"Miss? ...Miss?!" Legolas waved a hand in front of the stunned woman's face.
Ysolt Delacroix blinked, snapping out of her trance. She grabbed Legolas's hand with a grip that was surprisingly strong for someone in such gaudy silk.
"Please... BE MY MUSE!" she shouted, her eyes burning with an intensity that rivaled the rising sun.
"Help... meeee..." a pained groan drifted from the overturned carriage.
Legolas looked past Ysolt to see a middle-aged man in a suit crawling out of the wreckage, clutching his ribs. It was her manager.
"Miss Ysolt!" the manager wheezed. "My leg... I think it's twisted."
Ysolt didn't even turn her head. Her gaze was locked on the Elf's bone structure.
Legolas gently extricated his hand from hers and hurried over to the manager. He knelt down, his elven eyes quickly scanning the injury. "Your injuries are not that bad. No compound fractures, just severe bruising and a sprain. But let's be safe and get you to a hospital. Do you know where the nearest one is?"
Ysolt, who had followed him like a duckling, shook her head vaguely. "Hospital? I don't know..."
"There is one," the manager gritted out, wincing as he tried to sit up. "Town of the Border. It's miles from here. It's a long way to go by foot."
"Don't worry," Legolas said, standing up and brushing dirt off his slate-grey coat. "We can use my car."
"Car?" Ysolt perked up. "Yes. Let's go to the town." She was already fumbling with her bag, pulling out a charcoal stick and a sketchbook, her eyes gleaming as they traced the lines of Legolas's coat.
Legolas frowned slightly. 'Does she not care about her friend?'
"Stay here," Legolas commanded gently. "I'll drive it to here. It's parked just down the trail."
He turned and broke into a run.
"I'm hurting here, Ysolt!" the manager complained, leaning against the carriage wheel. "And you're still wide-eyed over that Elf?"
Ysolt ignored him completely. As Legolas sprinted away, his movement was fluid, like water flowing over stones. His coat didn't just hang; it moved with him, the enchanted fabric reacting to the wind and his stride.
"My muse..." Ysolt muttered, her hand flying across the paper. She giggled, a manic, delighted sound. "Is this what it feels like? I understand it now. The flow... the elegance..."
The manager looked over her shoulder. On the page, amidst frantic lines, was a sketch of the Elf running. It was raw, rough, but it had life. It had movement. It was the best thing she had drawn in two years.
The manager forgot his pain for a second. He leaned back, closing his eyes with a sigh of relief. 'She's back. Ysolt the Designer is back.'
…
Meanwhile, back in Evercrest.
Gellert Grindelwald stood on a rooftop overlooking the construction site of the new Hao Pavilion. The rebuilding effort was moving at a miraculous pace, thanks to the Hao Sect's resources and the unified workforce.
Interestingly, they hadn't filled in the crater where the White Dragon had supposedly died. Instead, Sebas had ordered it preserved. It was now the centerpiece of the atrium, encased in reinforced glass—a monument to the "Battle of the Dragon." It was a brilliant marketing move.
But Gellert wasn't there for the architecture. He was watching a man in scholarly robes pacing around the glass cage.
Bryn Garner. The Mage hired by Duke Orion.
Bryn was frustrated. He had been lingering at the site for a week, roaming around the construction workers, trying to get a read on the magic used during the battle.
"Nothing," Bryn muttered, kneeling by the glass edge. "The more time passes, the harder it is to trace."
He could feel something. There was a faint residue of protection magic, that felt thin but incredibly potent. It was unlike any barrier spell he knew. But for the life of him, he couldn't feel the trace of the "Dimensional Magic" Chief Black had testified about.
"How can a spell that folded reality leave zero footprint?" Bryn growled, scratching his head.
Gellert adjusted his cuffs. He had come here to test a hypothesis. Without a wand he whispered a simple incantation.
"Repello Muggletum."
A subtle shimmer washed over him. The Muggle-Repelling Charm. In wizarding world, this would make non-magical people suddenly remember urgent appointments or simply refuse to look in his direction.
