Michael was once again led and served in the study room.
Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—the young daughter of the Golden Family, Seria, was not around to entertain him this time.
The steward, after offering a respectful bow and ensuring Michael was comfortable, left promptly to fulfill his task.
Before long, a familiar face stepped through the doorway.
It was Master Yuan—Mage Lian’s personal assistant.
The older man’s presence was as composed as always, his robes perfectly arranged and his expression calm. His sharp eyes met Michael’s, a flicker of recognition passing through them.
“Sir Mic,” Master Yuan greeted with a slight nod, his voice even and smooth as glass.
“Master Yuan,” Michael replied, standing. “I assume we’re not staying long.”
“You assume correctly.” The older man gestured to the door. “Mage Lian is expecting you. I’ve arranged for transport. We’ll talk on the way.”
Michael followed him without another word.
The Golden Family’s estate was quiet at this hour, servants moving like shadows between the trimmed hedges and marble columns.
A covered carriage waited just outside the gates, drawn by sleek horses and flanked by two silent knights.
Michael stepped in first, settling into the cushioned bench. Master Yuan joined him, the door clicking shut behind them as the carriage rolled forward.
For a time, the only sounds were the rhythmic clatter of hooves and the low creak of wood.
Master Yuan on the other hand studied Michael from the corner of his eye.
His hands were folded on his lap, posture straight, but inwardly, his thoughts were anything but calm.
Why does Master treat this boy like an equal?
Yuan had served Mage Lian for over two decades. He knew the man’s moods, his judgments, and his standards. And the old mage was not that generous with his respect.
Yet from the very beginning, the way he had spoken of Michael—the way he looked at him—was strange. Not like a student. Not like a subordinate. But something… more.
And then there was the journey.
They had traveled days ago and were asked to retrieve the remains of monsters slain near their destination.
But what they found there was not what they expected.
There were scorch marks, of course—clear signs of fire magic, which matched Lian’s reputation. But there was more. Far more.
Claw marks on stone, sliced cleanly—not crushed, but cut, as if by something beyond elemental force. Then there were the twisted trees, bent in unnatural angles.
They hadn’t spoken of it openly, not in front of the common guards. But every knight there had noticed. Every one of them had felt it.
And they’d all felt that pressure—the moment Michael stepped into view.
Like a tidal wave, Yuan remembered. Not killing intent. Not aura. Just presence.
The kind of presence that made your knees want to bend and your heart want to stutter.
It wasn’t the pressure of a child still finding his footing in magic.
It was the pressure of a Grand Mage.
Yuan swallowed the thought, but it rose again anyway, unbidden and unwelcome.
Is he already at that level?
It didn’t make sense. It shouldn’t be possible. But Lian had always told him that the world was never kind to rules. That sometimes, people weren’t born—they were made.
Still, it wasn’t just speculation anymore. Not just a whisper in his own mind.
Even the knights had begun to murmur. A few of them spoke of Michael in hushed tones now. Not as a companion. Not as a young noble. But with a different sort of reverence. A fear-laced respect.
A suspicion none of them dared voice directly, but all of them shared.
Michael leaned back slightly, eyes half-closed as the carriage took a turn. His scent—the same mellow perfume Yuan had noticed earlier—still lingered faintly in the enclosed space.
“Something on your mind?” Michael asked suddenly, eyes not even open.
Yuan stiffened for half a second. “Merely wondering how my master will receive you today.”
Michael smiled faintly, still without looking. “I imagine he wouldn’t be very pleased.”
“That would be kind,” Yuan said dryly. “He’s been… waiting.”
“Longer than he should have. I know.”
They didn’t speak for a while after that.
The carriage continued through the heart of the inner city, passing high towers, bronze-roofed manors, and gardens trimmed to perfection. The roads here were free of mud and mess, but filled with silence—the kind that clung to places where power dwelled.
Eventually, the carriage slowed. Yuan gave a nod to the driver through the small slit in the wall, and the vehicle stopped in front of a wide estate surrounded by high red walls.
The gates were already open.
Michael stepped out first, his robe barely disturbed by the movement. Yuan followed, eyes flicking to his side.
No knight escorted them this time.
They didn’t need one.
“Let’s not keep him waiting,” Master Yuan said, and strode forward.
Michael said nothing and simply followed the Grand Mage Personal Assistant.
They walked through the open gates without delay.
LYuan said nothing as they passed through two more halls before stopping at the familiar wooden door. He raised a hand to knock.
“Come in,” a voice came from the other side.
The two entered and were met with a familiar face.
Mage Lian was seated at his desk, fingers laced together, chin resting on them.
He looked up—and froze.
The old man’s eyes narrowed, the crease in his brow deepening.
He studied Michael in silence for several seconds.
Lian’s eyes betrayed nothing at first.
But behind the composed facade, the old mage’s thoughts stirred.
Before him stood a tall young man with a calm bearing, sharp jawline, and long black hair tied loosely behind his back—radiating quiet authority. Handsome, certainly, and unfamiliar.
And yet familiar enough to stir memory. He did not speak of it, as was custom among those who knew. Surprise was buried under courtesy.
“You look different,” was all he said, voice dry.
Michael immediately knew what the other party was talking about.
His evolution.
However, what he was unsure of was if Mage Lian was seeing something more.