"Give it to me!" Seren snatched the power bank and quickly connected it to the smartphone. Even that simple action fascinated me. Something so ordinary carried an inexplicable sense of familiarity.

Seren stared at the screen with nervous anticipation, but her expression soon dimmed with disappointment.

"What's wrong? It doesn't work?"

"Yes. Well... that's to be expected. This battery looks old. There's no way it still holds a charge."

I was also disappointed.

Seren muttered, "It's unfortunate."

"Then it's useless?"

"Not necessarily." She shook her head. "As I said before, if I show this power bank to a skilled craftsman, they could figure out how its charging mechanism works. Since there are already two devices with a similar structure, comparing them could speed things up even more."

"Really?"

"Perhaps not. Still, the odds are much higher." Seren paused to think, then turned to me. "What are you going to do now?"

"Me? I'll stay in the imperial palace for one more day. I found some excellent equipment at the Master Craftsman's Sect, but to receive it, I need recognition from the craftsman who made it," I explained.

"Not that. I mean after you leave the capital."

That answer came easily. I had been thinking about my future for some time, and I had already reached a conclusion.

"I have business at the academy, so I'll stop there first. After that, I'll head straight to the Hero Society."

My only purpose at the academy was to strengthen my blessing using the Holy Grail. I would request and receive the help of Hellstar, who was still there to look after the students.

"The Hero Society... I see." Seren considered it for a moment, then nodded. "I'll go south to Sandstorm Hill. I'll have my smartphone repaired there before heading to the Hero Society."

"It won't be easy. The southern dwarves are different from the ones in the capital," I warned.

The dwarves in the capital and other regions tended to be more easygoing. They had blended into imperial society, and many had mixed-race descendants.

By contrast, the dwarves of the south, including those of Sandstorm Hill, were closer to the figures of legend—prickly, arrogant, and fiercely sensitive. They ignored anything that didn't interest them. Their craft came before friends or family, which made them impervious to threats. They had the skill to justify that pride. In my past life as a mercenary, I had longed for a dwarven sword.

"Even so, I have to deal with them," Seren said. "A dwarf craftsman is probably the only one capable of handling something like this."

I nodded, though I doubted the process would go smoothly. "Then let me give you some advice. Don't bow to them unnecessarily. Provoke them instead."

"Provoke them?"

"Say something like, Look at this power bank I acquired. It was kept in the Master Craftsman's Sect."

Seren frowned, clearly puzzled by my suggestion.

"How frustrating." I explained, "Sandstorm Hill has a bitter rivalry with the Master Craftsman's Sect. To them, the sect dwarves abandoned their pride as craftsmen for money. To the sect, the Sandstorm dwarves are relics clinging to the past, unable to adapt to changing times."

I pointed to the power bank. "So tell them this: Even the dwarves of the Master Craftsman's Sect couldn't uncover the structure of this device."

I added with a smirk, "I wouldn't be surprised if they get so obsessed with it that they fight over who will handle it."

Finally, Seren looked at me with rare surprise. Then it changed to a complicated expression.

"What is it?" I asked.

"You talk as if you've actually seen the southern dwarves," she said.

"I have," I replied flatly.

"When?"

"Let's see... it must've been about fifteen years ago."

If I counted the ten years I spent on Spirit Mountain, the timing would match.

Seren snorted as if dismissing my words as a joke. Then, without warning, she said, "The next disaster is in the north."

"The north?" The moment I heard it and recalled the year, I knew exactly what disaster she meant.

"The Utgard Concentration Camp," Seren said. "You've heard of it, haven't you?"

Naturally, I had heard of it.

The Utgard Concentration Camp was a prison for the most vicious criminals, a place where even a death sentence seemed merciful. The rumors were worse still. Whispers claimed that inhumane experiments took place there, that prisoners endured such brutal torture an ordinary person would faint at the sight, and that the empire conducted re-education programs to turn inmates into secret weapons.

I had once dismissed the last claim as absurd, yet in light of the Lotus Jade Emperor's relentless recruitment of talent, it no longer felt so far-fetched.

In any case, many of the empire's most dangerous figures were confined there. The disaster Seren referred to could only be the collapse of the Utgard Concentration Camp.

The circumstances of that incident that were later revealed were as follows: Utgard, one of the darkest and most horrific places in the empire, would be infiltrated by a priest of the Dark Church. He would use the church's magic to seize control of the prison. In the aftermath, 517 violent prisoners would escape. Half would pledge themselves to the church, while the rest would scatter across the empire, committing atrocities that would plunge the capital into chaos. The remainder would perish. A demon, summoned through the sacrifice of prisoners and guards, would wreak havoc across ten percent of the northern lands before vanishing.

Only a few days ago, I had confirmed it with Professor Alec. The empire would collapse within the next decade. The fall of Utgard could be called the first spark of destruction.

Unlike the Badnikers' training camp or the demon king's descent at the academy, this disaster would not unfold in secret. Every citizen of the empire would be aware of the tragedy. From that moment on, calamities would ripple across the continent one after another.

For now, at least, the capital and the Badnikers remain untouched. The situation is much better than before. Or am I being too optimistic?

I tilted my head as Seren continued, "There's still about half a year left, but it isn't a situation where we can relax. I want to go there, investigate in advance, and stop it if possible. A disaster like the one in the Setting Book wouldn't erupt without warning. There must be a clue."

Her grasp of the matter was not as clear as mine. The Setting Book she relied on had not provided the full sequence of events.

"Are you planning to sneak in?" I asked. "That won't be easy. The imperial defenses are tight. Status and family connections won't help you there."

"I know. That's why I'm going to the Hero Society."

"How is that connected?"

"If I qualify as a B-class hero, I'll have unrestricted access to nearly all restricted areas in the empire. Only private estates remain off-limits. Utgard is no exception," she replied.

"Good plan." I was convinced.

By the way, if the next area is Utgard, I need to get stronger.

I wasn't weak now, but the prisoners held in that insane camp defied common sense. Those classified as S-class or higher were probably as strong as the Middle Names. On top of that, considering the demon likely to be summoned in a worst-case scenario, this was not a situation to take lightly.

As we spoke, the hall's atmosphere visible through the window had shifted considerably. About half the guests had already left. The banquet was winding down, and we couldn't linger on the balcony much longer. We had to blend in with the remaining crowd and follow the flow.

Seren leaned closer and whispered, "There's one last thing."

"Do tell."

"Something's been bothering me all this time. I finally understood it when I saw the Strategy Guide you showed me."

"What is it?"

"Someone wrote both the Strategy Guide and Setting Book," she pointed out.

"Of course, there must be an author. They're books."

"That's not what I mean, you idiot," Seren said with a sigh. "Look at the strategy guide. Its very first chapter dates back thousands of years. The opening section is mostly about that—detailed records of dealing with dozens of nations and hundreds of tribes during the continent's turbulent period. It reads like an essay."

"An essay?"

"Yes. The records continue up until just a few hundred years ago. The handwriting remains the same throughout."

"Wait..." I asked, puzzled, "You mean to say that a being who lived for thousands of years wrote these books?"

"Maybe lived isn't the appropriate tense."

"What now?"

"The individual who wrote them might still be alive."

***

Before we parted, I asked, "Is Seren still watching this situation?"

"No. I think she's sleeping now."

"Are you on bad terms?"

Seren laughed. "Of course it's bad. From her perspective, I'm the villain who appeared and stole her body."

"I see."

She hesitated, then suddenly said something unexpected. "I'm not used to this kind of conversation. I thought it was a secret I would carry for the rest of my life."

"Won't you get used to it?"

"Who knows..." Seren looked at me, her voice softening. "Luan."

"Yes?"

"See you again."

The awkward farewell made me laugh. It was a dry goodbye, but somehow it suited her. Perhaps we would meet again in the Hero Society. I didn't know how long that would take.

"Yes. I'll see you again."

After parting with Seren, I returned to my room and slept.

The next day, the knight guided me to meet the craftsman who had made the gloves.

"I am Angel, the maker of the Hidden Scales Armor," he said.

Before I could react to the gloves' name, I was struck by his appearance.

I studied him with curiosity. He was a middle-aged man with a coarse beard. Surprisingly, he wasn't a dwarf. He seemed almost my size, ruling out any mixed-race traits. His pale complexion, bloodshot eyes, and the smell of alcohol clashed with the usual image of disciplined dwarven craftsmen. He even held a bottle of alcohol, drinking it without acknowledging the knight or me.

The knight said sharply, "Angel, show some respect. He is a guest personally sent by His Majesty the Emperor."

"Really? Should I start by speaking respectfully?"

"Forget it." I had no patience for formalities. "The gloves you made—Hidden Scales Armor, right? I want them."

Angel burped. "Ah, sorry."

"They fit my hands perfectly," I added.

"I see." Angel burped again, this time louder, smirking. "By the way, young noble, do you know the conditions for obtaining an item from the Master Craftsman's Sect?"

"Isn't it to be recognized by the creator?"

"Yes. I won't ask bothersome questions. I'll give it to you if you prove one thing."

"What is it?"

"Surround the gloves with mana."

I paused. The knight behind me said, "Are you still sticking to that condition? Angel, how long do you think the Sect Master will turn a blind eye to this behavior?"

"At least until I die of alcohol poisoning," Angel stated matter-of-factly.

"Don't forget the importance of the Master Craftsman's Sect. You have the favor of the imperial family. The meals you eat, the clothes you wear, and most importantly, the materials you use in crafting all come from them," the knight reminded him solemnly.

"I know. That is why I drink with gratitude every day," Angel deadpanned.

The knight's gaze was unusual. It looked as if he despised Angel with every fiber of his being. From the intensity in his eyes, he seemed ready to draw his sword and cut Angel down.

"If you intend to fight, then do it in my absence. For now—" I cut in at the right moment, breaking the tension.

I poured my internal energy into the Hidden Scales Armor, and it soon turned into flames. The same black flames from before flickered, wrapping around the gloves.

"Is this enough?"

The knight froze. "What?!"

Meanwhile Angel stroked his beard. Beneath his blurred eyes, a strange, almost unsettling clarity shimmered. "Boy hero, what is your name?"

"Luan Badniker."

"A Badniker? It's surprising. You don't seem like someone from a prestigious family." He tilted his head briefly, then shrugged. "Well, okay. Can I call you Hero Disciple Luan?"

"Luan is fine."

"Then Luan, I will give you the Hidden Scales Armor, as promised."

"Really?" I was slightly surprised by how calm his words sounded.

Angel nodded and shook the bottle by his ear, checking the remaining alcohol. "If they break while you're using them, come back here. I'll make you a better pair."

"Should a craftsman really say that?"

"And why not? Weapons are consumables. The more you use them, the more they wear out. Especially someone like you," he replied.

"What do you mean by someone like me?"

"Someone who treats your body roughly and your equipment even rougher," he said matter-of-factly.

Was that true? I couldn't say for certain.

Angel waved his hand. "Go now. Watching your faces since morning has ruined my mood for drinking."

"Okay." I had achieved my goal, so I left the Master Craftsman's Sect without protest.

Angel said to return if the Hidden Scales Armor breaks, but will I ever come back to the imperial palace?

The knight trailing behind muttered with a laugh, "He actually said he'll make something even better."

I frowned. "Is that unusual?"

"Ah, sorry. Angel hasn't made anything in ten years, so it's a bit surprising."

"Is that so? Then why hasn't he been expelled?"

"It's by the order of the master of the Master Craftsman's Sect. He may look like that, but he is the most skilled craftsman alive. He crafted the imperial sword His Majesty uses," the knight replied.

I could only look at the spot where Angel had been in amazement. "How did such an extraordinary old man end up like this?"

"Who knows? There's probably a reason he can't share. In any case, if he starts working again, it will be a huge benefit to the imperial palace. That's one more thing to thank you for."

"Don't mention it. But why were you so surprised when I infused mana into the gloves?"

The knight's tone grew slightly embarrassed. "Angel's personality is... difficult. That reflects in his creations. Most of the equipment he makes is hard to handle."

He glanced at the Hidden Scales Armor in my hand. "Angel uses alloys made by a method only he knows. Everything he makes is black and incredibly strong."

"That doesn't sound bad."

"There is one fatal drawback. His equipment struggles to accept mana," the knight explained.

It was truly fatal. If mana, or internal energy, was infused, even rocks could be cut with ease depending on the user's skill. No matter how strong a weapon was, it became useless in a battle between masters if it couldn't hold energy. In other words, it was worse than a blunt blade.

However, I didn't find it that difficult. Perhaps I had a rare compatibility with the equipment. It was a question worth pondering.

In any case, that marked my final conversation at the imperial palace. I packed my things and finally left the cramped, filthy, and stifling imperial quarters.

I returned to Cartel Academy and headed straight to Hellstar, who was staying in the infirmary of the main building.

The scene there caught me off guard.

"It seems there are no side effects from the miasma. By the way, do you often eat cold food?" Hellstar asked.

"Ah, yes! I like ice cream."

"One common symptom of people with this illness is hypothermia. You are still young, but it wouldn't hurt to take care of yourself. Drink warm tea instead of cold drinks, and frequently warm your body in lukewarm water," Hellstar advised.

"T-thank you!"

The students waited in line for medical examination. Hellstar sat at the front, greeting them. Was he pretending to be a health teacher? I had asked him to do it, yet it still felt absurd. