A DISAPPOINTING DISCOVERY

"I have business here. That's why I came," Goodman said, his eyes drifting elsewhere, uninterested.

Lucius narrowed his gaze. 'Business? Here? At my door? With who? Me?'

He stepped forward, letting his voice sharpen.

"How about a fuck no?" he said, venom in his tone, hatred in his eyes.

That snapped Goodman's gaze to him. Cold. Calculating. He looked at Lucius like one might look at dirt under a boot—there, unfortunate, and hardly worth attention.

Mercy moved subtly between them, clearly hoping to de-escalate. Not here. Not now. Not with Arcane inside.

"Since you're not planning to explain yourself," Lucius continued, his voice flat with contempt, "get lost. Respectfully."

He reached to shut the door—but it wouldn't budge.

Goodman's hand rested casually on the frame. Light. Effortless. But Lucius felt the gap between them like a wall. One hand. That's all it took. He understood immediately—he wasn't strong enough. Not yet. He already knew that, though the six-month training would slightly close that gap, he thought, he was wrong. Goodman was beyond anything or anyone he had faced. 

Before the tension snapped, Edward stepped in. He gently pulled Lucius back and placed himself between the two.

"The pup barks loud…" Goodman muttered, eyes never touching Lucius. "Even before he's grown fangs."

The words weren't shouted. They didn't need to be. The disdain was sharp enough.

Edward bowed slightly, hand to chest. Ever the diplomat.

"Mr. Manager. I'm sure your presence here means something important… and I hate that we can't offer proper hospitality. But we're currently tending to a guest. A rather high-priority one. Might I ask that you return tomorrow instead?"

Behind him, Mercy gave a respectful nod as Goodman's eyes flicked to him for just a moment.

Goodman stood like he had all the time in the world. He looked barely into his twenties, but his presence was heavier, like a man who'd long outgrown youth. Thick beard, trimmed hair, weary dark eyes set into a sharp, oval face. Everything about him—his aura, clothes, expression—felt soaked in shadow.

He considered Edward's words for a breath.

Then said, "No."

Just that.

The air grew colder with the weight of it. Lucius felt it in his teeth.

Goodman tilted his head. "I'm here for the guest. Otherwise, I wouldn't waste time with weaklings like you…" His eyes slid past Edward. "...especially not with that lesser mutt behind you."

He didn't raise his voice. He didn't sneer. It wasn't a provocation—it was just the truth to him, like a daily fact. 

Lucius twitched, fists curling, mana boiling beneath the surface—but he didn't step forward. He didn't flinch. That alone surprised Goodman.

He smiled. Not kindly. Not warmly.

Madly.

Mockingly.

Mercy's mana flared, a silent roar ready to erupt, to crush, but Edward moved faster, casting a mana expansion between them before the confrontation could explode, effectively shielding Goodman from Mercy's mana force... even though Edward was sure Goodman wouldn't even flinch. 

A translucent shimmer bloomed in the air, separating Goodman from Mercy and Lucius.

Mercy hesitated, brows furrowing. He didn't like being stopped. But if Edward stepped in, it meant there was a reason.

Goodman raised a brow, amused.

"Didn't think the three of you had such a tight brotherhood. I'm... touched."

Edward's face turned unreadable. He squared his stance—solid, unmovable. Like the Lunar Walls themselves. A quiet dare filled the space between him and Goodman. Try me.

For the first time, Goodman's expression shifted. Slightly. The amusement didn't leave, but something like consideration crept in. These weren't pushovers. Not completely.

Then—boom.

A pulse of mana flooded from the living room. Dense. Unbearable. Not power—it was presence. It struck like thunder and vanished like smoke.

Arcane had spoken.

"Let him in."

The message needed no words.

Edward stepped aside.

Mercy did too.

Only Lucius remained in Goodman's path, eyes locked forward, brimming with fury. He didn't move.

Goodman walked until they were chest to chest. Taller. Broader. Unbothered. He leaned down, lips just inches from Lucius's ear.

"Careful with those little eyes," he whispered, voice like razors and silk. "Someone might pull them out one day..."

He stepped past him, shoulder clipping Lucius hard enough to shift him aside. And just like that, Goodman was gone, walking toward the living room as if he owned the place.

Lucius didn't move.

His fists were clenched. His eyes were on the floor. His heartbeat was pounding to the rhythm of his mana rotation, both near breaking point.

He could win no fight here. He knew that.

Mercy returned first, grabbing Lucius by the arm and pulling him inside.

"Don't," he muttered. That one word carried weight enough to hold Lucius still even when both knew that Lucius isn't that dumb... or strong enough. 

Edward lingered at the door, eyes sweeping the shadows to check if Goodman had brought anyone else. Once he was sure they were alone, he followed.

They all knew one thing now.

This wasn't going to be a short conversation.

"Hello there. Friends and comrades, I'm Goodman—manager, adventurer, and a long-standing affiliate of the Guild Association. It's a pleasure to meet you all." His tone was friendly, too friendly—carrying a forced warmth, like a performance rehearsed a dozen times. The contrast from the storm of tension at the doorstep moments ago was jarring. His gaze casually scanned the room until it locked onto Sia.

