Belezak Qu Edensworn.

  Ten years older than Burn, Belezak was a man with the ability to trol people's perspectives. If Burn was maniputive in a ive sense, Belezak was maniputive in a positive sense.

  He was born with the perfect tool for influealent in politics. He excelled at trolling mass opinion, knowing whom to side with and how t others to his side, and sistently viewing every situation objectively.

  He lived by the philosophy that every loss brought potential gain and every tragedy an opportunity for improvement. This uanding was at the core of his as and decisions.

  His only weakness was…

  Love.

  He loved his people. He loved his family. He loved the world.

  If he had been just a tad colder, with a more pragmatic view like Burn, he would have succeeded much earlier, beuch stronger, and addressed his fatal problem much more effectively.

  He might not o die.

  Burn first crossed paths with Belezak when they were both summoo impart their wisdom as guest instructors at the ti’s greatest magic academy—ahat boasted more intrigue than a wizards' vention.

  Among the fuest lecturers, two were masters of Vision art, dabbling ihereal and the elusive, while the other pair, including Burn and Belezak, were masters of Force art.

  This wasn't your average academieup; it was more like drafting superheroes for a week-long boot camp.

  Burn, known for his cold but fiery tactics, and Belezak, with his warm but strategid, made quite the duo, turning what could have been a standard teag gig into a spectacle of poersuasion.

  Even back then, Burn's was to, casting him naturally into the role of the 'strict teacher,' while Belezak pyed the 'cool teacher,' effortlessly charming and approachable.

  Beyond their good cop-bad cop dynamic, they weren't particurly close, primarily because their schedules never overpped.

  They couldn’t even introduce themselves officially and privately.

  Not to mention, Burn was invited as the celebrated "genius of the tury," while Belezak was simply doing a favor for a friend. Their age difference further widehe gap, making their paths even less likely to cross beyond the .

  But even though Belezak’s teag style and strength seemed unfshy and subdued, Burn’s perceptive eyes could see the truth.

  Belezak was stable, meticulous, and—unmistakably—loving in his approach.

  It was a weird description, especially for someone like Burn.

  “When was it… fifteen years ago?” Burn muttered as he answered Yvain’s question. “I saw him having a mock battle with the graduating students of Saint Lucia Academy.”

  “HUH?!” Yvain rose to his knees in shock. “You went to Saint Lucia?!”

  "I didn’t. Your father did," Burn looked down at Yvain with a dismissive gnce.

  "Who do you think I am? Do I look like someone who would o enroll in a magic academy? I am a self-taught mage. There is no one in this world qualified enough to teach me."

  Yvain narrowed his eyes.

  "So, you’re telling me you hold my father in such high esteem? The same person who never quite managed a headline-worthy magical achievement, unlike a certain someone?" Yvain asked.

  “Your father hid his power well,” Burn said.

  Yvain widened his eyes.

  His father hid his power? Ah.

  Yvain remembered a far away memory from his childhood. When he first showed his talent in Vision, his father said ohing witnessing it.

  He said, “Child, when yood at something, show the world. But when you’re very, very good at it, keep it to yourself."

  A threat.

  That was what Burn thought about Belezak.

  Yvai a shiver run down his spine as he looked up at Burn. Narrowing his eyes, he questioned silently, "Am I sure you're not the one who killed my father?"

  “Even though you k was supposed to be Benjamin Veryon?” Burn asked back.

  “My uncle… did, right?” Yvain asked again, increasingly vigint.

  “Why, are yretting not asking him to make sure of it before killing him?” Burn sneered.

  Yvain ched his fist and snapped, "Why are you like this?! If you say you didn't kill him, I would believe you!"

  Burn raised his eyebrows, seemingly amused.

  He chuckled, patting the top of Yvain’s head. “How naive.”

  Yvain’s eyebrows furrowed.

  "Just give it to me straight—did you, or did you not?" Yvain demanded, his voice heavy. "Even if you did, I have no choice but to ally with you now."

  "I didn’t," Burn replied simply.

  At those words, a wave of relief swept through Yvain, loosening the tight knot of tension that had bound his chest. Relief mingled with the plexity of his feelings—relief that Burn was not his father's killer.

  “If I did, I’d kill you along with him, and your mother. Also, I’d take over your kingdom long ago, but now I know it’s not a wise move.”

  Yvain’s relief was interrupted.

  He saw Burn’s ugly expression as the man imagined having to face the Infich’s wrath much early on.

  “T-then… isn’t it actually easier to just kill me and take my kingdom now?” Yvain asked. The boy whispered softly after, “Just because you want to woo my master…”

  “Exactly,” Burn sighed before processing what the boy said under his breaths. “What?”

  “Woo my master?”

  “This brat—”

  ***

  The vast hall stretched out in an expanse of sleek, shadowy elegance, illuminated by the soft glow of ambient lights that traced geometric patterns along the walls.

  At the far end, a colossal gss window framed a mesmerizing view of a blue p, its surface swirling with white clouds and vast os, suspended in the velvet darkness of space.

  In the ter of the hall, a futuristic chair faced this grand vista. Its design was minimalist yet undeniably opulent, a perfect fusion of form and fun, cradling its oct in a state of luxurious iia.

  Seated in this throne of modernity was a man avant-garde attire, his face obscured by a veil that hi both status and mystery. His presence was anding, even in repose.

  "Duke Veryon is dead?"

  His voice was a deep baritone, resonating through the quiet of the hall.

  "Yes, sir," replied a woman standing beside him. Her posture was rigid, the respe her stanmistakable.

  A moment of silenveloped the space.

  "Too bad. He was one of our VIP ers... and one of the best pawns we had." The regret in his tone was faint, almost indisible, but it lingered in the air like a subtle perfume.

  The man’s thoughts turo the disruptor of their pns. "It was that human... Apex Two, sir."

  At the mention of Apex Two, a grunt escaped him. "Caliburn Pendragon again, huh?"

  The woman shifted slightly, her voice tentative as she broached the course of a.

  "Maybe it's time we ask for more support from the Alliance?"

  The man slowly closed his eyes behind the veil.

  “What about Apex One?”

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