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11.57% Reborn As Papa Silva / Chapter 11: Hage (3)

Kapitel 11: Hage (3)

Conrad and Sebastian walked side by side, their footsteps echoing softly along the cobblestone path leading toward the Grimoire Tower. It was a cool, crisp evening, with the faint orange glow of the setting sun casting long shadows across the stone walls. The breeze carried with it the laughter of children who, full of energy, shuffled toward the tower's grand entrance, eager to finally receive their long-awaited grimoires.

As the two men approached the gates, Conrad, transformed in a peasant form that concealed his true identity, glanced to his side. His eyes fell on a figure standing in the shadows just beyond the entrance, near a row of leafless trees. It was a tall, bald man with a pale, serious face. He stood unnervingly still, like a statue, silently observing the children as they passed. His dark, tailored suit made him look all the more severe, blending him into the quiet, somber atmosphere of the old stone tower.

"Is that Alfred?" Conrad asked, his voice low but carrying a note of recognition. He was somewhat familiar with the House Silva's butler, though he rarely saw him outside of his formal duties.

Sebastian followed his gaze, eyes narrowing as he examined the man standing rigidly at attention. After a moment, he gave a short nod. "Yeah, that's him." 

Without a word, Sebastian let out a soft, two-note whistle—sharp but discreet, enough to catch Alfred's attention without drawing too much from anyone else nearby. Alfred's head turned immediately toward the sound, his eyes scanning the area before landing on the two figures. At first, he seemed perplexed, unable to fully register the man in the plain brown cloak calling out to him. He tilted his head slightly, trying to make sense of the scene.

After a brief hesitation, realization dawned. He recognized his master—though dressed simply—walking side by side with what appeared to be a peasant. Alfred's confusion deepened as his brow furrowed. Why was Sebastian, a nobleman of such high status, casually strolling alongside someone so plainly dressed? His master's usual companions were from the upper echelons of society. Yet here was this peasant, walking in stride as if they were equals. 

Alfred hesitated. His master preferred to keep a low profile, and it was his duty as a servant to uphold this wish. Approaching too brashly could expose Sebastian's identity, but failing to acknowledge him might be seen as disrespectful. His thoughts raced, trying to find the right balance between formality and discretion.

Before Alfred could act on his indecision, Sebastian beckoned him over with a subtle flick of the wrist, calling him in a calm but formal voice, "Pennyworth." The name hung in the air, bringing with it a wave of familiarity that settled Alfred's nerves, at least momentarily. It was the way Sebastian always addressed him, a title that carried both respect and professionalism. Yet, in recent times, the name had been used less and less, almost as if his master was trying to shed the last remnants of the noble etiquette that had defined their relationship.

Reluctantly, Alfred approached. His back was straight, his head slightly lowered in deference as he greeted Sebastian with a stiff bow. "My lord," he said quietly, his voice controlled and smooth, though a hint of hesitation slipped through. His eyes flicked quickly to the "peasant" beside his master, before returning to Sebastian. Choosing his words carefully, Alfred asked, "Might I inquire, my lord, who this gentleman is?" There was no mistaking the cautious tone in his voice—he was careful not to be blunt, though the question clearly begged to be asked.

Sebastian's response was as nonchalant as it was brief. He waved his hand half-heartedly in Conrad's direction, his attention already elsewhere. "Oh, that's Conrad."

Alfred's mind froze for a brief moment, the casual reply ricocheting in his thoughts. Conrad? The name seemed so simple, so ordinary. His master offered no further explanation, but as Alfred turned to the plain figure again, a dreadful realization slowly crept up his spine. The way the man stood, how effortlessly relaxed he seemed despite the formality of the surroundings—it was then that the name clicked. Conrad wasn't just any Conrad.

This man, this "peasant" beside his master, was Conrad Leto, the Wizard King.

Transformation magic?

A cold sweat instantly broke out across Alfred's forehead. His palms, which had remained neatly clasped at his sides, began to tremble slightly. How could he have not seen it sooner? The posture, the presence—everything about this man now screamed his true identity. Overwhelmed with panic, Alfred immediately dropped into a deep bow, his head practically touching the stone ground. "Forgive me, Your Majesty!" he stammered, his voice betraying his fear. "I had no idea—"

Conrad's chuckle cut him off mid-sentence. It was a warm, almost fatherly laugh, despite being decades younger than Alfred, disarming in its ease. "There's no need for all that," Conrad said, waving his hand dismissively. "I'm here in disguise for a reason, Alfred. I don't need the royal fanfare." His voice was light, though his presence still carried the weight of someone who had stood atop the highest thrones.

Rising from his bow, but still visibly tense, Alfred swallowed nervously. He could feel the heat of embarrassment coloring his pale cheeks. "Of course, Your Majesty," he said hurriedly, straightening up but keeping his posture stiff. He cast a sideways glance at Sebastian, unsure how to proceed now that he had made such a blunder.

But Conrad, ever the laid-back ruler, smiled kindly. "I was never one for all that pomp and ceremony anyway," he added, waving off the butler's concerns as if they were nothing. "You're fine, Alfred."

Despite Conrad's reassurances, Alfred found it difficult to relax. He had served nobility his entire life, and even in the presence of someone as casual as the Wizard King, his instincts were deeply ingrained. He stood awkwardly, still unsure whether he should speak more or remain silent, unable to shake the lingering discomfort of treating the Wizard King as just another commoner.

Sebastian, sensing the tension, merely sighed. "He's just Conrad today," he muttered, half to himself and half to Alfred. "Let's move on."

Sebastian watched Alfred stand there, stiff and visibly uncomfortable in the presence of the Wizard King. His butler had always been precise, efficient, and unflinchingly loyal, but in moments like this, the pressure of serving someone as powerful as Conrad clearly weighed on him. With a soft sigh, Sebastian decided to show his servant some mercy.

"Alfred," Sebastian called, his tone gentler than before. The butler immediately straightened his posture, turning his head slightly to better hear his master's next command. "I think it's time for you to head back to the capital. I apologize for having you run around the kingdom on such short notice," Sebastian continued, keeping his voice level. "But task three needs to be handled as soon as possible."

At the mention of task three, Alfred's eyes widened slightly. His body went still, and his hands clenched for a brief moment before returning to their composed state at his sides. The meaning of those words wasn't lost on him. Attending to the tasks has been a sort of code—an urgent signal that things were in motion, and task three was a counter to some ominous plans long laid in secret. If his master was invoking it now, then it could only mean one thing: the royalist faction, those who had been plotting in the shadows for who knows how long, was about to make its move.

Alfred stiffened, his face taking on the look of a soldier receiving orders before battle. His eyes flicked toward Sebastian with an unspoken understanding as he bowed low. "Of course, my lord," he said with deep reverence, his voice firm yet respectful. There was no need for further explanation; the task was already clear in his mind.

With his bow complete, Alfred turned his attention to Conrad. The Wizard King stood there, still casually dressed, exuding that easygoing aura that had always baffled the upper classes. But Alfred, knowing the gravity of what lay ahead, did something unexpected. He stood tall and brought his fist to his chest in a salute—a gesture commonly seen among the Magic Knights, a symbol of loyalty and service.

"I won't let you down, Your Majesty," Alfred said, his voice tinged with a cryptic seriousness that caught Conrad off guard. The words hung in the air, weighted with meaning that Conrad couldn't quite grasp. Alfred's expression remained firm, his eyes locked on the Wizard King with a strange intensity that left Conrad momentarily speechless.

Before Conrad could even ask what he meant, Alfred bowed once more, this time lower and quicker than before. Without waiting for a reply, he spun on his heel, grabbed his broom from where it leaned quietly against the wall, and in one swift motion, took off into the sky. The broom glided smoothly beneath him, and with a gust of wind, Alfred soared away, heading in the direction of the capital.

For a moment, everything was still. The breeze that had been carrying the sound of children's laughter moments ago now seemed to blow in quieter, more somber tones. Conrad blinked, the confusion etched clearly on his face. He turned to Sebastian, his brow furrowing in bemusement. "What was that all about?"

Sebastian didn't answer right away. Instead, he let out a tired sigh, running a hand through his hair as if considering how much, if anything, to reveal. After a few seconds of silence, he shook his head slowly, a faint look of exasperation crossing his face. "Don't ask," he muttered, clearly unenthusiastic about elaborating.