His entire expression shifted.

The smirk faded into something surprisingly genuine. His eyes softened, his shoulders relaxed. It was almost as if the man had forgotten every insult he hurled outside, the verbal daggers he'd just flung at the three men moments ago... A bright gleam touched his otherwise dark irises—crystalline for a second, as if beholding a memory rather than a person. Sia's reaction, however, was the exact opposite. She stiffened. Her face hardened, her lips curling into a frown so subtle only those who knew her well would catch it. To her, Goodman was no friend, and certainly no comrade.

Still, he kept his hand politely pressed to his chest as he turned toward the deeper end of the room—and the source of unspoken weight.

Arcane.

The name alone commanded attention. The very air thinned when his gaze lifted to meet Goodman's. Most people, in the presence of a being like Arcane—the living apex of mana manipulation—would drop to a knee, bow their heads, or at the very least lower their eyes. Such was tradition. Not law. But tradition carried its own kind of law in the Empire.

Goodman didn't bow. Didn't kneel. He stood tall, hands behind his back, posture relaxed but respectful, gaze unwavering. It was not arrogance. It was defiance with purpose. It was the act of a man who believed in his strength, or at least the illusion of it.

"You stand tall… and proud," Arcane broke the silence, voice as deep and chilling as the void between stars. "Although one mustn't bow, one must be careful as well… Because someday, someone might just rip that ignorant spine out."

The room tensed.

A dozen veins of mana quietly stirred from the walls, laced through the furniture, brushing past exposed skin. Even the air crackled with it, like a storm suspended by will alone.

"Thank you for your kind advice, Lord Arcane of Verdun. I'll remember your words," Goodman replied, cool as ever. His words sounded sincere—oddly so. Enough for Arcane to tilt his head with a hint of amusement. There was something about Goodman's tone—like he was both mocking and respecting Arcane in the same breath.

Goodman then made to approach Sia, clearly intent on sitting beside her. But Lucius moved faster, grabbing the empty seat and sliding in with a smirk. He placed an arm lazily around Sia's shoulder, eyes locked onto Goodman like a challenge made physical. His proximity, his defiance, it was all calculated—immature in a way, but rooted in emotion that went far deeper.

Goodman paused, eyeing Lucius with that unreadable expression before simply turning away and pulling a dining chair toward the circle. He sat in silence.

"So then," Arcane said, steepling his fingers together, "what brings you here? Certainly not invitations, I'm sure..."

His tone was casual—too casual. A soft insult woven into pleasantry.

Goodman leaned forward slightly. "Your mana pulse. The one you fired from the Black Mountains," he said calmly. "Though I doubt it was meant for public discovery."

Arcane didn't reply immediately, only offered a slight nod.

Goodman smiled faintly. "Figured. Though I'll admit… I was disappointed. Here I thought you were a myth. A legend. A walking embodiment of what peak strength looks like. Just to find… a wandering wussy."

Lav nearly spat out his drink. Sia narrowed her eyes. Mercy's brows twitched.

Even Arcane chuckled. Low. Dry. And dangerous.

"Enough," Arcane said, silencing the room. His tone dropped an octave, firm and final. "I didn't come here to trade insults. I came with a message. One that may affect the Empire itself."

The room fell deathly quiet.

"I'll make this brief. Over the past few years, people have been disappearing from across the Empire. Towns. Cities. Even isolated mountain settlements. Entire populations… gone. No bodies. No trails. No cries for help. They vanish as if erased by the wind."

Goodman's relaxed posture stiffened slightly.

"The numbers aren't small. They're in the hundreds of thousands—perhaps millions. We stopped counting. The worst part is no one's talking. No headlines. No outrage. Not even whispers in the capital."

Sara raised her hand slowly. Arcane nodded.

"This is… monumental," she said. "If it's true, it should've ignited a national emergency. Panic. Curfews. Mobilizations. Why hasn't it?"

Arcane looked at her. "Because the missing… are all Nmanas."

Silence.

"The ones who lack mana? The ones who can't even form a basic spark?" Mercy muttered, half to himself.

Arcane nodded again. "Exactly. That's why no one noticed. No one cared. And that's precisely why it's dangerous."

Goodman leaned forward, eyes sharp. "You're saying... all the missing were mutts?"

The room tensed at the slur. Sia flinched subtly, but said nothing. Even Lav lowered his head, remembering how he used to casually use the same word to insult Lucius.

"None were mages? No knights? No awakened? Just… the abandoned ones?" Goodman pressed.

"Yes," Arcane replied simply.

Goodman stood, his chair scraping. "Then this is a waste of time. The gods abandoned them. They were born without mana for a reason. Their existence is a burden. If anything, their disappearance is a blessing."

"Careful," Arcane warned, his tone heavier than the room could hold. "This is your first and final warning."

Goodman scoffed. "So this is what the mighty Arcane does now? Frets over mutts? Tch. What a waste."

He turned, walking toward the door. Enjoy your tea party. I'm done here."

No one stopped him.

They watched him disappear, and with him, the tension only deepened.

Because now they were reminded,

This wasn't just about missing people.

This was about what—and who—the world chose to value.

And what it discarded without a second thought, without a whisper.