Mizuki stared, her stomach twisting. She had seen that pink substance before—shaping disks, shields, barriers—but never inside a body. The air in the cramped room smelled faintly of ozone and something sickly sweet, like burnt sugar.
Noll caught her expression. He raised his Nexus-Blade, showing the thin, glistening needle at its tip.
“I filled my arm with that Emmanium,” he said. “Right now, it’s rebuilding broken bones.” He tapped the Nexus-Blade with his knuckles. It made a dull, hollow clink. “That’s this thing’s ability. I can shape Emmanium however I want—but only one construct at a time. I can’t create another while one is already active.”
Mizuki shook her head. “That’s gross,” she muttered. “But it has nothing to do with the thing you turned into in the cave against the Chief. Or with you maybe putting something in my food back in the cave. Or even with why you have a Nexus-Blade.”
I have to bombard him with questions before he remembers to kick me out.
Noll moved to the wall and pressed on a small lever. A heavy thud echoed inside the walls, followed by the groan of unseen gears. Mizuki felt the oppressive heat recede, chased away by a blast of refrigerated air that instantly dried the sweat on her neck. She finally drew a full breath, tasting dust and oil.
Mizuki used that opportunity to carefully examine the secret room. It was cramped, humming with the low vibration of idling machinery, filled with levers tagged with different symbols. Wind, shield, lightning, just to name a few.
The only other thing there was a big table that took up half the room. It had multiple drawers, each of them labeled with words she couldn’t even read. She wasn’t exactly a scholar, but even she could tell it wasn’t Altavian. Or Krinden. Those two at least shared the same sharp angles, like scratches in stone. This script flowed smoothly, loop connecting to loop with terrifying precision.
On the table there were small parts, some of which Mizuki could recognize as the ones Noll bought at the Lower Ring shop, gleaming under the cold light of the glow-crystals.
Noll took a stack of clothes—several layers of shirts, then his coat—and started getting dressed. The rustle of stiff fabric was the only sound in the room.
“Oh yeah, that…” he said, voice casual. “I suppose you are owed some answers. Since you chose not to sell me out. Consider that explanation a down payment on trust.”
“Wait, how do you know that?”
“I have eyes and ears everywhere…” he smirked. “Information is power a lot scarier than whatever Clan Yumaki does with its pets. Ask Clan Carolus—they built an empire of newspapers on that.”
“They are not pets; they are soulmate spirits. Our Clan does pacts with beasts and spirits, gaining their power in exchange for… something!” She winced internally. Even she heard how pathetic that sounded. She’d never actually read the full rite.
She looked up at Noll. He didn’t look impressed but amused. “Wow… Named and doesn’t know about your own Clan technique?”
“I see what you are trying to do!” Mizuki growled, her hands balling into fists. “Shifting the conversation to avoid talking about your Nexus-Blade. And the thing you turned into. And whatever you slipped into my food. Very clever…”
“Indeed,” Noll said, shifting his eyes from hers up to the hat, then back down. “We both have secrets, don’t we. Let them rot where they are. Or, if you are stubborn, let’s do a challenge.” He extended his right hand. The skin was pale and unblemished, the broken bones beneath it completely hidden. “Both of us will try to uncover the other’s secret. Whoever does it first, keeps their own buried—and earns one favor from the loser. The favor can be anything. Deal?”
“Deal!” Mizuki said, knowing this was a terrible idea, yet unable to back down. The moment she clasped his hand, she felt how cold it was. Not a single flicker of warmth in those fingers.
“Also,” he added lightly, “next time you tail me, work on your magic compression. For a first attempt it wasn’t bad, but your aura kept… hiccuping. I could feel the static in the air from a block away.”
Noll turned to his desk, opened a drawer with a smooth slide, and took out a small envelope.
“Here…” he said, tossing the envelope to her. Mizuki caught it—the paper felt thick, expensive—and read the first page.
