Chapter 8 : Accompanying

From Ophelia’s perspective, Luen’s talent might seem like a blessing from the heavens, but to him, it was nothing more than a curse.

If the starting point of everything that had happened was just because of this wretched talent, then it would have been better if he never had it in the first place.

“You probably don’t realize it yet, but this is a talent that rivals mine.”

He didn’t know.

Luen nodded in response to Ophelia’s words, as if to agree.

Of course, how could he know?

He had never once given much thought to spirit arts, nor did he understand it in the slightest.

So, he had no way of knowing just how extraordinary the talent dwelling within him truly was.

Even so—

Even if this damnable talent for spirit arts was remarkable, it didn’t change the fact that he had no need for it.

“Not even once did I ever wish for this.”

An extraordinary gift for spirit arts? He never desired such a thing.

He simply wished—perhaps in vain—to have talent in magic instead.

If only he had been born with even an ordinary aptitude for magic instead of this so-called great talent in spirit arts…

“Then perhaps none of this would have ever happened.”

His grip tightened fiercely, as if he intended to crush the object in his hand.

He truly meant to break it, but something created by Ophelia wouldn’t shatter so easily.

Letting out a long breath, Luen carefully placed it back onto the desk and met Ophelia’s gaze.

The moment their eyes locked, Ophelia instinctively flinched.

Even though he was trying to maintain a facade of calm, his bloodshot eyes bore into her with a chilling intensity.

“……Perhaps.”

In truth, Luen’s words were little more than irrational resentment.

His parents had died because of his uncle.

His family had fallen largely due to his schemes.

Even if Luen had been born with an ordinary magic talent, those events might have unfolded all the same.

After all, expecting a mere fifteen-year-old boy to lead a noble house was an impossible burden.

And yet, when looking at the situation as a whole, something about it felt undeniably unsettling.

So, Ophelia chose to simply acknowledge Luen’s anger.

Perhaps—just perhaps—he wasn’t entirely wrong.

“But because you have this talent, at least you have the power to seek revenge.”

“I have no intention of seeking revenge with something like this.”

At Luen’s reply, Ophelia finally fell silent.

He was still young—his words were born from youthful defiance.

Yet, as a mage who valued rationality above all else, she found his response rather unsatisfactory.

“I plan to seek aid from the surrounding territories. Would you be willing to help me?”

What Luen envisioned was securing support before Calcento could fully seize control of Kalbrandt.

He, as the rightful heir, would appeal to the neighboring lords for aid in driving Calcento out.

Of course, given Calcento’s greed, it was highly likely that he had already laid the groundwork in some of those territories.

Even so, among the many surrounding lands, there had to be at least one willing to support him.

That was Luen’s judgment.

“……Do as you wish.”

To Ophelia, it was far from the best plan.

But even so, she chose to respect his decision.

Ophelia was not Luen’s caretaker.

While she acknowledged that his talent piqued her curiosity, that didn’t mean she was responsible for his life.

Every choice had to be his own, and the consequences that followed would be his alone to bear.

“I will send the letters.”

“…Thank you.”

Luen expressed his gratitude for Ophelia’s consideration, then slowly, unhurriedly, began to walk away.

As she watched him prepare to leave the cabin, Ophelia let out a small breath and spoke.

“Stay for at least a day. That much is fine.”

“…I’ll accept your kindness with gratitude.”

Luen hesitated for a moment at her words, then gave a small nod.

Stepping into that dark forest was a daunting thought.

Even when the darkness thickened and the moon reached its peak in the sky, Ophelia found herself unable to sleep.

She had done everything Luen asked of her—sending letters in his name to the neighboring territories, waiting for the inevitable responses.

Of course, she already had a good idea of what those responses would be.

Lying down on the uncomfortable sofa, she pulled a blanket over herself, her gaze settling on Luen as he slept.

Letting out a sigh, she made sure it was too quiet for him to hear.

“Hah.”

A wry chuckle escaped her lips as she shook her head.

