Mirac revealed everything to Carmen!
He told her every detail of his conversation with Michelle, describing the unsettling feeling that tormented his sister day and night, and the suspicion that behind it all might be the very person they had been searching for years!
In reality, there were two people they had always been looking for: the mastermind behind the assassination attempt on the Prince—the one who had hired the fake Professor Shirkenn to kill him—and the mysterious individual who, on the contrary, had saved his life by handing Mirac a sword to face Klark without ever revealing.
Although Mirac wasn't exactly sure how Carmen had obtained such information, he was certain that Klark's employer resided in the castle. And he could not ignore this truth!
Carmen, for her part, had never stopped searching for clues about the culprit's identity since the day she made her promise to the Prince. Yet, despite her relentless investigations, she had still not managed to obtain even a single concrete lead on who had hired Klark.
And if even she—a woman shrouded in mystery, likely part of a great secret organization—had not found an answer, it was no surprise that Mirac, too, remained in the dark.
So, in the meantime, instead of sitting idly by, Mirac had formulated several personal theories over the years, mentally noting a list of possible suspects.
Among the first names that came to mind were those of his stepmothers!
Strangely enough, they still lived in the castle, and Mirac didn't know if his father had avoided divorcing them to maintain good relations with their influential families or if, deep down, he still harbored some feelings for each of them. Even the three twin sisters had often wondered the same thing, and although Queen Ginevra did not show it, it was evident that she barely tolerated the situation.
Observing them every day, especially during meals, Mirac always sensed a clear, latent hostility in their expressions—like invisible blades of ice directed at him. Their resentment seemed deeply rooted, almost instinctive, and he knew well that they had more than one reason to despise him: first and foremost, the succession to the throne!
Mirac was more than aware that if he had never been born, the King would have likely continued his desperate search for a male heir: a process that could have lasted decades, if not forever! After all, he seemed destined to have only daughters.
In reality, King Arthur could have easily entrusted the throne to one of his daughters, as no law prohibited female succession. However, he was categorically opposed to the idea. Stubborn and inflexible, he had always rejected any alternative: he wanted a male heir at all costs!
But as the King grew older, he would inevitably fall under the pressure of the Papal Council of the Sacred Region, which would force him to abdicate and relinquish power to someone else. At that point, the stepmothers would see a concrete opportunity to elevate one of their daughters to the throne or, at the very least, secure her a position of great influence within the kingdom, thereby helping their noble families increase their wealth and power.
Therefore, according to Mirac's reasoning, they were still convinced that, over time, old age would wear down King Arthur's resistance, ultimately forcing him to accept—against his will—the succession of one of his daughters.
So, for all these reasons, Mirac found it more than plausible that it had been his stepmothers who had masterminded the plan to get rid of him by hiring Klark.
But his stepmothers were not the only ones on the suspect list…
In fact, Mirac also considered the possibility that a royal guard might have been involved!
After all, it was true that Klark had altered his appearance with the Deceptive Glasses, but upon further thought, that day the security "had been fooled" too easily—a detail that had always made Mirac suspicious. Therefore, as far as he knew, it was also possible that one or more guards assigned to watch the main gate had helped the assassin infiltrate more easily.
However, among the hundred guards serving the palace, Mirac had no idea who had been assigned to watch the entrance on the day Klark arrived, nor did he intend to ask. Raising the issue would cast doubts on the integrity of the royal guards, tarnishing the reputation of the swordsmen of the glorious Kingdom of Ardorya and suggesting that their strict training could be easily bought. For this reason, even to this day, Mirac had no clue who had been guarding the gate that day.
After much reflection, however, he came to another conclusion: if a guard had been involved, it was more likely they had acted on someone else's behalf rather than on their own initiative.
A well-hidden puppeteer…
This thought led him to his third lead: the administrative staff!
For Mirac, this represented the last group of suspects, including secretaries, accountants, archivists, and other officials essential for managing the palace and the royal family's affairs.
