"Must be the result of entering the state of Confluence," Teacher replied.
"State of Confluence?" I turned completely toward them, tightening the ropes around the pouch. "What is Confluence?"
"I am referring to the 'State' in which you emerged from the Source," Teacher said, her gaze locking onto mine.
"You mean the big white wings?" I asked, instinctively reaching back to point at the space where those massive appendages had sprouted.
"No. I am referring to your mental state." She raised a finger, pointing it at the side of her own temples.
Mental state…?
I have no recollection of how I exited the Source, I just have a few flashes of memory where I saw a massive Faux and some other blurry figures, but beyond that, there was only white noise.
"I don't remember much," I admitted quietly.
"That is a given, it can sometimes overwhelm the mind. For most, the first time they enter it is also their last," Teacher explained, her voice calm.
"They die!?" My voice came out much louder than I intended as I took a step back.
"No, stupid. It's just that difficult to enter. Most spend their entire lives chasing it. Those who do experience it once… spend the rest trying to reach it again."
…So it's that rare.
"Just what is this 'State of Confluence'?" I asked, the confusion only growing.
"Confluence is a mental state where Intent, Mana Flow, and Form align so perfectly that mana stops behaving like fuel and starts behaving like thought," she said, her gaze fixed on me. "It forces the caster into a heightened state of focus where the world seems quieter, not slower. Every distraction vanishes. You become acutely aware of mana pressure, density, and direction, both within yourself and everything nearby."
She took a step closer, her expression turning uncharacteristically serious.
"You should be aware that even with the fastest casting speed, mana normally lags behind thought. It is filtered by technique, emotion, and habit. During the State, that delay disappears entirely. Your understanding of mana also deepens. A caster intuitively understands exactly why their spell worked. The pathways, the inefficiencies, and even structural flaws become obvious.
The difference in the ability to understand the essence of mana between those who have entered Confluence and those who have not is the difference between heaven and earth."
So that is what I felt. The clarity. The way the world just... made sense. I could understand everything and anything.
"And the most important part is that the State of Confluence cannot be triggered deliberately,"
My brows furrowed.
"Why?"
"The moment you consciously try to align your mana, you introduce interference."
…So trying to enter it… stops you from entering it.
"Veteran mages can increase their chances, but no one can guarantee it. Some lifetimes pass without a single second of it. This is the shortest and easiest explanation I can give you. Do you understand?"
I stood there for a moment.
Processing everything she said.
"…I think so."
If only I remembered how I entered it and how it felt, maybe I could have recreated the conditions. But I don't even remember the sensation of entering that state, it could have been so useful.
"What were you thinking about when you entered that state in the Source?"
Teacher's question hung in the air, pulling at the pieces of my memory. I shook my head, trying to clear the fog that always seemed to settle whenever I looked back at that place.
"I have already told you what happened in the Source," I replied, a little frustrated. "I don't even know when I entered it…"
Wait! I was slamming my hands against those screens that appeared in the Source, then suddenly,,,.
"Oh, looks like you remember something. What is it?" Teacher asked, leaning in toward me. Her eyes sparkled with a hungry curiosity.
Seeing her beautiful face so close so suddenly made me hesitate. The heat from her presence was overwhelming, and I found myself taking a few quick steps back just to find my breath again.
I took a deep breath to calm my racing heart.
Focus… think about it properly…
"I… I wanted to help everyone."
The words came slower now as I focused on the memory.
"Everyone in the barony… they were fighting… and I couldn't do anything."
The feeling came back with it.
That urgency.
That helplessness.
"I kept trying to break through those screens… and then…"
Trying to put it into words.
"My perspective shifted. Everything became… clear."
Too clear.
"My thoughts… they sped up. No… not sped up… they just… worked better."
I frowned slightly.
"My senses sharpened. I could understand things I never even thought or knew about before."
Another piece of memory came rushing back.
"And then... something appeared there."
"What appeared?" Teacher asked, her voice growing with interest. Even the red and blue orbs moved closer, as if pulled by the weight of the question.
