In truth, Laeral Silverhand wasn’t a native of Liberl Port. She was born in a small kingdom in the north of the Empire of Sein.

Roughly five or six centuries ago, after the last great Empire of Sein fractured and before the next united dynasty—the current imperial royal house—had fully risen, during that long, chaotic era of rival warlords, Laeral Silverhand was born in a small northern town.

At first, no one guessed she was the daughter of the Goddess of Magic; in fact, nobody even knew how she arrived or who her parents were. The local witches simply thought she was a typical human orphan and took her in together.

But it didn’t take long for her astonishing magical talent to shine through. As a child, she joined the famous northern coven, the "Council of Northern Witches." When an awakened Great Old One disaster struck, Laeral awakened the power of her bloodline and single-handedly sealed the threat, becoming the leader the northern witches all looked to for guidance.

Later, to protect the northern people, she initiated the creation of a magic kingdom led by the northern witches, known as "Stonat."

Laeral Silverhand was crowned Queen of the Witches, ruling over a vast territory of nearly two million square kilometers.

Less than a hundred years after her coronation, the current royal house of Sein rose up and swiftly unified most of the former Empire’s lands.

But even the first Emperor of this new Empire was awed by Laeral Silverhand’s strength and chose to parley with her, seeking peace.

Laeral Silverhand, who cared only for arcane studies and was exhausted by the burden of ruling, gladly agreed. After receiving the Emperor’s promises for her people, she relinquished her power and privileges to help unite the empire.

Her noble actions were praised throughout the world. That peaceful unification was hailed by pacifists everywhere as a model for all time. After all, who would truly be willing to hand over real, tangible power of their own free will?

After that, she devoted herself to traveling between the major magical schools of the empire, studying, sharing, and teaching the lore of arcane arts. She also helped her mother establish the Magic University in Liberl Port.

It wasn’t until ten years ago, when the last Open Lord of Liberl Port was exiled for corruption, that the city’s elite pleaded for her to take up leadership of the city. She accepted, answering the call to serve as Open Lord.

Now, this demigod spellcaster, whose life story could fill epic poems, sat like any ordinary woman at home, deftly slicing into a delicious sandwich at her breakfast table.

Seeing the trio approach, she looked up, those bright eyes settling on them, slim red lips curling into an enchanting smile. "Did the three of you sleep well last night?"

Charles mustered his energy and nodded, "Thank you for your care, Lady of the City. I’m well."

This was their very first meeting—though he’d seen her countless times in the game, facing a legendary figure this powerful in reality, he still couldn’t help feeling a bit stiff.

Theresa and Sephera also confirmed they’d slept well. Even Sephera, who was normally so sharp-tongued, seemed a bit intimidated, clearly sensing how powerful the woman before them truly was.

Laeral Silverhand’s gaze swept casually over the two girls—almost absentmindedly—but then she noticed something. Her pupils contracted, and she looked genuinely surprised.

Charles caught the change in her expression and tensed. "Lady of the City, is there something on your mind?"

Laeral Silverhand gently shook her head but kept her gaze on the two girls. "It’s nothing... Ah, Lord Charles, these two at your side—they’re both exceptionally strong warlocks, aren’t they?"

Charles smiled modestly and accepted the compliment for both. "Thank you for the praise—although I fear it’s a bit much."

With that, he finally took his seat. Laeral retracted her gaze, getting down to business: "It’s getting late. Let’s chat about last night’s events over breakfast."

Charles nodded, taking up his knife and fork and slicing his sandwich. Their conversation started slowly, but when she learned it had been the avatar of Archdevil Mephistopheles appearing last night, even she couldn’t hide her shock. She sighed, "We’re lucky you caught his trail in time. The consequences otherwise would have been... unthinkable."

She didn’t care how great a price the archdevil had paid to enter the material world, nor how much loss he suffered in failing. As long as her city was safe from the archdevil’s schemes, she considered herself fortunate.

"All credit goes to Madam Blackstaff," Charles demurred. "If she hadn’t stopped time when she did, the three of us would probably already be enslaved to a devil."

Laeral Silverhand turned to regard him, nodding approvingly. "Indeed, Vajra’s talent for reading and choosing allies far exceeds my expectations."

Charles felt a jolt. Does she... think I accepted a task from Vajra and started trailing Mephistopheles on my own initiative?

Uh, really, that wasn’t it this time. It’s just that, for some reason, that archdevil singled me out from the start... Why me? What could I possibly have that’s worth all the trouble of sneaking past the gods just to target me?

Silently complaining, he noticed Laeral had nothing else to ask. They exchanged a few more polite words, and then Charles took the opportunity to excuse himself, heading out with the two witches.

He left without the now-immobile Ammalia Cassalanter; the doomed matriarch was to remain at Mithril Palace. One could easily imagine her fate—colluding with devils, even summoning an archdevil into the world (even if she wasn’t the one who did it)—her end would be grim.

Whether the Cassalanter family as a whole would be taken down as well—that, no one could say.

But none of that had anything to do with Charles now. He turned and walked straight outside. Behind him, watching Theresa’s and Sephera’s figures, Laeral Silverhand couldn’t help frowning.

Their essence really was that of witches—but...

No way... Could it be? Did the Goddess of Life... actually succeed?

Old memories surfaced in Laeral’s mind—recollections of the Goddess of Life, her boundless love for all sentient life, and especially for the witches, who were born into the material world unable to know true happiness, finding comfort only by taking fleeting joy from the souls of others.

Laeral remembered how, years ago, she’d seen the Goddess of Life weep before her own mother, grieving over what she felt was a terrible oversight of the gods.

But that wish—to grant the witches what they lacked—was supposed to be impossible. Even her own mother had said so.

Unbelievable...

Wait—could her fall also be connected to this?

Laeral couldn’t say; it was all just conjecture. But she felt sure she’d need to pay much closer attention to this group from now on.

...

Leaving Laeral to her tangled thoughts, Charles stepped out through the gates of Mithril Palace and back onto the street, breathing out a long sigh.

Ugh, this is going to be a pain.

Last night, he’d come to House Cassalanter by carriage. But in the fire, the driver was badly burned and had to be taken to the hospital for healing. The horses had either been killed or had bolted in terror.

So now he had no ride, and getting back to South Harbor District was going to be a hassle.

As he worried, a distant voice called out, "Charles!"

Turning, he saw a familiar, luxurious carriage rumbling up beside him. A slim figure leapt out, dashed over, and threw herself into his arms.

It was Anno.

She buried her face in his shoulder, tears welling at the corners of her eyes, soon soaking his shirt.

Charles held his beloved girlfriend tightly and couldn’t help but feel emotional. He patted her back gently, saying, "All right now, don’t cry. See? I’m perfectly fine.

~~~

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