Chapter 80:
Don’t Go
Deon lightly tapped Riche’s forehead and said,
“Then I’ll go with you.”
“You too, Young Master?!”
Philip was startled.
‘So, there was a reason he told her to do as she pleased!’
It didn’t even need an explanation.
The Young Master had clearly supported the lady’s decision to withdraw because it suited him.
Frankly, what good would Kselphon bring to Young Master Deon? If it weren’t for Lady Riche, he would’ve already returned to the Lodwick estate—or perhaps never even come here in the first place.
Leaving everything behind to return to Lodwick Castle with Lady Riche was exactly what Young Master Deon had been hoping for.
‘But, the lady’s… her victory…!’
Philip echoed “victory” in his heart with regret, but with Deon stepping in, it wasn’t his place to assert his opinion.
Meanwhile, Riche shook her head and spoke to Deon.
“Brother, you’re on the organizing committee. I’ll go alone. And could you occasionally keep an eye on Morgan?”
“Why should I?”
That left Riche momentarily speechless.
Deon had no obligation to do so, but she couldn’t help worrying about Ian.
Fiddling with her fingers, Riche said,
“Morgan… doesn’t have much luck, you know.”
At this, Deon replied curtly,
“He can manage himself. He’ll be an adult next year anyway.”
“What?”
Riche looked up in surprise at Deon’s words.
The age of adulthood was 18. Officially, she and Morgan were both 16. The ones turning 18 next year were Zeke and Ian…
“What?”
Deon’s crimson eyes looked at her with a “so what” expression.
She’d never known Deon to make a miscalculation.
Could it be—she wondered briefly—but set the thought aside. There were more pressing matters to deal with, like venturing into the Forest of Monsters.
Perhaps Deon staying in Kselphon, where outsiders’ access was restricted, would be safer.
‘The Tita Church said they’re targeting the true forms of the stars within gifted individuals.’
Six years ago, a joke from Hikenka about extracting stars’ true forms from the gifted might not have been a joke after all.
“You’d have to destroy the vessel to extract it.”
She wouldn’t let that happen.
Riche told Deon,
“Even so, I’ll go by myself.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You’re too weak. How do you plan to survive outside for weeks alone? What if you run into monsters?”
“Pikan will come with me, and as for monsters—”
“Pikan? That squirrel? What’s it going to do?”
[What? Dercadion, you’ve said enough now!]
Python, who had been quietly listening, finally burst out, leaping from the pocket.
Riche retorted to Deon.
“I can handle the monsters myself.”
“How could you—?”
“What if I help?”
The argument between Riche and Deon abruptly halted.
Someone else had spoken.
All four of them—Riche, Deon, Philip, and Python—raised their heads toward the ceiling where the sound had come from.
Perched on a beam supporting the ceiling was a gray cat, looking down at them.
It was none other than Kaysley, Riche’s exam instructor.
The Kselphon Committee’s Preliminary Round Office.
“The request to hold off on the qualification result has been approved. It’s certainly not an objective standard—‘Grab tight,’ really?”
The official in charge of the preliminaries stamped a large “APPROVED” on the application form.
This request had been submitted immediately after Dercadion Lodwick became a committee member.
The application? A request to withhold Trariche Lodwick’s preliminary qualification.
The reasoning?
If you want to earn your certificate, find me and grab me tightly. I’ll be somewhere in the city, except for the tournament venue.
– Exam Instructor Kaysley
The criteria for passing Kaysley’s exam were far too vague.
“Grab tightly,” while somewhat true, was hardly definitive.
‘To think he would submit this knowing his sister’s qualification might be delayed. Typical Dercadion Lodwick—always a 0% pass rate.’
Even with his sister, he was as strict as ever.
The official handed a sheet of paper across the desk to Kaysley.
“Instructor Kaysley, you’ll need to provide a new preliminary exam task. Contestant Trariche Lodwick, whose qualification is on hold, will need to complete the new task to earn her certificate.”