He gazed off in the direction where Alfred had disappeared, his thoughts wandering. Inwardly, Sebastian couldn't help but compare his butler to a different one—a more iconic one. Pennyworth, as he was called, was competent in his way, yes, but he was no Bruce Wayne's Alfred. Loose-lipped, a little too emotional, and definitely not as sharp as one might hope in moments like this. Where Bruce Wayne's Alfred could handle any situation with impeccable grace and discretion, his Alfred… well, there was room for improvement.

Sebastian exhaled heavily again, brushing off the thought. "He's a good man," he murmured under his breath, more to himself than to Conrad, "but sometimes, I really wish he were a little more… sensitive."

Conrad stood in the fading twilight, his gaze lingering on the now-closed gates of the Grimoire Tower. The ceremony had begun, the towering iron gates shutting with a resounding echo as the last of the children scurried inside. Their excited chatter and hurried footsteps were swallowed by the ancient stone walls, leaving the courtyard eerily quiet.

He turned his attention to Sebastian, who stood beside him, still watching the tower with an air of calm detachment. Conrad studied him for a moment, his brow slightly furrowed as if considering whether to press further about Alfred's cryptic words. But ultimately, he decided against it. There were other matters on his mind.

"How do you plan to watch?" Conrad asked, his voice cutting through the stillness. His question was casual but laced with curiosity. He knew Sebastian well enough to suspect he had something up his sleeve.

Sebastian, without looking away from the tower, replied with a subtle smirk. "I have you, don't I?" he said. His tone was light but pointed. "Besides, you probably have countless ways to observe the ceremony. You could show me if you wanted."

Conrad didn't deny it. As the Wizard King, he had an array of magical abilities at his disposal—ways to see far beyond what normal eyes could perceive. But his curiosity was piqued, not by his own means, but by how Sebastian, a man without any grand magical accomplishments or official rank in the Magic Knights, had intended to monitor the ceremony. "True," Conrad said with a slight nod, "but I'm more interested in how you were planning to watch if I hadn't come across you."

Sebastian shrugged his shoulders casually. "I didn't need to," he said simply. "I already know who I'm here for. No need to watch the entire ceremony when I just have to wait for her to come out."

Conrad nodded stoically, though inwardly his interest was stirred. It wasn't often that the patriarch of House Silva—one of the most prestigious noble families in the Clover Kingdom—attached so much importance to a single individual. Whoever this girl was, she must be exceptional to garner such attention.

Reading the unspoken question in Conrad's expression, Sebastian's gaze shifted sharply to his companion, his usual calm demeanor giving way to a slight grumble. "And before you get any ideas," he warned, his tone almost accusing, "she's off-limits."

Conrad chuckled softly, the sound warm and unbothered. "I understand," he said, raising a hand as if to signal peace. "I won't make her an offer."

Sebastian let out a small sigh of relief, though his posture remained stiff. "Good," he muttered. "It's not exactly appropriate for the Wizard King to go around scouting for a squad—especially your former squad, not to mention your wife's current one." His eyes narrowed slightly in emphasis. "That's a clear sign of favoritism, and let's be honest, very few would have the courage to turn down an offer from the Wizard King himself."

Conrad smirked at the statement, knowing full well the truth behind it. His status alone carried immense weight, and any direct interest from him could easily tip the balance. "You're not wrong," Conrad admitted, his tone thoughtful. "It would be a bit shameless. But then again," he added, his eyes gleaming with quiet amusement, "you're not a Magic Knight either, so you shouldn't be scouting for a squad yourself."

Sebastian shook his head firmly, meeting Conrad's gaze with a hint of defiance. "It's different for me. The Silver Eagles belong to House Silva. They were established by us, and we fully fund them. Same as the Crimson Lions with House Vermillion."

Conrad tilted his head slightly, acknowledging the point. "And both squads have always been led by members of their respective royal houses," Sebastian continued. "With Acier incapacitated, I'm technically in charge of the Silver Eagles, even though I'm not a Magic Knight."

The reality of Sebastian's words sank in, and Conrad's expression softened. It was a sad but undeniable truth. The royal houses, as honorable as they were, were not motivated purely by selflessness. They had a vested interest in maintaining control over the squads they supported. "Why would the Crimson Lions or the Silver Eagles dedicate so much effort and resources to squads they don't have firm control over?" Conrad mused aloud, understanding the deeper implications. "They're honorable houses, sure, but not selfless saints."

Sebastian nodded. "Exactly."

There was a brief pause as the two men stood in contemplative silence, the weight of their conversation hanging in the air. Then, as if to lighten the mood, Sebastian added with a small, knowing smile, "As long as you don't poach from me, I won't expose whatever you're up to."

Conrad chuckled again, this time a bit more heartily. "Fair enough," he said with a grin. "Thanks, Sebastian."

The tension between them eased, replaced by a quiet understanding. Both men knew the delicate balance of power and influence they each held, and though they stood on opposite sides of many issues, there was a mutual respect. In their world of magic, politics, and nobility, unspoken agreements like these were often more valuable than formal ones.

A faint shimmer of gold flickered in Conrad's hand, and before long, a delicate key materialized between his fingers. The air around them hummed softly, reacting to the magic as Conrad moved with practiced ease, twisting the key into what appeared to be nothingness. A moment later, a turquoise gate, glowing with ethereal energy, manifested before them, seemingly out of thin air. The gate creaked open, revealing the inside of the Grimoire Tower.

Through the shimmering threshold, the scene of the ceremony began to unfold. Children gathered in small clusters, their nervous whispers carrying through the room as they exchanged anxious glances. Some fidgeted, while others stood still, staring up at the ancient structure that housed their future grimoires. The air inside was thick with anticipation, as each child awaited their moment, wondering which book would choose them.

Sebastian's silver eyes flickered with curiosity as he watched the vivid scene through the gate. "Won't anyone notice this?" he asked aloud, his voice betraying a note of skepticism. His gaze lingered on the children and the towering shelves filled with magic tomes, wondering if some sharp-eyed sorcerer might catch a glimpse of their intrusion.

Conrad chuckled lightly, the sound deep and confident. "Not unless they're at a similar level to me," he replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Or unless they're exceptionally sensitive to mana. This is a one-way gate—it's invisible from the other side." He gestured casually to the portal before them. "At most, it might cause a slight ripple in the air inside the tower, but even that would go unnoticed by most."

Sebastian nodded slowly, taking in the details. He'd always known Conrad possessed extraordinary abilities, but witnessing them firsthand was something else entirely. The portal was like peering through a one-way mirror—transparent on one side, but completely hidden from view on the other. It was elegant, effective, and disturbingly discreet.

"Projection magic," Conrad muttered under his breath, his eyes glinting with amusement. "It's quite useful, wouldn't you say?"

Sebastian folded his arms, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "A one-way mirror," he mused aloud. Combined with a surveillance system, Big Brother is always watching. His mind raced with the implications of such power—how easily someone could watch, listen, and observe, all without being seen or sensed. The potential for subtle control and manipulation was astounding, and it left a strange unease in his gut.

As much as he trusted Conrad, the revelation that such abilities existed in the hands of others left him more guarded. His instincts kicked in, and he made a mental note to be more cautious in the future. While he had no doubts about Conrad's integrity, he couldn't afford to assume others with similar talents would be as trustworthy. After all, in the world they lived in, secrets held as much power as magic itself.

"Guess I'll need to watch what I say from now on," Sebastian said quietly, half to himself. His lips tightened slightly as he continued to watch the children, now oblivious to the deeper truths unfolding just beyond their reach. "You never know who's watching, hearing things they shouldn't, or seeing things not meant for their eyes."

Conrad's chuckle broke the silence again. "Always the strategist, aren't you, Sebastian?" he said with a knowing grin.

Inside the Grimoire Tower, the excited murmurs of children filled the large, ancient room. The atmosphere was heavy with anticipation, and all eyes turned toward the front as an elderly man made his way to the podium. He had a bushy beard and mustache, long eyebrows that almost seemed to droop over his eyes, and wore a traditional set of wizard's robes and a tall, pointed hat, adorned with square lines. His appearance was a cliché straight out of a magical fable, but his presence was anything but. The way he walked, steady and composed, suggested wisdom earned through decades of experience.

