[Bounty?!!]

Kael let out a long exhale, the kind that sounded like it carried every poor decision he'd ever made.

His limbs felt like they were filled with bricks.

Sleep, long overdue and utterly uninterested in his dignity, finally pounced.

He reached out — barely thinking — and tugged Selene gently down onto the bed beside him.

"Wha— Master!" she hissed, half-struggling as he flopped the blanket over both of them like a dying man claiming his last comfort.

"Shhhh," he murmured, eyes already closed.

"You're warm. That's your new job now. Human pillow."

She went stiff for a second — scandalized, confused, murdery — but then let out a soft sigh and gave in.

"Gods, you're impossible," she muttered.

Kael nuzzled into her shoulder, clearly feeling zero shame.

"Told you. Comes with the title."

She rolled her eyes, but didn't move.

And slowly, the tension bled from the room — replaced by silence, steady rain, and the kind of bone-deep sleep that only shows up after things try to kill you and fail.

It wasn't graceful.

It wasn't romantic.

But it was real.

And for Kael, that was more than enough.

###

The morning sun slipped through the curtains like an intruder with no respect for hangovers.

Pale light painted the chamber in gold and judgment.

Kael stirred.

He reached to the side instinctively — empty sheets, faint warmth, no Selene.

"…Huh. She left," he muttered, rubbing one eye.

"Guess I really did fall asleep on her."

He sat up slowly, testing his limbs like someone suspicious their body might betray them.

The pain had receded — dulled to a manageable throb instead of a full-body rebellion.

Between Selene's healing and unconscious cuddling,

He felt… vaguely human.

A rare, dangerous feeling.

He rose, stretched with a groan that sounded like someone thirty years older, and shuffled off to the bath.

A long soak later — and some much-needed hygiene — Kael stepped out, clean and clothed.

Dark tunic. Fitted coat. Silver-threaded cuffs.

The kind of outfit that screamed:

"I might commit treason, but I'll look hot doing it."

He stood in front of the mirror, ran a hand through his damp hair, and grinned at his reflection.

"Damn," he murmured.

"Still got it.

Eyes like the abyss. Cheekbones you could sharpen steel on.

Handsome as hell."

Not narcissism.

Just basic morale maintenance.

The house was dead quiet.

No servants in sight. No footsteps. No interruptions.

Perfect.

Kael padded across the room to a plain stretch of wall in the far corner — barely visible, even to a trained eye.

He pressed a worn stone.

With the soft grind of old secrets waking up, a narrow section of the wall slid open.

Stone on stone.

Whisper quiet.

He slipped inside.

The hidden vault wasn't much.

About the size of a broom closet, if that broom closet had been designed by paranoid mages with trust issues.

Silence runes pulsed faintly on the walls.

A single glowstone overhead pulsed like a heartbeat — low, slow, ominous.

Kael knelt.

Laid out in reverent disorder were his sins and savings:

The blackened mask, the silent blade, the scrolls and that ...egg.

He stared at them for a moment, then muttered:

"I need a space ring. Or a bigger house. Or a therapist.

Preferably all three."

His hand passed over the egg warily.

Still cold.

Still pulsing.

Still none of his business.

He sighed again, already tired.

"So many things to hide. So little storage."

Kael sighed, eyes flicking over the dusty scrolls laid out like a rogue librarian's crimes.

"Let's go to the market today."

He dropped into a cross-legged sit, the silence runes around him pulsing faintly — steady, rhythmic, like the breath of buried secrets.

With practiced ease, Kael unrolled the stolen scrolls and began to study them.

As expected, they were all Rank 2.

But by the time he finished the last one, his fingers stilled.

"…Fuck," he murmured, almost reverently.

These weren't just good.

These were the strongest Rank 2 spells in the kingdom — the kind banned from public circulation, locked behind academy vaults, or buried in military archives.

Spells like these never saw store shelves.

Too powerful. Too dangerous. Too tempting.

Kael exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

Of course they had these.

That academy was always preparing its little prodigies for war.

