Chapter 168

Chapter 168
Chapter 168

## Chapter 168: The Old Hero (3)

A manor buried under the weight of the snow will always, inevitably, exude a somber atmosphere. Spending days confined in a site like this would eventually dampen even the most dynamic and enthusiastic individual, plunging them into an inevitable melancholy. It became increasingly easy to understand Melberot’s motives for using his threads of power to move Sirine to the southwestern continent; that frozen environment was, under no circumstances, suitable for a young girl’s growth.

In a side corridor where the snow managed to timidly filter in, a gaunt-looking man had taken over a fur-lined sofa, right in front of an imposing fireplace.

— Crackle, crackle.

The persistent sound of wood being consumed is the perpetual soundtrack of winter in the north. In the Rocheste domains, where cold is the only known season, that rhythmic crackling intertwines with the pulse of daily life.

“…”

Derek held his breath and cast another look at the frail man. His skill in magical detection had reached its peak, the 3-star rank, which allowed him to instantly gauge the potential of anyone below his level. The fact that Derek could not immediately decipher the extent of this man’s power meant only one thing: he was facing an equal or, possibly, someone superior. It was a presence whose magical aura was tangible, but whose true depth seemed incalculable.

As Derek narrowed his gaze to resist the pressure of being in front of what felt like an immovable mountain, the stranger broke the silence with an unexpectedly serene voice:

— “I have countless questions about Sirine. Being the one who has been closest to her during her recent training, no one knows her current condition better than you.”

“…”

— “Are you not going to take a seat? It must be cold near the threshold.”

There were no prior introductions. It was evident that he was not an ordinary subject; however, Derek did not expect him to be so direct, without hiding his authority under any veil. Derek closed his eyes for a moment, seeking calm, and after opening them, he walked slowly toward the opposite sofa. On that short journey, his mind worked at full speed to fit the pieces together.

That man moved through the Rocheste mansion, the home of Lord Melberot, with the ease of someone walking through their own bedroom. The servants avoided his gaze and respected his space, an unequivocal sign that Melberot had granted him an unquestionable status in the region. Furthermore, his mastery of the mystical arts was so vast that its boundaries were invisible.

However, the energy trail emanating from his right shoulder possessed a different nuance. It was a trace of necromancy; after living with Phee for so long, Derek was capable of identifying it instantly. Knowing that Melberot would never allow a necromancer in his inner circle, the conclusion was different: this man did not practice such arts, but rather had been marked by them. Connecting this to his sudden interest in Sirine, the truth emerged clearly.

From their first encounter until they sat before the fire, barely a few minutes had passed. Without needing major explanations, Derek shook the remnants of snow from his footwear and, once settled, stated:

— “Finding myself face to face with the Great Mage whom the world gave up for dead… there is no honor that compares to it.”

Upon hearing this, Kalimford slightly arched an eyebrow. Without warning, that magic master from Evelstain had stripped away his mask. Kalimford blinked slowly before replying in a graver tone:

— “What a curious observation. Are you implying that the dead have returned from the afterlife?”

— “I maintain that this is the work of Lady Phee. After her return to life, she has sought refuge in the home of her old comrade, Lord Melberot.”

— “…You possess a sharp mind. Melberot has always liked people with intellect.”

— “Now I understand why it was you who instructed Sirine.”

Kalimford took a rod with his weakened arm and threw it into the heart of the fireplace.

— Crackling sound!

The fire devouring the wood seemed like a reflection of what remained of his own existence. Kalimford had lived like a bonfire, consuming himself for the sole purpose of protecting the world. That was the final destiny of a legendary hero. With his gaze lost in the flames, he watched the dance of the fire before finally facing Derek. In that moment, Derek knew: this was a man with whom he had to hold a deep conversation.

*

— Step by step.

Both men advanced through the main corridor of the Rocheste mansion. Although age, rank, and origins separated them, the solemnity of their expressions and the firmness of their steps gave them the air of old allies linked by a shared history. Kalimford had offered to personally evaluate Derek’s magical capabilities, and they were now heading to the training area.

Suddenly, a familiar young woman appeared at the end of the hall. For Kalimford, time seemed to freeze. His eyes widened with astonishment and, for an instant, the world moved in slow motion: the snow hitting the glass, the young woman’s flowing dress, and the icy draft that made the skin prickle.

