Everise Street, The King's Mansion
Morning had finally arrived in Betyl.
The crimson sun hung in the sky, casting a muted glow over the city. The soft chirping of birds echoed in the distance, while a cold breeze drifted through the air.
Inside her room, Catherine sat quietly at her desk, writing in a neatly bound book.
After a moment, she paused. Her eyes lingered on the words she had written, as if weighing each sentence carefully.
Then, she continued.
Dear Great King Arbill,
You are no doubt aware of the current situation in Betyl, as well as the recent conflict with the Linkton family.
As one who holds influence over the northern regions of Katalion, your position is not insignificant.
Catherine briefly turned her gaze to the map hanging on the wall to her right.
Her fingers traced across the northern territories.
From what I have observed, the regions of Publil, Gormer, and Utopia have not been faring well.
For this reason, I write to you on behalf of the King, to propose a mutual understanding between our sides.
It is our belief that cooperation at this time would be… beneficial to us both.
She paused again, thinking carefully.
Not too formal… but still dignified.
Catherine
Princess of Betyl
...
Catherine paused, tapping the tip of her pen lightly against the desk.
I can send the letter…
Even at eighteen, my words would carry weight—especially if I made it clear it came from the King.
The real problem is Father… I need him to agree first.
She looked at the map hanging by her right and continued.
And what if he asks where I got this from?
She leaned back in her chair, pressing her fingers against her temples. A quiet sigh escaped her lips.
Still… this might actually help.
The burden of governance had been crushing lately—shortages of goods, causing the past inflation, constant road repairs. No matter how much effort they put in, it never seemed enough.
This month alone, she and her father had spent over two hundred thousand pounds.
And yet, they'll accuse her father of corruption. Still blame Betyl.
After a moment, she reached out and took the map down from the wall.
Father trusts Mr. Beyond…
A faint smile appeared.
I can just say I got it from one of their members.
She nodded to herself.
Yes… that should work.
With her decision made, she stood up, slipped on her slippers, and headed downstairs.
...
Catherine hurried down the stairs, her footsteps echoing through the quiet house.
She soon arrived at the lavish living room.
Her father sat comfortably on the couch, dressed in a black jacket over a white shirt and black trousers. His short orange hair was slightly tousled as he sipped his coffee, his attention fixed on the television.
He seemed to be in a good mood—laughing softly at whatever was playing.
Catherine paused briefly.
Using her Order ability, she subtly adjusted her expression—refining the curve of her smile, softening the tension in her brows.
Then she stepped forward.
Seeing her, the man looked up and smiled warmly.
"Good morning, dear. How are you?" he said. "You're up early. I thought school was closed around this time in March."
Catherine returned the smile.
"Yes, Father. Good morning." She hesitated slightly. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you… something important."
Mathew chuckled, rubbing just beneath his nose.
"This girl…" he said lightly. "No school, yet you wake up this early just to disturb an old man? What could be so important?"
Catherine paused for a brief moment.
Then, without another word, she stepped forward and presented the map… along with the letter.
...
The man took the map and letter from her, his expression turning slightly puzzled as he examined them.
Catherine stood quietly in front of him, her fingers tightening at her sides, barely hiding her agitation.
Mathew's eyes moved across the markings—the circles drawn over the northern and southern regions—before shifting to the letter.
After a moment, he looked up.
"So… Catherine," he said slowly, "if I understand this correctly, you're proposing an alliance with the northern lands?"
Catherine nodded.
Mathew shook his head.
A brief silence passed before he spoke again.
"Catherine… you're at it again."
His voice grew firmer. "I told you not to involve yourself in matters like this."
Then, suddenly—
"Is it that hard for you to understand?" His voice rose, cutting through the room.
"Why can't you just focus on school? Live your life normally… marry a good man someday?"
"Why do you keep dragging yourself into things like this?"
Catherine lowered her head. Her lips trembled slightly, her expression dimming.
"I'm sorry, Father…" she said softly. "I just want to help the kingdom."
Mathew exhaled, forcing himself to calm down.
After a moment, he tossed the map and letter aside.
"I won't approve this."
"B-but Father—" she stepped forward slightly, her voice tightening. "I swear to Skywalker, this is important. Please… just consider it—"
"No."
Mathew leaned back, his gaze returning to the television.
