"I haven't said anything that may have caused so suspicion, My Lady." The youth lowered his head and sighed. He was seated on the chaise, a black open box in his arms—precisely the box that held the three unfinished relics he had spent several days working on. The air sizzled with magic, deafening them from the outside.
Lady Calanthe lifted her gaze from the scattered notes on the dark table surface. The sight before her made her recall her strict words and the ticulous training she had given the youth. Sighing lightly, she approached him and covered his palm.
"My dear, I understand."
Moulin lifted his eyes—a pair of silver orbs - calm yet inwardly nervous.
The sorceress softened her gaze. "You were careful, but His Holiness, Na'El is unlike his predecessor. His connection with the spiritual realm is much closer. His senses are sharper, and his abilities are even more compelling for his age. You must be more cautious. I fear his interference would be disastrous for our goal."
Moulin nodded, feeling a bit disappointed with his circumstances. Every day, he had to accompany Na'El and Lady Celeste. Both were unaware of his secret experints and exceptionally sensitive to the magic shift around them. It was already tricky trying to erase the scent of the malevolent aura clinging to his body during the tests.
Lady Calanthe felt his conceding attitude and gave her a few comforting words before reaching out to the three relics held in the open box. Moulin felt a vibrant aura thrumming around her fingers as she assessed the objects.
"The wave relic seed to be holding the formation well." She spoke with closed eyes. Her hand hovered above the long cylindrical crystal embellished with a unique rune frad with sturdy fae wood. "You may send this to Mage Wing after conducting a final test."
Her hand slowly moved above the second relic. "The frost shard barely ets the standard. Perhaps you ought to modify the enchantnt. However, for the Arcan relic..."
Moulin already knew what she was about to say. He released an exasperated sigh, "The relic can not hold on to the incantation indefinitely without a powerful mother source. So it will have to wait until the Chrysolite is in our hands."
The sorceress withdrew her hand. The feather of her furred hat bounced as she sat down beside Moulin. "You have worked hard. It's a pity that had we acted earlier, these relics could have aided the Silver Scepter in their expedition."
Moulin froze. The expedition...
The treacherous mission to retrieve the Chrysolite undoubtedly posed a risk of death. It was questionable from the start. But Moulin believed in the ancient book of Orchaedia. The book recorded lost and ancient finds where most were left untouched since its creation. It was never heard of because no one else could read it for centuries. Moulin put most of his faith in this tiny yet significant information.
However, his conscience could not bear the thought that most people in the expedition would die for a baseless rumor they had never heard before. His slender hands, holding the box, tightened unconsciously.
Lady Calanthe thoughtfully observed his expression. But if one looked closer, one would find her eyes and brows shifting expectantly.
Suddenly, Moulin stood up as though he had made up his mind. Calanthe noted the spark of determination in those fiery silver pupils.
"Forgive , I must finish my work -"
Lady Calanthe raised a hand and nudged her chin towards the young man's working desk as though hinting that he didn't need her permission. Moulin gracefully nodded and hurried back to work.
He didn't create these relics for decoration. They must serve their purpose, and the sooner, the better.
His hands moved swiftly, and his aura engulfed the room in seconds. It seems he was in a rush. Realizing how desperate he was to complete the relics, the sorceress stood to lend a hand.
The night crept in and engulfed the realm in darkness. The youth's hand stopped writing, and silver eyes glanced at the window. Moulin barely noticed the night settling in. He returned to his room with a mind full of thoughts. Sohow, sothing was gnawing in his heart about the expedition.
"Young master..." Ordan appeared in the hallway before his room. The man's gaze is calm and disciplined. "I have prepared your dinner in your room."
Moulin paused his steps and stared at him. A ten-second silence surrounded the pair. Lord Ordan felt stifled by the youth's sudden strangeness. Usually, he would have greeted him indifferently, better yet, with a faint smile.
"Ordan..."
Ordan jumped at the sound of his na. With a pounding heart, he waited for what was next.
Despite his calm exterior, Moulin entered the bedroom and spoke with a hint of disquiet. "Does His Excellency know who would be joining the expedition to the north?"
Naturally, Ordan knew Moulin was referring to Lord none other than Hercullio. The gears of his mind began to turn. "His Excellency held the final decision of the expedition mbers."
Moulin nodded, "I would like to et with him - "
"Unfortunately, that cannot be done, young master." Ordan interrupted with a solemn tone. When Moulin paused, he continued. "His Excellency has been busy operating the battalion along with Helios's affairs. He has given us strict orders to refuse any personal requests for the next several days until he has dealt with the heaviest work. However, I shall forward your request as soon as possible."
