The Storm’s Gift

But as Bishop Klet's carriage rounded the corner and vanished from sight, the smile on Atro's face instantly faded, replaced by a look of disgust. "Greedy wretch," he muttered. "No real ability, yet still putting on airs with me. Nothing but a bloodsucking leech."

Without hesitation, Atro turned and strode away, as if lingering where the bishop's carriage had been was an ordeal in itself.

He quickly returned to Muse's room. Facing his unconscious son lying on the bed, his expression clouded with worry once more. "My poor little Muse," he said softly. "It's all my fault for not being vigilant enough, letting you fall into this trap…"

In that moment, Atro shed the mask he wore for outsiders, revealing the genuine concern of a father worried for his son.

Utterly helpless, he could only instruct Muse's personal maid to take good care of him. Then, donning his "mask" once again, he transformed back into the calm, shrewd Viscount Atro.

He knew he couldn't afford to show even the slightest hint of weakness to the outside world. Otherwise, those ruthless rival factions—vultures who devoured without spitting out the bones—would tear his family apart piece by piece like the fiercest of jackals.

Yet all of this had nothing to do with the storm now brewing.

Talos, the God of Storms, cared little for the intrigues and grudges of mortals. He merely unleashed a massive tempest to vent his ceaseless fury.

Boom, boom, boom—violent lightning streaked through the pitch-black clouds, while fierce winds whipped torrents of heavy rain against the sea and the earth, displaying a staggering force.

Beneath this onslaught, humans were little different from other animals, cowering in their homes, trembling as they awaited the storm's end.

The tempest grew ever more ferocious, with dense bolts of lightning slashing through the clouds. Spherical lightning began to form at the storm's core, exploding and reforming repeatedly. Eventually, they coalesced into a massive ball of lightning, its terrifying energy enough to make even a legendary warrior blanch.

Suddenly, a silver-white pinpoint of light appeared out of nowhere. The enormous ball of lightning, as if encountering a bottomless void, vanished into the silver-white dot in an instant.

Moments later, a dark golden crystal was "spat out" from the silver-white light, hovering silently in the air. Then, just as abruptly, the silver-white dot disappeared.

With a flash, the dark golden crystal vanished as well.

At that moment, the storm, which had raged for half the night, began to subside.

In Muse's room, his personal maid was wiping his body with a warm, damp towel, her face flushed with effort.

Suddenly, the magical lamp casting a soft glow in the room flickered as if malfunctioning. The light dimmed and flared erratically before, with a sharp zzzt, it went out completely, plunging the room into darkness.

The maid, who had been focused on her task, was startled by the sudden blackout. She dropped the towel in a panic, crouching down and trembling as she clutched her head.

In her fright, she missed the fleeting appearance of the dark golden crystal as it materialized in the room. It lingered for only a moment before darting into Muse's forehead like a bolt of lightning.

A faint layer of shadowy mist emerged, attempting to block the crystal's entry, but it was pierced through effortlessly by the crystal's unstoppable force, dissipating into nothingness.

Perhaps driven by her sense of duty, the maid quickly regained her composure despite her initial terror. Groping in the dark, she found the spare candlestick on the table and lit the smokeless, long-burning whale-fat candle atop it.

Soon, the steady flame of the candle bathed the room in light once more.

The maid's first instinct was to check on Muse. Seeing that he was unharmed, she let out a long sigh of relief. She picked up the towel, rinsed it in a basin of warm water nearby, and resumed wiping his body.

Once finished, she placed the basin outside the room for the other servants to collect, then returned to stand by Muse's bedside, ready to report the incident to Viscount Atro.

Before long, Atro appeared in the room again. His voice was grave as he asked, "What happened?"

"I-I'm sorry, my lord, I don't know," the maid stammered, trembling. "I was wiping Master Muse's body when the magical lamp suddenly went out. I lit the whale-fat candle and finished cleaning him." Naturally, she omitted the part where she'd been scared witless at first.

Atro's dissatisfaction was evident. Anger flared in his eyes, and it seemed he was about to erupt into a furious tirade—likely followed by ordering the maid to be whipped.

Just then, a faint "Mmm~" broke the tension—a weak groan.

"Hm!?" Atro instantly forgot his intent to punish the maid, his gaze snapping to Muse on the bed.

Muse's previously shut eyes cracked open slightly, and he murmured unconsciously, "Water~"

"Did you hear that!? Water! Hurry, get water for Muse to drink!" Atro shouted, overjoyed. "What are you standing there for? Go!"

"Uh, yes!" The maid, still reeling from the unreal sensation of escaping punishment, snapped to attention and replied.

She darted past Atro, quickly fetching a bowl of warm water and a spoon from outside. Kneeling by the bedside, she began feeding Muse the water.

Atro watched Muse, now responsive and able to drink, with uncontainable joy. After all, during the days of Muse's coma, his body had been sustained solely by priests casting Holy Light of Healing—he hadn't eaten a single bite of food.

"Steward Trar! Steward Trar! Go fetch Bishop Klet at once! My little Muse is finally showing signs of life!" Atro bellowed.

Steward Trar, who had been waiting outside, stepped into the room. "Master Muse is responding!? That's wonderful! These past days have worried this old man to death!" he exclaimed, his loyalty making his concern no less than the viscount's own.

But his face soon fell. "My lord, there's a raging storm outside right now. I'm afraid the priests of the God of Holy Light won't be willing to venture out in this weather."

"You're right—I let my excitement get the better of me," Atro said with a laugh, clearly elated. "No matter. The fact that little Muse is showing improvement is more than enough. Steward Trar, inform the staff—tonight, the servants get extra rations."

"Thank you for your generosity, my lord. I'll see to it at once," Trar replied, bowing slightly before leaving.

Soon, faint cheers and words of gratitude echoed through the mansion: "Thanks to the merciful Viscount!"

"Take good care of Muse. Have the kitchen prepare some hot porridge—if he wakes and wants to eat, bring it to him immediately," Atro instructed, his voice steady and commanding. With his greatest worry showing signs of resolution, he once again embodied the calm, astute viscount, now seemingly revitalized.

"Understood, my lord!" the maid replied promptly.

Satisfied, Atro nodded and turned to leave.