"My decision is final."
Silence filled the room. For a moment, Catherine didn't move.
Then suddenly, she stepped forward, snatched the map and letter, and turned away.
Her footsteps were quick—almost hurried—as she rushed back up the stairs.
Though she tried to mask her emotions, she couldn't mask the single tear that slipped down her cheek.
Mathew watched her go. He sighed quietly, his gaze lingering on the empty staircase.
It's not that I don't care about these matters… I just don't want her to end up like her mother.
...
Lamenti, near the Moonlight Watchers Faculty.
Under the biting cold and sharp, whistling wind, Lumian walked through the streets in his usual black coat and trousers. He wore gloves and a hat pulled low over his head, his collar slightly raised against the chill.
Above, the crimson sun hung in the sky, casting red hues across rooftops and empty streets.
Lumian adjusted his collar as he walked, his brown eyes scanning the surroundings from behind his golden-rimmed glasses.
After a few minutes, the familiar outline of the Moonlight Watchers Faculty came into view.
He stepped inside without pause.
The warmth of the interior greeted him faintly as he made his way up the stairs, turned right, and entered his office.
...
Lumian glanced around briefly before sighing and collapsing into his seat.
He had arrived too early in the morning—there was little he could do for now.
Pulling out his phone, he opened a game and began playing casually. After a while, he completed a quest that pushed him closer to the next level.
It reminded him, faintly, of the concept of laws.
After that, he switched apps and opened WhatsApp, scrolling until he finally got tired and switched to the news.
"Security in Betyl continues to decline, with now increasing migration of sorcerers. Reports of robbery and deaths have been recorded in Lamenti and Gordy. The deceased have been buried earlier today… may God bless their soul."
As he finished reading it, he couldn't help but compare this case as similar with Aethera's.
But what puzzled him more was how the faculty seemed unaware of it.
Mrs. V1 had mentioned something before… possibly about officials relocating sorcerers to other towns, and also giving them potion formulas.
If that was true… what exactly were the higher-ups gaining from this?
Before he could think further—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Three sharp knocks echoed from his door.
...
"Come in," Lumian said quickly, slipping his phone back into his pocket.
The door opened slowly.
Rosanne stepped inside—black hair neatly arranged, violet eyes calm as ever.
"Good morning, Lumian. How are you doing?"
Lumian smiled. "Good morning, Rosanne. I'm fine. What brings a beautiful lady here?"
Rosanne let out a soft chuckle. "Don't flatter me. I've actually been here earlier than you. The captain asked me to pass on some news."
"News?"
She nodded. "Actually… both good and bad."
At the mention of bad news, Lumian's brows tightened slightly.
"What happened? What did I do?"
Rosanne tilted her head, amused. "Which one do you want first?"
Lumian leaned back in his chair, clearly uneasy for a moment, then leaned forward again.
"…Good news first."
Rosanne smiled. "You've been promoted. The captain came by this Monday and said that when you arrived, I should tell you."
Lumian blinked. "Promoted?"
"Yes. You're now a Private Sorcerer. Your new salary is forty pounds a week."
"Forty pounds?" Lumian repeated, genuinely surprised. "A promotion… and a raise? What did I even do to deserve that?"
Rosanne shrugged. "No idea. But Vincent, I, and the others, started as a Sorcerer as you, then after completing some missions for some months we naturally got promoted."
"I see…" Lumian muttered.
Then he straightened slightly on the chair.
"…So what's the bad news?"
...
Rosanne smiled and pulled out her phone, turning the screen toward him.
On it was a photo—taken on his birthday. Lumian was caught mid-lag, his expression completely off.
She burst into laughter, lightly patting his shoulder.
"Berlie uploaded it online," she said between laughs. "Lumian, you're already famous. People are liking it."
She leaned in slightly, still grinning. "Seriously… what were you even thinking there?"
Lumian let out a breath of relief. "Rosaane, I don't know. I thought the matter was very serious."
Rosanne patted him again. "Thinker Lumian," she teased. "That's what they're calling you."
She glanced back at her phone and read aloud dramatically:
"What's my friend thinking about? Does he have a wife and family?" She laughed again.
"Haha… very funny."
"Of course it is," she said brightly. "Wait—I should message her and get the full picture."
As she turned toward the door, Lumian's expression changed.