That takes too much ti. It would be too late to offer them training for the relics. How can it take that long? Normally, Hadrian wouldn't even hesitate to respond to his call. Moulin felt sothing was amiss.
Silver eyes narrowed slightly. Persistence grew inside him. "Interrupt him if you must. I must speak with him."
The urgency in his voice probed at Ordan's helplessness. But recalling the HIgh lord's strict orders, he remained firm. "Moulin. His Excellency's orders must be adhered to. Please understand. If it pleases you, I will try to et with him. For now, please eat and rest..."
He turned and hesitantly opened the door. "I will be back tomorrow. Goodnight."
Moulin stared as he watched him leave. It was abrupt, ultimately ending their conversation. Sothing soft pawed on his calves, snapping him out of the trance. He lowered his gaze and saw Snow lightly scratching him with a tilted head.
Both the owner and pet appeared confused and apprehensive.
Moulin did not know how to react. Being shoved off like that left a bitter taste in his mouth. Even as he went to do as he was 'told,' anxiety kept gnawing on his mind. Until dawn broke through, and the leaves glistened with morning dew. A sweet breeze brushed through silver curls like fine moonlight threads.
As Moulin stepped down from the mind forge, he let his suppressed emotions out. His expression worsened while his aura grew colder. Frost gathers in his palm, and his crystal bow materializes within its center. Glistening opaline white, it faintly reflected pearly shades and looked graceful against his skin.
"You look enthusiastic."
Moulin paused and turned to the source of the voice behind him. The sight of Na'El casually leaning on the column-like planters, dressed in loose robes, made him look refreshing.
Why is he here so early? He turned away and lowered his bow. "I don't know what you an, Your Holiness..."
"I can see you have so accumulated emotions caged inside you." Na'El straightened his back and unhurriedly approached him. "Releasing them is one way of balancing your mind and heart, so please..."
The elf opened an arm, and a wooden target ford from tree roots appeared in the distance. He showed a relaxed smile. "Don't let stop you..."
Moulin stared at him for a few seconds while he felt the extraordinary crystal body against his fingers. The chill brought him a sense of comfort. With a breath, he shifted his gaze away. His muscles flexed as he pulled the string. The arrow materializes, sucking his energy and condensing it into a lethal weapon.
He aid the arrow at the target in the distance, and his fingers slowly softened against the string. Na'El watched his actions calmly, thinking he should add so unstressing activities to allow the youth to better control his ntal state.
Woosh!
Suddenly, at the last second, Moulin shifted his aim to his right, sending the arrow flying with unimaginable speed. Na'El froze as he watched the arrow burst before the building's entrance, shattering and leaving a giant frozen layer of ice on the floor. The man who coincidentally appeared by the entrance stiffened. The icy air could have frozen his face if he hadn't used his arms to shield his head.
As the mana settled, Ordan lowered his arms in shock. anwhile, the source of the ss stared at him with a knife-like silvery gaze.
"Huh..." Na'El blinked and glanced at Moulin's still, guarded stance. It seems his little ntee has so unresolved issues with his bodyguard. Well, what a little spar couldn't solve?
With a bright expression, the elven oracle called. "Sir Ordan, do you care to join us for the young master's training? I'm sure your company would prove helpful for Moulin himself."
Ordan silently received the elf's passively blaming look. Although Na'El wore a smile, it did not quite reach eyes. Still, they are resigned and helpless as though passing a problem to Ordan to fix. The man's shoulders slumped. This must be the consequence of his actions last night. It was a spar they wanted, and he would be a fool to anger the youth once more.
When Ordan began to approach, Na'El distanced himself, silently settling against one of the planters. He assessed the surroundings once more to ensure they were strong enough to handle the might of these two maeruthans. But they could not possibly be able to harm the extraordinary strength of the realm.
"Your choice of weapon?" Moulin asked. The crystal bow within his grasp glinted like a blade under the sun, much like the fierceness of his eyes.
"My sword." The aura surrounding the sentinel ward. Scorching amber eyes glowed like a red fla.
The two opponents circled each other. Fla-welding sentinels tend to be emotional and possess explosive tempers. However, discipline and strict teachings were embedded deep into Ordan through decades and transford his whole personality. But sohow, he has been catering to his emotions, slightly yet successfully.
On the other hand, Moulin could not lest care of masking his emotions. Perhaps, it was a way of releasing stress and fear of letting those harmful feelings fester inside him.
Ordan didn't need to be polite. His drawn sword caught fire, lapping on its blade. In the next mont, he appeared right before Moulin's eyes, sword inches away from slashing him half. The youth did not flinch.
User Comments
0 comments from readers