He began to walk down into the construction site.
As he moved through the busy workers, the effect was immediate. Laborers carrying beams subconsciously veered around him. A foreman shouting orders looked right through him. To them, he was a blind spot in reality.
Gellert walked calmly until he stopped right beside Bryn Garner.
Bryn, who was examining a scorch mark on the ground, stiffened. He slowly turned his head, looking directly at Gellert out of the corner of his eye.
"If you are one of the Hao workers," Bryn said irritably, "I told you for the last time, I am a Mage. I am here at the behest of my Tower. Do not disturb me."
Gellert smiled. He had found his answer.
The Mage was not considered a Muggle by the Wizarding charm. The mana in Bryn's blood allowed him to pierce the veil of the spell.
Bryn paused. He looked around. He saw a worker walk straight toward them, then swerve around Gellert without even acknowledging the man's existence.
Bryn looked back at Gellert, his eyes narrowing. "Wait. They don't see you. But I do." He stood up slowly, mana gathering in his hand. "Who are you?"
…
Meanwhile, far from the bustling reconstruction of the Hao Pavilion, a new venture was beginning.
Sebas Tian, traveling alone, made his way toward the Talbott Duchy. But he was not walking with the stiff, military posture of the Iron Butler. His shoulders were relaxed, his gait was a gentle amble, and he hummed a soft, pleasant tune.
He was using the General Iroh character card as his primary persona.
Sebas realized that the more he utilized the card, the more natural it felt. The wisdom, the patience, and the profound love for simple pleasures were bleeding into his consciousness. Unlike Legolas, who was driven by artistic ambition, Sebas—now fully embracing Iroh—just wanted to enjoy the world. After the grand theater of the Dragon and the destruction, he felt he deserved a moment of peace.
He stroked his thick grey beard, smiling at the dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy. "This is nice," he murmured, his voice raspy and warm. "I can see the Talbott border from here."
However, beneath the jovial exterior, the core of Sebas Tian—the Level 100 NPC of Nazarick—remained active. His sensory radius was immense.
He picked up faint movements. Several miles inside the forest, hearts were beating. Footsteps were treading lightly on moss.
"Hmm," Sebas hummed.
He decided to see what would happen. Instead of hiding or preparing for battle, he found a large, ancient oak tree by the side of the path. He sat down in its shade, pulled a small, portable wooden table from his bag, and set out a ceramic tea set.
"The Iroh card is influencing me too much," he chuckled to himself as he lit a small flame with his fingertip to boil the water. "I can't even stay still without making tea."
Time passed. The scent of brewing jasmine mixed with the pine air. Sebas hummed, pouring the tea with practiced grace.
Snap.
The movement he had sensed finally arrived.
From the dense foliage above and around him, figures emerged. They moved with fluid grace—Elves. A squad of Talbott Knights, clad in green and silver leather armor, dropped from the canopy, their bows drawn and aimed squarely at the old man.
Sebas didn't flinch. He lifted the cup to his lips and took a slow, appreciative sip.
"My," he said, looking over the rim of his cup. "Can an old man not enjoy his tea in peace?"
The Elves hesitated. This stranger radiated zero hostility.
The squad commander, still perched high on a branch, lowered his bow slightly. "Are you coming from the Bannon territory?" he called out, his voice suspicious.
"Hooo, no," Sebas replied, waving a hand dismissively. "I come from the Granite Cape of Evercrest. Just a traveler passing through. Mind coming down? It is kind of tiring looking up the tree for my old neck."
The Commander signaled his squad to hold, then leaped down, landing silently a few feet away. He was tall, sharp-eyed, and clearly on edge.
"Don't stay for long around this forest, elder," the Commander warned, holstering his arrow but keeping his hand on his dagger. "It is the border of three territories. Those thugs of the Bannon Duchy usually smuggle their... 'goods' around this forest. Be careful of these smugglers. They will silence any witness they find."
Sebas smiled, pouring a second cup of tea. "Silence witnesses, you say? That sounds quite rude."