A bad feeling crept in.
"Rosanne, wait—"
But she didn't stop.
The door opened, and she walked out.
...
Thud!
Lumian watched her retreating figure, then shook his head with a quiet sigh.
After a moment, he stood up and made his way toward the captain's office.
Inside, he offered his thanks to Captain Hargreaves for the promotion—but couldn't help asking how he had earned it.
Hargreaves smiled faintly. "With the increasing migration of sorcerers, Betyl has been forced to take… drastic measures," he said. "Beyond that, I consider you quite capable."
Lumian chuckled. "Captain, once again… you don't know how delighted I am."
Hargreaves nodded. "Your salary will be increased from ten pounds to forty."
Lumian's mouth twitched as he said inwardly.
Did I make it that obvious?
Outwardly, he continued, "So… as a Private Sorcerer, what exactly are my responsibilities?"
Hargreaves reached for a cigar from the tray on his table and lit it, inhaling the familiar scent of dried leaves before speaking again.
"Vincent and the others are also Private Sorcerers," he said. "In truth, there isn't much difference between Private Sorcerers and fully-fledged church members."
He exhaled slowly. "The only distinction is that Private Sorcerers are permitted to handle investigations and exorcisms independently."
He paused briefly before adding, "It requires completing missions… which you've already done. You've even assisted in several important cases."
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"So, a promotion was only natural."
...
"But Captain… with this promotion, things are going to get more troublesome for me," Lumian said. "I was thinking… maybe you could teach me some spells?"
Hargreaves took a slow drag from his cigar, then exhaled.
"No. That's not possible."
Lumian looked at him, slightly surprised.
Hargreaves continued calmly, "We don't follow the same Order. The only way to acquire spells is through understanding your own—its nature, its aspects."
He tapped the ash lightly. "The deeper your understanding… the more abilities you gain."
Lumian frowned slightly. "Wait… understand?"
"So you're saying I need to understand my Order just to gain spells?"
Hargreaves gave a short chuckle. "What did you think? That they're written in some book?"
Lumian scratched the back of his head with an awkward smile. "Not exactly… hehe."
He paused, then added,
"So it's kind of like a game? You level up, understand more, and unlock skills?"
Hargreaves nodded.
This whole system… it's basically built on knowledge and progression, Lumian thought. Almost like game mechanics…
But wait. If understanding your own Order grants abilities… what happens if you understand another one? Can you learn their spells too?
He let out a quiet sigh.
This world is seriously confusing…
At that moment, Hargreaves spoke again.
"Right, Lumian."
Lumian looked up.
"There's a place I want you to check out… along with Vincent and Derrick."
...
"What is it, Captain?" Lumian asked, unable to hide his curiosity.
Hargreaves dropped the cigar into the tray and looked at him.
"Normally, I wouldn't call Derrick," he said. "But… he's still a sorcerer. Even if he's not suited for combat, he has to contribute."
He leaned back slightly.
"I want you and the others to investigate Gordy."
"If you've been following the news, you'll know strange things have been happening there," Hargreaves continued. "Gordy is on my route from Klipard—I pass through it often."
"On the way, I stopped by there and talked to some people there. One man claimed he heard his dead wife calling him. Another swore he could hear his dead dog at night."
He let out a quiet chuckle.
Lumian couldn't help but laugh a little as well.
"Sounds like superstition."
Hargreaves shook his head lightly. "Maybe. Maybe not. That's why I'm sending you three to check."
Lumian nodded. "Alright, Captain."
Then he paused, as if remembering something.
"But… I still have a question about spells," he added. "For example—my abilities to divine, use mystic eyes, or even my physical agility… are those considered spells or just skills?"
Hargreaves nodded slowly.
"No. Those are innate abilities," he replied. "Once you take a potion, you naturally acquire them and learn how to use them."
"Spells are basically important abilities in an order, and are very unique."
"Just like you mentioned games right? think of them as abilities you unlock over time."
Lumian nodded in understanding, a smile forming on his face.
"Got it."
He turned toward the door. "I'll go inform Vincent and Derrick. Thank you, Captain… I really appreciate it."
With that, he stepped out and closed the door behind him.
...
Gordy Street.
About an hour later, the low hum of an engine filled the air as a taxi sped down the road before gradually slowing to a stop beside a house.