The idea of her, Ophelia—the woman infamous for never concerning herself with others—being troubled over something like this was laughable, even to herself.

It wasn’t as if she was particularly interested in Luen himself.

Rather, it was Luana who had truly caught her attention.

Hamel was intriguing as well, in his own way.

But in the end, he was merely another golden-haired prodigy, just like her.

Anything he could accomplish, she was confident she could do as well—if not better.

That was why Luana was different.

Ordinarily, Ophelia wouldn’t have spared a second glance at a talent tinged in violet.

But with her remarkable intellect, Luana had managed to captivate even Ophelia’s interest.

If Luana hadn’t been a woman like Ophelia, perhaps Ophelia would have courted her.

That was how deeply she had fallen for Luana.

That was also why Ophelia, who had never spent even a single night in someone else’s home, had stayed at the Kalbrandt estate for four whole days.

Wandering from forest to forest in pursuit of spirit arts—this, too, was her way of preventing herself from doing something reckless.

“Because if I don’t, I might just erase Kalbrandt from existence.”

For that reason, Ophelia couldn’t simply leave Luen alone.

She had intended to remain an observer, knowing she wouldn’t live his life for him.

But the moment she faced him, he began to weigh on her mind.

A deep sigh escaped her lips.

“Well, I do need him for my research on spirit arts.”

Proud as she was, Ophelia refused to acknowledge that she was helping someone for such a reason.

Regardless, it didn’t change the outcome.

Snapping out of her thoughts, Ophelia silently observed Luen as he slept.

“He looks like Luana.”

Her closest friend.

Seeing Luana’s son, she let out another long breath.

Such a young boy—forced to endure something that would have shattered most grown men—yet in front of others, he struggled to maintain his composure.

His expression looked on the verge of collapse, yet his voice remained eerily calm, creating a stark contrast.

Even after losing everything, he fought desperately to uphold his dignity as a noble and to avoid tarnishing his parents’ names.

Even someone as indifferent to emotions as Ophelia could recognize that much in an instant.

And so, she couldn’t look away.

At first, it was his talent in spirit arts that caught her attention.

But soon, she found herself drawn to the expression he wore.

Pain.

Suffering.

Loneliness.

He bore it all alone—just like Luana, her only friend, had.

And so, Ophelia reached a conclusion.

She couldn’t leave Luen to fend for himself.

Ophelia, the Grand Mage, was free.

No one could bind her, no one could order her around.

But at the same time, she wasn’t entirely free.

The moment she took someone’s side, the delicate balance of power would shift.

That was why, despite her freedom, she was also bound.

Too many powerful eyes watched her every move.

But even so—Ophelia didn’t care.

She did as she pleased.

She helped when she wished to.

That was who she was.

Her thoughts continued, weaving plans for the future and considering what to do with the boy before her.

From the time the moon rose in the east to when it set in the west—

From when darkness cloaked the world to when the sun reclaimed the sky—

Ophelia sat unmoving, deep in contemplation.

And finally, as her thoughts began to settle—

Luen awoke.

Slowly opening his eyes, he grimaced at the cold sweat clinging to his skin, then gradually sat up.

“It wasn’t a dream.”

Even in sleep, his nightmare of a reality haunted him.

Tossing and turning in the throes of a recurring nightmare, Luen took a deep breath and glanced around.

The cabin.

And the unfamiliar surroundings that didn’t quite match its rustic appearance.

As the memories of the previous day resurfaced, he blinked sluggishly and turned his gaze toward Ophelia.

She met his eyes for a brief moment before rising and looking toward the window.

There was only one window, and even that was covered by a thick curtain—yet she gazed beyond it as if she could see through the fabric.

“You’re awake. Perfect timing.”

“What do you… mean…?”

His voice cracked from sleep as he struggled to respond.

But as he caught sight of the small smirk playing at Ophelia’s lips, his body tensed involuntarily.

“The replies to your letters have arrived.”