Sebastian's eyes narrowed in recognition. The old man, despite his aged appearance, was familiar. It took him only a moment to place him—this was Drouot, the same wizard who would, 14 years from now, preside over the Grimoire Acceptance Ceremony for Yuno and Asta. He was visibly younger here, fewer wrinkles, more black hair streaked through his beard. But it was undoubtedly the same man.

Drouot reached the podium and raised his hand, casting a simple communication spell. His voice echoed through the large chamber, effortlessly amplified by magic. "Welcome, children of Hage, and those from nearby villages and other places," he began, his tone both grand and warm. "I am Drouot, master of this Grimoire Tower, and I commend you all for making your way here today, for you are about to take a very important step in your magical journey."

The children stirred excitedly, their whispers growing in volume. Some shuffled on their feet, eager to receive their grimoires, while others nervously glanced around, overwhelmed by the moment. Drouot, however, waited patiently, his kindly gaze sweeping over the room. He chuckled softly to himself, allowing the children a moment to release their excitement. Only when the room settled back into silence did he nod, satisfied, and continue.

"As you know," Drouot said, his voice ringing out clearly, "the clover's three leaves represent faith, love, and hope. These are the values that will guide you as you receive your grimoires today. I encourage you all to embody these principles, not just as you use your magic, but in how you live your lives. Some of you may use your magic to serve the kingdom in different ways—whether that be through farming, craftsmanship, or, perhaps, by joining the ranks of the Magic Knights."

At this, Drouot's eyes twinkled with amusement, and he added with a light chuckle, "Who knows? I might even be looking at a future Wizard King among you today."

The children erupted into laughter, many of them waving off the comment. The idea seemed absurd to most. No one from their remote village had ever become a Magic Knight, let alone the Wizard King. They couldn't even fathom such a possibility. One of the boys in the back scoffed loudly, "Yeah, right! Maybe I'll even get a four-leaf grimoire while I'm at it!"

The others giggled at his sarcasm, but Drouot's face turned suddenly serious. The shift in his demeanor was so abrupt that the children quickly fell silent, their laughter dying in their throats. His usually jovial expression became stern, and his eyes, though kind, bore a weight of wisdom that silenced the room.

"Let me tell you something," Drouot said, his voice quieter but far more intense. The children leaned in closer, hanging on his every word. "Under the leadership of the current Wizard King, and thanks to the efforts of noble houses like Vermillion, the way nobles and royals look down on commoners has begun to change. It's not perfect yet, but it's a start. And because of that, the Magic Knights are now more diverse than ever."

Drouot let his gaze sweep over the wide-eyed children. "There are peasants, commoners—people like you—spread throughout all six Magic Knight squads. Some have even come from villages as small as Hage. There's even a foreigner among the ranks of the Magic Knights now. If they can do it, so can you."

The room was so quiet, the children hardly dared breathe. The idea that people like them could join the Magic Knights sounded like a fantasy, yet Drouot's words were so sincere, so filled with conviction, that they couldn't help but believe him.

"But let me be clear," Drouot continued, his tone growing more somber. "It won't be easy. Some of you may fail the Magic Knight examination on your first try, or even on your second. But if you keep working hard—if you have faith in yourselves—you'll make it. I've seen it happen before. There's a certain red-haired fire mage I know who didn't pass on his first try, or his second, but he didn't give up. And now he's a proud member of the Purple Orca's."

Some of the children's eyes widened with awe, and others clenched their fists in determination. They seemed to take his words to heart, absorbing the wisdom of his message.

"And even if you don't become Magic Knights," Drouot said softly, "there are many ways to make a name for yourself in this kingdom. As long as you don't give up, you can still become someone of renown—someone who will be remembered in the history books."

The room remained silent for a long moment, the weight of Drouot's words pressing down on the young children. Then, as if a spark had ignited in their hearts, the children erupted into cheers. Some of the more timid ones who had been cowering before now stood tall, determination burning in their eyes.

"I was scared before, but now I'll definitely take the exam!" one child shouted, his voice filled with newfound courage. "Even if the nobles and royals laugh at me, I'll show them!"

Sebastian, watching through Conrad's invisible portal, crossed his arms, a frown tugging at the corner of his lips. He couldn't deny that Drouot's speech was inspiring, but there was a cruelty in the old wizard's words. For all the hope he instilled in these children, many of them would never make it. Most would fail, and Sebastian knew how crushing repeated failure could be. To fill their heads with dreams, only for them to be shattered by reality, seemed a harsh way to teach them life's hard lessons.

In contrast, Conrad's face remained neutral, though Sebastian knew the Wizard King was inwardly approving of Drouot's words. Conrad, pragmatic as ever, was likely thinking that Drouot deserved praise—or even a raise—for motivating the children. The difference in their perspectives wasn't surprising, but it still grated on Sebastian.

As the cheers of the children rang out, Sebastian's eyes drifted to a lone figure standing in the corner of the room. While the others were caught up in the moment, this girl stood apart, her purple hair falling over her shoulders. She wore pink robes that stood out against the drabber colors of the other children, and though she appeared to be listening, her eyes were closed. She was… asleep. Standing, but completely asleep.

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. His breath caught for a moment as recognition dawned on him. He had been searching for her for some time, and now, here she was.

"Dorothy Unsworth," Sebastian muttered under his breath, his gaze sharpening. "I've finally found you."

The energy in the tower shifted as Drouot, standing at the podium, prepared to address the children once more. His voice, still amplified by the echoing magic, softened as he explained the process of receiving a grimoire. The air seemed to hum with anticipation as the children listened intently.

"Each of you," Drouot began, "will receive a unique grimoire, one that is bonded to your soul and spirit. These grimoires are a reflection of your magical talent, your potential, and how much you have honed your craft." His eyes swept over the crowd of eager faces, many of the children standing on their toes, ready for the moment when their future would be quite literally placed in their hands.

He gestured toward the towering shelves behind him, where rows of ancient books lined every surface, each grimoire quietly resting, waiting to be claimed. "Some of your grimoires will be thick, while others may be thinner. That's not a reflection of your worth—only of how your magic has developed so far. It's important to remember that everyone's magical path is different."

Drouot smiled warmly at the children. "Now, when you first receive your grimoire, you'll notice that it contains a few spells—just enough to get you started. However, many of the pages will be blank." He paused, letting his words sink in as the children exchanged glances, some whispering to one another. "It's up to you to fill those pages," Drouot continued. "As you grow, as you experience more of life and push the boundaries of your magic, your grimoire will grow with you. New spells will appear when the time is right. Don't be discouraged if it takes time. Even my own grimoire," he said with a chuckle, "is still about half blank."

Some of the children giggled, and others nodded in understanding. Clearly, many of them had already been informed of this by their parents or teachers, but hearing it from a master like Drouot added a sense of gravity to the situation. Still, there was no mistaking the tension in the room—the children were moments away from receiving their grimoires, and no amount of forewarning could ease that excitement.

Drouot's expression grew more serious as he raised his arms. "Now, let us begin the Grimoire Acceptance Ceremony."

The room held its collective breath as the shelves of grimoires began to glow softly. One by one, books of varying sizes and colors started to levitate from their resting places. Magical auras shimmered around them as they drifted through the air, each drawn toward the child destined to wield it.

The children gasped in awe as the grimoires floated gently into their hands, glowing with the magic of the bond forming between book and bearer. Each grimoire seemed to pulse with life, reflecting the unique magical potential of the child it chose.

Sebastian watched in silence, his sharp eyes scanning the room as the ceremony unfolded. Among the various grimoires flying into eager hands, his attention was drawn to a particular one—a pink grimoire with delicate silver runes etched on its cover. It descended lazily from the top shelf, making its way toward a lone figure in the corner.

There she was. Dorothy Unsworth.

Even as the pink grimoire floated toward her, Dorothy remained fast asleep, standing with her eyes closed, oblivious to the excitement of the other children around her. Without opening her eyes, she outstretched her hands, catching the book effortlessly, as if by instinct. A tiny bubble formed at her nose as she continued to snooze, the faint sound of her breathing the only indication she was still conscious in some small way.

