Cilie opened the box.
Elijah's eyes widened the moment he saw what lay inside. A strange, cryptic puppet rested within, its presence exuding an eerie, ancient aura. Its eyes, though lifeless, seemed to carry a forgotten will.
"What are you going to do with this?" Elijah asked, his voice tinged with confusion and caution.
Cilie remained silent. She gently lifted the puppet and handed it to Elijah.
"This will help you one day," she said softly.
Before Elijah could ask anything further, two familiar voices rang out behind him.
"Elijah?"
"Oh my! Cilie's giving you a gift now?" came the jovial voice of King Rudolf. He chuckled. "I can see a strong bond forming already."
The other man, Alaric, stepped forward with a calm expression. "Why are you here, Elijah?"
Elijah turned, startled. "I saw Cilie here… I was just curious, so I followed her," he said quickly, trying to sound casual.
But in his mind, Elijah thought, I can't tell them the real reason. I sensed something off. But in this situation… I don't know how they'll take it.
Cilie broke the silence.
"I already killed the assassins," she said coolly.
Elijah froze. "Assassins…?"
Without hesitation, Cilie snapped her fingers. A barrier around them shimmered, then dissolved like water flowing away. As the magic faded, Elijah's eyes widened in horror.
Dead bodies surrounded them—lifeless forms of cloaked men, blood pooling beneath their armor. Around their necks, each bore a crimson leaf crest.
Alaric's eyes sharpened. "That crest… the Red Leaf Assassins."
King Rudolf's expression turned grim, though he tried to keep a light tone. "As expected from Howarth Academy. Their reach knows no shame."
Elijah stepped forward. "There's something else I need to report."
He took a breath and explained the new rules recently implemented for the Cup of Power Tournament.
Rudolf's fist clenched tightly. "I'm truly sorry, Elijah. I… I can't do anything about this."
"Why?" Elijah asked, disbelief in his voice.
Alaric answered for him. "As I told you before—the Cup of Power isn't just a tournament. It's a political battlefield. It's what we call… The Gamble of Kings. Here, politics decide the rules. shifting rules, cheating, even assassination—these are all expected parts of the game."
Rudolf nodded grimly. "They don't care how you win the race. Only that you win. Victory justifies everything. Constantine High must stay alert. This time, we were lucky… next time, I can't guarantee it."
He looked down, his voice heavy. "Damn this Monarch title. It gives me influence, yes, but it chains me when it comes to direct interference in such politics."
Then they walked away, their expressions solemn.
Meanwhile, word arrived: Constantine High had won the round, earning 100 points. The crowd cheered. But Elijah's mind was elsewhere.
As Elijah walked beside Alaric, his thoughts returned to Cilie.
"She's… incredible," he said. "She didn't even draw a magic circle to teleport. She created a barrier without speaking a word. Cold. Calculated. Calm."
Alaric chuckled. "So you've noticed."
Elijah frowned. "How is she able to do that? Almost no one can cast magic without incantations…"
Alaric turned to him. "Most mages use incantations to invoke magic. But there are rare individuals—exceptional beings—who can cast spells silently. They're called Arcane. And their ability is known as Silent Tell."
"Silent Tell?" Elijah echoed.
"Yes. It's the state of being where a mage has refined their mind, body, and essence control to such an extent that they no longer require spoken words or drawn circles. With enough mastery, they can even cast Ancient Magic with no delay, no ritual no circle. But reaching this state is almost impossible. Some are born with it as a blessing. Others achieve it through intense, dangerous training."
Elijah's voice dropped. "So that's how she did it so easily… But how did she advance so fast along the Celestial Path?"
Alaric's tone became serious. "Cilie values smart work over hard work. To advance rapidly, she consumed a 9-tier elixir."
Elijah's eyes widened. "The corruption in that elixir can kill even high-level mages!"
Alaric nodded. "That's right. Even with refined strong body, consuming such a high-tier elixir is a death sentence for most. The 9-tier elixir carries intense power—but also overwhelming corruption. But Cilie… she survived. Her body was strong, yes—but it was her will that carried her through. Most die screaming when their veins burn with that kind of corruption. But Cilie didn't scream. She endured."
They stood in silence for a moment, the wind brushing past like a sigh from unseen spirits.
Then Alaric turned, and his expression softened.
"And I believe," he said with quiet conviction, "she will become the greatest mage in all of history."
Elijah looked down at the puppet in his hands, then back toward where Cilie had disappeared. His heart felt heavy with something he couldn't quite name—admiration, fear, awe.
"I think so too," he said softly. "I'm genuinely amazed by her abilities. But… Uncle, can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"What are the side effects of the Golden Elixir?"
Alaric chuckled, that warmth returning to his voice as he placed a firm, reassuring hand on Elijah's shoulder.
"Don't worry so much," he said, his tone like sunlight breaking through cloud. "The side effects won't harm you. Some dizziness, maybe heightened senses… strange dreams, perhaps. But nothing that'll break you. Trust your old uncle, alright?"
Elijah gave a slow, hesitant nod.
"Okay… if you say so."
A glimmer of mischief appeared in Alaric's eyes. "Now then, are you ready?"
Elijah blinked. "Ready for what?"
Alaric's smile widened. "Why, the ball of course! Today is Cilie's birthday, remember? Which means you will be dancing with the noble girls tonight."
It hit Elijah like a falling chandelier. "So that's why you suddenly hired that stiff-backed dance instructor?"
Alaric raised an eyebrow innocently, though the corners of his mouth twitched in amusement.
"…during my isolation period, no less," Elijah added, his tone dry. "When I thought it was for mental focus, discipline, or some obscure magical benefit—you were secretly teaching me how to waltz?"
Alaric let out a hearty laugh, clearly pleased with himself.
"Exactly! You needed balance and posture, didn't you? I simply multitasked your training." He smirked. "Besides, you didn't think I'd let my nephew stumble into the ballroom like an uncoordinated scarecrow, did you?"
Elijah sighed, rubbing his temple as if this was the true tragedy of the day. But a small, reluctant smile crept onto his lips.
"You really planned all this, didn't you?"
"Of course," Alaric said proudly, clapping him on the back. "Tonight, you'll not just be a guest—you'll be the highlight of the evening."
As the distant music of harps drifted down from the upper halls, Elijah took one last glance at the puppet in his hands—and the mysteries it carried.