Fire Mage

The young man finally spoke, folding the newspaper with casual elegance.

"I'm Edwin Davis. Worked as an Inquisitor for some years," he said, his tone easy, almost nostalgic. "But I quit after meeting a friend of mine."

He looked up at Meledin, his eyes glinting with unreadable amusement.

"Have you heard of Charles Nightwind?"

Meledin's brow twitched. The name wasn't familiar, but he had heard of it before.

'Who is that?'

Instead, he asked the question burning in his mind.

"What is your purpose?" Meledin's tone turned cold.

Edwin chuckled, brushing a speck of dust off his coat sleeve.

"Don't be alarmed, Mr. Meledin. The reason I came here is to give you a warning."

"Warning?" Meledin's voice sharpened as he took a step closer.

Edwin nodded and flipped to another page in the paper.

"You must have seen the appearance of that Legend Demon a few weeks ago, right?"

Meledin's eyes darkened.

Edwin continued without waiting for a reply.

"What if I say that demon has ties with Asthar… the same man you and the Azure Federation are supporting?"

The room grew heavy.

In an instant, Meledin's aura surged like a storm breaking its seal. A torrent of oppressive might swept through the room, thick with the weight of his suspicion and fury.

But Edwin? He waved his hand, and the aura scattered like smoke in the wind.

Meledin's pupils narrowed.

'He dissolved it… effortlessly?'

"I know you find it hard to believe," Edwin said, leaning back against the sofa, unshaken. "But what I said is the absolute truth. If you don't believe me… you'll see it for yourself soon. Asthar will meet with the other candidates."

A frown crept onto Meledin's face.

"Your words are confusing. Asthar may be cruel… but he never involved himself with anyone outside the Azure Federation. I've done a background check on him. He's always kept his circle tight—and I've had his movements monitored since he arrived."

His voice was icy. Calculated.

Edwin didn't push. Instead, he spoke softly, but with clarity.

"I know my words won't convince you." He paused, letting the silence settle.

"But three days ago, Asthar met with a silver-haired young man, didn't he? They talked for three hours. Ever checked who that person really is?"

Meledin's eyes shifted. He recalled the surveillance report.

"I heard he's Zane from the Sacred Empire. They met at the airport and have been talking now and then. I don't see anything strange."

Edwin smiled—not kindly.

"I heard that Asthar never even tried to befriend anyone in the Azure Federation. Ruthless. Isolated. But now he arrives in the Sacred Empire and finds a friend? And not just that—they talk frequently?"

He leaned forward, his voice now edged with steel.

"Don't you find that suspicious?"

Meledin's breath slowed. His gaze hardened.

He was a cautious man. A man who trusted no detail without confirmation. Yet...

'Why didn't I feel suspicious?'

An icy shiver ran down his back.

Then, a terrible thought bloomed.

"…Mind manipulation spell? Am I under a spell?"

He'd heard of such things—rare spells capable of loosening one's caution, subtly rewriting perception, or erasing fragments of memory.

"You've guessed it right," Edwin said calmly.

"I believe this spell is similar to the Mark of Imagination. A spell capable of convincing people—or selectively altering what they recall."

Meledin's expression twisted into a frown. Doubt and anger mixed behind his eyes.

Still, his instincts resisted.

He fell silent, staring at the floor.

Then Edwin stood, brushing down his coat, as though preparing to leave.

"Haa…" he sighed lightly.

"If you want to find out the truth… go to Reaper's Alley the day after tomorrow. Hide yourself until midnight. You might see something… interesting."

With those final words, Edwin's figure suddenly turned crimson fire and then disappeared.

The next second, the space he occupied was empty.

No wind. No sound.

It was as if he had been burned by the fire and reduced to ashes.

'I don't sense any spatial movement… But I feel a slight warmth. Flame Teleportation?'

…

Edwin, aka Edith, appeared out of the mansion compound wall and turned her gaze towards the faraway mansion on the left side.

Edwin—no, Edith—tightened her grip on the black cloak as she stepped into the dim alleyway between two noble estates. Her eyes, tinted with a faint amethyst glow, fixated on the wrought-iron gate of the adjacent mansion. Unlike Meledin's residence, this one bore the distinct crimson banners of the Blood Empire. The estate was broader, its architecture heavy with foreign elegance—spiraled pillars, crimson glass windows, and a copper dome that reflected the red moonlight.

Inside that mansion, a man far more dangerous than Meledin stayed.

Kaisar Lurien, the Royal Overseer of the Blood Empire's delegation.

He was also called the Emperor of Sword!

A Legend Rank Dual-Class Mystic- Rank-6 [Sword Saint] and Rank-6 [Emperor], renowned for his terrifying spiritual endurance and soul defenses. A loyal hound of the Empire's Empress. And more importantly, someone who rarely left his quarters unless it involved either battle or cultivation.