Sebastian sweat-dropped, watching the bizarre scene. "How does she do that?" he muttered under his breath, perplexed at the girl's ability to function while asleep. Even after receiving her grimoire, she didn't bother to look at it. Instead, she simply turned and began sleepwalking toward the doors at the far end of the tower, leaving the rest of the children behind in their excitement.

Standing beside him, Conrad narrowed his eyes. His right eye shimmered with cryptic runes, flashing like lines of intricate code as he studied Dorothy's retreating form. "Her magic…" Conrad mused softly. "It's very… interesting."

Sebastian stiffened at the remark, a low growl escaping his throat. His gaze snapped toward Conrad, suspicion flashing in his eyes. He had no intention of letting anyone, not even the Wizard King, lay a finger on Dorothy—not after all the effort he'd put into finding her.

Conrad, sensing the tension, chuckled lightly. "Relax, I won't try to recruit her," he said, raising a hand in mock surrender. "I'm just… interested in her magic. Dream Magic, if I'm not mistaken. I'd love to see it in action one day."

Sebastian wasn't entirely convinced, but he let out a sigh of relief nonetheless. "I'm lucky you're here instead of Julius," he muttered darkly. "Julius wouldn't be able to hold himself back from trying to recruit her. Dream Mages are incredibly rare."

Conrad chuckled again, his smile widening at the thought. "Oh, I can picture it now. Julius, stars in his eyes, begging for her to join his squad. She'd probably sleep through the entire recruitment speech." He laughed softly, clearly amused by the mental image.

Sebastian sighed again, this time with a slight nod. "It's true," he admitted begrudgingly. Julius Novachrono, the future Wizard King, had a reputation for recruiting powerful mages regardless of their background. The thought of him fawning over Dorothy wasn't far-fetched at all.

Still, Sebastian couldn't shake the sense of relief that Conrad had no intention of interfering. Dorothy Unsworth, the mysterious Dream Mage, was safe—for now.

As Dorothy sleepwalked toward the exit of the tower, her pink grimoire tucked under her arm, Conrad's gaze followed her with a soft smile. He turned to Sebastian, his voice light and easy. "Well, I should be going now. I'll leave you to make your offer to her," he said with a knowing glance.

Sebastian, caught off guard, thanked him instinctively, but then paused. "Wait," he said, furrowing his brow in confusion. "Weren't you here to scout?"

Conrad nodded calmly. "I've already analyzed all their magic," he replied as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Sebastian blinked in surprise, taken aback by his efficiency. "That quickly?" He let out a slight laugh, shaking his head. "I guess none of them caught your eye, then?"

Conrad smiled and shook his head again. "Oh no, there are quite a few with potential," he said, his tone thoughtful. "Some could become pillars of the White Snake squad, highly valued Magic Knights. Even if none of them are quite ready to replace Lovilia as captain, they have promise."

Sebastian's eyes narrowed slightly as he processed Conrad's words. "Then why aren't you making any offers?" he asked, genuinely curious. It was unusual for the Wizard King to let talent go unnoticed, especially if they had potential.

Conrad's smile softened as he crossed his arms. "Because I don't know them," he explained. "Just because someone has a talent for magic doesn't mean they want to become a Magic Knight. I'm not going to offer them a position they feel pressured to accept, simply because no commoner or peasant would dare say no to the Wizard King. I won't pull them into a life they might not want, especially one as dangerous as being a Magic Knight."

Sebastian frowned, clearly puzzled by this approach. "But isn't it a waste of potential?" he asked.

Conrad's expression grew more serious, though his voice remained gentle. "Not everyone has grand dreams, Sebastian," he said. "Many commoners and peasants are perfectly content with their lives in the forsaken and common realms. They want to take care of their parents, work in the family business, get married, have children, and live quietly. I don't want to take that away from them. Becoming a Magic Knight means stepping into a world where they could die at any moment. That's not something I can decide for them."

I don't need you to tell me that.

Sebastian fell silent, his thoughts spinning. Conrad's words struck a chord he hadn't expected. Here was the Wizard King, the most powerful figure in the kingdom, showing restraint and respect for the choices of ordinary citizens. It was a perspective Sebastian hadn't considered. Ever since he'd been transmigrated into this world, he'd seen most people as chess pieces in a grand game between him and Lucius. Their feelings, their dreams, their aspirations—none of that mattered to him. Even Dorothy, with all her potential, had been just another tool in his mind, a means to an end for his ambitions and his family's safety.

Conrad smiled at Sebastian's silence, sensing the shift in his thoughts. "Besides," he continued, "these kids might have talent, but what really makes or breaks a Magic Knight is their resolve. Right now, they're riding high on Drouot's speech, full of excitement and dreams. But in a few months, we'll see who among them actually has the grit to make it to Kikka for the Magic Knights Exam. It's one thing to want it, but it's another to endure the hardships that come with it."

He paused, looking at Sebastian with a glint of sincerity in his eyes. "If that girl doesn't want to be a Magic Knight, I hope you'll respect her wishes."

Sebastian was momentarily speechless, a mix of shame and admiration creeping up on him. Conrad's perspective was worlds apart from his own—so much more considerate, more human. A twinge of guilt gnawed at him, realizing how ruthlessly he'd been treating people. After a beat of silence, Sebastian dropped to one knee, his head bowed. It was a gesture of deep respect, one he had never given to Conrad before.

"I will," Sebastian vowed solemnly. "But I'm confident that the girl won't need to be forced. She'll want to become a Magic Knight."

Conrad raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by Sebastian's gesture. The nobleman, who had once made Conrad's life in the capital a living hell, was now showing this rare display of deference. Conrad's smile turned wry, but there was a hint of warmth behind it.

As he prepared to leave, a magical door shimmered into existence behind him, glowing softly as it formed. Stepping toward the gateway, Conrad glanced over his shoulder at Sebastian one last time. "I'll file that reform we talked about as soon as I return," he said, his tone more official now. "I'm looking forward to your support when the bill is brought to court."

Sebastian stood up and met Conrad's gaze with unwavering resolve. "You'll have unanimous support from House Silva and our vassal houses," he declared with a firm nod.

Conrad's smile grew more genuine, a rare expression of gratitude passing over his features. He whispered a quiet, "Thank you," before stepping through the magical gate. The door shimmered and flickered for a moment, before dematerializing into thin air, leaving Sebastian alone in the tower.

As the magic faded, Sebastian stood there, still processing the conversation. Conrad, the man he had once dismissed as just another piece on the board, was far more thoughtful and compassionate than he had ever imagined. A small part of him, for the first time, truly respected the Wizard King.

Sebastian watched as Dorothy stepped out of the tower, her pink grimoire in hand, still fast asleep. She moved with an almost ethereal grace as if the world itself was no more than a dream. Her bubble-like snoring and the gentle rise and fall of her chest made it clear she was lost in a deep slumber. Yet somehow, she managed to walk, her feet gliding over the forest path like she had been there many times before.

Sebastian stood there for a moment, feeling a dry lump form in his throat. He knew what he had to do, but something about confronting the girl unsettled him. He had found Dorothy, the Dream Mage he'd been searching for, but now that the moment had come, he felt the weight of his intentions heavier than before.

After his conversation with Conrad, something in him had shifted. He couldn't approach her the way he would've in the past, treating her as another chess piece, another tool. Not now. He had to be honest, at least in part. He owed her that much.

Taking a deep breath, Sebastian waved at the sleepwalking girl. "Miss?" he called softly, though he doubted she would hear. "Can I have a moment of your time?"

Dorothy, still sleepwalking, paused in her steps as if the wind itself whispered his words to her. The bubbles tickling her nose popped softly, but she didn't wake. Her eyes remained closed, her expression serene and dreamlike.

Sebastian sighed, unsure how to proceed. He walked toward her, his footsteps crunching softly on the forest floor. Standing before her, he was struck by how peaceful she looked. Dorothy was completely oblivious to the weight of her own potential, to the significance she held in the balance of power within the kingdom. For a brief moment, Sebastian felt an odd sense of envy. What must it be like to be so detached from the world, to exist in a realm of dreams where nothing could touch you?

