In the border forests of the Black Tulip Kingdom, along the southwestern coast of the Central Continent, summer always arrived a little earlier.

  Layer upon layer, the treetops spread like vast green parasols, stretching all the way to the edge of sight. Birdsong, the whisper of leaves, and the distant growls of unseen beasts blended together, giving the forest a sense of vibrant life—and an undercurrent of something vast and unknowable.

  Deep within the forest, an ancient tower, worn by years, rose sharply from the sea of trees.

  The spire that had once crowned the tower had long since collapsed, leaving behind a roughly repaired flat summit—like a battered crown. The stonework was weathered and stained, pale green moss and low ferns creeping from the cracks between the blocks. Yet a newly built low wall, lines of laundry hung out to dry, and thin strands of cooking smoke drifting from a vent lent the ruined structure a touch of daily life.

  This was the dwelling the people of nearby Moonbridge Town spoke of—the home of the “wilderness wizard who lives in the ruins of the Stargazer Tower.”

  Mobius and Gru had lived here for over a year. Besides the two of them, the ancient tower held a newcomer who had moved in with them, and one native resident who had been there all along.

  Life over the past year had been mostly peaceful—if occasionally chaotic.

  The peace came from the tower’s seclusion. Tucked away in a remote corner of the wilderness, it was rarely visited. Aside from messengers or the occasional lost traveler, almost no one ever knocked—even the Lord’s tax collectors found the journey too much of a bother.

  Such moments of chaos, however, were usually of Mobius’s own making—born of his stubborn insistence on a quality of life that had little place in the wilderness.

  At this moment, on the second floor of the Stargazer Tower, the small space where the kitchen and dining area met was filled with the rich aroma of meat broth.

  A young woman lifted the last plate from the water, gave it a brisk shake to scatter the droplets, and set it on the corner of the counter.

  The fire in the hearth was banked low. In the iron pot, the broth burbled softly, a thin layer of oil beads blooming across its surface. She lifted the lid to check, confirmed it was ready, and moved the pot aside.

  “Breakfast is ready,” she said softly, looking back.

  In the center of the second floor stood a long wooden table, set with a candlestick, a teapot, and several cups.

  Mobius sat at the long table, a quill in hand. Before him lay a supply list, beside a teacup that was already more than half empty. His long hair was loosely tied back, and he wore a deep blue robe, its collar and cuffs embroidered with delicate floral patterns—utterly out of place against the age-worn stone of the tower.

  His grip on the quill was as elegant as ever, but his brow was slightly furrowed, his expression grave.

  The woman set the pot of meat broth down on the table, then placed a basket of sliced bread beside it. Her movements were brisk and practiced, making hardly a sound.

  Mobius looked up at her.

  She was strikingly beautiful—sun-browned skin, a fitted violet top, loose lantern trousers, and a pair of upturned flat shoes: the everyday attire typical of the desert regions. Yet what set this southern beauty apart from anyone else was unmistakable—hair as white as frost, wholly at odds with her youth, and a pair of eyes whose pupils gleamed a deep, blood-red.

  “The tower’s supplies are running low, Chelorra,” Mobius said, tapping the list with a finger, his tone grave. “We’ll need to make a trip to the Moonbridge this afternoon.”

  Chelorra cast a quick glance at the list. “We still have potatoes, salt, and flour. What exactly do you mean by ‘running low’?”

  Mobius wore the look of a man whose weakness had just been seized. He cleared his throat, a little awkward. “Ah… the tea is nearly gone,” he said. “And… it has been a long while since I last had lemon cake. You haven’t had any in ages either, have you?”

  A flicker of amusement passed through Chelorra’s eyes, swiftly reined in. “If I recall correctly,” she said, “you are nearly out of coin.”

  Mobius protested at once. “I can still afford a few pounds of tea and a couple of plates of lemon cake.”

  “You also have an unpaid bill,” Chelorra replied, showing no mercy. “Last month, you carried out a second round of renovations on the ground-floor bath.”

  Mobius fell instantly silent.

  Chelorra continued, “Should you venture into the Moonbridge now, I doubt that foreman will settle for mere pleasantries, ‘my lord’.”

  Mobius let out a long, weary sigh of resignation. “Then at least… could we not procure some proper meat?”

  “Does Gru not return with fresh game every week? We are never in want of meat,” Chelorra said, her expression one of genuine confusion.

  Gru, resting at Mobius’s feet, lifted his heads to look at his master. A faint, smug glint shone within his yellow eyes.

  Mobius reached out and patted Gru’s larger head. “You’ve done very well. This past month’s results have been… impressively varied.”

