Feast and Negotiation

Quite a few lives were lost in that incident. Ragna and the Colosseum committee worked tirelessly to stabilize the situation.

But new problems soon surfaced. Viscount Korvath was found dead in the chaos, and a replacement had to be named quickly.

Fortunately, Viscount Korvath had a daughter—who, unbeknownst to many, had already been involved in managing the Colosseum.

With her father’s death, she now bore the responsibility of becoming the new Lord of Korvath.

Two weeks later, the new Viscountess Korvath departed for the capital with two escorts—bound to report Korvath’s condition directly, as the Kingdom of Lanteracia required regional lords to present their reports in person.

The palace hall gleamed like a sea of light. Torches lined the walls, crystal pillars caught and scattered the glow, and overhead—a thin ward shimmered faintly, signifying the celebration had begun. Gentle music filled the space; servants wove between guests with silver trays; the royal drapes glimmered in friendly shades of gold.

Among the tide of nobles, Ayato stood with two companions: Gahar, an honorary guard who also happened to be his “stage partner,” and a bespectacled woman with a slim dossier in hand—Pricius Korvath.

“Who would’ve thought His Majesty would host a banquet right after receiving our report,” Pricius remarked—calm and precise. “Thank you for accompanying me through it all, Vin.”

Ayato gave a polite nod. “Congratulations on your succession, my lady.”

Pricius smiled faintly. “A champion like you needn’t be so stiff. Just call me Pricius. Even with the added title, my main job hasn’t changed: managing the Colosseum and reveling in Ragna-sama’s magnificence every match.” She pushed up her glasses. “The rematch won’t be far off. Wash your neck well so Ragna-sama can lop it off cleanly!”

“A-Ahaha, I’ll do my best to make sure that doesn’t happen…” Ayato replied awkwardly.

S-She really is a hardcore Ragna fan…

Gahar nudged Ayato lightly. “At least the meat pies here are thick. You’ll need them if you want to keep up with morning runs.”

Ayato squinted, bemused by the sudden topic shift, but his gaze soon drifted toward the crowded stage filled with high nobles.

“Were all nobles invited?”

“Invited, yes,” Pricius answered. “Attended, not all. Some are ill, others chose to abstain.” Her glance shifted—understanding the reason behind Ayato’s question.

The name Baron Lunareth flickered through his mind, and he pushed it down with a long breath. If she’s here, she’s here. If not—

A small gong resounded. The music softened. King Veyric entered the hall. People bowed; the torches seemed to blaze brighter.

Veyric didn’t speak immediately. He took his place at the seat of honor—dark robes trimmed in gold draped neatly, amber hair falling quiet over his shoulders. His aura was not warmth, but silence that made the crowd feel distant.

He rose to the podium. His speech was brief—poetic, like a tale of cities flourishing under the kingdom. When his eyes swept the room, they locked with Ayato’s for a moment.

Click.

Visions from his strange dreams surged again: a classroom under pale neon, rain against the window; a woman shouting at an old man—their faces hidden in shadow, yet the thread of familiarity tugged.

Then a man smiling—teeth too white—his features blurred, but his eyes burned into memory. A gaze he loathed: measuring downward, as if those before him would always be beneath him. Each time that vision returned, something dark churned in his chest.

Veyric’s eyes on the hall were the same—empty, dim, as if torchlight found no reflection. Not just cold, but the quiet conviction that no one stood equal. The feeling from the dream and the present overlapped. Ayato didn’t know why—he only knew he hated it. His breath caught, then he turned away.

“You feeling unwell?” Gahar whispered.

“No, I’m fine,” Ayato replied too quickly.

Pricius glanced at him, half-concerned, half-curious. But music soon swelled again, guests moved, toasts rose, laughter spread, and the banquet carried on until lights dimmed one by one, fading into night.

A few days after the banquet, Aurellia summoned Ayato to her office. The Korvath report was laid out neatly: ghouls controlled from afar, tones not belonging to victims, ashes too fine for ordinary blood. Aurellia underlined points briskly, eyes sharp.

