Cyrus sat in a spacious room bathed in white light, the brightness illuminating every corner. A simple table stood before him, its surface polished and bare, while a solitary chair faced him from the opposite side. The atmosphere felt charged, as if the room itself was waiting for something to unfold.
They hadn't collected anything from him, leaving him clad in his battle suit. Perhaps they didn't see a weapon or assumed he couldn't escape their grasp.
He had been sitting there for an hour now, with no one attending to him or disturbing him. It was like the calm before the storm. He kept adjusting his glasses, fighting the urge to use the Eyes of Void to observe what was happening outside, however he kept that urge in check.
His thoughts replayed all that had transpired, but he saw no way he had offended anyone.
Suddenly, the door opened, and the lady who had accompanied him here poked her head inside. "You've got a visitor."
The door swung open, and Freya walked in, her eyes scanning the room as she entered, her jet-black hair tied in a ponytail.
She walked over and sat across him.
"Woah! Boss, what crime did you commit?"
Cyrus chuckled. "Did you see me in handcuffs? I didn't do anything—just waiting for the investigation of my basement."
Freya's eyes widened, and she leaned closer, glancing around as if checking for spies. Then she whispered, "Is something in your basement?"
"Yes," Cyrus replied gravely, his gaze drifting to her fingers, which spotted a ring on each one except her thumb.
"What?" she asked, intrigued.
"A dead crab." Cyrus burst into laughter.
She pouted and leaned back. "You just got me worried and excited over nothing."
"What were you expecting?" Cyrus said offhandedly. Then he asked, "When are you going to the academy?"
"Tomorrow, by daybreak," she replied.
"Oh! You should join your mates early, so you don't ruin your talent. Otherwise, you'll end up like your boss," Cyrus advised, his tone serious and his eyes losing their carefree gleam.
"Yes, boss!"
"Also, don't let anyone bully you or use you. Just know when to back down and stand up for yourself. With your talent for making potions, you should be able to become a top student."
"Yes, boss!"
"Don't let those bastards send you on dangerous missions!"
"Yes, boss!"
"Always be vigilant and do not slack!"
"Yes, boss!"
"Lastly, don't go around making a 'may-the-lord-save-you' potion and testing it on people."
"Yes, bos—wait, what potion?"
"Okay, you can leave," Cyrus said, waving his hand dismissively.
"Hey! What do you mean by 'may-the-lord-save-you' potion?" she questioned, refusing to leave.
But Cyrus just laughed it off.
"You know what? I should have let you rot by yourself," she snapped, her face looking adorable to him despite her irritation.
She stood up, scowling as she walked toward the door, but paused when she reached it.
"Goodbye, boss who doesn't pay his employee," she said in a barely audible tone.
"Bye, the tenant who doesn't pay rent," Cyrus replied with a smile, which only deepened her scowl.
She angrily twisted the doorknob with more force than usual.
Once she left, Cyrus relaxed, a smile still gracing his lips.
Freya's actions seemed like a simple check-in and goodbye, but she had performed a subtle maneuver. On her right hand were four rings, each almost identical. The middle finger bore the ring he had dropped, while the others were replicas designed to resemble it.
He couldn't tell how she had crafted them, but he knew his ring would soon leave Silvaran. That cleverness was one reason she had become friends with him—the second was her upbringing in the slums, which reminded Cyrus of his childhood.
He was alone for another five hours before someone finally came to attend to him. It was a middle-aged man with a scholarly demeanor.
He sat down opposite Cyrus and studied him, his gaze penetrating. Cyrus tried to remain calm, his dark glasses hiding his emotions, but beneath it, his nerves were tense.
"You must be Cyrus, right?" he questioned calmly.
"Yes, sir," Cyrus answered, even though the question sounded stupid to him.
"I don't like talking to people who cover their eyes. I need to see your eyes so we can connect properly," he stated, leaning forward and placing his hand on the table.
Exhaling, Cyrus removed his glasses.
"Good. Let's begin. Mr. Cyrus, my name is Albert Luiz, and I'm going to ask you a few questions, trying to dig out the truth, and for the security of Silvaran. I found out you're an Artificer residing in Silvaran, but your business isn't thriving. Am I right?"
"Yes, sir."
"If it's not doing well, why are you still in Silvaran?" His eyes abruptly sharpened, and a shocking pressure emanated from him, making it difficult for Cyrus to breathe. "Perhaps you're a spy for another nation."
Cyrus sweated under the pressure but forced himself to relax, recalling the many Eminent Elite individuals he had faced.
"I'm not a spy; just a guy trying to make ends meet. I don't know if you're knowledgeable about me, but my talent is quite poor—a low talent. You can see the proof because I'm twenty but still Awakened. Plus, I awoke the Artificer class. Everybody knows that Artificers have it rough in the society because of the presence of Craftsmiths. My combination makes even surviving difficult," Cyrus replied, as this had always been his excuse.
The man stared into his eyes as if searching for something, the pressure intensifying, trying to break Cyrus' mental state. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead. Suddenly, the pressure retracted as if it had never been there.
"If you're trying to survive, then why did you set your repair prices higher than Master Aris'?" Albert asked suddenly.
"Not to offend others in my location," Cyrus replied promptly.
Albert smiled warmly and nodded, which made Cyrus feel relieved.
"Let's move to the second part." Albert paused for a moment before the pressure he emitted shot to its peak, cutting off Cyrus' breath. "What did you store in your basement?" he asked in a heated moment when Cyrus was disoriented.