"I don't remember clearly, but… it had eyes. Too many of them." My words slowed as I tried to grasp something that refused to stay still. "I think I called out to it… and then a white arm forced its way out of my eye." I gestured with my hand, mimicking the way the limb had forced its way into the world.
"Hmm.... White arm." She fell into thought, her gaze narrowing slightly. "That may be a manifestation of your 'white' magic."
"Manifestation? And why did it have to come out of my eye specifically?" I asked, my heart racing with the hope that I would finally get a straight answer.
"Right now, all I know is that it interferes with the laws of Cause and Effect," she explained, looking back at me. "But the truly interesting thing is that those white wings were not made of mana, willpower, or any other energy I am familiar with. It was something... foreign."
"Energy... remember I told you that I read the backup of my information within my own mana body? I learned that my eye helps me perceive various energies." I tapped my chin, trying to connect the dots. "I think there has to be a connection there."
"Possible." She nodded faintly. "Maybe to the power dwelling within you, your eye acts as a window to the outside. It somehow forces your Mysteral Eye to be partially active at all times."
"So until I learn to control it…" My hand settled over the eyepatch, a faint weight pressing against my thoughts. "I'll have to keep this on?"
"That would be the safest assumption." Her voice was calm, but there was something firm beneath it. "My personal hypothesis is that your body and soul crucible are likely not strong enough to contain that power yet. As you grow and refine yourself, it should come under your control naturally."
Not strong enough…
A quiet breath left me.
A soft rustle whispered through the thick brush in the distance, drawing my focus away from the conversation.
What now…?
My fingers straightened, mana sharpening into a blade, but the tension drained from my shoulders the moment I recognized the familiar mana signature.
…This one again.
A small head peeked out from the dense foliage, blinking at me with wide, innocent eyes.
"Why are you here?" I asked, though the bite in my voice was softened by a weary sigh as I walked closer to Baloo.
The small cub scrambled out of the bushes, shredding the low-hanging leaves as he let out a tiny, defiant growl. I knelt in the dirt, placing my hand on his head.
"I told you already. It's dangerous to wander this deep into the forest." I tapped his nose lightly.
He didn't seem to care about the lecture, moving closer and rubbing his head against my hand with stubborn insistence.
"Why haven't you made a contract with him yet?" Teacher asked from behind me.
How many times have I heard that now…?
"I wanted James to be the one to form the bond," I said, my voice low as I kept my eyes fixed on the cub's innocent gaze. "But since he hasn't awakened yet, I have let the matter slide for now."
"To me, it seems he has already chosen," she replied. "He wants to be with you."
My fingers slowed over the cub's head.
"And I don't think that's the right choice for him."
"On what basis did you arrive at that conclusion?"
For a moment, Faux's face surfaced in my mind, uninvited.
"…I don't think I'm in the right state to take on something like that," I admitted, my voice lowering. "Since mother… everything inside me feels… off. Like it's slipping." My hand tightened slightly against the cub's fur. "I think Faux can feel everything through our connection. He has been eating less, talking less, and he disappears for hours whenever I am training."
"You are his master," she reminded me. "You should be able to see through his eyes and know exactly what he is doing."
A small, weary laugh escaped me.
"I could." I paused, watching the cub nudge closer without hesitation. "But I don't think he wants me to. If he doesn't want me to know, then I will give him his privacy."
"Still, I never took you for someone who speaks so openly about his feelings," Teacher remarked.
"Maybe it is because I know you won't actually care that I can say all of this to you," I said, glancing over my shoulder at her.
"Hmm." She turned away, her attention shifting toward the waterfall. "Indeed. Your internal affairs are of little concern to me. Handle them however you see fit, as long as they do not interfere with our time here."
"Thank you for your understanding," I said, a small, tired smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.
At least with her, the lack of empathy is honest. It's easier to deal with her coldness than someone else's pity.
"Enough wasting time. We are going back to hard work," she said, her voice regaining its usual strict edge.
I stood up and nodded, shaking off the momentary softness.
As I stepped forward, something brushed against my senses. Faint at first, then clearer. Five unfamiliar presences… no, six.
What is this…?
