Michael’s transformation had been nothing short of shocking.
When Ace and Lia first saw him upon his return, they didn’t show a hint of surprise on their faces. But beneath their composed expressions—and despite the emotions already weighing on them—they had been completely stunned.
Was his hair real? Was it a wig? What in the world had happened to him?
Their curiosity wasn’t born from concern, but from sheer disbelief. Even now, after getting used to his new appearance, something about it still sat oddly in their hearts.
Was it jealousy? Envy?
They weren’t sure. Or maybe they were and just didn’t want to admit it.
What they did know was simple: this bastard looked fine as hell.
It was the same for anyone else who had known Michael before.
But the man himself remained oblivious. Everyone outside his family knew how to hide it well—how to keep their thoughts to themselves.
Mage Lian’s gaze sharpened the longer he stared.
The robe Michael wore wasn’t ostentatious, but there was an effortless elegance to it.
More than that, there was something about the boy’s very presence that gnawed at his old instincts—something heavy. Dangerous. Familiar and utterly foreign.
His eyes drifted lower for a heartbeat, and that’s when he noticed it. The mana.
It swirled around Michael like a coiled serpent—quiet, tamed, and absolutely vast. The room’s ambient pressure shifted ever so slightly, the air just a little thicker. It wasn’t active magic. It was simply there.
Lian had studied countless mages, warriors, and scholars in his lifetime. But even among the elite, no young man should have that much mana—not at Michael’s age, and not without signs of strain.
His brow furrowed.
No trembling fingers. No pale lips. No flickers of instability.
Not even the faint discoloration in the veins that appeared when one forcibly drew too much power through an unready vessel.
Before, the boy had shown those cracks—barely concealed behind his brave face. But now?
Nothing.
Just stillness and that quiet, unnatural depth.
Lian leaned back in his chair and waved a hand casually toward one of the chairs across the table. “Sir Mic, please sit.”
Michael obeyed with a courteous nod, lowering himself into the seat.
A beat passed.
“Master Yuan,” Lian said, eyes not leaving Michael. “Please give us the room.”
Yuan hesitated for only half a breath. Then he bowed silently and stepped out, the door closing with a soft thud behind him.
The silence between the two lingered for a moment.
“Why are you here? For sure Sir Mic is not here for an ordinary visit? Of course that’s also fine” Lian was voice low and direct.
Michael met his gaze without flinching. “To deliver my answer. I’ve made my decision.”
The words were simple, spoken without theatrics. But Lian felt his pulse shift ever so slightly.
A flicker of something ran through his spine—half anticipation, half worry.
Michael leaned forward slightly, his fingers resting lightly on the arm of the chair. “I’ve decided to join the Duke of Evermoon’s competition… for your sake, Mage Lian.”
Lian raised an eyebrow, but Michael continued before the old mage could speak.
“However, just as the Grand Mage asked something of me before… I believe it’s only fair I ask something in return from you.”
Mage Lian’s eyes twitched ever so slightly. He wasn’t surprised. He had half-expected Michael to make a request.
What amused him was the boy’s tone—level, unhurried, and deliberate. Like a merchant bartering over silks instead of a young mage asking something of one of the kingdom’s most powerful figures.
And yet, it pleased him.
Because it meant Michael was already on board.
“You wound me,” Lian said with a faint smile. “Have I not been generous?”
Michael didn’t rise to the bait. “Generosity and value aren’t the same thing. I’m just not sure what you can offer me… is worth the trouble.”
Lian’s eye twitched again, this time more visibly.
Cheeky brat.
“And what, may I ask, does Sir Mic desire that could make my offerings more… valuable?”
Michael shrugged, gaze drifting lazily to the shelves lined with books behind Lian. “Nothing in particular,” he said, far too casually.
But Lian caught it.
That subtle shift of the eyes. The faint pause in Michael’s words.
It was like watching a hawk glance at prey and pretend it wasn’t interested.
“You like books?” Lian asked with a smile
Michael blinked, then looked back. “I read,” he replied simply.
Lian didn’t press. Instead, he lifted a hand and with a soft whisper, summoned two books from the shelf behind him. They floated forward, their spines worn but well-kept, and landed gently on the table between them.
“The first,” he said, tapping the thicker tome, “is the History of the Lionheart Kingdom and Its Ties to the Veyron Empire. It’s not light reading, but you’ll understand the world we live in. Names. Factions. Enemies. The sort of things a man in your position should know.”
“However since it’s quite interesting to read and might even have knowledge that you might know since it had a very broad content, I’ll give this to you Sir Mic, as a friend.”
The mage seemed to have emphasised on the last word.
Michael said nothing. His gaze didn’t even flicker to the book.
“The second,” Lian continued, tapping the smaller, deep-blue leather bound volume, “is a meditation technique. Though it’s not particularly helpful since it’s a neutral technique any mage can use though it doesn’t provide anything special, it’s quite a good research material that’s also interesting.”
Michael gave a polite nod. “Thank you.”
But still, he didn’t glance at the books.
Lian frowned slightly. He knew the boy’s thoughts were different from his expression. Calm, unreadable, and frustratingly quiet. He didn’t even reach for the volumes. Not a flicker of curiosity—not outwardly, at least.
Which meant Michael was intentionally holding back.
How interesting.
Mage Lian’s eyes held a glint. “Are you satisfied with your gifts?” he asked.
Michael nodded. “I’m thankful.”
“This is the least of what I can provide Sir Mic. I assure you.”
“I’m willing to trust you, Mage Lian. So can you tell me about what this competition is about?”