But then came the catch.

He spread the scrolls out in a fan before him.

Different names, slightly tweaked runes — but fundamentally the same spells.

Same origin. Same framework.

Same destructive force, just wearing different hats.

"Figures," Kael muttered.

"One academy, one doctrine.

A dozen ways to blow something up — all exactly the same."

He sat back, eyes narrowing in thought.

Next time, he might have to hit a church.

Or better — an old temple.

At least those places had some imagination.

He shook his head, lips twitching in mild amusement.

With his SSS-rank mana control, picking out the best among the scrolls wasn't even a challenge — it was like sorting gold from gravel.

After a careful review, three spells made the cut.

The first: Arcanum Vortex — a concentrated mana projectile.

At baseline, deadly.

But with enough mana poured into it? It could rival a standard Rank 3 offensive spell.

Precise. Scalable. Dangerous.

The second: Mana Dome — a defensive barrier forged from condensed mana.

Standard use could block most attacks.

But with enough mana?

It could stop even high-tier bombardments, possibly even tank a proper Rank 3 spell head-on.

And the third: Hollowrush — a pure movement spell.

Channel mana, and your speed surged like a whipcrack.

No teleportation, no illusions. Just raw velocity.

The kind that wins fights, escapes death, or lands killing blows.

Kael nodded to himself, satisfied.

These weren't just good spells — they were foundation spells.

Flexible, potent, and with enough mana behind them, easily capable of punching above their weight.

In fact, with these three spells and his abnormal mana reserves — courtesy of his Mana Control talent — he might even be able to hold his own against a proper Rank 3 mage.

Not that he wanted to test that theory.

He stored the chosen scrolls carefully, sealing them away like personal weapons.

The rest? Duplicates. Lesser versions. Not worth the space.

He bundled them up without sentiment and slipped them into his satchel.

Someone out there would pay a fortune for even these — they weren't scraps, they were some of the finest Rank 2 spells in existence — and Kael had no intention of dying poor.

With one last glance around the vault, he stepped out and sealed the entrance behind him.

Secrets locked away. Plans taking shape.

Time to get moving.

But just as he slid the panel open—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

He froze.

"Shit—"

With the reflexes of a man too experienced in hiding things he shouldn't own, Kael shoved the satchel behind a cabinet and straightened his collar like nothing had happened.

He opened the door.

Selene stood there.

Tray in hand. Eyes narrowed. Foot already tapping.

"What were you doing?" she asked flatly.

"I've been knocking. Loudly."

Kael gave her his most innocent grin — which, frankly, looked guilty on contact.

"Morning meditation?"

"With thuds?"

"Well, you know, sometimes the best meditation involves a bit of... Vigorous arm-flailing."

Selene crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow.

"Vigorous arm-flailing? Is that what you call punching the air like a madman?"

"Exactly!" Kael said, unfazed. "You're catching on."

She sighed, stepped inside, and closed the door with that quiet finality only truly tired people manage.

Kael locked it behind her.

Just in case.

Selene placed the tray gently on the edge of the bed.

Tea, steam rising, judgment implied.

"Thanks," Kael said, already sipping.

It was routine by now — sip tea, skim news, prepare for existential dread.

But today, the moment his eyes hit the first headline.

Kael spat tea like a cursed fountain.

It hit the floor with a splatter and a gasp — mostly from Selene, who jumped back like the porcelain had exploded.

"For fuck's sake!" she hissed, already snatching a cloth from the tray.

"This estate survives assassins, curses, and auctions, but not your breakfast?"

Kael raised a hand apologetically.

"Sorry… guess the tea wanted to escape before things got worse."

He crouched, dripping mug in one hand, soggy newspaper in the other.

His eyes scanned the headline, and his face drained faster than his cup.

BOUNTY:

100,000 GOLD COINS FOR INFORMATION ON THE INDIVIDUAL KNOWN ONLY AS 'THE DEVIL'.

Kael blinked.

Then blinked again.

Then, deadpan:

…I'm starting to think this might be about me.