Once the last of the golems had been dealt with, Gideon returned to the carriage and began setting up camp. He worked for a few minutes in silence, but his curiosity finally got the better of him.
“Have you been hiding your true power this entire time?” he asked.
“No, not at all,” Zane replied calmly.
“…Then was that truly a 2nd Rank spell?”
“Yes.”
Gideon’s face was a mask of disbelief. He sighed, realizing that pressing the matter would yield nothing more. “I see.” He gave a short nod to signal he was dropping it and returned to his work.
Watching him, Zane maintained his neutral expression, though he felt a pang of something like injustice. The truth was, he had no idea why his magic had manifested with such overwhelming force either.
I knew using Constraints would amplify my power to some extent, but…
The magic system he remembered from Aethelgards Bane was turn-based, not a fluid, real-time battle. In that system, hand signs and incantations were tactical choices, consuming turns to enhance a spell’s damage. The right gesture would strengthen the magic itself, while selecting the correct incantations from a vast list under a time limit could augment its specific attributes.
For the spell he had just used—what Aethelgards Bane called “Chain Lightning”—he had layered four specific incantations: Refraction. Rebound. Blue Light. Linear Diffraction.
By weaving those four incantations with their corresponding hand signs, he had enhanced the spell. On top of that, he had bound himself with a personal Nexus Ring to always use gestures and words when casting, a restriction that was meant to strengthen his magic even further. In theory, Zane had expected the spell to be a little more than twice as powerful as its base form.
But it shouldn’t have been this strong.
In Aethelgards Bane, each hand sign and incantation consumed a single turn. By that logic, the spell Zane had just cast would have taken five turns to prepare.
Even with that considered, was it really enough to so completely overkill those golems?
Zane mulled it over for a moment before shrugging internally. Ultimately, the specifics didn’t matter. The outcome had served his plans perfectly, and having his magic be more potent than expected was hardly a problem. In fact, more than just pleased, he was now consumed by a fresh wave of curiosity.
If only I had the time to experiment.
The combination of gestures and words he’d used was a common build in Aethelgards Bane for a “glass cannon” mage, designed to clear large groups of enemies with overwhelming lightning damage. This meant he still had at least ten more incantations and signs for lightning magic stored in his memory, completely unused.
What truly intrigued him, however, was the way the magic had shifted with each word he spoke.
In the game, the correct incantation just added a flat ten percent damage. But this… this is different.
An ordinary mage might not have noticed the subtle fluctuations. But Zane, who had cast the spell himself and possessed an uncanny talent for mana control, had felt it. He’d observed the very attributes of the magic changing with each new incantation. It wasn’t just the power that was increasing; the fundamental nature of the mana itself was being altered.
I’ll have to run some tests once my mana recovers.
Zane closed his eyes, a feeling of satisfaction settling over him as he relaxed inside the carriage, his expression still a careful blank.
At that same moment, a figure appeared back at the site of the battle, where piles of inert stone were all that remained of the golems. A girl with eyes that gleamed a deep, unnerving green.
No, not a girl. The woman who would one day be known as Lyra of Avarice silently drifted past the rubble and fixed her gaze on the doorway Zane had emerged from. The stone door was cracked and ancient, but the carvings around its frame were unmistakably man-made.
Lyra knew those carvings were far from meaningless. Born with a great mission and the innate ability to access the “Ancient Library,” she could decipher scripts long lost to the world.
From the forgotten age of foreign gods… the script of the Eldran Empire.
Her eyes traced the ancient letters, her breath catching as she translated the words. From Maelor, to the friend left alone.
“…Ha.” A dry, hollow laugh escaped her lips.
There was only one figure in all of ancient history who went by the name “Maelor.” The great Maelor. The one who had repelled the invasions of the “Black Ones” time and again, who had single-handedly defeated the Vorlag—a being said to command loyalty with a mere glance.
The noble, the revered, the great and glorious Emperor.
Knowing that the name etched into this stone could only refer to that legendary being, she couldn’t suppress the sound of bitter amusement.
And at the same time, Zane’s voice echoed in her memory.
—It was made by a fellow named Maelor.
She stared at the doorframe, her expression blank and melancholic. The image of the Sapphire Order—Zane—standing there, so casually speaking that name, surfaced in her mind. A hypothesis began to form, a thought so audacious it clouded her reason.
Denial warred with a terrifying possibility. Her instincts screamed that it was impossible. But then she remembered the magic Zane had displayed after leaving the labyrinth. The spell itself had not seemed extraordinary. But the incantations… the words Zane had whispered were alien, belonging to no school of magic she could find even in the limitless expanse of the ancient library.
The scales of her judgment, which had tilted so heavily toward denial, began to waver, then settled into a perfect, terrifying balance.