"They are dangerous," the Commander insisted.
"Oh," Sebas said, leaning back against the massive trunk of the oak tree. "Like these guys?"
He shifted his weight and casually knocked his elbow against the tree. It looked like a gentle tap.
CRACK-BOOM.
The sound was like a cannon shot. The massive trunk of the oak didn't just splinter; the entire side of it shattered outward, revealing that the tree was hollowed out. Behind it, the ground collapsed, exposing a hidden, reinforced tunnel entrance.
Inside the hollowed tree and the tunnel, huddled in the darkness, were six heavily armed human smugglers. They sat frozen, clutching crates of contraband, staring wide-eyed at the "old man" and the Elves. They had been waiting for the patrol to pass, only to have their cover literally obliterated by an elbow tap.
The Elf Knights reacted instantly, drawing their bows again, this time aiming at the smugglers.
"Don't move!" the Commander shouted.
The smugglers looked at the Elves, then at the shattered remains of the massive tree, and finally at the smiling old man drinking tea.
"We surrender!" the lead smuggler shrieked, throwing his weapon down and raising his hands. "We surrender! Don't let him hit us!"
Sebas chuckled softly. "Wisdom has been chasing you, and it seems it has finally caught up."
As the Knights moved in to arrest the men, Sebas calmly began to pack his tea set back into his bag.
…
The rune-car hummed quietly as it navigated the winding trail toward the border. Inside, the atmosphere was a mix of pained groans and scratching charcoal.
Ysolt sat in the front passenger seat, her body twisted toward Legolas. She wasn't looking at the road; she was staring intently at his profile, her hand flying across her sketchbook in a frenzy of artistic possession.
Legolas felt the weight of her gaze. It was... intense. He cleared his throat, gripping the leather steering wheel a little tighter.
"Soo," Legolas started, trying to break the awkward silence. "Those guards back there... is it okay to just leave them laying there?"
"They were all bandits anyway," Ysolt said dismissively, not looking up from her paper. "They deserve to rot in the streets."
Legolas raised an eyebrow. "How about the guards you hired? Surely they deserve a proper burial?"
"Funny thing about that," Perrin groaned from the back seat, shifting his injured leg. "The usual mercenary company we hire was unavailable for this trip. So, we hired a new band that came highly recommended for their 'protection.' Turns out, they were a newly formed bandit group looking for an easy mark."
"Unluckily—or maybe luckily," Perrin continued with a grimace, "another, established bandit group ambushed us at the chokepoint. At first, our 'guard' bandits tried to negotiate a split of the loot. But I guess their negotiation didn't go well. The ambushers didn't like competition. They ended up killing our guards, and then... well, then you showed up and cleaned up the rest, sir."
Legolas whistled low. "Whoa. You guys had a rough day, huh? Betrayed by your guards and then ambushed by their rivals."
The forest thinned out, revealing a valley below. "Well, we can kind of see the border town from here. Is that the town you were talking about?"
Perrin leaned forward, wincing, and peered through the windshield. "Yes. That's the town. Haaa... thank you once again, sir. You saved our lives."
"Sir," Ysolt interrupted sharply. "Lean your head a bit to the left. Just a fraction."
Legolas blinked, but instinctively tilted his head as instructed. "Like this?"
"Perfect," she whispered, sketching furiously. " The line of the jaw... the ear..."
"Are you a painter, Miss?" Legolas asked.
Ysolt paused. She looked at him as if he had asked if water was wet. "No. I am a designer." She straightened up, regaining a shred of her haughty composure. "Oh. I haven't really properly introduced myself, have I? I am Ysolt Delacroix. The founder and head designer of Delacroix Fashion."
Legolas's eyes widened, he wasn't acting.
Delacroix Fashion.
It was the high-end brand in the Kingdom. It was the label worn by every Duke's wife, every wealthy merchant's daughter, and even members of the Royal Court in the Capital. Its reach was mostly concentrated in the upper echelons of the Capital, but the prestige of the name was known throughout the United Realms of Averidane.