— “Oh! Derek!”

Sirine was overflowing with joy at being back in her family home. She was the same Sirine who in the north carried the reputation of being a ruthless assassin; however, seeing her walk with such elegance, no one would believe the dark tales that preceded her. Despite her stern nature, it was noticeable that she had made an effort to master high society protocol. Gone was the girl secluded in the tower; now she presented herself as a young woman with the distinction of a true lady.

As she walked with grace, the servants, still astonished by her transformation, followed her with nervous movements. It was difficult for them to assimilate that the young woman who used to erupt in anger and cover herself in blood had changed so much.

— “This dress was hard to choose and it almost got ruined with bloodstains. It took me an eternity to change,” she commented.

— “That outfit suits you very well,” replied Derek.

— “Really? I hope Dad likes it.”

Despite her words, her enthusiasm was evident. In that instant, she seemed like an ordinary girl of her age.

“…”

After finalizing the details of her appearance, she was preparing to go to the guest lounge to see Melberot. Her light steps confirmed her good mood. After giving Derek a radiant look, her eyes landed on the gaunt man who accompanied him. She tilted her head with curiosity, wondering who that unkempt-looking stranger could be who was wandering through the mansion without anyone stopping him.

Faced with Derek’s hesitation on how to introduce him, Kalimford did something unexpected: he knelt to reach Sirine’s eye level. With a warmth he had not shown before, he spoke softly:

— “I am an old comrade of Lord Melberot. A man of the people, so there is no need to use protocols with me. It is a true honor to finally meet the distinguished Lady Sirine.”

— “A friend of my father? A commoner? Hmm… I doubt you could walk like that through Rocheste if you were someone ordinary.”

— “It is just as I was told: you possess a serene dignity and an enviable nobility. You are truly beautiful.”

— “Do not try to flatter me. I know well that in the north I am known as a murderess, and I do not expect the rumors to be any different.”

Sirine let out a scoff of indifference before standing tall with pride.

— “Even so… if you are a friend of my father, you deserve my respect, regardless of your origin. I apologize if my attitude was inappropriate.”

The servants watched the scene as if they were witnessing a miracle. They knew she had received instruction in the Barony of Ravenclaw, but no one imagined the change would be so radical. It was said that Baron Ravenclaw was an exceptional master of nobility, but this exceeded any expectation.

— “Be welcome to Rocheste. Here you will only find snow, but it has its own beauty.”

— “You are right. This white landscape seems relentless, but it conveys an immense peace.”

— “It seems you understand these things. You seem as calm as… a snowy field after a storm has passed.”

Sirine sketched a smile directed at Kalimford upon finishing her compliment.

— “Well, I must go see my father… We will chat another time.”

With the urgency of reuniting with Melberot, Sirine held the hem of her dress and walked away.

— “See you later, Derek!”

Her rhythmic steps were lost in the hallway. The movement of her dress was reminiscent of the petals of a flower making their way. She had appeared like a whirlwind, leaving a deep impression before vanishing. She was still a young woman with much to go through, with internal scars and probably more battles to face. However, she had learned to speak with integrity and confidence, leaving the pain behind to walk with strength.

That brief exchange allowed a glimpse into the hardness of her past, but also the firm conviction of one who has decided to be the master of their own destiny. At least, her world was no longer plagued by total wars or horrors that devoured nations.

Although Sirine was no longer in sight, Kalimford remained kneeling. Derek waited a few seconds before intervening:

— “As you can see, she still has a way to go, but her evolution has been remarkable.”

“…”

— “She will join us for dinner after speaking with Lord Melberot. There you will be able to delve into your stories.”

Kalimford did not emit any sound. Instead of standing up, he placed both knees on the floor, keeping his face hidden. Bent over, with his palms against the floor, his shoulders began to shake. Upon seeing the legendary man broken in the hallway, unable to recompose himself, Derek decided not to press.

It was ironic. He could be the myth that saved the world, the mage who surpassed any other and whose name was revered by all his peers; but, in the end, what truly moved him was the image of a young woman walking with vitality through a hallway.

The duel field was still far away, but Derek preferred to watch in silence the snowflakes that were falling behind the glass. They still had plenty of time.