Chapter 319

Volume 2 Ch 59: Farewell, Little Evans

In 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󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄂the Upper City, inside another luxurious estate no less grand than Ryan’s newly acquired residence.

The ‍​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍󠄂󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄂study was spacious and coldly quiet. The enormous floor-to-ceiling windows stood open, allowing the night wind to pass through the room and scatter the faint lingering scent of incense.

Moonlight ‍​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍󠄂󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄂poured over the floor like spilled mercury, illuminating the polished marble beneath it, and also lighting half the profile of the person seated behind the desk.

The ‍​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍󠄂󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄂Third Prince, Aster Ishtar.

Unlike ‍​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍󠄂󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄂Second Prince Keynes’s flamboyant assertiveness, and unlike Cecilia’s icy brilliance, Aster’s handsomeness leaned more toward a refined, gentle androgyny. There was often a smile at the corner of his mouth, one that made people feel as though they were basking in a spring breeze. His ice-blue eyes were always curved, as though filled with goodwill and tolerance.

But ‍​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍󠄂󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄁󠄀󠄁󠄀󠄀󠄀󠄁󠄂now, in this study lit only by moonlight and a single lonely lamp, the smile on his face had faded considerably. All that remained was a thoughtful expression.

His slender fingers were playing with an object placed on a piece of purple velvet lining.

It was a sword.

Or rather, it was a broken sword.

The blade was translucent ice-blue, clearly made of extraordinary material. Even under the dim light, faint magical radiance flowed across it, making it obvious that it had once been a valuable enchanted weapon.

Only now, the sword had been severed cleanly through the middle. The cut was so smooth it made one’s heart tighten. It looked as though the sword had not been broken by brute force, but split cleanly in two by some extremely sharp, extremely hot, or extremely incomprehensible power, like a heated dining knife slicing through butter.

Near the broken edge, there were still charred and twisted marks on the blade, as though it had experienced an explosion or scorching heat.

This sword should have been buried along with its owner, Parker, a rather capable young officer under the Second Prince’s command, deep within the ancient elven ruins that had long since been thrown into chaos by the witch’s eruption and the subsequent lockdown, forgotten by the world.

But now, it lay quietly in the hands of Third Prince Aster.

On the carpet before the desk, a man was lying deeply prostrate, his forehead pressed against the cold floor, his body trembling slightly.

He had dull green short hair and freckles scattered across his face. His posture was humble and terrified.

“Your Highness,” the man said, his voice trembling, though his words were still fairly clear, “just as I said, Ryan Velt’s strength… has completely exceeded all our previous estimates. Tonight at the banquet, although he held back and did not reveal that inhuman state he displayed in the depths of the ruins, there is no doubt that his strength has taken another leap compared to before. I suspect he may have obtained some key inheritance belonging to the ancient elves within the ruins, and that he did not hand it over to the Empire.”

Aster seemed not to hear his report. His gaze still lingered on the broken sword in his hand. He lightly brushed the mirror-smooth fracture with his fingertip, and in the depths of his ice-blue eyes, an inscrutable dark light flashed.

“Mm.” He made a faint, ambiguous sound. At last, he gently placed the broken sword back on the lining, his movements as elegant as though he were setting down a fragile work of art.

Then he stood, walked around the broad desk, and came before the man who was still prostrating himself on the floor. Moonlight stretched his shadow long, covering Evans’s trembling back.

“All right, get up.” Aster’s voice was warm and pleasant, strangely blending with the cold atmosphere of the study. “I understand. I have no intention of blaming you.”

The man felt as though he had been pardoned from death. After hesitating for a moment, he finally crawled up from the floor with trembling hands and feet.

He still did not dare fully raise his head. He remained half-bent, allowing the moonlight to illuminate the flattery and post-disaster relief written all over his face.

If this face were seen by Lillian, or Ryan, or any academy member who had taken part in that ruins expedition and believed he had been buried there, they would certainly be shocked beyond words.

“Rather than punishing you,” Aster said, looking at him as that reassuring smile returned to his lips, “I should reward you properly instead, Evans.”

Evans’s face immediately filled with a flattered smile, and his waist bent even lower.

“If not for the intelligence you brought back, along with this… interesting piece of evidence,” Aster’s gaze swept across the broken sword on the desk, his tone still gentle, “I might have been like my dear second brother, and taken some less-than-cautious probing actions against this suddenly rising Lord Ryan Velt. Fortunately, you reminded me.”

He stepped forward and gently patted Evans on the shoulder, the gesture so cordial that it seemed as though he were encouraging a capable subordinate.

“Tonight, my second brother will likely be uncomfortable for quite some time. He lost such a capable aide as Asa, one placed openly on the board, and disgraced himself so thoroughly in full view of everyone. Father’s confinement order only adds frost to snow. Truly regrettable.”

The delight on Evans’s face almost overflowed, yet he hurriedly said in a humble voice, “It-it was all thanks to Your Highness’s cultivation! If not for those life-saving Magic Tools Your Highness bestowed upon me at the time, I would never have been able to sneak into the underground river at the final moment and narrowly escape with my life, much less bring these insignificant pieces of information back to Your Highness…”

Aster chuckled softly, seeming very satisfied with his tact and flattery, though there was not much true pride in his eyes.