Vincent, Lumian, and Derrick stepped out, each of them glancing around as they took in their surroundings.
The buildings along the street looked relatively new—modern in design. Some had dark exteriors with black roofs, while others were painted in mismatched colors.
Derrick, chewing on a piece of bread, let out a heavy yawn.
"I still don't get why the captain had to call me for this," he muttered. "I don't belong here. I belong in the alchemy room."
Vincent smiled and glanced at him. "Well… you're still a sorcerer. Do you think he'd just leave you out?"
Lumian sighed inwardly.
That's just Derrick being nonchalant…
Derrick swallowed the last of his bread and wiped his mouth.
"Yeah, yeah, I get it," he said. "But where do we even start? And this sun is way too harsh…"
He raised a hand to shield his eyes.
Vincent chuckled and turned to his right.
"Let's start with this house."
...
Vincent stepped forward and knocked on the door.
Knock. Knock.
After a few minutes, there was a soft click, and the door slowly opened.
An elderly man with short white hair and deep wrinkles stood there, eyeing them cautiously.
"Can I help you?" he asked.
Vincent smiled politely. "Actually… we were hoping to help you. We heard there have been some strange occurrences around here. Have you experienced anything unusual?"
The man fell silent for a moment, thinking. After a moment, his face twisted into anxious and worry.
"Yes… yes," he said slowly. "Last week, my grandson—he's a scholar—came to visit. I haven't seen him since."
"But… I've been hearing his voice in my dreams."
Hearing that, Lumian stepped forward.
"Do you have anything that belonged to him?" he asked. "Something personal. It could help us track him."
The man hesitated, then nodded and quietly closed the door.
A few moments later, he returned with several books in his hands.
"These were his favorites," he said. "He never went anywhere without them…"
He looked at them carefully.
"If you don't mind me asking… are you from an exorcist faculty?"
Vincent nodded. "Yes. We're sorcerers. We are coming from the Moonlight Watchers Faculty. We heard about the recent incidents—robberies, deaths—so we came to investigate."
The man's expression grew solemn.
"I just hope… my little Johnny is safe."
He handed the books to Derrick.
At the same time, Lumian crouched down and opened his bag, taking out a few candles and placing them carefully on the ground.
One by one, he lit them.
...
Whoosh! Whoosh!
Though the wind blew steadily, the candles remained lit.
Lumian focused, drawing the pressure in his mind upward.
Focusing on the projections, he noticed that the town was strangely covered in red.
Indicating that the place was filled with hostile intentions towards him.
Hmm, red. At least, thank Skywalker it's not black. If it is, it means the situation is really really dangerous.
Lumian said Inwardly as he observed the surroundings. At the same time, a sudden chill spread through the air.
White silhouettes suddenly materialized, and drifted aimlessly through the streets, passing by like wandering after-images.
But amoung the white drifting silhouettes, a blue-colored ghost stood out, drifting around with the white figures.
Blue... Neither like or dislike... but ghost aren't supposed to be neutral, neither have any intentions towards humans...
This must rather be a vengeful ghost. It must be the source, causing the people here to commit crimes, by feeding their thoughts and causing them unrest.
He took a slow breath.
I need to exorcise it. Now.
With the candles forming a square around him, Lumian kept his mystic eyes active and began moving his hands in precise, quick gestures.
To ordinary passersby, it looked strange—almost ridiculous. A man waving his hands in the air for no reason.
A few people slowed down, staring. But Lumian ignored them.
Through his perception, the world was entirely different.
Different colors of red, white and blue, overlapped over reality, as the colours which were moving like tornadoes, and smoke drifted around, bringing more wind and chill.
His hands quickly moved faster, as he immediately recited an incantation:
"Stillness, settle on this breath,
I speak the name that calms the sky.
Skywalker, god of quiet dawn,
Let your light draw near."
"You who walk the clouds to rest,
Who guides the night to morning's door,
Lay your peace upon this chest—
What is not yours, remain no more."
"By soft wind and starlight clear,
By the hush that mends what's torn,
Skywalker, be present here—
Let this soul be whole, reborn."
"Darkness—depart now, in peace.
No will binds you, no hand compels.
In Skywalker's quiet name:
Be released… and be well."
...