Legolas kept his expression composed, offering a charming, polite smile, but inside, his mind was racing with calculation. He had just saved the biggest potential networking contact in the entire industry.
'Thank you, Cecil,' he thought. 'You helped my journey big time.'
"A pleasure to meet you, Lady Delacroix," Legolas said smoothly. "I believe fate has placed us in the same car for a reason."
…
Meanwhile, back in Evercrest, the sun beat down on the construction site of the Hao Pavilion.
Gellert stood over the kneeling mage, his mismatched eyes cold. His intent was sharp enough to cut glass. He flicked his wrist in a sharp, fluid motion.
"Locomotor Wibbly."
The effect was instantaneous. Bryn Garner, a mage of the Duke's court, felt his knees turn to water. Not metaphorically—his limbs literally lost all structural integrity, wobbling uncontrollably like fresh gelatin.
"Wha—!" Bryn gasped as he collapsed to the dirt, his legs splayed out in unnatural, rubbery angles. He looked up, panic setting in. He tried to scramble backward, but his arms and legs refused to obey.
Gellert hummed, adjusting his cufflink. "Repello Muggletum," he whispered.
He saw a construction worker walking nearby carrying a plank. "You! Help!" Bryn shouted, wobbling his hand.
The worker didn't even blink. He walked right past Bryn, stepping mere inches from his flailing hand without acknowledging his existence. It was as if Bryn Garner had ceased to be part of the world.
"What did you do to me?" Bryn demanded, his voice trembling as he realized he was isolated in a crowd.
"Not much," Gellert replied smoothly, looking down at him. "I just... adjusted their perception. To them, we are simply not worth noticing. A blind spot in their reality."
Bryn stopped struggling. His mind, trained in the rigid schools of the Towers, raced to categorize this magic. It wasn't elemental. It wasn't a standard illusion. It was mental interference on a mass scale, cast without a focus.
"What kind of path is this?" Bryn whispered, his fear momentarily eclipsed by academic curiosity. "Are you the mage... the one who killed the White Dragon?"
Gellert raised an eyebrow. "That is what you ask at this moment? You are helpless on the ground, erased from the eyes of the people, and yet you do not plead for your life?"
"I have never seen you before," Bryn said, staring at Gellert's face. "I have never heard your incantations. It is clear you are not part of the Athenean Concord. But... in the path of magic, your unfamiliar existence intrigues me more than my own safety."
Gellert's expression softened slightly—a predator recognizing a fellow hunter. He crouched down, bringing himself to eye level with the paralyzed mage.
"I've seen you around my magic trace for a week now," Gellert said softly. "Why? What drives a Mage to scavenge in the dirt?"
Bryn looked at the glass-encased crater in the distance. "Regret," he admitted bitterly. "I regret not coming to help subjugate that White Dragon. Its heart... a dragon's heart is a catalyst. It can replace a mage's own heart to force open the 'Draconic Path.' It is a sought-after, dangerous leap in power. But then I heard another mage had killed it. So I tried to find them... to find you."
"To steal the heart?" Gellert asked.
"To see the man who didn't need it," Bryn corrected.
Gellert smiled. It was a charming, dangerous smile. He pointed a finger at Bryn's wobbling legs.
"Finite Incantatem."
The counter-jinx washed over Bryn. His bones hardened, his muscles regained their tension, and the jelly-like sensation vanished instantly.
Gellert stood up and extended a hand. "Let's talk."
Bryn hesitated for a heartbeat, looking at the hand of this unknown mage. Then, he reached up and grasped it. Gellert pulled him to his feet effortlessly.
"Let's walk away from here," Bryn suggested, brushing the dust from his robes. "Maybe find a suitable place?"
"Don't worry about privacy," Gellert said, turning and walking calmly through the busy construction site. "No ordinary people can sense us. Let's walk."
Bryn hurried to fall into step beside him, moving through the bustling people like a ghost alongside a god.
*A/N*
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*A/N*