I closed my eyes, expanding my perception until the physical world faded into a void of darkness, populated only by floating lights. In the distance, hundreds of faint sparks represented the people of the barony, but my focus locked onto the six that had just entered our lands.
"Are you able to sense them?"
I opened my eyes at her voice. She stood beside me now, her gaze fixed forward in the direction of the barony.
"Yes. Why?" I asked, a slight crease forming between my brows.
For a brief moment, something thoughtful passed through her expression. "Tell me. What can you discern from them?"
That's sudden… but fine.
I shut my eyes again, returning to that sea of dim lights.
"Five of them are stronger than me," I said slowly, feeling each one out. "Well above my crucible stage. Judging by the weight of their mana, they are adults, though they don't feel quite as overwhelming as Unc. They must be at the Delta stage."
My focus shifted to the sixth.
"The last one is a Gamma like me," I noted, focusing on the smallest light. "His presence is smaller than mine. I think it is a child, likely around my own age."
I opened my eyes again. "That's all I can tell from here."
"From here?" she repeated, glancing down at me.
I nodded. "If I get closer, I can sometimes pick up scents, or even what a person is feeling at the moment and intent."
I said remembering when Tavian put me through a test in past, he said it was related to my sword arcana, but I am not so sure about that…
"How... intriguing." Teacher glanced slightly to her other side, her voice dropping an octave. "See that this is duly noted."
"Task already completed," the Blue orb chimed in.
Recorded…?
A faint unease crept in.
Am I being studied…?
The thought barely had time to settle before something shifted again at the edge of my senses.
Before I could voice my suspicion or demand an explanation, a sudden shift at the back of my mind sent a jolt through my nerves.
My head snapped back toward the direction of the barony.
Why are they going towards manor?
Elaina Fors
"Why is he coming unannounced?" Erik's voice carried an edge of ire as he moved beside me, his pace quick, almost restless.
"Who knows," I replied, forcing my steps to match his.
I have a guess… and I do not like it.
We reached the front doors where Silvyr and Thorvald were already standing near the main gate.
As the three of us moved forward, the guards and Silvyr stepped back without a word, giving space as protocol demanded.
Moments later, a carriage drenched in dark crimson and accented with ornate gold trimmings rolled to a halt before the gates, its presence alone was enough to press down on the surroundings. Four knights followed close behind, their formation tight, disciplined.
One of them dismounted and stepped forward, opening the carriage door.
We lowered our heads. Behind us, the others dropped to their knees.
The faint creak of wood sounded as weight shifted inside the carriage and a deliberate thud of a boot hitting the step.
"Hmm."
An overbearing sound vibrated through the air, a grunt of acknowledgment that carried the weight of authority.
Throvald stepped forward, just enough to take the lead.
"My Lord, it is an honor to receive you. Welcome to the land of Fors."
His voice was calm and respectful, exactly as it should be.
What followed his greeting was silence. Not a single word of reply came from the figure standing before us.
Why is he not speaking…?
The seconds stretched, each one pressing harder than the last.
"Somewhat acceptable."
The response came at last, laced with clear displeasure.
"Feel free to lift your heads." he added, his voice dripping with an uncaring boredom.
We raised our heads together.
The man before us… looked nothing like the young noble I remembered from years ago.
He was draped in loose, exorbitantly expensive fabrics, but the fine silk couldn't hide the protruding pot belly. His face appeared slightly bloated, etched with wrinkles that someone of his age and, more importantly, someone of his soul crucible stage, should never possess. It was the unmistakable mark of excessive drinking and a life of soft rot.
But it was the moustache that drew the eye. Long, curled at the ends, each tip twisted into a perfect spiral that he stroked absentmindedly.
Count Tomas Hansen.
And not a fragment of his father's presence remains.
"It has been… what, eight years?"
His gaze passed over us, slow and measuring, though it carried no real weight.
"I see little has changed in this backwater."
Backwater?
Before I could say anything my husband inclined his head just a fraction more.
"And yet, we remain, my Lord. Welcome to our home."