  He paused, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Only—lizards, pythons, and Four-winged Fire Lizards are not ideal for a long-term menu. Every meal makes me feel as though I’m still surviving in the Magibeast Woods.”

  Gru’s right head let out a low, displeased growl, while the left tilted slightly to the side, puzzled.

  Mobius fell silent for a moment, then suddenly turned to Chelorra. “How about this—let’s rob some bandits?”

  As soon as the words were out, he looked toward a small black-furred monkey on the table, munching on an apple.

  “Shadowling,” Mobius said, “go find out if there have been any bandit attacks along the trade routes lately.”

  It was a small, black-furred monkey and the true native resident of the Stargazer Tower—a rare Shapeshifting Magibeast Monkey. Its body was slightly larger than an adult’s palm, and its bright orange eyes sparkled as it gave a mischievous grin. “As you command, my lord!”

  Chelorra lifted her gaze to Mobius. “You are a Wizard.”

  Mobius waved it off without a care. “Wizards need to eat too. At most, we’d be acting in the name of the gods—bringing justice, and easing the burdens of the magistrates.”

  Chelorra shook her head helplessly. Finishing the last slice of bread, she rose to her feet. “I’ll go hunting with Gru today. Would you prefer goat, or venison?”

  Mobius’s eyes lit up. He straightened in his chair. “Either is fine. Thank you—truly.”

  For Mobius, the hardest part of leaving the Wizard City was not the dangers of the forest—but daily life.

  Ever since his days at the Wizard Academy, he had never concerned himself with mundane matters. His sole responsibility had been to refine his studies. After graduation, he entered the Institute of Magibeast Research as a wizard directly under the authority of the Wizard City, and the post came with generous provisions.

  Outside of official assignments or expeditions into the Magibeast Woods, Mobius had always lived in comfort. He ate well, dressed well—and had never once washed his own clothes by hand.

  After breakfast, Chelorra tied her long hair into a braid hanging down her back and changed into a snug leather tunic and a pair of over-the-knee leather boots. With two short blades at her waist and a longbow and quiver slung over her back, she came down the spiral staircase of the Stargazer Tower.

  Gru had long been impatient to go and run wild in the forest. If anyone was the happiest to leave the Wizard City, it was undoubtedly Gru. He never liked the unchanging stone houses of that city; they had only one merit for him—Mobius was there.

  He much preferred running in the wild, hunting, and marking his territory everywhere. Since arriving in this forest, he had already become its new overlord.

  Chelorra and Gru left the tower, quickly vanishing into the depths of the forest.

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  Mobius watched them from the window of his third-floor study, a faint smile on his face.

  A year ago, shortly after Mobius and Gru first came to the forest near Moonbridge Town, they had run into Chelorra again. She had been locked in a deadly struggle with two men who were hunting her down. Mobius had intervened and pulled her clear of danger.

  Once the threat had passed, Chelorra had asked him, her voice tinged with uncertainty:

  “You said before that if I were to stop being an assassin, you would hire me as your Warden. Does that offer still stand?”

  Mobius considered it for a moment before answering, “Certainly. If there are commissions, thirty percent of the earnings will be yours.”

  He did not ask Chelorra why she had left the southern deserts, or why she had broken away from the Desert Shadow—that notorious organization of assassins. His own reasons for leaving the Wizard City, after all, were just as hidden from the light.

  What he knew for certain was that at the age of nineteen, they had carried out an exceptionally dangerous decapitation mission together, walking the very edge of life and death. Without Chelorra’s all-out fight, he would have been a corpse long ago; without Mobius pushing his spellcasting to its absolute limit, Chelorra would have long since turned to dust. Because of this, he knew he could trust her.

  Furthermore, Gru liked her. The hound had wagged his tail the first time he saw her—even then, when she was drenched in blood and in a wretched state. Mobius had always trusted his pup’s instincts.

  Mobius returned to his desk, took up his quill, and began sketching lines and symbols across the page. He was occupied with a task he considered of the utmost importance—designing an entirely new magic circle: an array for washing and drying clothes automatically.

  Back in Wizard City, as a Senior Researcher of the Institute of Magibeast Research, he had never needed to concern himself with the trifles of daily life. Laundresses came at regular intervals to collect his garments, returning them washed, dried, and pressed. Living in the wilderness, however, meant there was no one left to do such things for him. And Mobius, for all his refinement, had always been fond of life’s comforts; his wardrobe was filled with finely made robes of costly velvet and silk, each lavishly embroidered.

  Chelorra did not mind helping with the laundry, but after one velvet robe had been scrubbed as though it were a suit of leather armor and reduced to little more than rags, Mobius had very sensibly—and very politely—declined her further offers of assistance.