Unlike the royal guards, however, it was more plausible that among them there was someone with the financial resources and the network of contacts necessary to hire a feared assassin like Klark.
The latter, in fact, before even setting out to eliminate the Prince, had disappeared for several years without leaving any trace of himself. But this was because, as Carmen had told him one day, he had joined the Last Storm—a secret organization of which Mirac still only knew the name.
Therefore, whoever had orchestrated the plan must have had a vast network of informants to get in touch with the Last Storm. This narrowed down the search to only the most powerful, wealthy, and influential figures, namely those at the top of the administrative staff.
And just like in the case of his stepmothers, eliminating the Prince could have paved the way for their ambitious goals.
However, the administrative staff was numerous, made up of around forty individuals. Since Mirac didn't personally know any of them, he couldn't form a clear idea of who the culprit might be.
But whoever it was, Mirac realized that, since the incident, the alleged mastermind seemed to have abandoned any attempt to eliminate him. No other murder plot had been carried out in all those years.
Perhaps, Mirac thought one day, this was because the right opportunity had never arisen.
Poisoning, for example, could never have worked, since it had always been Carmen who meticulously handled the preparation of the Prince's meals, eliminating any possible risks. Even during the numerous birthday parties and royal receptions, both the guards and Carmen paid particular attention to surveillance, monitoring every individual within a 10-meter radius.
Another factor that had likely prevented the hiring of a new undercover assassin was the security system implemented after the incident with Klark.
Professor Kenneth Warnock, for instance, when he entered the palace, was subjected to thorough checks by the royal guards. This, of course, was to prevent a potential assassin, or someone secretly in possession of unauthorized Artifacts, from infiltrating the castle.
Thanks to the new and strict security regime at the gates of the walls, anyone who entered or exited the royal palace was subjected to careful inspections: from the humblest servants to the most distinguished visitors.
No one was exempt!
Despite all the efforts, however, aside from the identity of the assassin, the investigators had not managed to gather much more information on the case. After two years of fruitless searches, the investigation was officially closed, leaving a palpable bitterness within the castle walls.
Or rather, it was closed for everyone, except Mirac and Carmen: they were the only ones who knew the truth of the matter and who had not yet given up on discovering who wanted to get rid of the Prince!
* * *
"I see…" Carmen murmured after Mirac finished telling her about his sister and the unsettling feeling that haunted her.
"What do you think, Carmen?" he asked, looking at her intently. "Don't you find it rather ambiguous? I mean, why would anyone spy on my sister?"
Carmen, however, didn't answer right away.
She stared blankly ahead, her fingers barely grazing her lips, as though she were immersed in a thought too deep to be interrupted.
The two were sitting on the edge of the red velvet bed, the large arched window in front of them letting in the warm afternoon light.
Mirac watched her for a moment, the silence between them growing almost palpable.
"Carmen?" he finally called, breaking the silence that seemed to stretch on forever.
"Oh!" The red-haired maid jolted slightly, as if suddenly awakened from a dream. "Forgive me, young Prince. I was thinking about something…"
"About what?" Mirac asked, almost immediately.
Carmen hesitated.
A brief moment of uncertainty crossed her face before she slightly shook her head and replied in a light tone:
"No, nothing. Nothing important…"
Mirac stared at her, narrowing his eyes slightly.
'You're hiding something from me, aren't you?' he thought, but chose not to say it.
Instead, he crossed his arms and declared firmly:
"We need to act as soon as possible. I don't want this person to torment my sister for even one more day! So, how about setting a trap for them tonight?"
Carmen turned to her right, fixing her gaze on him, surprised.
"Tonight?" she repeated, as if to make sure she had understood correctly.
"Exactly!" Mirac nodded confidently. "Michelle said she feels watched even at night. So, I think that's the perfect time to catch the spy. And whoever it is, I'm pretty sure they'll never expect it!"