"Dorothy," he tried again, more softly this time. "I... I have an offer for you. But first... I'd like to know more about you. If you want to be a Magic Knight—if you want to be part of this world."

The words felt strange in his mouth, as if they didn't belong to him. He wasn't used to asking someone about their desires, their aspirations. He was used to making decisions, to pulling strings. But now, standing before the girl who could so easily become one of the kingdom's greatest assets, Sebastian realized that he had to take a different approach.

He reached out gently, placing a hand on her shoulder, unsure if it would wake her.

Dorothy, still fast asleep, murmured something incoherent, and then, almost miraculously, opened her eyes halfway. They were dreamy, unfocused, but she seemed to recognize Sebastian's presence in some distant, dreamlike way.

"Oh... hi," she muttered drowsily, her voice soft and airy. "Did I... fall asleep again?"

Sebastian's heart clenched slightly. He had expected a more detached, almost eerie interaction, but this was just... human. He found himself smiling, despite the tension he had been carrying.

"Yes, Miss Unsworth," he said, his voice gentle. "But I think we need to talk. If you'll give me a moment of your time."


Kapitel 12: Changing Fate (1)

Dorothy blinked, her gaze sharpening from its usual dreamy, unfocused state. Sebastian's form of address lingered in the air between them, his words catching her off guard—not in the way one might expect, but in a curious, engaging way. Her uniquely colored eyes, those striking lavender irises with their aqua-blue pupils, locked onto him. What had he just called her? Her gaze, still slightly distant like she was hovering between worlds, narrowed in interest.

Instead of recoiling or reacting defensively, a broad, playful smile spread across her lips. She leaned closer to Sebastian, her posture relaxed, exuding the kind of confidence one only gains through a lifetime of strange encounters.

"You know me, old man?" Dorothy's voice carried an almost mischievous lilt, though her question wasn't really a question. It was more a statement as if she were testing him, pushing the boundary to see how he'd respond.

Sebastian felt a twitch of irritation under his skin at the title. Old man? He wasn't that old. His eyebrows twitched, a reflex he barely managed to suppress. Still, he forced himself to remain calm, a trait he had perfected over the past few days. He nodded stiffly, his face unreadable despite the jab.

Dorothy's curiosity bubbled to the surface, her smile never wavering. "So," she pressed, tilting her head slightly, "how exactly do you know me?"

Before Sebastian could reply, his eyes drifted toward the Grimoire Tower. Children, young and wide-eyed, hurried out of the ancient building. Some of their faces were alight with joy, others marred with disappointment, their tiny hands clutching books of power they were likely too young to fully comprehend. It's about to get busy around here, Sebastian thought, realizing they'd need a quieter spot to talk.

"We should move somewhere more private," he suggested, his voice low but firm, eyes scanning the shifting crowd around them.

Dorothy's eyes glinted with amusement. She didn't seem the least bit uncomfortable with the idea, nodding happily in agreement. Without missing a beat, she jabbed him lightly in the ribs with her elbow and cracked a grin. "Don't try anything, okay? I'm just a kid after all. Besides," her grin widened, "I don't have a thing for old men."

Sebastian stiffened at her crude humor, his exasperation bubbling over. He sighed, long and drawn out, before turning toward her with a cold remark. "I'm a married man, Dorothy. And even if I were looking for something new, I certainly wouldn't settle for a kid."

Dorothy burst into laughter, completely unfazed by his sharp words. "You're pretty funny, old man."

Sebastian rubbed the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath as they started to walk. The path led through the edge of the forest, where the trees created a natural canopy of shade and the air was thick with the earthy smell of damp wood. Dorothy followed a few paces behind, humming softly, the picture of carefree joy.

Sebastian glanced over his shoulder at her, sighing inwardly. Too careless, he thought, shaking his head. "You shouldn't trust strangers so easily," he muttered, his voice barely loud enough for her to hear.

Dorothy only smiled wider, her tune light and airy, as if the concept of danger barely registered to her. The girl exuded a confidence that made Sebastian pause for a moment. Maybe not reckless, he considered, narrowing his eyes in thought. Confident. She's sure that if I did try anything, she could handle it.

As they walked deeper into the forest, Sebastian couldn't help but think of her strange magic. Dream magic was a power few fully understood, and Dorothy, with her drifting manner and otherworldly gaze, seemed perfectly suited for it. It's overpowered, he thought grimly. Strange too. Tabata never really explored her character enough. Even if she's only just gotten her grimoire, I doubt she has Glamour World yet. His eyes narrowed as he mulled over the possibilities. But she probably has a few spells already, ones that could make things… difficult if I tried something.

His thoughts wandered as they trekked along the forest path, leaves rustling overhead in the gentle breeze. Sebastian had a hard time imagining someone becoming a captain with just one overpowered spell. No, she has more than that. She has to. You don't rise to captain without having some tricks up your sleeves.

The forest began to thin out, the trees becoming sparser until they emerged into a rough clearing. Ahead of them, a remote hill stretched up gently, its peak offering a quiet vantage point that overlooked Hage in the distance. The view was peaceful, the faint rustle of the leaves and the distant chirping of birds creating a soothing atmosphere.

Sebastian paused for a moment, taking it all in. The light breeze brushed against his face, and for a second, he allowed himself to enjoy the serenity of the place. Dorothy, for once, remained quiet behind him, though her usual light-hearted energy hadn't faded.

That brief moment of peace was broken when Dorothy, in her usual manner, disrupted the silence.

Dorothy's gaze, though light and whimsical as always, held a hint of determination as she asked once more, her voice a touch more pointed, "What do you know about me?"

Sebastian met her eyes, his own expression unreadable but calm. "I know you're a witch from the Witch's Forest," he began, "one with dream magic, who somehow escaped to the Clover Kingdom."

For a brief moment, Dorothy blinked, her chipper expression faltering just slightly as the weight of his words sank in. But just as quickly, her smile returned, bright and carefree as always. "Oh? So, you do know something," she said lightly, as if it were the most casual revelation in the world. "But you didn't bring me all the way out here just to tell me things I already know. You had something you wanted to ask me, right?"

Sebastian nodded, ready to speak, but before he could utter a word, Dorothy wagged her finger in front of his face, cutting him off mid-breath. Her teasing smile never wavered.

"Before you ask anything, isn't it polite to introduce yourself first?" she said, the playfulness in her tone unmistakable.

Sebastian's mouth clamped shut as he realized she was right. He had been so focused on their conversation, he'd completely bypassed the most basic courtesy. With a soft sigh, he reached up and lowered the hood that had shadowed his features. His silver hair, slicked back neatly, caught the fading sunlight as his face came fully into view.

Dorothy blinked at him, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then, after what felt like an eternity, she simply shrugged and said, "Huh. Nice hair, I guess."

Sebastian felt a moment of awkwardness settle between them. Nice hair? That's all she had to say? He realized quickly that she might not know what silver hair symbolized here in the Clover Kingdom—likely because she had just arrived, and the intricacies of noble appearances hadn't yet made their way into her mind.

Clearing his throat to regain his composure, Sebastian gave a formal nod. "My name is Sebastian Silva," he said, his voice firm but not without a trace of humility. "Patriarch of the royal family House Silva of the Clover Kingdom."

This time, Dorothy's eyes widened in genuine surprise. For the first time, her playful, breezy demeanor cracked, and her childish shock spilled out. "You're royalty?" she blurted, clearly trying to process the information. Awkwardly, she started to move toward him, as if to bow or offer some form of reverence, but Sebastian quickly raised a hand, stopping her mid-action.

"Please," he said, his voice carrying a note of self-deprecation. "No need for that." His lips curled into a soft chuckle, though the sound lacked any real joy. "I'm from a far-removed branch of the family. I married into the main line, so in truth, I'm royal in name only." He shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. "I probably don't carry a single drop of royal blood in my veins."

Dorothy paused, watching him, and for once, her usual teasing smile seemed absent. She opened her mouth, but Sebastian wasn't done.

"My mana reserves," he added, almost mockingly, "are about as impressive as an average noble's. I'm considered the shame of House Silva, probably its weakest patriarch in history."

Dorothy blinked, clearly unsure how to react. Her lavender irises darted from side to side as if searching for the right response. Then, in an uncharacteristically awkward motion, she cleared her throat and stepped forward. She patted his shoulder in an attempt at consolation, though she had to stand on her tiptoes to reach him properly.

