"What's next?"
Lythian carried two shovels, muttering under his breath about Seven not even bothering to pick up the shovel he threw at him.
'What is there to do?'
Seven thought as he stared ahead.
With the Hart Dukedom gone, his thoughts circled two choices: wandering the continent as mercenaries or enrolling in the academy of the Seventh Kingdom.
"Stop ignoring me, you fuc—"
"Academy."
"Eh?! Mercenaries are way cooler."
"It's a must."
Seven kicked the loose stone on the path.
"We need to get to another continent."
"Tch."
Lythian clicked his tongue.
There were only two official ways to travel between continents:
1) Become a top-student at the Kingdoms' academy. It's a slow process, but it is the most guaranteed route to access the docks legally.
2) Rise to become the top-ranked mercenary. It's the faster and riskier path with a laundry list of benefits. Seriously, a lot. But the competition is completely different.
There is an easy way out if one is willing to risk their gates: the unofficial way—become a slave.
Travel the continents as a cargo.
The only downside is that the destination is random, and you have to forever live with the mark of a slave.
As simple as that.
Of course, one could try crossing by levitation or building their own boat, but the continents were sealed off by massive magical domes, each equipped with a detection circle that sensed any new presence.
Breaking through them?
Impossible.
And Lythian hated impossible.
Just as they reached the mansion grounds, Lythian threw the two shovels beside the big pile of debris.
Lythian looked at Seven.
"What the hell happened here?"
He had a rough guess why the knights suddenly stopped bringing him food underground. It all made sense now.
It wasn't a part of his torture.
But still… defeating the Harts? Even the Archduke alone would have required nearly half of the Kingdom's army.
Let alone Eden.
Lythian had no idea that Eden herself was the sole responsible of the devastation.
'Fuck. He's ignoring me again…'
Seven didn't reply. He just traced the ruins of what used to be the hallway toward his room.
His silence left Lythian with no choice but to follow.
Strange.
"Why aren't there any other corpses…?"
With a frown, Lythian's gaze swept over the wreckage. The only body he had seen was Iria's, Seven's personal maid, and the one they had just buried.
Other than her, there was none.
For a moment, he thought that it was the meat the wolves gave them. But no, the pieces didn't fit.
The meat was too large for it to belong to a human.
'Where are the bodies…?'
Was what Seven seemed to wonder too, though he didn't voice it. There was no trace of dead bodies to suggest the aftermath of a massacre.
But knowing Eden, she probably buried her siblings somewhere—or worse, took them alive.
The strangest part, though, wasn't the lack of corpses.
It was the absence of knights.
Not a single one was present when Eden attacked.
That, more than anything, made Seven uneasy.
Sigh.
Lythian sighed as Seven finally reached the ruins of his room.
The walls were barely standing, and jagged edges of stone and wood jutted out like broken teeth. Most of the roof had caved in, leaving beams scattered across the floor tangled with shattered glass and chunks of debris.
The only thing left intact was the desk, sitting stubbornly in the corner. Its surface was scratched and dusty, but it stood upright.
Seven's belongings were scattered—papers torn to shreds, splintered furniture, and a single, toppled chair with one leg missing.
Step.
Seven walked over to the desk.
He reached for the drawer and pulled it open.
Inside, there was a sealed letter, its edges slightly yellowed but intact, and the wax seal was still unbroken. Beside it were small jars filled with Vitalis pills.
Seven picked up the letter.
It was a letter Iria handed to him, saying it was from Eden.
The memory of Iria's words, her soft smile as she pressed it into his hands, came rushing back.
"Iria…"
His gaze lingered on the wax seal for a moment before his fingers brushed the necklace he wore. The pendant, shaped like the number 7, began to glow faintly—icy blue.
Sigh.
Seven exhaled.
'System. Date?'
The thought came quietly, carefully, as he couldn't risk letting Lythian know about the system he had.
After all, some things are better left unsaid.
[Date: 51st day of the Seventh Season, Year 775.]
He frowned slightly, recalling Iria's words when she handed him the letter.
That meant he still had two days before he could open it.
Two days before his birthday.
But now, with the dukedom in ruins, no ceremony would happen.
No celebration…
He glanced at the letter again and ran his thumb over the unbroken seal.
"Two days might as well have been an eternity…"
But before he could dwell on the letter any longer, Lythian tossed a satchel toward him. The worn leather bag landed on the desk with a soft thud.
"Here."
Lythian didn't even bother to look at him as he said those words.
Seven glanced at the bag, then back at Lythian.
"...Thanks."
Without another word, he slipped the letter inside, followed by a total of eight small jars of Vitalis pills—seven from the gift and one that he already had.
Seven tightened the straps of the bag before flinging it over his shoulder.
Behind him, Lythian leaned against the crumbling frame of the doorway with arms crossed.
"You're really gonna keep quiet about what happened, huh?"
Seven didn't answer immediately. Instead, he took one last look around the ruined room, his gaze lingering on the desk before turning to face Lythian.
"We leave tomorrow."
He walked past Lythian.
"To the academy?"
"It's the only path forward."
Lythian scoffed but didn't argue. Instead, he just followed Seven out of the room.
The silence between them spoke louder than words as they stepped through the desolate halls of the mansion.
But as they stepped out of the ruins, they paused.
A group of people stood at the far end of the courtyard, their figures distinct even in the distance.
They wore identical uniforms—dark, well-tailored with gold accents—and their posture was almost perfect.
Seven's eyes narrowed slightly. Lythian, too, felt the shift in the air. As both readers, it was obvious who the figures were.
"The fuck are they doing here?"
"Guess we've got company…"