Carmen fell silent.
Her fingers played with the hem of her apron, while her gaze lowered, lost in thought.
The silence stretched for a moment, almost suspended in the air.
Then, with a soft sigh, the maid raised her gaze and nodded decisively.
"Alright," she finally responded, her voice more resolute, as if she had dispelled any worry or hesitation. "We'll do as you suggested. I'll come here to you at midnight sharp, and we'll move when everyone is asleep."
"Great!" Mirac exclaimed, relieved. "Thank you, Carmen."
"You're welcome, young Prince…"
That said, Carmen gracefully rose from the bed, the soft rustling of her clothes accompanying each movement.
With silent steps, she headed towards the door, but before crossing it, she turned one last time toward the Prince.
"Young Prince… Prepare properly for tonight. You must be ready for anything… Understood?"
Mirac stood still for a moment, taken aback by those words.
What did she mean exactly?
'Heh, I get it! She's worried about me…'
At that thought, a smile—one he hoped was reassuring—curved his lips.
"Don't worry," Mirac said. "I'm no longer a helpless child."
Carmen watched him for a moment, as if imprinting that expression in her memory.
Then, she offered a small smile in return.
"Yeah, you're right," she murmured, accompanying her words with a slight bow. "Alright then. I'll take my leave."
Without saying anything more, the red-haired maid turned and left the room.
But as soon as she closed the doors behind her, her smile completely vanished.
'I have no other choice…' she thought, clenching her fists at her sides as she walked down the long marble hallway.
* * *
Mirac rested for a few hours in his bed, letting the quiet of the room lull him.
When his stomach rumbled slightly in protest, he shook off the drowsiness and, without hesitation, set his gaze on the apple resting on the small table next to the bed.
The red fruit, shiny and inviting, seemed to almost glow in the dim light.
'One won't be enough…' Mirac thought, considering the situation with a mouthwatering feeling.
So, he decided to use his "Multiplicative Touch" ability to triple the apple.
'Multiply by three…' he thought, as he gently touched the apple with a finger.
Immediately, the vision of the starry sky materialized, and among the constellations, a floating equation appeared: a simple calculation that Mirac solved with ease, almost as if it were a game.
As soon as the operation was completed, the vision withdrew, and the apple began to vibrate slightly, as if it were animated by an invisible energy.
Then, in an instant, it multiplied: from one apple, three identical ones appeared.
Mirac grabbed the first apple and, without a second thought, began eating. The sweet and juicy taste immediately delighted him.
"Delicious!" he exclaimed softly, smiling between bites.
Before he knew it, he had devoured all three apples.
After finishing his meal, Mirac closed his eyes and summoned the vision of the starry sky, accompanied by the "Immaterial Clock," the ethereal clock that floated among the stars.
The white hands moved with millimetric precision, indicating the exact time.
"It's about 4 PM," he murmured, observing the dial closely. "I'd better head to the training field."
With that in mind, Mirac opened his eyes to dismiss the vision, rose from the bed with a fluid motion, and left the room.
* * *
The sun dominated the blue sky, while wandering clouds cast soft shadows on the ground.
As every afternoon, Grand Knight Leonard followed the path that led him to the training area.
With a determined step, he turned left and, from a distance, spotted a familiar figure standing in front of the training field entrance.
"I can't believe it!" Leonard exclaimed, in a low voice.
But he had no doubt: it was him!
At first, Leonard stood surprised, unsure how to react.
However, that momentary hesitation quickly vanished, replaced by a wave of enthusiasm and nostalgia.
"Master!" Leonard called out loudly, his voice full of emotion as he quickened his pace, almost running towards him.
The man turned around, and a warm smile appeared on his face.
"Oh! Here you are, Leonard!" he replied, his voice warm and slightly hoarse.
Even from that distance, Leonard had recognized him immediately: he was the man he had once admired and followed with respect.
"It's been so long since I've seen you. But what are you doing here, Master?" Leonard asked, as he reached him.