I knew anyone the Crimson Vow followed had to be extraordinary, but this…
Her thoughts finally solidified around the true identity of the man leading the Sapphire Order, and the scales inside her mind tipped decisively. That the friend of the great Emperor Maelor was a being worthy of that same reverence and respect.
Realizing this, she felt a chill crawl down her spine as she looked in the direction of Zane’s camp. A new light began to kindle in her eyes, which until now had moved only at the command of the Crimson Vow—the distinct gleam of awe.
“You’ve returned.”
Lyra shifted her gaze slightly. Nox had appeared beside her without a sound, his own eyes gleaming as he nodded.
“Yes.”
“Did you gather any information?” Lyra asked, recalling how Nox had abandoned his surveillance of Zane a week ago to pursue the black-clad figure.
He shook his head. “No. I was unable to learn anything.”
“Why not?”
Nox recounted his pursuit of the assassin, his voice low and grim.
After a moment, Lyra’s voice was tight. “Are you saying the assassin simply… died? While you were chasing them?”
“Yes. In mid-air, their neck snapped around twice. They died instantly. I sensed nothing, no attacker, no spell.”
Lyra fell silent, processing the implications.
“I think… we should report this,” she said finally.
“I agree.”
They exchanged a few more words, then vanished as silently as they had appeared, leaving the broken stones and the ancient door alone under the lonely moonlight.
Two months passed since Zane acquired the Nexus Ring from the Labyrinth of Echoes. In that time, the Dukedom of Valdris was thrown into chaos.
It happened for three reasons. First, Corvin, the duke’s second son, and Faylinne, the second daughter, died suddenly. Second, Duke Valdris, who had been wasting away from a long illness, finally passed away. And third, a day after the Duke’s death, the eldest son, Timalian, and his elder sister, Malyan, were discovered dead, having apparently stabbed each other to death.
In a breathtakingly short span of time, every heir who could have inherited the title vanished. As a result, Fiora became the sole successor to the Valdris family.
Just as the Valerius County had, not long ago.
Fiora, who had never imagined she would sit in the duke’s study, now found herself doing just that, taking a quiet, steadying breath. Rumors about her were already whispering through the halls of the estate. Amusingly, though, for all the rumors, no real harm had come to her.
She had a perfect alibi.
She had just returned from a ball on the night her two younger siblings died. Her two older siblings had killed one another. She hadn’t met with any of them recently, but the true key to her innocence was something else entirely.
While she had been away at the ball, her entire underground organization had been systematically dismantled.
That was the truth of it. By the time she returned, she had been stripped of all her power by her own damned family. Because of this, despite the quiet rumors, Fiora was not a suspect in any official investigation. The work had been executed with flawless, brutal precision.
Good things will happen.
Fiora thought of those words again. The promise, spoken so casually, had brought about events that were anything but. She was certain now that he was behind it all. To call this chain of events a coincidence would be an insult to intelligence.
What does he want?
She replayed her conversation with Zane. He had outwardly rejected her proposal, yet he had resolved her problems more decisively than she could have ever imagined. A month had passed since the last of the heirs had died, and he still hadn't made contact, not even after she had absorbed the remnants of her shattered networks with minimal losses.
Pure goodwill?
The thought was so absurd she almost smiled.
After endless contemplation, Fiora arrived at a single conclusion. Zane had a plan. She had no idea what that plan was, but she understood one thing with chilling clarity.
That plan requires the Valdris Dukedom.
Someone capable of eliminating the heirs to a duchy so cleanly, so naturally, must want something they did not possess. Fiora believed that what he wanted was the legitimacy and renown of the Valdris name.
And with that renown, he could…
Her lips pressed into a thin line. Only now did she realize the true nature of the pact she had made. She had bound herself to a devil.
A hollow laugh escaped her, but she clenched her fist, her resolve hardening. She knew there was no turning back. Having seen the fate of her four siblings, she understood all too well the price of breaking their agreement. Betrayal wasn't even a consideration. All she could do was focus on the path ahead.
I should at least send my thanks.
For the first time in a long time, a genuine smile touched her expressionless face, a smile she wasn’t even aware of.
A week later, a bottle of wine and a card arrived at the Count’s study for Zane. The wine was from Cernance, an imperial territory that produced only three such bottles a year, each worth a fortune. The card was inscribed with a simple, formal message of respect.
Zane stared at the card, utterly bewildered.
Two more months passed.
“So, you’re telling me that Fiora, the third daughter of the Valdris family, is now the Duchess of Valdris?”
“Yes, Young Master.”
“Valdris Fiora?”
“That is correct.”
A look of profound confusion crossed Zane’s face.
“Is there a problem, Young Master?”
It was then that Zane began to realize that something had gone terribly, inexplicably right.