“I don’t understand what’s wrong with ‘grab tightly.’ All they need to do is grab tightly with all their strength!”
“…Please write a new one.”
Grumbling, Kaysley scribbled on the paper the official had given him. As he punctuated the task, a sly smile played on his lips.
Everything was going according to plan.
“I have a foolproof plan for Trariche to avoid withdrawing, travel home safely, and succeed.”
“…Let’s hear it.”
Lodwick gave in to his supposedly perfect plan. Trariche, who had been listening, nodded her agreement, saying it was a good idea.
Everyone was satisfied with the plan—especially Kaysley, who counted himself among the “everyone.”
“Here you go.”
Kaysley handed the sheet with the new task to the official, who read it aloud.
Within three weeks, traverse the Rom Desert from end to end and back. (Note: The exam instructor will accompany the candidate for verification.)
“Isn’t this too difficult?”
For an average person, the distance alone would take at least two months.
And that was without considering the monsters teeming in the Rom Desert. Estimating the actual time was impossible.
No, surviving the journey at all seemed unlikely.
The official frowned and spoke hesitantly.
“Instructor Kaysley, it’s a bit problematic if the contestant dies,” the official said, hesitating.
“That’s why I wrote it down—‘Examiner Accompanied,’” Kaysley replied matter-of-factly.
“Yes, but… if the contestant’s life is in danger, will you intervene?”
Exam instructors were chosen based on skill, and some were notorious for being indifferent, even if contestants faced death during their tasks.
And then there was “Kaysley, the Mad Genius of the Tower.”
True to her title, Kaysley was unpredictable. It wouldn’t surprise anyone who knew her if she simply watched from the sidelines, transformed into a cat, as the contestant struggled.
Kaysley nodded at the concerned remark from the official.
“Of course. Just approve it. The task content is up to the examiners anyway—unless a committee member has a problem with it, like now.”
Her tone was polite, but her hazel eyes glinted sharply, betraying her annoyance.
As Kaysley said, the examiners had discretion over the tasks. While this one was undoubtedly challenging, there had been far more absurd ones in the past.
The official sighed inwardly.
‘Trariche Lodwick is strong, so she probably won’t die.’
With a heavy heart, the official stamped “APPROVED” on the task form.
Kaysley cheered inwardly.
‘Now I can spend three weeks traveling with Trariche.’
She intended to use the time to persuade Trariche to become her apprentice.
Morgan swung his sword for hours.
Moving his body usually cleared his mind of stray thoughts. But not this time.
Deon’s words echoed in his head, explaining why he didn’t trust Morgan:
“Hannibal’s dog.”
A surviving dog that broke its leash, bit its master, and returned to its original place, carrying that label like a shadow.
‘I don’t regret it.’
Becoming the chancellor’s dog had its price, but it let him live a life he otherwise couldn’t have dreamed of.
Perhaps the reason death hadn’t fully claimed him yet was because of the life he had lived under the chancellor’s orders.
When his arms refused to lift anymore, Morgan finally stopped. He showered and changed at the training ground’s facilities, then stepped outside.
The sky, once lit by the morning moon, was now painted with the warm hues of dusk.
“Wow. It’s like someone spilled a bottle of paint,” he murmured, gazing at the vibrant sky.
A familiar voice answered unexpectedly.
Morgan turned, and there she was—Riche, more radiant than the sunset.
“Riche,” he said softly.
“Hi, Morgan,” she replied with a smile.
“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Riche said suddenly, her gaze fixed on the sky.
Morgan’s breath hitched.
“Don’t go,” he whispered, turning to face her.
Riche glanced back at him, startled.
Before she could respond, Morgan grabbed her arm, pulling her close into his embrace.
One hand held her shoulder, the other cradled the back of her head. It was as if he feared she might slip away forever if he let go.
“Morgan?”
“Don’t leave, Riche,” he pleaded, his voice low and trembling slightly.
“Please.”