In the drifting tornado of colours, the blue drifting silhouette suddenly stopped and froze, looking directly at Lumian.
Immediately, it clutched it's head, and let out a sharp, distorted shriek. One only Lumian could here.
Its form trembled violently.
Moments later, it collapsed inward… dissolving like color melting under flame.
A gust of strong wind, suddenly blew through the environment, and immediately after that, the blue silhouette vanished.
...
Lumian quickly lowered the pressure in his mind, deactivating his Mystic Eyes.
He exhaled softly, then raised a hand toward the sky before bringing it to his chest.
"Bless the Skywalker," he said quietly.
Seeing this, Vincent and Derrick followed his gesture.
"Bless the Skywalker."
Some of the passersby who had stopped to watch began whispering among themselves, unsure of what they had just witnessed—whether it was madness… or something divine.
A few Skywalker believers in the crowd repeated the phrase as well.
"Bless the Skywalker."
...
Lumian bent down and gathered the candles, placing them back into his bag.
For a brief moment, he activated his Mystic Eyes again.
The drifting figures were now all white… calm.
A faint smile appeared on his face.
Hmmm, so an excorsim was needed here, and I didn't know something serious was happening here. My mind just told me to carry candles... could it be a Diviner intuition?
He slung the bag over his shoulder.
Around them, the crowd slowly dispersed. Cars began moving again, and the street returned to normal.
Vincent turned to the old man and smiled.
"Lumian here is a very capable diviner," he said. "What you just witnessed was an exorcism. With his ability he can track your grandson."
The old man shivered.
"Exorcism…? I didn't see anything."
Derrick chuckled. "Of course you didn't. Or do you want to see ghosts. If you want to, you can join our Faculty and become a Sorcerer."
The man immediately shook his head, giving a slightly panicked look as he backed toward his door.
"No—no, thank you, sirs."
He stepped inside, leaving the door half-closed.
"But… if you find anything about my grandson… please let me know."
Vincent nodded seriously. "We will."
With their inspection complete, the three of them left the street and hailed another taxi, heading back toward Lamenti.
...
Lamenti, Moonlight Watchers Faculty.
The afternoon in the faculty was calm, with the rays of red light hitting the glasses.
Lury had fallen asleep behind the counter.
As the group entered, Derrick immediately broke away, heading straight through the partition toward the alchemy room.
Lumian, however, had no intention of resting.
He wanted to locate the old man's grandson as quickly as possible.
Dropping his bag onto the couch, he took out his amethyst pendant and the book Vincent had handed him.
He placed the book down carefully, then raised the pendant above it.
Closing his eyes, he entered a state of invigoration, searching for traces of spiritual fluctuation.
When he found it, he quickly brought the pressure upward and activated his mystic eyes.
Just as quickly, the air grew cold, as white silhouettes drifted around him once more.
Immediately, faint blue particles drifted from his body, forming thin blue lines, that stretched outward in the distance.
His mystic eyes followed this lines, covering some distance in the streets.
But suddenly, it paused, and suddenly disseapeared into nothingness.
Strangely enough, Lumian could still perceive thier directions.
His vision blurred for a moment, then everything changed.
From his perception, he could see an endless landscape filled with darkness. There was no day or night.
In the distance, two figures stood with their backs facing him.
They didn't move, not even a single twitch. Until they seemed to perceive a presence from behind and slowly turned toward the gaze.
Thier faces appeared, but however, they were filled with desperation and the seriousness to kill.
Immediately, they moved and lunged at the gaze.
However, Lumian gaze quickly moved upward. He didn't even have control of his gaze at this moment.
His gaze suddenly focused on the clouds which were devoid of any colour. They were only black, filled with an endless storm and thunder.
The storm clouds began twisting and folding into themselves, sometimes revealing red multiple eyes staring into the distance. Sometimes revealing slick and sinister tentacles, which intertwined and moved along the sky.
...
In the real world, Lumian stood in the same position, still holding the pendant, this time with his eyes open.
He trembled all over, his eye lids twitching. After some time, several drop of sweats fell on the ground from his face.
His lips twitched uncontrollably until words finally broke through.
"Help… help… please… I'm sorry…"
"Help… help…"
Vincent turned immediately.
"Lumian? What's wrong?"
In that instant, Lumian eyes quickly darkened, and the hand holding the pendant also did.