Reborn As Papa Silva

Chapter 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."