Sebastian stared down at her, feeling a strange mix of emotions as he watched this little girl, barely reaching his chest, attempting to comfort him in their first meeting. Her small hand awkwardly patted his shoulder, as if she wasn't entirely sure how to offer sympathy. The whole scene felt absurd. Yet, somehow, the absurdity made it endearing.

He let out a soft, dry chuckle. "You're… an odd one, Dorothy," he murmured, shaking his head slightly.

Dorothy grinned up at him, her playful nature resurfacing. "Takes one to know one, old man," she replied cheerfully, dropping back down onto her heels with a satisfied look.

Sebastian sighed. This girl…

The air between them shifted as Sebastian decided to change the course of their conversation. His gaze lingered on Dorothy's carefree expression, and with a measured tone, he spoke. "I'd like to invite you to join the Silver Eagles."

Dorothy blinked at him, her amusement clearly piqued. The thought of her—a free-spirited witch from the forest—joining the ranks of the Clover Kingdom's Magic Knights seemed to catch her off guard. She tilted her head, lavender eyes twinkling mischievously as she asked, "Why would you think I'd want to be a magic knight in the first place?"

Sebastian held her gaze, pausing for a moment before he answered. His voice, usually calculated and reserved, took on a new weight. "Honestly," he began, "I was probably going to lie to you. Manipulate you, even." His admission came easily, but there was a rawness to it, a sincerity that hadn't been present before. "But recently, I've come to admire someone. They've shown me that path—the one I was about to take—wasn't the right one."

Dorothy's smile widened, though there was curiosity behind it. She leaned forward just slightly. "Only a bit more forthright?" she teased, though there was genuine interest in her voice.

Sebastian nodded, his expression growing serious. He locked eyes with her, searching her face as if gauging her reaction before he spoke. "Like your mother, I can see the future. Somewhat."

Dorothy's playful expression faltered. Her smile faded as her brow furrowed, and for the first time, she averted her gaze, looking down at the ground. She muttered, her voice quieter now, "Didn't expect that."

Sebastian observed her reaction, noting the shift in her demeanor. She wasn't pleased—if anything, the revelation had triggered something deeper. He could feel the discomfort radiating from her. So, this is a sore subject, he thought. "You don't seem happy to hear that," he said gently, though his words hung heavily in the air.

Dorothy sighed, her eyes drifting upwards to the open sky. The playful energy she usually exuded seemed to dissipate as she spoke, her voice soft but tinged with something bittersweet. "If you know my mother, and you can see the future… then you should know I'm not exactly fond of soothsayers."

Sebastian nodded, understanding the layers of pain beneath her words. He didn't push her or ask for more than she was willing to give. "I haven't divined the image myself," he said, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful. "But I can imagine the weight of it, and the pain it's caused you."

Dorothy let out a soft sigh, one that seemed far too heavy for someone her age. It was the kind of sigh that spoke of weariness—of carrying burdens that didn't belong to a child. She chuckled then, but the sound was hollow, lacking the carefree lightness that usually accompanied her laughter.

There was a silence between them, not uncomfortable, but reflective, as if both were carefully navigating a conversation that had stumbled into uncharted emotional territory. For a brief moment, Dorothy let her guard down, showing a side of herself that was rarely seen.

Dorothy's voice trembled slightly, though she tried to keep her tone steady as she spoke. "I hate oracles. Prophecies." She took a slow breath before continuing, the weight of her words heavy with resentment. "They're what turned my mother into the vain, hollow person she is today."

Sebastian remained silent, listening closely as Dorothy continued. Her normally bright eyes were shadowed, reflecting a deeper pain than her usual carefree attitude ever hinted at. "The Witch Queen," she began, her voice softening, "used to be different. The elder witches told me stories when I was a child—about how she was loving, protective of all of us. A guardian of the Witch's Forest, full of compassion."

Dorothy paused, blinking against the memories of stories she had long stopped believing in. "But now," she sighed, "she's changed. That ability to pry into the future has hollowed her out. She's not even a person anymore, just… cold-hearted logic, always calculating, always reasoning." Her lips twisted into something that might have been a smile, though it held no joy. "She lost the one thing that makes us human. Her sight blinded her to reality, made her think that everything—every choice, every decision—has to be calculated, weighed by cause and effect."

Her voice lowered, and her words became darker as she spoke of her sister, the one she had never met. "She even locked away one of my little sisters in a birdcage," Dorothy said bitterly, "just so she could awaken some kind of fate magic. So she could become the next queen."

Dorothy let out a hollow laugh, though it was clear there was no humor behind it. "I don't know if I should be jealous that one of my siblings got so much of her undivided attention, or thankful that I didn't catch her eye like that."

She laughed again, but this time it was bitter, almost defeated. "After I awakened my magic, the Witch Queen took an interest in me. Dream magic, after all, is unheard of—even in the Witch Forest, where people have the strangest magic attributes because of the exposure to the grand magic zone." Dorothy's voice became softer, more reflective. "But that interest didn't last long. After some prophecy about that sister, I wasn't her favorite anymore."

Sebastian's brow furrowed as he listened, piecing together the fragments of Dorothy's painful past. "Vanessa Enoteca," he said quietly.

Dorothy nodded grimly, confirming his guess. "Yeah, that's her." Her voice was distant now, like she was speaking more to herself than to him. "Vanessa may have been the only one physically trapped in a cage, but it felt like we were all living a life designed by the Witch Queen. Puppets, all of us, moving to her strings."

She paused, her fists clenching at her sides. "I couldn't stand it anymore. I had to leave. I had to risk everything to escape."

Then, in a sudden burst of frustration, she let out a sharp laugh, running her hand through her hair as she turned to Sebastian. "Do you know what the most frustrating thing is?"

Sebastian's voice was soft, almost tender. "What?" he asked, sensing the emotion behind her question.

A few tears pricked at Dorothy's eyes as she fought to keep her voice steady. "The security golems that guard the Witch Forest—they didn't even react to me. Not when I tried to sneak away. They didn't care that I was leaving." Her voice cracked, and she blinked hard, trying to stop the tears from falling. "That was when I realized… even my choice to escape, even that was orchestrated and foreseen by her. She didn't care if I stayed or left. I wasn't her masterpiece anymore, so what did it matter?"

This time, she couldn't stop the tears. They spilled over, quietly tracing her cheeks as the bitterness and anger she had held in for so long finally surfaced. The pain of knowing her mother's indifference—of realizing that her rebellion, her desperate need to break free, had been just another part of the Witch Queen's design—cut deeper than any wound.

Sebastian sighed softly, his expression somber. Without a word, he reached into his satchel and pulled out a small bundle of napkins. He handed them to her, his gesture gentle, knowing words wouldn't be enough right now.

Dorothy took them quietly, dabbing at her eyes, her earlier bravado gone. She wiped away the tears, but her hands trembled slightly, her emotions still raw and exposed. For once, there were no jokes, no teasing remarks—just a vulnerable girl, trying to hold herself together in the face of a lifetime of pain.

Sebastian watched Dorothy closely as she dabbed at her tears, and inwardly, he couldn't help but lament. This… this was nothing like the Dorothy Unsworth he was familiar with from stories, from the anime. That Dorothy was always joyful, or sleepy—a carefree spirit, radiating a light-hearted innocence. But the girl standing before him now, with trembling hands and red-rimmed eyes, carried a weight that no child should ever have to bear.

She gave him a weak smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "You're here for Glamour World, aren't you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by the sudden mention of the spell. He hadn't expected her to bring it up so directly, especially after all she had just shared. He nodded somberly, unsure of where this conversation was headed.

Instead of explaining, Dorothy tilted her head slightly, her expression distant. "Does this have anything to do with She-Who-Should-Not-Be-Named?" she asked.

The moment the words left her lips, Sebastian stiffened. His entire body tensed, his breath hitching for a second. How could she possibly know? He took a step forward, careful to keep his tone gentle. "How… how do you know about that?" he asked, his voice low but tinged with concern. He didn't want to frighten her, not after everything she had just opened up about.