That made infiltration necessary.

As Edith leaned against the alley wall, her eyes narrowed when she saw movement at the side gate. A young maid, likely in her early twenties, stepped out holding a small cloth bag. Her white apron swayed gently over a modest maid's uniform, and her red-black ponytail glimmered under the floating lamps.

Edith's body melted into the shadows like smoke.

She didn't stalk the maid with sound. She became the darkness.

The maid turned left, passing a closed bakery, then entered a vegetable shop where a sleepy vendor handed her some carrots and herbs. As she turned back, humming softly, Edith followed from behind—never once allowing her presence to brush the wind.

When the maid walked past the alley's narrow mouth, a pale hand emerged from the dark and grabbed her mouth in a flash.

"Mmm—!"

The maid's panicked eyes widened, but no sound escaped. The street was silent, and most of the lamps had dimmed at this hour. Edith dragged her deeper into the alley. The maid kicked once, weakly, before freezing at a chilling whisper in her ear.

"I need to borrow your identity."

In the same breath, Edith cast the spell.

[Purple Consciousness]

A second later, a small fire appeared within the maid's Inner World and formed into the shape of Charles. Rays of purple fire spread out of Charles like wildfire and started burning memories.

Edith's hand stayed firm over the girl's mouth as her other palm hovered near her temple, absorbing the memories like drawing ink into parchment.

The maid, dazed and barely conscious, blinked sluggishly—only to feel a sharp chill.

A dagger slipped neatly across her throat.

A crimson spray fanned the wall, but Edith tilted the body precisely to avoid a mess.

A single drop of blood trickled down and landed on Edith's palm.

She disrobed the corpse, folded the uniform over her arm, then stored the lifeless body within her spatial ring.

Moments later, the same red-black ponytailed maid emerged from the alley, now holding a bag of vegetables. No one suspected anything. The street had remained empty.

She walked calmly back to the mansion and greeted the guard at the gate with a gentle nod.

"Evening, Mister Braun," she said in a perfectly imitated voice.

"Back already? They really send you for everything," the guard chuckled.

"Comes with the job," Edith smiled, like a lamb among wolves.

Inside, she moved gracefully past the atrium and into the large, marble-paved hallway. Luxurious paintings of ancient Blood Empire emperors lined the walls. Red velvet curtains framed each window.

'Seven Rank-4 Mystics. Three Rank-5s. None near the kitchen.'

She made her way in.

In the warm, spice-scented kitchen, a few other maids were chatting idly.

"Miss Rina, welcome back," one of them greeted.

"Thanks," Edith replied naturally.

Another turned from the counter. "A tray's ready for Lord Kaisar. He and the Lord Cardinal of Amber Church are having a long chat upstairs."

"I can deliver it," Edith offered casually.

"Eh? Sure. Just be careful. He doesn't like eye contact."

The maid handed her a silver tray lined with three crystal glasses filled with deep violet grape juice.

Edith turned away from the crowd and, as she walked, slipped her hand into her sleeve. A small paralysis potion vial glimmered under her fingers. She poured two drops into the outer glasses as she ascended the stairwell—her movement subtle, invisible to the untrained eye.

She reached the third floor.

A red-scarf butler outside a velvet-curtained door nodded at her.

"For Lord Kaisar?" he asked.

"Yes," Edith bowed her head, her tone meek.

"Don't speak. Just serve and leave."

The door creaked open.

Inside, a room bathed in ambient red light. At the round oak table sat two figures: a tall, silver-armored man with crimson eyes and short black hair—Kaisar Lurien—and opposite him, a white-robed cardinal of the Amber Church with sun-embroidered cuffs.

Their voices were low.

"…the second item will be delivered once she arrives," the Cardinal said.

Kaisar nodded slowly, his arms folded.

Edith walked in quietly and placed the tray at the edge of the table.

Neither glanced at her.

She bowed slightly and stepped back, face down.

Both took a glass and sipped.

A minute passed.

Then another.

As Kaisar raised the glass for a second sip, his brow twitched.

The Cardinal let out a soft grunt.

Their hands trembled.

Clink!

The glasses shattered as they slipped from their grips and hit the table.

Kaisar's chair scraped slightly, but he couldn't rise. His limbs refused to move. The paralysis spread like cold fire through their spines.

Kaisar's eyes darted in fury. "Wha…?"

The maid who served them was already changing.

Her form shifted.

Red-black hair faded into chestnut brown. Her uniform melted into a black high-collared coat. A dagger now rested loosely in her right hand.

Edith was no longer in the room.

Edwin Davis stood in her place.

His smile was faint.

"I rarely enjoy poison. But with someone like you…" Edwin tilted his head. "Caution wins."

Kaisar tried to speak, but his tongue wouldn't move.

The Cardinal stared, eyes bulging in confusion and fear.

"Let's talk, gentlemen."