"Hmph. There is not much to welcome me into." His eyes lifted past us, settling on the manor as if it were something beneath notice.
Look at him…
A quiet irritation stirred within me.
All this arrogance now… when he never once dared to step foot here while Valka was present.
My fingers curled slightly at my side.
So the information was true. He and the Duke both know she is…
"And for someone who returned from the dead… you look remarkably well."
The Count's gaze shifted toward Erik.
I followed it instinctively, only to find Erik staring at him with a strange kind of focus.
What is he…?
My eyes traced the line of his sight.
The moustache? Now of all times?
I glanced at Throvald hoping he would do something.
He was staring at it too.
…This family is doomed.
The Count's brow creased.
"Are you ignoring me?"
He stepped forward, stopping just short of Erik, close enough to make the difference in their height obvious. Erik still stood taller.
"Ah—… my apologies." Erik dipped his head slightly. "I did not catch that. Forgive me, my Lord."
The Count clicked his tongue, turning away.
"So you remain as dull as ever."
This man…
My teeth pressed together.
And yet Erik said nothing.
He only smiled.
"Father, how long do I need to sit here?"
The loud and demanding voice came from inside the carriage.
The Count glanced over his shoulder, his expression softening into something resembling pride.
"Oh, come out now, son."
Son…?
A small figure stepped down, no older than five or six at a glance, roughly the same age as James. He was dressed in impeccably tailored clothes that looked far too stiff for a child, and he possessed the same dull, bronze-brown hair as the Count.
"This is my son, Miken Hansen. Eight years old." A smug curve touched the Count's lips. "And already at the Gamma stage of soul crucible."
Awakened, huh. I remember the news reaching us a year after Sieg's own awakening. But some other rumours came with it. I heard that the Count had flooded the boy's body with expensive potions, rare teachers, and other dubious methods just to force an early breakthrough.
I studied the boy as he stood there with his chest puffed with pride.
Is he truly the same age as Siegfried?
He was smaller.
Not by much, but enough to notice.
…Sieg has already outgrown most of the children his age.
A quiet thought settled in.
The only child I have seen standing at Sieg's height is Nidrik.
"A remarkable achievement, my Lord," Thorvald said, though his voice remained carefully neutral.
He inclined his head slightly before continuing, "You must be weary from your journey. Please, come inside and rest." He gestured into the house.
"Wait."
The voice was small, but carried… anger?
Miken Hansen stood where he was, his chin raised in a mimicry of his father's posture, his eyes looking at us with poorly hidden impatience.
"Shouldn't you greet me as well?"
Hah, would you look at that, he wants us to bow to him.
Irritation flared in my chest.
I noticed, Erik's expression tightened just for a fraction of a second.
But Thorvald… did not hesitate, knowing exactly what was at stake if we showed even a little of defiance. Stepping forward, he dipped into a respectful bow, deeper than the one he had given the Count.
"Of course," he said, his voice calm and smooth as polished stone. "Forgive my oversight... Young Lord Hansen."
The title tasted wrong, like ash in my mouth. My jaw tightened as I suppressed the urge to speak. This was absurd, a farce being played out in our own home. And yet, the reality of our position forced my hand.
I lowered myself into a bow, my movements stiff. "Young Lord," I said, the words forced through a throat that felt constricted.
Erik followed a heartbeat later, his voice low and lacking any of its usual warmth. "Young Lord."
The boy gave a small, satisfied nod.
"Good. Good."
An unrestrained laugh broke out. The Count was beaming, his bloated face flushed with a perverse kind of pride.
"Ah, do not take it to heart," he said, waving a hand lightly, though the mockery in his eyes did not vanish. "Children can be… earnest."
Earnest. Is that what we are calling blatant disrespect now?
My nails pressed faintly into my palm.
Thorvald smiled.
"Shall we go inside, my Lord?" Thorvald asked, his gesture toward the estate a silent plea to move this spectacle away from the gates of the manor.
For a moment, I thought the matter settled. I expected the Count to demand the finest wine and the softest chair we had to offer.
"No."