Dorothy gave him a weak, almost resigned smile. "Thanks to my beloved mother," she said, her voice laced with a bitter irony. She didn't need to elaborate for Sebastian to understand—her mother, the Witch Queen, had foreseen it, as she had foreseen everything else in Dorothy's life.

Dorothy's expression darkened as she continued, recounting a prophecy her mother had given her when she first awakened her magic. "She told me that one day I'd be able to visualize a dream into reality," Dorothy explained, her tone detached, as if she were repeating something she had heard a thousand times. "That I'd be able to imagine a world—my own world—where I'd reign supreme."

At first, Dorothy had dismissed it, chalking it up to another one of her mother's cold predictions. But as the years went by, and she found herself growing sleepier by the day, she realized the truth. "I started to doze off all the time," she said softly, "and I'd daydream. In those dreams, I began building that world, piece by piece, bit by bit. I didn't even realize it at first." Her voice faltered, and she let out a shaky breath. "Still… I held onto the hope that maybe this time, just once, she was wrong."

Sebastian's heart ached as he listened to her. The pain in her voice was palpable, the frustration of a child whose entire life had been written for her. Dorothy's shoulders slumped as she reached into her cloak and pulled out her grimoire. She held it awkwardly in her hand, almost like it was something she couldn't bring herself to fully accept. "I never opened it," she confessed, staring at the pink cover. "I was too scared to see what was inside."

She didn't need to open it, though. The moment she touched it, their souls had bonded. Her grimoire had floated in front of her, flipping through its pages on its own until it stopped at one that made her heart sink. "It showed me the world I'd been dreaming about," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Glamour World."

The name itself tasted bitter on her tongue. She looked at Sebastian, her eyes filled with a deep sadness. "She predicted the name perfectly, of course," she added with a hollow laugh, "because that's what she does. She always knows."

Sebastian could feel the weight of her words pressing down on him. He didn't know how to respond—not at first. What could he say to a girl whose entire life had been mapped out, predicted, and orchestrated by someone else? A girl who had been read like a book, her every future achievement already written in stone? He could only imagine how suffocating that must have been for someone so young, someone who should be able to make her own choices, walk her own path.

Gently, Sebastian placed a hand on her shoulder, offering a brief moment of comfort. He hesitated for a second, not wanting to press her further, but he needed to know. "Dorothy," he began softly, "how did you know about the devil?"

Dorothy's gaze dropped to the ground, her eyes still rimmed with tears. Her hands trembled slightly as she answered, her voice barely audible. "Before I left the forest… my mother left me with one final fortune." She swallowed hard, trying to hold herself together. "She said I'd have some… connection to that devil. That someday, someone would come looking for me, asking for my help to oppose She-Who-Should-Not-Be-Named."

As she spoke, her tears began to flow again, but this time, they weren't out of anger or frustration. They were tears of helplessness, of knowing that her fate had been sealed before she even had the chance to decide for herself. Sebastian sighed softly, his heart heavy with sympathy. Without a word, he reached into his satchel and pulled out another napkin.

Dorothy took it, her hand brushing his as she softly dabbed at her eyes. The silence between them was thick with unspoken understanding—a shared sense of sorrow, of helplessness in the face of a future that had already been decided.

Sebastian stood still, his expression indifferent, but inside, a storm of emotions brewed. His calm exterior belied the turmoil within. The Witch Queen foresaw me, he thought, the realization settling like a stone in his gut. It wasn't just her, though. This world was filled with individuals who could peer into the future. The Witch Queen. Dryad. Lucius. Even Julius, to a lesser extent. And then, there was Ryuya Ryudo—literally omniscient.

How had he not realized this sooner? How could I have been so foolish? He cursed himself inwardly, his chest tightening with each thought. All this time, he had moved through the world as if he were some protagonist in a novel—transmigrated into the body of a nobody, destined for greatness. But now, a chilling thought crept into his mind. What if all of these people—these prophets—had already seen his arrival? What if his existence, his journey, wasn't a twist of fate but something long foretold?

His skin prickled with cold sweat. Lucius… The name echoed in his mind. If the Witch Queen had foreseen him, then Lucius, with his grand foresight, must have too. Lucius already knows. The thought sent a wave of cold fear through his body, making his pulse quicken.

But if Lucius knew, then why had he been allowed to undo so much of Vanica's and Megicula's work? Why has he been able to save Acier Silva—a pivotal moment that could alter the course of the future? Unless… unless Acier's existence didn't matter in the grand scheme of Lucius' plans. Maybe she wasn't a key figure, or perhaps her presence didn't really change the timeline in a significant way. Or—Sebastian's stomach twisted at the thought—maybe Lucius truly doesn't know.

Or worse—maybe I'm being led into a trap.

Sebastian's mind raced, his thoughts spiraling deeper and deeper into the unknown. But then, in the midst of his panic, he caught himself. He shook his head slightly, clearing the fog of fear that threatened to overwhelm him. It changes nothing. So what if Lucius knew? It didn't alter his mission. He still needed to save Acier, regardless of who was watching or plotting behind the scenes. He couldn't afford to let these thoughts paralyze him, to make him second-guess every step he took. If he allowed fear to rule him, he would spend his life superstitious and on guard, too afraid to act.

And by the time he gathered the courage to do something, it might already be too late.

No. He had to continue doing what he was doing. Carefully, cautiously, but he couldn't stop. He had to stay the course, just as he always had. After all, the only one who certainly knows of my existence is Ryuya Ryudo, the holder of the Tengentsu. Lucius, for all his foresight, wasn't truly all-seeing. He had already proven that when he failed to account for Asta's existence—an anomaly that had altered the timeline in unexpected ways. Asta's existence had made Noelle, Yuno, Mereoleona, and so many others stronger, and changed their paths. And yet, Lucius hadn't seen it coming.

If Asta's presence was an unknown variable, a flaw, a bug, an error, then maybe—just maybe—Sebastian could be one too. The Witch Queen had foretold someone would seek Dorothy's help, but that didn't mean she had divined his identity. There was still some hope that he remained a shadow in their visions.

A voice suddenly snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts. "Hey, are you alright?" Dorothy asked, her tone concerned, her lavender and aqua eyes focused on him.

Sebastian blinked, shaken from his internal debate. He took a steadying breath, calming the whirlwind of thoughts in his mind. He nodded slowly, trying to ease the tension in his body. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice steadier than he felt. "I'm fine."

Sebastian stood silently for a moment, his eyes steady as he finally spoke, "You're right. I need your help to block that devil's detection... so I can cure and uncurse my wife and son."

Dorothy's gaze softened, and she gave him a small nod. "I see," she replied, her tone thoughtful. But then, with a curious tilt of her head, she added, "But if all you need is my help, you could've just asked for that. Why do you want me to join your squad?"

Sebastian paused, his mouth slightly open, words slow to form as he gathered his thoughts. "Because... your dream magic has the potential to be the strongest," he said, his voice steady. "And you... you're someone destined for great things. I want someone strong like you around, not just for this little battle, but to share in my family's burden."

Dorothy blinked, letting his words sink in. For a moment, her usually lively expression faded into something more contemplative. "You saw that in my future?" she asked quietly, her tone laced with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

Sebastian nodded. He wasn't lying; he had seen it. He just hadn't seen the whole picture.

Dorothy let out a soft chuckle, though there was a weight behind it. "So, because you came to recruit me yourself... it means in the timeline you saw, I never joined the Silver Eagles, right? That's why you're trying to change fate?"

Sebastian dipped his head slightly, acknowledging her observation. He wasn't about to deny it.

Her eyes narrowed just slightly, her curiosity growing. "What kind of person was I, then? In that timeline?"

Sebastian shifted his weight. "I don't know what squad you initially joined," he admitted, his voice a bit quieter now, "but I do know you worked hard. You climbed the ranks, earned enough merits, and grew stronger until you started your own squad. You became a captain."

A smile touched Dorothy's lips, her eyes twinkling with something warmer, more personal. "And what was the name of that squad?" she asked, her tone light but genuine.

"The Coral Peacocks," Sebastian said without hesitation.

Dorothy smiled wider, clearly pleased with the name. "Sounds fitting," she said with a chuckle. "The color choice does seem like me."

She hesitated for a moment, then asked, "What sort of people were in my squad? Anyone I know?"