“Good work. That should suffice,” she concluded.

Ayato nodded. “Then with your leave, I’ll continue searching for the four remaining black orbs.”

He turned—and found Lys waiting at the doorway. Her gaze was alert; a small ring in her ear glinted faintly.

“May I borrow your time? Let’s talk at the Tower,” Lys said—clearly asking for his consent.

Ayato glanced at Aurellia.

“No need to worry, I’ll see to your safety,” Aurellia answered calmly.

Ayato nodded. “All right, then.”

“Good. Transfer, on three,” Lys said, raising her palm. “One… two—”

Wumm—The office vanished in a blink. Magic Tower. A wooden desk cluttered with star charts; windows opening to a sky half-clouded, half-clear.

“First,” Lys fixed him with a long look. “Thank you. Thanks to you, the uproar in Korvath was contained with minimal casualties.”

Ayato blinked, uncertain how to place that gratitude. He wasn’t even sure why Lys was thanking him for Korvath.

“Second,” Lys folded her arms. “The black orb—from Ragna.”

Ayato tensed. His hand stayed away from his bag, but every muscle screamed don’t.

Lys exhaled softly, then lifted a black orb in her palm. Darkness swirled like compressed night—not mere color, but a substance of shadow. Ayato reflexively checked his bag—his orb was still there. A foolish gesture that betrayed instinct before thought.

“Relax,” Lys said. “I don’t need yours to ask this: when you touched it—what did you see?”

Aurellia stayed silent at his side, shifting her weight slightly.

Ayato weighed his response—enough truth, not everything. “Darkness. Like a room without walls. Then scenes played themselves: me running, in different places. It felt like a film. And somehow… it clicked with my memory. After that, some of my memories came back. I remembered I liked running. The rest… still hazy.”

Lys didn’t answer immediately. She set the orb down; her fingers tapped the desk—once, twice. “A vision, then…” Her eyes returned to Ayato, faint unease tucked away.

That wasn’t a normal reaction from a black orb…

Aurellia raised a brow, as if sharing in Lys’s unspoken worry.

“Better to test, then,” Lys murmured. “Vin-chan, would you be interested in my black orb?”

Ayato frowned, not following. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve changed my mind. Your reaction to the orb was entirely different from my expectations, so I intend to try something new.”

“Something… new?”

Lys perched casually on the desk’s edge, spinning the orb between her fingers. “At the pace you’re uncovering what I call the five legends, it’s pointless to keep hiding it. Myself, Ragna, Aurel, and two others—that’s the five. You understand now?”

“Why reveal this all of a sudden?”

“Because, as I said, I’ve changed my mind.” Lys’s smile curved faintly. “Instead of wasting time having you hunt the others down, I’d rather guide you myself from here on.”

The orb floated slightly above her palm, her gaze narrowing as though teasing him with the offer.

“I have two conditions before you can claim mine. First: within three months, you must grow stronger under my and Aurel’s direct instruction.”

With a flick of her wrist, the orb drifted before Ayato’s eyes, circling his head, locking his gaze.

“Fufu,” Lys chuckled, amused at his expression.

“Second: once you’ve grown stronger, you’ll join us five in a great hunt.”

“A great hunt…” Ayato echoed, weighing it.

“Yes.” Lys’s tone was flat, patient.

Ayato exhaled. “All right.”

Aurellia gave a short nod, voice brisk again. “You have two days to settle matters in the capital. Then head to the southern tower. We depart at night.”

Lys rose. “Any questions?”

“No.”

“Good.” She tossed him a teleport stone. “You may go.”

Ayato gave a small bow and left. The door closed; silence pressed against the stone walls.

“Does that answer your doubts?” Aurellia asked after a moment.

“Partially,” Lys replied. “Enough for me to say this: he’s special. He uses long-range communicators without breaking, increases mana rhythm without overflow, and—most troubling of all—isn’t corrupted by the orb. If that’s true…” she chose her words carefully, “…our timeline is moving faster than I thought.”

Aurellia let out a slow breath. “Then we accelerate.”

“Then we accelerate,” Lys echoed.