- Trafalgar POV -

Trafalgar lay stretched across the long sofa of the Euclid mansion—Mordrek's family home, lent to him as if he were royalty rather than an overstressed student with too many enemies. He had been there for hours, unmoving, wrapped in the heavy silence of a morning he had no desire to start.

Tomorrow he had to return to the Morgain castle. Valttair had summoned him.

That alone was enough to kill any motivation.

That thought alone drained any remaining motivation from his bones.

He let out a breath and sank deeper into the cushions.

'It's been three months since the last time I was called back for something important. Since the war started, things have been strangely calm for me. I've been focusing purely on training… and it paid off.'

He lifted a hand lazily, watching the faint mana still clinging to his skin.

'Fourth Rank. Flow Rank. I just reached the fourth core, but I can already feel the difference. From here on… every advancement is going to take longer. Maybe a full year to reach the next one.'

A faint, self-satisfied smile tugged at his lips.

'Still… with an SSS talent, who knows? I've been climbing faster than all my classmates. Barth is already behind me. Cynthia and Xavier—same rank, but they aren't on my level anymore. Between equipment, skills, and raw power… I'm stronger.'

His expression softened slightly.

'Zafira… well, that's another story. She's still ahead.'

He finally pushed himself up and stretched until something in his back cracked. After hours of doing absolutely nothing, even moving felt like effort. But laziness was a luxury—and one he wouldn't get to enjoy once he stepped inside the castle gates tomorrow.

His mind drifted toward yesterday's Shadowlink Echo message from Caelum.

'"Young Master Trafalgar, your father Valttair wishes to see you."'

He rubbed the side of his head.

'It's probably about whoever cursed Trafalgar as a child. I already told Valttair before leaving for the academy that I believed it was Seraphine. I still think so. She's the only one who ever showed hostility toward him that early… almost as if she knew what he would become.'

He narrowed his eyes slightly.

'A class that lets her see someone's state or potential? It's possible. I have a class connected to Void creatures, after all. Anything is possible in this world.'

Trafalgar rose from the sofa and walked toward the door of his room, resting his hand briefly on the wooden frame. The hallway beyond was quiet—peaceful, almost too peaceful for Morgain territory.

He paused there, letting the silence breathe.

Trafalgar finally stepped out of his thoughts and pulled the door open. The quiet hallway stretched long and polished, lit by faint mana lamps that cast gentle blue hues against the stone walls. Standing just outside—as she always did—was the elven maid.

Tall, graceful, hair bound neatly, she bowed the moment he appeared. She no longer carried the flirtatious energy she once tried on him some time ago. Trafalgar had shut that down quickly—and repeatedly—until the matter died completely. Now she behaved with strict professionalism.

"Lord Trafalgar, do you require anything?" she asked softly.

He shook his head.

"I'm going to take a walk around Euclid," he said. "It's been a while since I've gone out. I want to see how things are. If possible, prepare dinner for when I return—before nightfall."

The elf placed a hand over her chest and bowed again.

"Understood."

With that, she glided down the hallway and disappeared around the corner, leaving Trafalgar alone with the quiet of the mansion.

He moved through the corridors until he reached the door leading to the inner courtyard. A gust of cold wind greeted him as soon as he stepped outside—Euclid's signature chill. Snow drifted steadily from the sky, soft and constant, as if the territory itself breathed winter.

It was always like this in Morgain lands.

Even in July, snow could fall as if the world had forgotten what warmth was.

Trafalgar pulled his new coat tighter around himself—the black-and-navy one he had bought in Velkaris. Uncommon-rank item or not, he liked its look. It fell to just above his knees, sharp and modern, a little too stylish for someone walking across an icy courtyard.

'I look like Guardiola…' he thought dryly, the corner of his mouth twitching.

He continued across the courtyard, boots crunching lightly against the frosted stone. Ahead were the two guards stationed at the main gate. The moment they spotted him approaching from inside, they straightened and swung the heavy doors open.

"Lord Trafalgar," one of them said with a respectful bow. "We hope you have a good day."

Trafalgar returned a simple nod—not unfriendly, but distant enough to maintain his usual presence—and stepped past them.

The cold wind brushed against Trafalgar's face as he stepped onto the streets of Euclid. The sky hung low and gray, thick clouds releasing a quiet drift of snow that settled over rooftops, lantern posts, and the stone paths winding through the city. It was peaceful—far more peaceful than someone with the surname Morgain should ever expect.

