Elewisa frowned but said nothing.

She pushed herself upright, wobbling slightly as her bare feet sank into the cold mud. She gathered what little dignity she could and wrapped the borrowed jacket more tightly around herself.

"I'm a maid at the Count's manor."

She hesitated.

"My name is Elewisa."

Her gaze dropped to the jacket.

"I'll have this laundered and returned to you, sir—"

"You intend to walk back like that?"

The question stopped her.

She glanced down at herself.

There wasn't much she could say.

So she turned and started toward the bank.

"Why haven't you reported this to your master?"

His voice followed her.

Calm.

Almost deliberately provoking.

"Is he too incompetent to manage his own household, or simply unwilling to bother?"

Elewisa spun around so quickly that her foot nearly slipped beneath her.

"I appreciate what you did for me tonight," she said, anger sharpening every word, "but I don't appreciate you speaking about my master that way."

Cedric watched her silently.

"I'd ask that you not concern yourself with matters that don't involve you. You've already done more than enough."

For the first time, there was a faint edge beneath her quiet voice.

Cedric's brow lifted.

He hadn't expected her to defend the Count.

By then, he had settled back against a tree, seemingly unconcerned by her anger.

He closed his eyes.

"I have no interest in involving myself in the affairs of House Hailan."

His voice was calm again.

"Rest easy on that account."

Elewisa didn't answer.

She turned and walked away.

She had barely taken several steps when a soft chime sounded inside her head.

A familiar golden window unfolded at the edge of her vision.

She didn't look at it.

Not now.

She was too furious.

Too exhausted.

And far too cold to deal with whatever fresh demand the strange system had prepared for her.

Nevan returned some time later, arms filled with borrowed clothing from one of the inn's maids.

He stopped when he saw Cedric exactly where he'd left him.

The captain was leaning against the same tree, eyes closed, looking more like a man enjoying a quiet evening than someone who had just interrupted an assault.

Nevan stared at him.

"Where's the girl?"

Cedric didn't open his eyes.

"The maid. Elewisa."

Nothing.

Nevan looked around the empty riverbank.

"Did she leave on her own?"

Silence.

"In that state?"

Still nothing.

Nevan exhaled through his nose.

He dropped the clothes onto a nearby rock.

Apparently, some questions simply weren't worth asking twice.

The library was cool and quiet.

Dust motes drifted through the last strips of evening light filtering between the towering shelves.

Elewisa sat hunched at a corner table, surrounded by a small mountain of books.

None had given her what she needed.

Halden had granted her access without much argument.

He had known her since she was a child too small to reach the highest shelves, and something in her expression tonight must have convinced him not to ask questions she clearly didn't want to answer.

She was grateful.

More than she could say.

But the golden mission window refused to leave her mind.

[Guide five (5) F-Class Espers.]

[Time remaining: 3 days.]

[Failure will result in a penalty.]

There was no punishment level.

No warning about what would happen.

No indication of how severe the penalty would be.

That uncertainty gnawed at her.

She already knew what the system could do.

She had felt what a pain level of one could become.

She had no intention of discovering what happened when the system decided to stop being merciful.

Elewisa pulled a folded scrap of paper from her apron.

She smoothed it across the table.

A rough sketch stared back at her.

Her mark.

She had copied every curling line she could remember, carefully recreating the pattern beneath her collarbone.

She had hoped a book somewhere would recognize it.

Hours passed.

She read about Esper classifications.

Guide compatibility.

Rampages.

Match rates.

Imprinting.

The various marks used to identify ranks and abilities.

Nothing matched hers.

Then she found something stranger.

The books mentioned A-Class Guides.

B-Class.

F-Class.

But whenever she searched for S-Class, there was nothing.

Not even a reference.

As though the rank had been erased from history.

Elewisa pushed herself deeper into the shelves.

At the very bottom of one section, almost hidden behind several newer volumes, she found a book that looked older than everything around it.

Its leather spine was cracked.

Its pages had yellowed with age.

She pulled it free.

Dust rose from the cover.

She sneezed softly before opening it.

The pages were brittle beneath her fingers.

She turned one.

Then another.

Ancient classifications.

Lost abilities.

Forgotten Guide bloodlines.

Nothing.

She nearly closed the book.

Then a heading caught her eye.

She froze.

Three words were printed across the page.

S-Class Guide.

Her heart skipped.

Slowly, she lowered herself back into the chair.

Her eyes raced over the passage beneath it.

S-Class Guides.

Extremely rare.

Their existence had been documented centuries ago.

Most modern scholars considered the classification functionally extinct.

Elewisa's fingers tightened around the page.

Extinct.

She read the paragraph again.

And again.

Then something beneath it caught her attention.

A smaller note.

Almost an afterthought.

It spoke of several ancient relics believed to have bestowed extraordinary gifts upon mortals.

One was said to belong to the royal family.

Another was described only as a national treasure of unknown origin.

Elewisa's breathing slowed.

Her eyes moved to the margin.

There, faded almost beyond recognition, was a small hand-inked symbol.

Her entire body went still.

She looked down at the sketch she'd made.

Then back at the book.

The same curves.

The same central shape.

The same delicate lines.

It was identical.

Not similar.

Not close.

Identical.

Elewisa slowly touched the mark beneath her collarbone.

For the first time since the system appeared, she wondered whether the thing that had chosen her in the river hadn't simply saved her life.

Maybe it had changed it.

Her gaze returned to the ancient symbol.

A cold realization settled in her stomach.

The relic hadn't disappeared.

It had found her.

“Holy fuck.”

"This can't be real."