  Thus, “how to keep his clothes clean without damaging the fabric” became his second greatest challenge in life in the wilderness—right after the far more pressing problem of” how to earn a steady supply of coin”.

  His chosen solution was, unsurprisingly, a very wizardly one: rigorous in theory, and thoroughly unreliable in practice.

  Mobius worked with intense focus, sketching spell structures onto his parchment.

  “Water elements to soak, wind to scrub, and fire to dry... no, light elements would be far gentler.”

  He continued to scrawl and revise, mentally calculating the array’s framework, its flow paths, and the precise ratios of the elements involved.

  Shadowling perched on his shoulder, his large orange eyes fixed on the strange diagrams and symbols. “My lord, why don't you hire a servant?”

  “What servant would be willing to live in the middle of a forest?” Mobius replied with a sigh of resignation. “And if they caught sight of Gru, they would likely faint on the spot.”

  “Humans have it hard,” Shadowling said, flicking his tail. “Doing laundry and all.”

  Time passed bit by bit as Mobius remained absorbed in his sketches, while Shadowling had already curled into a ball and fallen asleep inside an empty potion cauldron.

  “At last, it’s finished.” Mobius set down his quill and lifted the diagram, a look of quiet satisfaction spreading across his face.

  Stirred awake by the sound, Shadowling sprang from the cauldron and scampered up along the table leg to Mobius’s shoulder, his tail swishing with excitement.

  Together, they made their way up to the top floor of the Stargazer Tower.

  Mobius drew his arcane rod and carefully traced the newly designed magic array across the stone floor.

  Then, little by little, he began to channel mana into the formation.

  Mobius placed a piece of fabric in the heart of the array. Holding down one corner, he softly chanted the activation spell. The magic array pulsed with a faint light as water elements began to flow between its nodes, making the air grow slightly damp. The fabric was buoyed up as if by an invisible current, slowly becoming soaked. Soon after, several delicate wisps of wind coiled around the cloth, beginning to wring, scrub, and shake it with a somewhat clumsy rhythm.

  Shadowling’s eyes widened. “Whoa…”

  “Not bad,” Mobius remarked. “A perfect union of theory and prac—”

  Before the words had fully left his lips, the flow of water suddenly accelerated, and the wind’s rhythm spiraled out of control. The fabric twisted violently into a tight knot, flinging droplets in every direction.

  “Hey—!” Shadowling instinctively leaped back, his tail cutting a sharp arc through the air as he narrowly avoided a rogue splash.

  Mobius’s expression changed at once. He cut off the flow of magic.

  The glow faded, and the fabric slapped back onto the floor with a wet thud, collapsing into a sodden, tangled mess.

  Shadowling leaned forward to peer at it for a long moment, then asked carefully, “…Is it still alive?”

  Mobius picked up the ball of fabric and gave it a few experimental shakes. After confirming that it hadn’t torn, he let out a restrained sigh.

  “The wind coefficient,” he said calmly, “still needs to be reduced a little further.”

  Before the sun dipped below the horizon, Chelorra and Gru returned to the Stargazer Tower.

  Chelorra carried a bag filled with fruit and wild greens, while Gru hauled back a mountain goat that had been brought down by an arrow. The goat was missing a hind leg; it appeared the gluttonous Gru had already helped himself to a taste.

  Mobius looked at the goat, a long-absent sense of satisfaction appearing in his eyes. “Wonderful,” he said. “At last, we can eat some meat that doesn't come with scales.”

  Gru gave a proud, low growl, tilting both of his heads up slightly.

  The light of dusk slanted in through the window, washing the kitchen’s table, chairs, and utensils in a soft layer of gold.

  Chelorra worked with practiced efficiency, breaking down the goat into cuts of varying size. Some pieces were rubbed with salt and set aside for the coming days; others were diced smaller, destined for that evening’s stew. Her knife work was steady and precise—the cuts uniform, sinew and excess fat trimmed away without waste.

  When the fire was stoked once more, the aroma rising from the iron pot was far richer than it had been in the morning. Chunks of meat rolled in the broth, mingling with the scent of onions and carrots, spreading slowly until it filled the entire kitchen.

  Mobius had already set the table and poured himself a mug of ale. Chelorra did not drink; before her sat only a simple cup of water.

  Chelorra set the pot of stew on the table, then brought over the baked bread and a plate of simply sautéed wild greens. Her cooking was not elaborate, but it was clean, the heat well judged, the seasoning plain yet precise.

  Mobius looked at the table and, for a moment, lost himself in thought.