The elderly man smiled, a nostalgic expression that seemed to carry both of them back in time.
"Nothing special. I just wanted to come say hello and see how much you've grown."
Leonard returned the smile, a mix of gratitude and melancholy in his eyes.
"You did well, Master," he replied, his tone full of respect and affection.
However, before they could add anything else, the elderly man's expression suddenly stiffened.
"Hmm?!"
A sudden shiver ran through him from head to toe.
Instinctively, he turned quickly behind him.
'Where is all this Mana coming from?!' he thought, feeling a powerful magical energy approaching.
His gaze landed on a young boy walking towards them.
He looked no older than fifteen, but his height and muscular build were impressive for his age.
However, what struck the elderly man the most wasn't his physical appearance, or the fact that he was missing an arm, but rather the amount of Mana flowing through that young body.
'Incredible!' he thought, almost with his mouth agape. 'He has more than double the Mana of an average person. And at his age? This is absurd!'
Leonard, recognizing the boy approaching, broke the silence:
"Oh, young Prince!" he exclaimed, bowing respectfully. "As always, you're right on time."
The man widened his eyes slightly.
'Young Prince? So, it's him? The Prince and future ruler of Ardorya?'
Without hesitation, the man bowed as well as Mirac approached.
When the boy reached them, he raised a hand in a simple but firm gesture, inviting them to rise.
"Good afternoon, Master," said Mirac, addressing Leonard with a measured and respectful tone.
Then his gaze shifted slightly to the left, lingering on the man next to him.
The elderly man's physique was surprisingly robust for his advanced age, which Mirac's "Instant Knowledge of Age" ability revealed to be 82 years.
He had snow-white hair and dark eyes, as deep as ink wells. A short white beard framed his time-worn face, yet it lacked the typical deep wrinkles of old age. His skin, though weathered, didn't appear worn-out but instead smooth, honed by years of discipline and rigor.
He wore a uniform similar to Leonard's, black and red, although it was less decorated and lacked many of the golden medals that adorned the Grand Knight's chest.
Despite the years, the man still exuded an aura of strength and wisdom—a presence Mirac had noticed even from afar, before reaching them, as if the very air bent around his figure.
"Good afternoon to you as well, uhm…" Mirac began, hesitating for a moment.
Without wasting any time, the man took the initiative and introduced himself with a slight bow, his gesture fluid and precise:
"Good afternoon, young Prince. My name is George Rassing. It is an honor to meet you."
"Oh!" Mirac started, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. "George Rassing, you said? The author of 'The Art of War and the Ethics of Peace', am I right?"
Actually, he didn't need confirmation.
Mirac was more than certain that the man before him was the renowned author of numerous treatises on war and the philosophy of combat—texts he had studied passionately since childhood under the guidance of the fake Professor Shirkenn.
"Yes, exactly," George replied, nodding with a proud smile, his dark eyes shining with deep satisfaction. "Knowing that the young Prince is familiar with my name fills my heart with joy."
At this point, Leonard joined the conversation, eager to further praise the man:
"Perhaps you don't know this, young Prince, but General Rassing was also my swordsmanship master when I was still a child! Just as he was for your father!"
"R-Really?" Mirac asked in surprise, his gaze bouncing between the two men.
In fact, he knew George Rassing only as the general of King Arthur's Third Army—a military legend. But he had never expected that he had also been the former swordsmanship instructor of the current third and second strongest swordsmen in the world!
"Well, sort of," George clarified modestly, shrugging slightly. "Grand Knight Leonard already had a natural talent for the sword. I merely taught him the basics, just as I did with His Majesty the King. Nothing more."
Mirac was fascinated by this revelation.
"Incredible!" he exclaimed, unable to hide the admiration in his voice.
George, however, did not seem inclined to let the conversation remain focused on him.
