He immediately left the hidden room, closing the door behind him. His calm demeanor had shifted slightly, a hint of tension now evident in his movements as he walked out of the study.
Whoever had taken the book would need to be found—and soon.
As Arlon walked through the dimly lit corridors toward his chamber, his thoughts lingered on the missing book.
Who could have taken it? he wondered, his brows knitting in concentration. The first suspect that came to mind was Dimitri. But why would he take it now? he thought. Then again, it could have been someone else entirely.
His pace slowed as his thoughts deepened. Arlon sifted through his memories, recalling the first time he had seen the book. The complete titles and symbols etched inside its pages flashed in his mind—strange, intricate marks that might have been an ancient language.
He had read once in a historical record that certain languages had been lost after the war, pushed into obscurity by time. Could this book be tied to that lost history?
Arlon's curiosity grew with every step. He resolved to investigate further, piecing together what he could from memory until he had a clearer idea of its significance.
Click—
When he pushed open the door to his chamber, he froze at the sight of Ace lounging on his bed. The sleek black cat was stretched out lazily, his red eyes glowing faintly in the dim light.
"You look troubled," Ace said, his voice smooth and mildly amused. He didn't bother to move, simply flicking his tail as if mocking Arlon's tense demeanor.
Arlon closed the door behind him and walked to his desk without replying. Opening the drawer, he retrieved a notebook and pen.
"It's about the book, isn't it?" Ace continued, rolling onto his side to face him.
As Arlon jotted notes on the symbols from memory, a faint prickle of awareness crept up his spine. He glanced at Ace, who lounged on the desk, red eyes gleaming with quiet amusement.
The realization hit him: Ace wasn't just a companion—he could sense Arlon's thoughts. The bond between them ran deeper than he'd first understood.
"You're doing it again," Ace said suddenly, his tail flicking lazily.
Arlon froze, pen hovering above the page. "Doing what?"
"Overthinking," Ace replied with a sly grin. "I can feel it—your doubt, your frustration. It's exhausting."
Arlon scowled, shifting uncomfortably. He hated the idea of someone, even Ace, prying into his inner thoughts. "Can't you stay out of my head?"
Ace yawned, curling his tail around his paws. "Not when your emotions are this loud. You're practically shouting."
if Ace could read everything. The black cat didn't know all of his private thoughts or plans. Only when Arlon was in trouble or under stress did Ace seem to pick up on his emotions, his state of mind.
Just like earlier when I was in trouble to look for survivors in the village.
It was as if Ace could feel the weight of his thoughts through some invisible thread.
Arlon leaned back in his chair, his pen still in his hand. Why is that?
Then it hit him. They both carried the power of the Sky Soul, that ancient and rare force that linked their fates together. Ace, as the Guardian, and Arlon, as the Host. It was a delicate balance of power.
In a way, they were two halves of a whole. The connection between them wasn't just physical—it was spiritual, a bond formed by their shared power.
It was no surprise that Ace could sense his unease, his thoughts when his emotions were high. The Guardian was attuned to the Host in ways Arlon hadn't fully understood until now.
The Sky Soul power created a link between them, a tether that allowed Ace to pick up on Arlon's inner turmoil.
Arlon flips the notebook open to a blank page. "It's gone," he said simply, his tone calm but his jaw tight.
Ace tilted his head. "Gone? Hm. Maybe it's hiding."
"Books don't hide," Arlon said dryly, beginning to jot down notes. His pen scratched against the paper as he wrote, recording everything he could remember about the book—the symbols, their arrangement, even the faint scent of old parchment.
Ace leapt gracefully off the bed and onto the desk, sitting beside the notebook. "Are you sure about that? Strange books like that one have a way of vanishing when they don't want to be found."
Arlon paused, glancing at the cat. "Are you suggesting the book disappeared on its own?"
Ace licked his paw casually. "Not quite. But it's more fun to imagine, isn't it?"
Arlon sighed and resumed writing. "If you're not going to be helpful, at least stay out of my way."
"Who says I'm not helping?" Ace purred, hopping onto the windowsill. "I'm just saying you shouldn't rule out the possibility that someone—or something—wants that book more than you do."
"..."
Arlon didn't respond. He continued to write, his focus returning to the page. In the corner of his eye, he saw Ace settle on the windowsill, watching him with an unreadable expression.
I had this feeling that it's better to keep on track than getting distracted.
When Arlon finished writing, he leaned back in his chair, tapping the quill against the edge of the desk as his thoughts wandered. His gaze drifted to the faint glow of the lamp, the flickering light mirroring the ideas stirring in his mind.
What should I do next?
As the silence of the room wrapped around him, a memory surfaced—he had a box of healing mana stones stored away, powerful enough to assist Alice and Anthony in healing the villagers. His eyes lit up with determination.
Rising from his chair, Arlon crossed the room with purpose, his footsteps muffled by the plush rug beneath him. He approached a sturdy cabinet nestled against the far wall. The smooth wood bore intricate carvings, a testament to its craftsmanship, but Arlon barely spared it a glance as he pulled open the doors.
Inside the cabinet, shelves were lined with rare and intricate objects: glass vials filled with herbs, arcane tools crafted from mana steel, and neatly rolled scrolls yellowed with age. Arlon's fingers paused on a small wooden chest tucked into the corner.