He no longer looked at Evans. Instead, with his hands clasped behind him, he slowly paced to the enormous floor-to-ceiling window and looked outside. The cold moonlight fell over him, gilding him with a layer of silver and making the expression on his face appear somewhat unreal.

His gaze seemed to pierce through layers of estates and night, reaching toward the center of the imperial palace.

“How unexpected. Truly unexpected,” he murmured softly, his voice so low only he could hear it. “Ryan Velt… just which corner did you crawl out from?”

“Parker, Gray, Vincent…”

He counted those names one by one. Each name represented a force either he or his second brother had valued and invested resources into cultivating—a new power belonging to their generation, a potential piece for their future games on the Empire’s chessboard.

“All of those fellows actually fell at your hands alone. Father said they died in the chaos and accidents within the ruins. Heh. What a convenient explanation.”

He shook his head. A complicated expression of wariness and interest appeared between his refined brows.

“How truly… frightening.”

“I wonder if I can try to win him over?” he seemed to ask himself. But immediately afterward, he sighed lightly again.

“However, it seems my adorable imperial sister took action first.” He remembered the reports returned by his spies. During her time at Saint Roland Academy, Cecilia had interacted with Ryan many times, and even before Ryan was drawn into the trial incident, the two of them seemed to have already had some unknown connection. “Rather than saying she acted first, perhaps she had already seen some clues and laid the groundwork ahead of time?”

“How interesting.” The curve of Aster’s mouth deepened, but the smile did not reach his eyes. Instead, threads of chill seeped through it. “So the one I need to face is not only that simple-minded elder brother who only knows how to charge headlong, but also a good little sister who has always pretended to be innocent and bright while hiding such a deep mind.”

He stood quietly before the window. Moonlight outlined his tall figure, making him seem somewhat lonely, yet also unfathomable.

A moment later, he seemed to end those drifting thoughts and turned around. The warm smile that made others feel as though they were bathing in spring sunlight had already returned to his face.

“All right, go collect your reward,” he said to Evans in a relaxed tone. “The payment I promised you before will be doubled.”

Hearing this, Evans was overjoyed, almost to the point of leaping. He dropped to his knees again with a thud, kowtowing repeatedly, his voice shifting with excitement. “Thank you, Your Highness! Thank you for your great grace! This subordinate is willing to go through fire and water for Your Highness, and die ten thousand deaths without refusal!”

“Go,” Aster said gently, waving his hand.

Evans kowtowed twice more before climbing to his feet. With uncontrollable ecstasy glowing on his face, he retreated backward, almost rising onto his toes as he moved lightly and eagerly toward the study door.

He seemed to have already seen a glittering future before him, seen himself relying on this enormous contribution to rise rapidly under the Third Prince’s command.

Carefully, he pulled open the study’s heavy carved wooden door, slipped out sideways, then gently closed it again, afraid that even the slightest unnecessary sound might disturb His Highness.

The door closed, separating the warmth of the lamplight inside the study and the cold moonlight within from the outside.

Evans stood in the magnificent, quiet corridor outside the door and let out a long breath. He could not control the smile that appeared on his face. Turning, he was just about to head toward the place where he would collect his reward.

At that moment, his steps suddenly froze.

His body went rigid, and his pupils contracted sharply.

He lowered his head in disbelief and looked at his chest. A bloodstained blade tip, flickering with a cold幽 blue light, had pierced through his formal suit without warning, emerging from the place where his heart was.

Before the intense pain could even spread through his body, a cold numbness had already raced outward from the wound.

His mouth opened. Strange, hoarse sounds came from his throat, but he could not utter a single word. He wanted to turn around and see who stood behind him, but his neck had already stiffened beyond control.

Behind him, the shadows cast by the corridor lamps twisted faintly. A figure dressed in pitch-black tight clothing, seeming almost fused with the darkness itself, emerged like a ghost.

In his hand was a short blade of unusual design. The blade was narrow and glowed with an ominous blue light, clearly coated in deadly poison.

The last light in Evans’s eyes quickly dimmed. Ecstasy froze on his face. He did not even have time to let out a complete scream before he fell straight forward, landing with a muffled thud on the soft, luxurious carpet. His body twitched twice, then moved no more.

Blood quickly spread beneath him, blooming across the pale carpet like an ugly yet brilliant red flower.

The dark figure silently withdrew the short blade, wiped it casually twice on Evans’s clothes, then retreated into the shadows as soundlessly as he had appeared, as though he had never been there at all.

Inside the study, Aster still stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, as though wholly unaware of the brief killing that had just occurred in the corridor outside. He merely watched the moonlight beyond the window in silence, watching the shadows of the trees sway in the night wind.

After a while, the study door was pushed open silently by a crack. That pitch-black figure slipped inside and knelt on one knee, his voice flat and emotionless.

“Your Highness, it is done.”

Aster did not turn around. He merely gave a casual wave toward the cold moonlight outside the window, as though swatting away an insignificant insect.

“Mm. Clean up the aftermath. Leave no traces for others to find.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

The dark figure bowed to receive the order. His body flickered, and he once again merged into the darkness at the corner, vanishing from sight.

The study returned to silence. Only the moonlight continued flowing soundlessly, illuminating the ice-blue broken sword on the desk, and also illuminating the calm, undisturbed profile of Third Prince Aster Ishtar.

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