Sebastian furrowed his brow, trying to pull those vague memories from the deepest recesses of his mind. "I don't remember everything clearly," he said slowly, "but I do recall your Vice Captain. It was my nephew—Kirsch."

Dorothy chuckled again, this time with a playful glint in her eye. "Kirsch, huh? Seems like we've got some kind of spiritual connection," she joked.

Sebastian shook his head lightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite the tension. "No connection," he said with a light sigh. "I have no relation to my sister-in-law or her children, beyond being her sister's husband. My connection to them is through my wife... and nothing more."

Dorothy paused, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer. Inwardly, she felt an odd sense of relief. He's not trying to manipulate me, she thought, grateful that he wasn't shameless enough to use familial ties to sway her.

Dorothy's expression softened as she stared off into the distance, her voice quiet when she spoke again. "Recently," she began, "I've been feeling more and more concerned about that sister of mine... the one I've never met. I keep thinking that one day, when I'm strong enough, I'll go back to the Witch Forest, bust her out of that cage, grab her hand, and drag her out of that bleak place so she can taste freedom too."

Her words were laced with determination, but as she finished, a sense of vulnerability crept into her tone. She turned her lavender gaze back toward Sebastian, her eyes filled with hope. "Did I succeed in doing that... in the future you saw?"

Sebastian hesitated, shaking his head slowly. "I don't know if you ever did," he replied, his voice tinged with regret. "It's possible that by the time you were strong enough, it was already too late, or maybe... you simply forgot."

A pit of dread formed in Dorothy's stomach, her lips parting slightly as her breath caught. Her hopeful expression crumbled, replaced by a wave of anxiety. She looked up at Sebastian, silently questioning, silently hoping.

Realizing his mistake, Sebastian quickly clarified, "No, no—it wasn't that. I should have explained better. Someone else beat you to it. Vanessa was freed before you could act."

Dorothy exhaled a deep sigh of relief, her body visibly relaxing. "Who?" she asked, a hint of curiosity in her voice.

"A foreigner to the Clover Kingdom, just like you," Sebastian explained. "Though he came from a much farther place. In the future, he'll be a fellow captain and colleague of yours. He'll have his own squad, and Vanessa... she joined it."

A fond smile crept across Dorothy's face, thinking of Vanessa finding her freedom. But then, just as quickly, that smile faded, replaced by a wave of disgust and disappointment directed inward. She had been relieved, but part of her felt she had failed. Why wasn't it me? she thought bitterly. Even after knowing the truth...

Sebastian, picking up on her shift in demeanor, offered some reassurance. "The Dorothy I knew from that timeline... she wasn't exactly you," he said softly. "She was sleepy and chipper, sure, but that was it. She didn't carry the same trauma or emotional weight that you do. Maybe I just didn't see enough of her to realize it... or maybe, you really were different."

Dorothy remained quiet for a moment, absorbing his words. Eventually, she admitted, "That's definitely a possibility."

Sebastian's thoughts wandered for a moment as he looked at the young witch standing before him. This world's version of Dorothy is nothing like the one I remember from Black Clover, he thought, feeling the weight of his realization. These characters—they're real now. They have complex, deeper stories, and many of them carry pain and trauma that the main story never even hinted at. Like Dorothy... I never knew any of this about her.

Dorothy, sensing his introspection, gazed up at him. "I guess we're all more complicated than the surface shows," she said softly, her voice carrying a depth that spoke to both their shared understanding.

Dorothy's smile lingered, but a hint of curiosity laced her expression. "So... how did it all go for me?" she asked, her tone soft but eager for an answer. "How did I end up in that timeline?"

Sebastian glanced at her, thinking over the events he had glimpsed. "The kingdom was threatened many times," he began, his voice measured. "There were battles, wars, and conflicts that pushed everyone to their limits. You, along with the captains and the other Magic Knights, worked together to overcome those threats. But it wasn't just about fighting; it was about the bonds you built along the way."

He paused, recalling one particularly vivid moment. "In the final grand conflict I foresaw, the Witch Queen—your mother—had changed. After being bested by Vanessa, who had mastered the threads of fate, she was no longer the cold, calculating woman you remember. She was... different. She had grown, softened in a way, after realizing Vanessa's strength and what it meant to her."

Dorothy's brow furrowed slightly at the mention of Vanessa. "What happened to her?"

"She was injured—seriously. In that battle, the Witch Queen used her vitality and life force to heal many of the wounded from Vanessa's squad. It was a sacrifice, an act of redemption. When the battle ended, she asked Vanessa to succeed her as the Witch Queen."

Dorothy's entire body stiffened at that, her smile fading slightly. "And did she?"

Sebastian shook his head. "No. You intervened. You stepped forward, saying that you'd had your fun... and that you would be the Witch Queen instead."

Dorothy blinked, a strange expression crossing her face. For a long moment, she was silent, processing the weight of what Sebastian had told her. Then, with a wry smile, she chuckled softly, but there was no real humor in it. "I guess I had more guilt toward Vanessa than I realized," she muttered, her voice low and pensive. "If I was willing to take over the position of the woman I hated most..."

Her smile faded into something more introspective, almost bitter, as she thought out loud. "I can see why I did it. I'm not proud of it, but... it makes sense." She let out a small, resigned laugh. "Even if it wasn't the ideal situation... I guess it was an acceptable outcome."

Sebastian observed her quietly, recognizing the emotional complexity beneath her words. Dorothy wasn't simply disappointed in herself for taking on the role of Witch Queen; she was grappling with the notion of accepting a fate that tied her to the very person she had spent her life resenting.

The realization that, despite her own trauma, she had stepped into a role meant to redeem her mother in some way—it wasn't just a sense of duty. It was an acknowledgment that life is rarely black and white, and sometimes the paths we take, even ones we despise, serve a greater purpose.

Sebastian could see that in her eyes—the quiet understanding that she had made peace with that reality, no matter how complicated it might be.

Dorothy sighed softly, her lavender eyes looking far away, as if she was seeing that future for herself. "I guess... that's what fate is, huh?"

Dorothy's gaze remained fixed on Sebastian, her eyes sharp and full of curiosity. "So, after everything you've said, why should I change my fate?" she asked, her voice steady. "Why should I abandon the path I've already committed to and join the Silver Eagles? It may not be perfect, but it's the life I've chosen."

Sebastian let out a deep sigh, his expression heavy with thought. "Originally," he admitted, "I was going to lie to you. I was going to trick you into believing I could help you escape your fate—convince you that you could choose your own destiny, free from your mother's control."

Dorothy's eyes narrowed slightly. "I sense a 'but' coming," she said, her tone wary.

He nodded. "But now... I think I want to give you something more."

Dorothy raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Go on."

Sebastian sighed again, searching for the right words. "If it were just about wealth, fame, or status—House Silva could provide you with that a hundred times over. We have more money, influence, and connections than you could ever need. But something tells me you didn't risk your life escaping the Witch Forest and crossing a Grand Magic Zone just to sell yourself for something so shallow."

Dorothy gave a small nod, her expression softening as she listened. "You're right," she whispered, urging him to continue.

"What I sense from you," Sebastian continued, his voice growing more intense, "isn't a desire for power or riches. What I feel is a yearning. A yearning for your sister, a longing for a caring mother, for a peaceful home, for love... for warmth. You want real, deep connections—family, friends, allies you can trust, people who will stand by your side. A reason not to lose yourself in your dreams. You don't want to remain the isolated, independent figure you've had to become."

Dorothy's breath hitched, her eyes wide as his words struck a chord deep inside her. She remained silent, her heart racing, waiting for him to finish.

Sebastian thought back to two days earlier, when he had crumpled a pile of marriage offers aimed at his eldest son. They weren't about love—they were bids for status, wealth, and lineage. He had felt disgusted by them then, but now, an idea bloomed in his mind—an idea that made him smile. Something bold, something audacious.

He looked down at Dorothy, his smile widening as he realized what he was about to say. "Dorothy," he asked, his voice low but clear, "do you want to be a princess?"

The reaction was immediate. Dorothy's eyes widened like saucers, her mouth parting in shock. For the first time in their conversation, he could tell he had truly caught her off guard.


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Nozel, your dad just sold you off

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