He carefully lifted the chest, its brass edges cool beneath his fingertips, and placed it on the table. When he opened the lid, a faint light spilled out, illuminating the room in shades of blue and green.
The mana stones inside shimmered, their surfaces smooth and crystalline, pulsing gently with a quiet energy. Arlon let out a breath as he ran his thumb over the largest stone, its glow steady and reassuring. Healing mana stones were rare, their restorative power capable of saving lives when used correctly.
"Perfect," he murmured. Closing the lid, Arlon turned with renewed determination.
"Dimitri, take these to Alice and Anthony. Tell them to use them on the injured villagers—they'll be far more effective than burning through their own mana reserves."
Click—
Just then, Dimitri entered, only to halt in his tracks at the sight of Arlon, still in his dusty, battle-stained clothes. He let out a sigh of exasperation. "My lord, you haven't changed or even bathed yet?"
Arlon glanced up briefly as he handed the box of mana stones to Dimitri, his expression calm and composed. "Take this to Alice and Anthony," he instructed, his voice steady but purposeful.
"Tell them to use these to heal the villagers. It'll be far better than exhausting their own energy."
"And," Arlon continued, his gaze sharp as he added, "if they require anything else, tell them they can ask the maids or come directly to you."
Dimitri took the box from him with a nod of approval, the faint glint of his glasses catching the light. "I will see to it that they receive these immediately.But please, take a bath and clean up—I'll bring you some tea and snacks once you're finished."
With that, Dimitri turned and left the room, moving with the precision and grace of someone long accustomed to carrying out his lord's orders without delay.
Arlon sighed, finally peeling off his grimy robe and clothes before heading into the bathroom.
Meanwhile, Ace, settled gracefully on the windowsill, observed the room with a curious gleam in his sharp red eyes. His attention was caught back by a piece of paper lying on the desk—a piece of paper Arlon had been working on earlier.
Intrigued, Ace tilted his head and leaned closer, his whiskers twitching as he attempted to decipher the unfamiliar writing.
The black cat's gaze narrowed in concentration. I know this language... or at least, it feels familiar. But why can't I place it?. Frustration flickered in Ace's crimson eyes as he flicked his tail, unable to make sense of the text.
Moments later, Arlon stepped back into the room, freshly dressed in a simple yet elegant outfit. His hair, still slightly damp, framed his face as his sharp purple eyes under his mask immediately caught sight of Ace, who was now sprawled on the desk, scrutinizing the notes.
"What are you doing, Ace?" Arlon asked, his tone somewhere between curiosity and mild exasperation.
Ace flicked his tail and glanced over his shoulder. "Just trying to make sense of this gibberish you've written," he replied nonchalantly. "It feels familiar, but I can't quite remember what it is."
Arlon raised an eyebrow as he walked over and retrieved the paper. "You don't recognize it?"
Ace shook his head, his ears twitching. "No, but I know it's an old language. I've seen it before—just don't ask me when or where."
"Do you know any old languages?" Arlon pressed, setting the paper back on the desk.
"Some," Ace admitted, sitting upright now. "But not all of them. This one's strange—like it's on the tip of my tongue, but I can't recall it fully."
Arlon hummed in thought, his hand resting on his chin. "Then maybe I can try translating it step by step," he mused aloud. "From one old language to another, until I can match it to Velican."
Turning towards the bookshelf, Arlon reached for a tome on linguistic history, his fingers brushing against its well-worn spine. Just as he pulled it out, there was a soft knock on the door
Dimitri entered with impeccable timing, balancing a silver tray laden with a teapot, porcelain cups, and an assortment of light snacks.
"Here you are, my lord," Dimitri said, setting the tray on a small table near the window. "I trust you've finally refreshed yourself?"
"Yes, thank you, Dimitri," Arlon replied, his voice steady, though his thoughts were elsewhere. The strange book lingered in his mind, tempting him to look deeper into this mystery. But as he lifted the teacup to his lips, the taste hit him, yanking him out of his musings.
I almost forgot this tea even existed.
Arlon took a cautious sip of the tea and immediately regretted it. The bitter, earthy flavor hit his tongue like a slap, the aftertaste lingering unpleasantly. He set the cup down slowly, resisting the urge to grimace.
"Dimitri," he began carefully, "this tea is... unique."
Dimitri's face lit up with pride. "I brewed it myself, my lord, just the way you like it."
Ace let out a low chuckle. "Unique isn't the word I'd use. You look like you've just swallowed a handful of dirt." he teased, nudging Arlon's elbow.
Arlon sighed, forcing a calm expression as he reached for a pastry to chase away the taste. "It's fine," he muttered. "It's... an acquired taste."
Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to take another sip, swallowing hard.
Arlon delicately picked up a pastry, using it to chase away the taste of the tea, maintaining his noble façade as best he could. He caught Dimitri's glance lingering on Ace, whose red eyes and calm, feline posture were impossible to ignore.
"By the way, my lord, why do you have a black cat with you?" Dimitri asked, looking at Ace with a hint of suspicion.
Arlon set the pastry down and leaned back in his chair, deciding it was time to let Dimitri in on at least part of what had transpired.
"Since you're here, I suppose it's a good time to fill you in on the rest of what I started explaining earlier," he said with a casual wave of his hand.