Neat handwriting marched across the top: Training schedule for Mizuki Yumaki.
“Drugging was an accident. I gave you my food, forgetting to remove the sleep regulator. To repay, I designed a training schedule targeting your main flaws. Show them to X, he will monitor you.”
She expected sloppy notes. Instead, the schedule read like a dissection report—every weakness pinned, named, and scheduled. It has only been a day. How did he get so much detail on my abilities?
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“That’s one less mystery,” Mizuki muttered, shoving the paper into her pocket. “Don’t think that means I’m forgiving you.”
“I honestly couldn’t care less,” he said, pulling a lever with a catapult symbol on it.
A metallic clang rang out. The ceiling above Mizuki split open with a shriek of metal, revealing the gray sky. Before she could react, the floor lurched violently beneath her boots, the springs releasing with a deafening twang.
She was sent flying upward, the wind rushing past her ears, her stomach left somewhere in the basement.
The next second, she crashed hard into the pile of leaves near the Outpost, the smell of damp earth and rot filling her nose as she rolled to a stop.
Crunch.
Of course, he has a dedicated “kick Named out” lever…
Mizuki lay there for a second, staring up at the gray sky. A dry leaf was stuck to her lip. The wind was knocked out of her, and her dignity was scattered somewhere between the basement and the surface.
"That..." she wheezed, sitting up and spitting the leaf out. "...jerk."
"Actually, that was a fairly decent arc. Usually, he overshoots and hits the tree."
Mizuki jumped, scrambling backward in the leaves. She looked up to see X standing just a few feet away. He was leaning against the porch railing, looking entirely unbothered by the fact that a girl had just been fired out of a cannon from his basement.
He wasn’t wearing his apron. He was back in his uniform, looking stiff and formal.
"X?" Mizuki gasped, brushing dirt off her tunic and frantically checking if her hat was crushed. "Did you know he has a catapult? Why does he have a catapult?!"
"Waste disposal, mostly," X said dryly. He stepped forward, offering a hand to help her up. Mizuki took it, her legs still wobbling.
"Waste..." Mizuki trailed off, her eyes narrowing. "I’m going to kill him."
"Get in line," X muttered. "But before you do, we have a situation."
He held up his other hand. He was clutching a thick, cream-colored envelope. It looked too pristine for the muddy frontier, the paper heavy and expensive. On the back, a wax seal stamped with a crystal pattern caught the light.
Mizuki froze, recognizing the crest immediately. "Clan Kris?"
"Tim Kris," X corrected, his face grim. "A courier just dropped it off. It’s an invitation. For all of us."
***
Somewhere deep within Kris territory, far from the eyes of the clan proper.
The chamber was cut off from the rest of the world. No windows, no clocks, no sun—only darkness that smelled of dust, rot, and secrets. The room was lit by dim lamps that flickered like sick eyes. Grotesque sketches of strange creatures covered the walls, more like the delirious scribbles of a burned-out prophet than proper art. But among all the images, one painting stood out: a figure with a sun instead of a head, watching the world from above like a god out of a nightmare, while people below clutched their heads in agony. “Pain of Liberation,” said the title beneath the frame.
You could find the same painting in other rooms used by the Rapture-Sun faithful, but each one radiated such a crushing atmosphere it felt like reality itself was afraid of it.
The sound of heels echoed through the chamber. The man turned slowly.
“Madam Herling, you gave me quite a scare… just like the rumors say—one sound of your heels, and I start fearing for my life.” The woman waved her hand dismissively, steering the conversation where she wanted it.
“Your curiosity almost cost you your life, Tim,” she said in a cold, nearly emotionless tone.
They called her Madam Herling, and a single glance from her felt like an icy knife pressed to the throat. But whenever the subject turned to artifacts, a fanatic gleam appeared in her eyes.
“What do you have to say in your defense?”
Tim Kris leaned forward slightly, a thin, self-satisfied smile on his lips.
“I think you’ll be interested in what I found there. Or rather… who.”