Trafalgar slowed his pace as he moved away from the mansion walls, the vastness of Euclid opening before him. The scent of burning wood, the distant chatter of merchants preparing their stalls, the crunch of snow beneath his boots—it all felt strangely normal now.

Normal… for him.

He stopped walking.

Just stood there.

Snowflakes landed softly on his coat, melting against the dark fabric before disappearing.

'One year…' The thought surfaced quietly, grounding him in place. 'I've been in this world for an entire year today.'

Three hundred sixty-five days in a place that should have killed him.

A place where nobles devoured each other politically, where monsters tore flesh and bone, where magic and murder walked hand in hand.

And yet he lived.

More than that—he had grown.

Trafalgar lifted his gaze to the cloudy sky, letting the quiet snowfall brush against his cheeks.

'I survived. I adapted.'

'And somehow… I became strong. Strong enough to stand among people who were born into this madness.'

He exhaled slowly, watching the breath mist in the cold air.

He thought of everything he'd done.

The people he had fought.

The ones he had killed.

The ones he had protected.

'I've killed my fair share by now… different races, different faces. I don't feel anything about it anymore. This world works like that. And being who I am? I never had a choice.'

Despite the weight of those words, Trafalgar didn't feel regret. He felt something else—something steadier.

Resolve.

'I'm still alive. And I still want to live. Even if the world tries to crush me.'

Snow continued to fall, coating the street in white as he stood there, lost in the quiet milestone of his survival.

But then—

A familiar voice broke through the silence.

"Lord Trafalgar! What a joy to see you."

Trafalgar blinked and turned.

An elderly man stood by a small table of books, frosty breath curling from his lips, half-moon spectacles fogged slightly by the cold. A cardigan far too large draped over his thin shoulders, and his white beard spilled down to his chest.

Vincent.

The old librarian.

Trafalgar's expression softened.

"Vincent."

Vincent's face brightened the moment Trafalgar acknowledged him. The old man shuffled closer, clutching a stack of worn books to his chest as if they weighed nothing. His steps were slow but steady, practiced by decades of navigating the same streets through snow and cold.

"Oh, what an honor that you remember me, Lord Trafalgar!" Vincent said, bowing his head with exaggerated care.

Trafalgar lifted a hand lightly.

"No need for the 'Lord' when it's just you, Vincent."

The old man blinked behind his fogged spectacles, startled.

"H-How could I? After everything you've done—the library most of all—I would feel disrespectful."

Trafalgar shook his head faintly but didn't push the matter. Vincent's respect came from sincerity, not obligation.

"How have you been?" Trafalgar asked.

Vincent's eyes twinkled.

"Better than ever, thanks to you. But you didn't come here to hear about an old man's bones and bad back, did you?"

Trafalgar gave a small smile.

"Actually, I wanted to ask how things are in Euclid. From your perspective—someone who's lived here far longer than I have."

Vincent took a thoughtful breath, the cold air puffing around him like smoke.

"Ah… Euclid." He looked around the snowy street, his expression softening.

"To be honest, milord, it's wonderful now. After the attack… this city was on its knees. But the tax adjustments you ordered? They saved families. They saved businesses. Houses were repaired, streets rebuilt, and for the first time in many years…"

He gestured to the row of new stone buildings in the distance—sleek, modern designs rising from the snow.

"…we have structures that only grand cities used to boast."

Trafalgar listened quietly, letting the words settle.

Vincent continued, voice warm:

"As for the library… well, it's more than a library now. It's a light in this cold place. Children come every morning. I've been teaching them basic reading, history, a little math when their parents allow it."

He chuckled.

"If my joints weren't so stiff, I'd say I'm younger now than I was ten years ago."

Trafalgar raised a brow.

"Do you have many children studying now?"

Vincent nodded enthusiastically.

"All the ones we can fit, and a few more than that. Actually…" He leaned in conspiratorially. "We're holding a morning class right now. Would you like to visit? The children would be thrilled to meet the Lord of Euclid."

Trafalgar paused.

'I have time… and it's been a while since I saw the city properly. I can find Arthur afterward.'

He nodded.

"Lead the way, Vincent."

The old librarian brightened like a lantern.

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