The answer came too quickly, landing with the finality of a gavel. The Count caressed his moustache, his gaze already moving past us toward the horizon, as if we had ceased to exist the moment his brief amusement faded.
Just what is he here for? Just for intimidation now that Valka is not here? It can't be just that…
"The air here is… stagnant," Hansen continued, his nose wrinkling as if he could smell the fading glory of the Fors name. "I have no desire to sit in a drafty hall. I believe a walk of the grounds is more appropriate. I wish to see exactly what it is I… we are protecting."
A few minutes later, we stood before the vast cotton fields, the white tufts swaying gently in the afternoon breeze.
"Would you look at that?" the Count said, opening his arms wide as if he were embracing the very land. "You have done well, Baron."
"Thank you, my Lord," Thorvald replied with a small, cautious bow.
Do not be fooled by his tone…
"Now, to the purpose of my visit," he said, turning toward us. He moved closer, his presence feeling uncomfortably invasive. "Baron, the Duke requires your assistance."
"Assistance?" Throvald's voice carried the same confusion rising within me.
"You should be aware of the situation in the north."
The situation… To think that what Erik feared has actually come true. I still can't believe Krohnhelm surrendered to the Empyrean Sovereignty. For the first time in three hundred years, the map of the world has changed.
The Count continued, a fake, sickly kind smile stretching across his face. "The Duke intends to rebuild the forces of the Dukedom. For that…he wishes the Fors to start paying full taxes again, starting from the beginning of next month."
So this is what it's about!
"Wait!" I said, stepping forward as the heat of indignation rose in my chest. The relief was granted by the Emperor himself until the barony has fully recovered. It was decreed that we would resume payments only when we were ready. I gestured toward the land behind us. "As you can see, we have not even restored our walls yet… and we just had a Darkkin invasion."
His eyes slid toward me, carrying open disdain making my skin crawl.
"True." His voice softened, but it held no kindness. "But in such tense times, shouldn't you prioritize helping your country?"
His gaze shifted back to Throvald ignoring me.
"I…" Throvald lowered his eyes, uncertainty creeping into his posture.
"Or should I discuss it with Countess Valka Fors?"
Those words struck us like a physical blow. He watched our reactions with a knowing, oily smile that made my blood run cold.
That disgusting man... So that is your game. He knows that if he leaks the information that Valka is missing, the vultures will descend on this barony before sundown.
A sharp sound reached my ears. I glanced to the side.
Erik's fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned pale. The anger on his face was no longer hidden.
Behind us, the Count's knights shifted, their hands resting on the pommels of their swords, sensing the shift in the air.
I stepped forward before Erik did something that would give them an excuse to draw blood.
"The relief from taxes was granted specifically to the Fors Barony," I said, my voice forced into a calm I didn't feel. "Therefore, it only makes sense to discuss these matters with Baron."
"When Valka Fors was granted the title of Countess, the barony became her vassal." His reply came without pause. "Naturally, such matters fall under her authority… or that of her successor."
A chill passed through me.
"The successor has not yet come of age," I said, the words tumbling out in a hurried, single breath. "He is an eight-year-old child. There is no possible way he is capable of engaging in such a heavy discussion."
"Is that so?" His tone shifted, interest creeping in. "I heard he was a prodigy who awakened at the age of six, and that he even possessed the talent of a Master Alchemist. It looks like all those rumors were merely exaggerating the truth. How disappointing." He said, caressing the curled tip of his mustache with a lazy, arrogant flick of his fingers.
Fierce heat rose in my chest.
That mustache! How dare you speak of my Sieg like that.
Everything can go to hell now!
"Erik, go ahea–"
"What is going on here?"
The voice cut through everything.
It was not loud, yet it carried a weight that made the air itself feel heavier.
Why did he come back now?
I turned my head to see a pair of legs slipping down Erik's broad shoulders settling there as if it were the most natural place in the world.
Sieg.
I turned my eyes back to the Count.
His mouth had fallen wide open, the smug satisfaction from a moment ago vanishing instantly as colour slowly drained from him.
"T-that face..." The Count stammered, his hand stopping mid-stroke on his mustache.
... He recognized him.