Chapter 2: Belthor

As the pair entered the gates, the guards were immediately met with Anzel's bright smile. He waved his hand wildly, grinning at them. They responded, but the moment their eyes landed on the man carrying him, their expressions dropped—drained of all color, as if their very souls had been ripped from them.

They walked past the stunned guards, who stiffened like statues before clenching their fists against their chests.

"Welcome back, Lord Azarim!" they exclaimed in unison.

Azarim gave a curt nod, his gaze sharp and piercing.

"When did he return?" one of the guards muttered under his breath—just loud enough for his fellow guards to hear, yet still audible to the boy.

'Are they as excited as I am that Father is back?' Anzel wondered. 'They seem unusually formal.'

As they stepped inside, gone was the lush greenery that once surrounded them, replaced by towering white-slab buildings. The peaceful silence of the outskirts was long gone, overtaken by the deafening clamor of city life. Voices echoed in a cacophonous symphony—merchants shouting, townsfolk haggling, and carriages rattling along the stone-paved roads, carrying goods from who knows where.

It was a familiar sight for both of them—Bellthor, a bustling hub of commerce and the last stop before venturing beyond the great wall that protected them. The Rheuk.

As they walked, Anzel waved at the merchants, recognizing both their faces and names.

"How did you know I was back?" Azarim asked.

"Hmmm… Uncle Leon told me," Anzel replied, deep in thought—only to suddenly slap a hand over his mouth. "Oh! I wasn't supposed to say that."

"How did he know?"

"Father, I can't say. He told me it was our secret," Anzel pleaded.

Azarim grunted.

"But, but, Father! It can also be our secret too," Anzel said with a cheeky smile.

Azarim halted, his gaze falling on a nearby apple stall. The merchant jolted upright, his face pale with visible sweat.

"L-Lord Azarim, young Lord Anzel… H-How may I help you?" he stammered.

"Father, Joral's apples are the best in Bellthor! Yesterday, he gave me one—it was sooo good! Sweet, not like the bitter ones."

"Is that so?" Azarim murmured.

"You flatter me, young lord," Joral said, rubbing the back of his head. "If you'd like, I can give you a whole bunch, just like that. A gift to celebrate Lord Azarim's return."

Without hesitation, Joral grabbed a basket and began filling it with apples, carefully scanning for any imperfections before presenting it to Azarim.

Azarim pulled out a coin purse, letting a gold coin drop into his palm.

"No, I'll pay," he said, stretching out his hand.

A gold coin? For apples?

The surrounding crowd froze, staring at him as if he had lost his mind.

"Was it not enough?" Azarim asked.

"Oh, no, no, my lord! Please, consider this a personal gift," Joral insisted, gently pushing Azarim's hand away and closing his palm around the coin.

With a respectful bow, Joral handed over the basket. Azarim pulled out an apple and handed it to Anzel, who wasted no time sinking his teeth into it.

And with that, they continued their walk.

"About that secret?" Azarim asked.

Anzel mumbled something incoherent between bites. "Hmm fer, e an ve it, u n I."

"Finish chewing before you speak."

Anzel quickly swallowed. "Father, let's have a secret—you and I."

Azarim sighed but nodded. "Okay, it'll be our secret."

"Uncle Leon said he knew you were back. He said you and he share a special connection—an unbreakable bond so strong that not even the gods could sever it." Anzel nodded as if he completely understood the weight of those words.

Azarim raised an eyebrow. "Huh?"

"Is that true, Father?"

Before Azarim could answer, chaos erupted ahead.

A massive chicken stood defiantly in the middle of the road, blocking all traffic. Surrounding it were muscle-bound men attempting to restrain it, while mages in robes chanted incantations in a tongue completely foreign to Anzel.

Then, with a sudden burst of wind, a figure shattered a window, soared through the air, and—

SLAM!

—bashed headfirst into a stone wall.

The dust settled, revealing a white-haired man groaning as he clutched his head, blood trickling down his forehead.

"Oh, Acting Master, you're here!" one of the handlers called out in relief. "What should we do? If we don't deliver this on time, the lady will be furious!"

The man—Leon—gritted his teeth. "Ugh, my head…" He pulled his hand away, only to find it soaked in blood. Then he snapped.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

From the crowd, a tall, slender woman stepped forward. Her golden hair gleamed under the sunlight, and her violet dress shimmered with magic. Pointed ears framed her sharp, unimpressed features.

"Wake the fuck up, Acting Master Leon." She leveled her staff at him. "Heal up and get that Braken to Angelica."

Leon groaned, wiping the blood from his face with a flick of his fingers. A faint glow enveloped him, sealing his wound instantly. His crimson eyes, now fully visible, gleamed with irritation. His ear twinkled with piercings, and his ring-covered fingers flexed in annoyance.

"Oh, Yvette. Still salty about Garad choosing me as Acting Master?"

Yvette rolled her eyes.

Leon turned to the nearby mages, pointing an accusing finger. "And you lot—why the hell are you acting so casual about me flying through the air from a wind spell? Do you see that shit every day? Have you all just gotten used to it?"

The mages answered in perfect unison. "Yes."

Leon facepalmed.

"Where's Olov?"

"Outside."

"Talon?"

"Outside."

"Wern?"

