Chapter 126. Galahad
The Wisteria Inn was not so third-rate roadside lodge, but it certainly could not be called luxurious either.
Those who stayed here were usually down-and-out minor nobles or traveling rchants who had co to the royal capital hoping to strike it rich.
They could not afford the exorbitant hotels of the inner city, yet they were unwilling to lower themselves to the communal dormitories of the slums. This place beca their last fig leaf of dignity.
The carriage ca to a steady stop by the roadside.
Logaris West paid the fare and did not ask for change. The silver coin traced a clean arc through the air, landing in the driver’s hand as his eyes lit up with surprise.
Logaris pushed open the door and stepped down. His leather boots pressed into the snow that had not yet lted from the night before, producing a faint crunch.
The lobby was filled with a mixture of cheap incense and the stale scent of old wood.
The receptionist at the front desk was dozing with his head on the table. Hearing footsteps, he groggily lifted his head and was about to say that there were no rooms left. But the mont he saw Logaris’s finely tailored black coat and that unapproachable aura, he swallowed his words.
“Is there a gentleman nad West staying here?”
Logaris tapped his fingers lightly on the counter. His voice was not loud, yet it carried an unmistakable air of command.
“Oh, you must an Mr. Galahad West.”
The receptionist hurriedly flipped open the registry, his finger sliding across the yellowed pages.
“He’s on the second floor, room 204. But sir, it’s quite late—Mr. West may already be resting. Perhaps you could—”
Logaris ignored the pointless remark and turned toward the staircase.
The stairs were narrow and groaned underfoot as if they could collapse at any mont.
Room 204 was at the end of the corridor.
Logaris stood at the door without knocking imdiately.
He could sense a presence inside. It was faint and steady, like an old machine nearing the end of its lifespan.
Ten years.
Ever since that woman had died in a leaking wooden hut, he had wanted to know what kind of family could be so heartless as to let their own daughter die outside without even retrieving her body.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Three asured taps.
A rustling sound ca from inside—the shuffle of slippers dragging across the floor. After a long while, the lock turned, and the slightly peeling oak door opened a crack.
“Who is it? If you’re bringing hot water, I didn’t—”
The voice stopped abruptly.
The one who opened the door was an old man.
He wore a worn silk robe with slight pilling. His half-white hair was sowhat disheveled, and he leaned on a cane that looked to have seen many years of use.
Though deep wrinkles lined his face and his eye bags sagged heavily, his straight posture and the restraint etched into his bones still revealed the refinent of a once well-bred upbringing.
Galahad West.
The old man’s gaze fell upon the young man outside the door.
“Who are you?”
Galahad frowned slightly. His cloudy blue eyes carried a trace of vigilance.
“I am a professor from Saint Arcadia Academy, Departnt of Magitech Engineering—Logaris.”
Logaris stated his identity calmly, as if reading from a manual. “Regarding Ashley’s enrollnt procedures, there are so details I need to verify with her guardian.”
“?”
Galahad froze for a mont. Then most of the suspicion on his face dissipated, and he quickly pulled the door open wider.
“Oh, please co in! Has that child gotten herself into trouble again? I knew that personality of hers…”
As he spoke, the old man stepped aside to make way.
At the very mont Logaris passed by him, the dim corridor light fell perfectly across his profile.
Galahad froze in place as if struck by a paralysis spell.
That outline.
The height of the brow bone, the bridge of the nose, and the faintly pursed lips that ford a cold, indifferent curve.
It was too similar.
Far too similar.
mories sealed away for over twenty years burst open like a flood breaking through a dam.
That stormy night… the girl standing at the gates of the manor, crying as she insisted on leaving… and the man standing in the shadows—his face unseen, yet exuding a presence that made one tremble.
Galahad’s hand suddenly tightened on the doorfra. His knuckles turned white from the force, and his expensive cane clattered loudly to the floor.
“You…”
The old man’s lips trembled, his throat producing a rasping sound like a broken bellows.
Logaris paid no attention to his loss of composure.
He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
With a soft click of the lock, an invisible ripple spread outward from him, instantly enveloping the entire room.
A soundproof barrier.
Even if chaos erupted inside, not a single noise would escape.
The room was small, containing only a bed and two old chairs. Logaris did not sit imdiately. He stood in the center of the room, his back to the old man by the door.
“It seems I do not need to introduce myself further.”
Logaris slowly turned around.
He raised a hand, his long fingers pinching the gold-rimd glasses on his nose.
He removed them.
As the alchemical item left his face, the illusion that had always cloaked his eyes dissipated.
Galahad stared fixedly at that face.
Those seemingly ordinary blue eyes had changed.
The left eye remained a deep, profound blue—the signature eye color of the West family, like the eternal ice of the Northern Territory.
But the right eye—
It was crimson.
It radiated sothing eerie, violent, and utterly inhuman in its coldness.
Heterochromia.
Galahad staggered back two steps until his back struck the cold wall.
His eyes were filled with fear, but even more so with a realization steeped in despair and pain.
“Elvira…”
The old man spoke the na.
His voice was soft and trembling, as if the two syllables weighed a thousand pounds.
Logaris’s tone remained flat.
“I prefer to be called Logaris.”
He casually pulled over a chair and sat down, his movents as graceful as if he were in his own living room. “Of course, if you insist on reminiscing, you may. But I did not co here to acknowledge relatives.”
“You’re that man’s spawn…”
Galahad did not seem to hear him. As if trapped in a delirium, he stared fixedly at the crimson right eye. The muscles on his face twisted under the strain of overwhelming emotion.
“The bastard who took her away… the demon who ruined her!”
The old man suddenly lost control.
With a burst of strength from nowhere, he tried to rush forward and grab Logaris by the collar.
“Tell ! Where is she?! Where did that bastard take her?! Twenty-two years! A full twenty-two years! Not even a single letter!”
Galahad roared, murky tears streaming down his wrinkled face.
“Do you know that her father was still calling her na on his deathbed?! Do you know her mother cried herself blind because she missed her?!”
“Now that you’re here, where is that bastard?! Tell him to get out here and face !”
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