Chapter 5

So if you found something on an assassin’s corpse?

Then either they were amateurs—or someone wanted you to find it.

And yet… the bodies had vanished.

Even the assassins’ corpses had been retrieved—dragged away into the unknown. Not even the smallest clue had been left behind.

Whoever they were… they wanted no whispers remaining in the world.

“This was no mere ambush,” Roxana said bitterly. “No ordinary enemy would dare strike at a direct heir of House Pelagius—not in this place, not like this.”

Her gaze turned toward Curtis , sharp with concern.

“For now, you must stay in the shadows, Curtis .”

“…Ma’am?”

“You are the only survivor. The young heir’s closest confidant. Whether you know anything or not is irrelevant. If the enemy thinks you do, they will come.”

“I… I know nothing. Not even the young master knew who they were—how could I—?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Roxana said grimly. “Only what they believe matters. If they think you might know something, then they’ll stop at nothing to silence you.”

And truth be told, the Pelagius family might think the same. If any fragment of a clue remained, Curtis  was the only one left to hold it.

If Curtis  died too, then Roxana herself might face the blade of blame. She could not let that happen.

“I understand,” Curtis  said, bowing his head.

He didn’t need her warning. The threat was real. And more than that—the tome was still with him. If that had been the attackers’ true aim, then he was a marked man until it reached the hands of House Pelagius—or until it was burned to ash.

The conversation faded into silence, both lost in their own thoughts.

By then, night had fallen fully. Torches flared to life, casting flickering shadows across the ruined ground.

As soldiers took their first breaths of rest, hooves thundered from the north.

“They’re here.”

The last wave of riders—ten men and two carriages—arrived from Quinis.

Even at a glance, the carriages were clearly not made for cargo. Polished wood, engraved brass, velvet trim. These belonged to Roxana herself.

But they bore no passengers—only the dead.

“Are the vessels prepared?” she asked.

“Yes, Governor.”

“Then see it done.”

Within the carriages, finely crafted coffins awaited. Not wagons, not carts—these were fit for nobility.

The first bore Zerion  Pelagius, laid to rest in dignity.

The second held the four personal guards who had died by his side.

“The hour is late. We return to Quinis—now.”

“Yes, Governor!”

Night marches were never ideal. But Roxana would not camp near a battlefield where assassins might still lurk. Better to ride through the dark than die in it.

As the men prepared to depart, Roxana turned to Curtis  once more.

“You may ride in the carriage.”

“…I don’t deserve such comfort.”

“You’re his attendant,” she said, not unkindly. “It is no shame to ride beside your master’s coffin. And you’ll be moving again by morning—you need rest.”

“…Then I accept, with thanks,” Curtis  replied, bowing.

He would not argue. He was exhausted. And with Roxana herself offering reason and rank as justification, who was he to refuse?

Sleep, however, was out of the question.

He wouldn’t close his eyes even if he could.

He had the tome. Time. And for once, privacy.

Even if it’s disrespectful to read beside his coffin… he never said I couldn’t.

He drew the book from his coat.

[Waterflow Manipulation]
[Progress to First Acquisition: 31%]

He let out a faint, self-deprecating chuckle.

I’ve come this far… pretending to feel guilt now would just be hypocrisy.

With a hundred riders and two sacred carriages, the company rode into the moonlit road.

Within the carriage, Curtis  began to test the secrets of the tome.

He ran small experiments, calculating how long it took to gain a single percentage point of mastery.

Touching the cover produced similar results to simply carrying it close—slow, steady progress.

Resting his palm on an open page was faster. Comparable to flipping through the tome.

It’s the parchment, he realized. Not the motions. The essence flows from the page—not the binding.

Convenient. He didn’t need to feign reading anymore. No movement, no attention. Just touch.

And so, he sat still, hand pressed to the tome.

And the progress surged.

By the time he passed 50%, Curtis  felt something stir.

At first, he dismissed it as anticipation.

But no. The sensation grew stronger—and it wasn’t psychological.

The book was doing something.

It was leaking.

Not light. Not sound. Something else. Something that no ordinary sense could touch.

And yet—Curtis  felt it.

Not with his eyes. Not with his ears. But with something new.

The cover, he now understood, had been sealed not just to preserve secrets—but to contain whatever this strange energy was.

There was fear, yes. Fear of the unknown.

But curiosity had already taken root—and it was deeper.

He stared at the glowing words.

And then, at last…

[Waterflow Manipulation]
[Progress to First Acquisition: 100%]

The moment the final threshold was crossed—

The world twisted.

Curtis  clapped a hand over his mouth, stifling the cry that nearly escaped.

It was not pain.

It was expansion.

No—birth.

This wasn’t his existing senses becoming sharper. It was a new sense altogether.

A sixth sense, foreign and overwhelming.

It flooded him—information, sensation, awareness that had no name, no category.

He couldn’t describe it, not in words meant for sight or smell or hearing.

Only time allowed his mind to begin accepting it, forming patterns.

And then… he felt it.

Inside him, something stirred.

A coolness settled in his core, deeper than skin or breath. Not the chill of wind or water—but something ancient, flowing.

And then he recognized it.

The very same essence… was bleeding from the tome.

A silent stream, unseen by mortal eyes—but now visible to him through this new gift.

The strange sensation he’d felt for days?