Yvette groaned. "For the gods' sake, they're all outside! There's no one here to delegate your tasks to."

Leon smirked. "But you're still here, Yvette. You must really love me, huh?"

Yvette responded with a loud "Huak-Tuah!" and spat on the ground, her face twisted in pure disgust.

"It seems I didn't hit you enough." Yvette pointed her staff at Leon, an orb of wind swirling to life at its tip. "Let's take that overinflated head of yours and file it as an incident report."

"Oh yeah? Wanna bet?" Leon's eyes gleamed in anticipation.

"Uncle Leon!"

The moment they heard Anzel's voice, both combatants dispelled their Pleroma, the lingering sparks of magic fading from their eyes. Their smiles faltered, however, the instant they saw who was carrying him.

"Azarim."

Yvette stormed toward him, immediately trying to pry Anzel from his grasp, but the boy clung on stubbornly.

"Hi, Auntie Yvette! Want some apples?" Anzel grinned, holding out a half-eaten apple without a care in the world.

Yvette barely glanced at it before her gaze locked onto something far more pressing.

"His pants? You let him walk around without pants?" She shot Azarim with an accusatory glare, but the man remained utterly unfazed. "Did it ever cross your mind how Angelica would react if she saw this? You're hopeless. Wait here."

Without another word, she turned on her heel and marched off toward the tavern. A few guild members called out to her, but she silenced them with a single sharp hiss, sending them scattering like startled pigeons.

Meanwhile, Leon turned his attention to the newcomers, swiftly delegating the task of removing the giant chicken to the Manor. With that settled, he called up the guild's carriage and left them to handle it their own way.

"No wonder I saw the old man scurrying back to the Manor without this twerp."

"Uncle Leon, Father's back," Anzel said proudly.

"I can see that, you little shit. No need to be so dramatic." Leon leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "Besides, why did he even come back? If someone had just stayed the hell out of it, my sister and adorable nephew would've been a whole lot safer."

Anzel's smile faltered, his expression turning awkward. Azarim, on the other hand, remained unreadable. A thick tension settled over them like a heavy fog. Sensing the shift, Leon gave Azarim a light shove, laughing as if to brush off the moment. Then he turned back to Anzel, flashing a grin.

"I'm joking, I'm joking. No need to get riled up." He clapped Anzel on the shoulder. "So, what did he give you, kid?"

Without waiting for an answer, Leon tugged at Anzel's shirt, inspecting him as if expecting to find something of interest. His gaze flicked down briefly before he pulled back with a snort.

"So, nothing?"

"Actually…" Anzel whispered to Azarim, motioning for him to let him down. Azarim complied, lowering him gently.

Once on the ground, Anzel gave him a knowing smile. Azarim hesitated for a moment, confused, but then he noticed Anzel silently mouthing something—the book. Understanding, he reached into his cloak and pulled out a small, worn book, handing it over.

Anzel took it with a proud grin, hiding it behind his back. "Are you ready, Uncle Leon? Close your eyes first."

Leon smirked and turned around. "Call me when you're ready."

"All right… one, two, three—"

Leon turned back and saw the book. A plain, old, small book. He raised an eyebrow. "Is this it?"

"It's magical! Look—flip through the pages," Anzel said excitedly, standing on his toes as he held it out to Leon.

Leon took the book and did as instructed, flipping through the pages. Moving images danced across them with remarkable fluidity. His eyes narrowed in recognition.

"A craft of the Cornelians… The quality is impressive, the detail—" He paused, glancing at Anzel. "Wait, is this really it? Do you even like this, kid?"

Kneeling down, Leon opened the book again, studying it more closely. After a moment, he let out a short chuckle.

"This isn't magic," he said. "Watch closely—observe the image from left to right, and slow down as you flip. See? It's an optical illusion. Fixed images stacked together give the impression of movement. I could fetch you a better gift if you wait—"

Before he could finish, Anzel's tears fell, his gaze fixed on the pages as Leon wobbled the book. Azarim stepped forward, snatched the book from Leon's hands, and turned his back to him, blocking his view.

"Stop crying."

"I'm not crying," Anzel said, sobbing even more.

"If you're worried that I lied about what I said, rest assured. I have my own plans, and I know they won't disappoint you."

"Really?"

Azarim nodded.

"Hey, asshole!" Leon grabbed his shoulder.

Azarim turned around and said calmly, "Be still."

A chilling sensation ran down Leon's spine. The air thickened, pressing down on everyone around them. Their bodies felt heavy, as if their hearts were about to be crushed. Leon jolted backward, staring at Azarim, who only grinned.

"Finally."

Azarim stood up, pulled out a towel, and wiped Anzel's tears. Without elaborating or a single word, he picked the boy up and began walking away.

"Where did that Azarim go?" Yvette arrived, holding a pair of small pants in her hands.

"Gone."

"Why? Is he seriously taking Anzel looking like that?"

"Who knows. He's a weirdo—does whatever he wants." Leon shrugged.

"If I ever see him again, he's dead," Yvette muttered, gripping the pants tightly.

Meanwhile, the crowd that had witnessed the whole exchange facepalmed. But with a side-eye glance, Leon silently warned them: Please don't tell her. If anyone says a word, there will be a visit to the carpenter for their exact coffin measurements.