After a small cough, he changed the subject:
"Ahem, ahem! Anyway, I came to greet the Great Knight Leonard. I was told that his lesson with the young Prince would soon begin, so I was directed here."
He paused briefly, then added in a tone that carried a hint of curiosity:
"If that's the case, may I ask to stay and observe your training?"
Leonard did not hesitate.
"Of course! You're welcome to stay as long as you like. I don't think there's any problem with that. Am I right, young Prince?"
Mirac nodded firmly, feeling almost honored by the request.
"No problem," he confirmed.
"Thank you," George said, offering another small smile as his eyes rested on Mirac, as if trying to see beyond appearances.
Without saying anything else, Leonard and Mirac headed toward the center of the training field, while George positioned himself at the corner of the wooden fence, ready to observe.
As the master and the student began warming up their muscles with a series of stretching exercises, King Arthur—just as he did on the first day of every month—made his entrance.
He advanced with a confident stride, his cloak billowing behind him, the weight of the crown imperceptible on his proud brow.
Without paying any mind to the two who were preparing, he walked naturally toward George.
"It's a pleasure to see you, General Rassing," said Arthur, shaking his hand—with what seemed to be a smile!
King Arthur?
Smiling?
Mirac was taken aback.
Since the moment he had embraced his father, he hadn't seen him smile again. For a moment, he stopped and simply watched from a distance as the king approached George.
"The pleasure is mine, Your Majesty," the general replied with a respectful nod.
After exchanging pleasantries, the two began conversing with the ease of men who had known each other for a long time.
Meanwhile, Leonard and Mirac continued their warm-up, their movements synchronized with steady breaths and the faint crunch of gravel beneath their feet.
After a moment, George lowered his voice and spoke to the king in a thoughtful tone:
"What do you think, my King?"
Arthur raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by the question.
"What are you referring to?"
"Well, to Prince Mirac." George's tone was measured, almost cautious. "The amount of Mana he emits is nothing short of incredible, especially for someone his age!"
For a brief moment, King Arthur did not respond.
His gaze fell upon Mirac, meeting the intense green eyes of his son.
The two locked eyes for several seconds, a silence heavy with meaning passing between them.
An unreadable expression flickered across the king's face before he slowly closed his eyes, as if finishing a deep contemplation.
"It is not enough…" he finally said, his voice so cold that it seemed to freeze the air around them.
George stood frozen, almost shocked.
He had never expected such a response.
"I see…" he murmured at last, accepting the sovereign's judgment without daring to contradict him.
Meanwhile, Mirac, kneeling to stretch his leg muscles, turned his gaze forward again after the intense exchange of glances with his father had ended.
He could still feel the weight of those eyes on him: cold, severe, as always.
But he refused to let it break him.
"I will not disappoint you, Father," he whispered to himself, a determination burning in his chest.
When he felt ready, he stood up calmly and walked towards the long wooden fence, where several weapons rested neatly in their rack.
With a steady motion, Mirac selected a sword. The metal blade gleamed under the sunlight as he returned to his place.
Suddenly, an almost unreal silence fell over the training grounds.
Only the wind dared to move, lifting light swirls of dust and brushing through the hair of those present.
King Arthur and General Rassing were standing still in a corner of the rectangular perimeter of the fence.
The King, with his cloak gently swaying under the breeze, had his arms crossed over his chest and a piercing gaze. The general, at his side, observed the scene with a critical eye, ready to catch every detail.
Mirac and Leonard, on the other hand, were at opposite sides of the field, distant from each other but united by an atmosphere thick with tension. Their bodies were relaxed, yet ready to spring into action at any moment.
The leaves of the nearby trees danced in the air, carried gently by the wind.
Suddenly, one of them detached from the highest branch, swirling slowly before landing precisely between Mirac and Leonard.
It was a signal only the two of them could recognize.
Without a word, their hands tightened firmly around the hilts of their swords, fingers molding perfectly to the grip.
Their eyes met.
And in that instant, the battle began!