He slowly pulled an object out from under his cloak—long, with a curved grip, black and gleaming like the spine of some dead beast. A crude tube of scarred metal. Madam Herling gave it a dismissive look, almost mocking.
“This… is the reason for your disappearance? A toy? Too crooked to even be a proper weapon.”
“It doesn’t need to be a conventional weapon,” Tim said. Inside him everything was boiling—anticipation, excitement, the need to prove himself.
He raised the object and pointed it at the far corner of the room, where an old bronze target stood.
He pulled the trigger.
A flash. A roar. Blinding light.
When the blindness faded, all that remained of the target was a charred shadow on the wall.
Herling froze. For the first time that evening, genuine astonishment flickered across her face.
“Interesting… Stable reaction at that level of output. Compressed energy. Almost no magical signature.”
She turned to the man beside her and gave a slight nod.
“What do you think, Silas?”
Silas, outwardly calm, simply ran a finger through the residual energy hanging in the air.
“This isn’t magic. It’s… something else entirely. We don’t have anything like that in Krinden. Even in theory, this shouldn’t exist.”
“Do you have any data on its creator?”
“Almost none,” Tim replied, “but he’s alive. And he’ll soon show what he can do. I invited them to the ball. I’m sure it will be… quite a show.”
He glanced at Herling.
In that moment his smile looked more like a mask. But beneath it was pure ambition.
Tim nudged the gun slightly toward them and continued in an even tone:
“Although… that’s not even the most important thing I brought back. The most interesting part isn’t the weapon.”
Herling tilted her head slightly.
“Go on.”
“Those monsters… they were enhanced. Crystals implanted into their bodies. Crude work, yes—not without consequences. But the effect…” He snapped his fingers, activating a crystal projector; a translucent model flickered into the air… “Magic absorption, sharp amplification, increased physical resilience. They even started accumulating energy, like a core.” Herling was leaning in with curiosity. “Exactly what we were looking for, weren’t we? All that in a small cave at the edge of Altavia.”
“This looks like… an unnatural mutation,” Silas muttered, studying the model. “Someone was working on them?”
Tim smirked without looking their way.
“Sometimes curiosity demands practice. A field test, so to speak.”
Herling narrowed her eyes.
“You’re trying to say that—”
“I’m not claiming anything,” he cut her off gently. “But if someone managed to partially stabilize the body’s energy rupture… is that not worth studying? Especially if we intend to create a perfect host?”
Silence. Only the flicker of the crystal projection lit their faces.
***
The letter read:
“Hello, Lady Yumaki. I hope you are doing well.
I am pleased to inform you that I have recently been promoted, and in honor of this I will be hosting a grand ceremony. Of course, if you and your team had not saved me in the cave, I would not be where I am now.
Therefore, I formally invite you, along with any two companions of your choosing—Named or not—to attend my celebration as honored guests.
I look forward to your presence.
Sincerely,
Tim Kris, newly appointed Head of Clan Kris.”
"Newly appointed Head of Clan Kris."
The Villain Step-Up: Tim Kris went from "scared survivor" to "cult-affiliated mastermind" in one scene.
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Blaster. And he knows how to fire it.
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Madam Herling and the Rapture-Sun.
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The Training Arc: Noll gave Mizuki a training schedule. It’s a peace offering, but it's also a flex. He analyzed her weaknesses in one fight better than she has in years.
The Setup: We are heading to a ball!
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The Location: Enemy territory (Clan Kris).
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The Goal: Retrieve the blaster (probably).
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The Danger: Tim Kris knows who they are, and he has Noll's weapon.
Question: How is Noll going to handle a formal ball?
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A) Perfectly (The "Noble" persona).
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B) Terribly (He hates people).
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C) He will send a construct in a tuxedo.
Next Chapter: We prep for the ball. And maybe see what Noll's "Training Schedule" actually looks like.
If you're excited for the next arc: Leave a Like!