  During his years in the Wizard City, he had never needed to think about what was for dinner, let alone where it came from. As an Apprentice at the Academy, the refectory prepared three meals a day, always on time. After becoming an officially appointed wizard, the fare grew even more refined—lamb shanks braised in red wine, roast chicken glazed with honey and spices, creamy mushroom soups, fish and bread cooked to perfection, served in endless variety. The dining hall’s head chef had once cooked for the court itself.

  Back then, the only things that occupied his mind were study, Magibeasts, theory, and experiment.

  But now, he sat at a wooden table—slightly rough from repeated scrubbing—with a pot of goat stew Chelorra had made by hand, a few slices of toasted bread brushed with oil, and a plate of wild greens sautéed simply with salt and garlic.

  He lifted a spoonful of soup and tasted it.

  The goat meat had a firm bite, but was not so tough as to be hard to chew. The broth carried a blended aroma of vegetables and bone, lightly salted—growing a touch plain toward the end, yet never so mild as to be unsatisfying. The bread bore a faint scorch, and the layer of oil brushed over it gave the texture far more depth than before.

  It was nothing like the banquet fare of Wizard City—food from an entirely different world. Yet at this moment, he did not feel it lacking by comparison.

  “Is something wrong? Don’t you like it?” Chelorra asked.

  “No—on the contrary. It’s excellent,” Mobius said earnestly. “The cooking is perfectly judged. Far superior to roasted lizard.”

  A faint but genuine smile flickered across Chelorra’s face.

  “It’s good now,” she said. She did not look up as she spoke; her gaze rested on the soup in her bowl, her voice steady.

  Mobius glanced at her. “You like this life?”

  “Of course.” Chelorra lifted her eyes to meet his, her gaze clear. “Things are good as they are. I no longer have to live in the shadows every day.”

  “The only regret is the lack of coin,” Mobius mused, gently swirling the ale in his cup. “If we want this life to last, we should seriously consider the practicality of robbing bandits—”

  “Drink your ale and be quiet,” Chelorra said flatly.

  Night fell like ink, rising from the depths of the forest and gently wrapping the Stargazer Tower in its embrace.

  As was his custom, Gru made a circuit of the tower, patrolling the surrounding clearing. Once he was satisfied that no unfamiliar scents lingered, he returned contentedly to his bearskin nest by the hearth and curled up.

  Shadowling had long since fallen asleep on one of the overhead beams, his small body tucked in tight. His tail hung down, swaying faintly with the rhythm of his breathing.

  Mobius went up to the top of the tower, as he did every night.

  The night sky lay whole and unobstructed above him, dense with stars. The Milky Way stretched across the heavens like a pale band of mist. The astrolabe stood quietly upon the stone floor, with a star chart laid beside it, one corner lifting now and then in the passing night breeze.

  He gazed at the sky for a while, then lowered his head and added two brief notes along the edge of the chart. After lingering a moment longer—until the night wind seeped through his robes with a trace of chill—he finally turned and made his way back down the tower, returning to his room.

  Chelorra, as she always did, made one last round to check the doors and windows. Only after confirming that the light in Mobius’s room had gone out did she return to her own small room. She unfastened her short blades and placed them within easy reach, then lay down on the bed.

  From outside the window came the occasional call of a night bird—soft, distant.

  She closed her eyes.

  Over the course of this past year, she had finally learned that when she heard such sounds, she no longer reached for her knives by instinct. No longer did her thoughts leap to the treetops, wondering if someone crouched among the branches, or to the shadows, hiding the glint of steel.

  This is good now. she told herself quietly.

  The Stargazer Tower grew still, sinking into the deep sleep of the night.

  At the same time, on the far side of the forest.

  Thin moonlight slipped through gaps in the canopy, scattering pale fragments across the dirt road beneath the trees. Two figures were running—staggering, desperate.

  They carried hunting bows on their backs. Their clothes were torn by thorns, their breaths ragged, wheezing like broken bellows—yet neither of them dared to stop.

  The younger man at the rear slipped and stumbled, nearly going down. He was back up at once, scrambling on all fours to catch up.

  “Are we there yet?” His voice shook.

  “Almost!” The older man did not look back. His voice was hoarse. “I remember the direction—it's just ahead!”

  They burst through a stretch of dense, lightless woods, and the world suddenly opened up.

  Beyond the shadows of the trees, a tower with its crown broken off rose abruptly into the night, like a silent giant. No light shone from its peak—only a dark, heavy outline barely visible beneath the moon.

  “The ruins of the Stargazer Tower… there! Hurry!”

  As if grasping at a final lifeline, the two men summoned the last of their strength and ran toward the sleeping tower.

  The Stargazer Tower stood in silence, seemingly lost in deep slumber. It did not know that two figures—carrying fear and despair—were drawing closer to its door, step by step, about to shatter the hard-won peace of the night.