The journey back to Caelmont was quieter than before. The sky had taken on a copper hue, and as the sun sank, the horizon seemed to burn. Every few minutes, the stone in my pocket would give a faint tremor, as if reminding me it was alive or, worse, aware.

From horseback, I could already see the city in the distance. When the vineyards reappeared, I slowed my pace. The workers were long gone; only the darkening rows of vines remained, swaying softly in the wind.

"One step closer…" I repeated my own words, but this time, they didn't feel like mine. They sounded borrowed.

I stopped my horse and placed a hand over my chest, where the stone rested. My heartbeat was slower, heavier than before, as if each pulse was synchronizing with the rhythm of the stone.

It was faint, but I could feel something spreading from the stone into my veins like invisible threads branching outward. I recognized the sensation. I had felt it once before, when I first obtained the technique of the Demon God.

A power not my own, trying to decide whether to consume me—or obey me.

I exhaled slowly. "Not this time," I whispered. "You will serve me."

The whispers stopped. For now.

By the time I returned to the manor, the torches were already lit. The guards opened the gate at once, and I entered the courtyard. The servants came rushing, but I waved them away. With the kind of power I carried, I didn't want anyone near me.

Once inside my room, I locked the door and drew the curtains. The only light came from the moon. I removed my gloves, unbuttoned my coat, and took out the stone.

When it rested in my palm, a pale glow seeped through my fingers. The light within its veins pulsed like the steady breath of some living thing; measured, deliberate, and yet deeply menacing.

I placed it on the table. The moment it touched the wooden surface, the room filled with a faint hum, almost imperceptible.

This was The Heart of the Blue Swirl, as it was called in the novel, a relic said to amplify a person's techniques.

Of course, it had limits. It could only be used three times, and only once per technique. Even so, it was immensely valuable. Not superbly valuable.

Those among the Superior Ones would not hesitate to wage war for such an artifact.

For now, I would use it on my technique, **Dark Judgment**.

I sat down slowly. My hands still tingled with the echo of its pulse. Taking a quiet, deep breath, I looked at the object before me. No magical material I had ever seen looked so… alive. Its glow didn't flicker. It flowed, imitating the rhythm of a heartbeat.

If it worked as the legends claimed, my techniques wouldn't just grow stronger; my control over them would deepen.

I placed my hand over the stone. It had grown warmer.

"Dark Judgment," I whispered.

The moment the name left my lips, the light within the stone flared. A sharp burn shot through my veins. It was so intense that my knees trembled.

Black mist rose from my fingertips, drifting around the room before returning into me

as if the stone had measured my power, adjusted it, and handed it back.

It lasted less than a minute. Then the light faded, and silence returned.

The stone had dulled, as if it had poured its energy into me.

I breathed in and out. Something inside me had changed, but this time, it wasn't an alien force pressing in. It was control emanating from within.

The dark aspect of the technique no longer opposed me; it obeyed.

I opened my palm.

A small black mark had appeared there like a seal. It meant one use was spent. Two remained.

I wasn't fooling myself; each use would deepen the stone's hold over me. But I had no choice. This was no longer about survival.

In this world, everyone was a pawn in someone else's game.

I could use it on others someday, but for now, I would keep it hidden.

The silence lingered a while longer. My breathing slowed, my heartbeat steadied. Yet the air still thrummed faintly with the stone's vibration, as though it had seeped into the walls.

I stood up. The mark in my palm still burned; not hot or cold, just present. The stone on the table looked lifeless now, but I knew it was drawing mana from the surroundings, preparing for reuse.

I locked it away carefully. I'd simply have to remember to take it when I left.

I drew the curtains aside. Caelmont's lights shimmered in the distance.

I could already feel that I had unlocked the first ability of Dark Judgment, but I wasn't yet ready to test it.

Hands clasped behind my back, I looked out over the cobbled streets. Even at this hour, the traders' lanterns glowed like veins of gold winding through the city.

I closed my eyes, listening to the current within me. Mana pulsed through my veins in a new rhythm; cold, sharp, yet obedient.

It was as if the technique had finally whispered its true name to me.

The Demon God's gift.

And the thought of him reminded me: there were still powerful beings I had to kill.

Perhaps I could if I were careful. But there was still a long road ahead.

The Superior Ones could wait for now.

I moved away from the table and slipped my gloves back on. My thoughts calmed.

_Not yet,_ I told myself. I'm not ready to wield this power fully. Everything has its time._

I turned toward the door and noticed something strange. The door, though closed, had no guards nearby. It opened with surprising silence. And there, standing with her back to me, was a woman with white hair, seemingly lost in quiet debate with herself.

I recognized Rebecca immediately; her lavender scent, her full figure.

I said nothing, just watched. She was muttering softly.

"Is this too much…? What if he doesn't like it…? Maybe I should've gotten something else…"

Her voice then shifted slightly, as if another version of herself had taken over.

"Pull yourself together, Rebecca. He'll like it. Even if he doesn't, he'll never show it. He's too kind for that."

Then her gentler voice returned. "That's exactly what I'm afraid of. If he pretends to like it when he doesn't, that's worse than his saying so."

I stepped closer, my footsteps silent, until only a few paces separated us. She still hadn't noticed me. Her pale hair shimmered like silver in the candlelight. She was holding a small box carefully wrapped, yet creased as if it had been opened and closed many times.

"Rebecca," I whispered.

She flinched, spinning around. Her eyes widened, lips parted, but no sound came out. The box nearly slipped from her hands; I stepped forward and caught it.

Our fingers brushed. Her hands were as cold as ever, but this time, I felt a faint tremor. She tried to avert her gaze, but couldn't. Through her silver lashes, her eyes met mine, filled with that familiar blend of courtesy and shyness.

"You sneak up like an assassin," she breathed, her tone carrying the faintest trace of reproach.

"And you talk to yourself like a lunatic," I replied with a small smile. "We're even."

Rebecca's lips twitched. She wanted to say something, but the words wouldn't come. She took the box from my hands, pressed it to her chest, and stepped back.

"Let's go inside. I'll give it to you there." She entered swiftly, not waiting for permission.

I followed her in, closing the door behind me. Standing before her, I saw her glance away as she motioned to the box.

"This… is just a small token," she said, her voice thinner than usual. "For agreeing to come to the duchy."

"A thank-you gift? Or just an excuse to show affection?"

Unable to withstand my gaze, she lowered her eyes. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she smiled faintly.

"Maybe both," she said. "You decide which."

Her usual calm, composed demeanor had given way to a fragile nervousness. Rebecca rarely showed emotion; every moment of closeness with her required patience like trying to ignite a spark beneath ice.

"May I look?" I asked, waiting for her to hand me the box.

She hesitated, then nodded.

I lifted the lid carefully. Inside was no jewel, no glowing artifact, just something simple yet crafted with care: a small notebook, wrapped in dark blue cloth. The cover was bound in leather, the corners slightly worn but freshly polished.

I stared at it for a moment. Rebecca said nothing, as if the silence itself would reveal the meaning.

"This…" I murmured, tracing the silver-threaded embroidery on the cover. It read:

'The Whispers of the Wind.'

Rebecca bit her lip. "Don't make fun of it."

"Make fun of it?" I raised an eyebrow. "You came up with the name?"

"Yes."

"And why?"

Reluctantly, but compelled, she took a deep breath.

"Because…" she said, looking away, "I'm not good at expressing my feelings. I know that. It's caused trouble before. I've been misunderstood, lost people I didn't want to lose because of it."

Her voice trembled slightly on the last words.

"In this notebook," she continued, running her fingers along the box's edge, "I've written the things I wanted to say… but couldn't. About us."

In that moment, I realized once more how lonely Rebecca truly was. Strong, yes, but beneath that strength lay a heart full of unspoken things.

"Rebecca," I said gently, "you don't need to say anything. Why go through the trouble?"

She lifted her head. For the first time, her eyes met mine without a mask.

"Because," she said quietly, "I don't want to lose you just because I can't express myself."

____________

Unfortunately, I haven't published any new chapters for a long time as I was out of town. I apologise for this. I did have the time to write, but I lacked the motivation. I had the opportunity to write new chapters, but each time I could only manage to write a few sentences. That's why I didn't write any new chapters until I returned home.

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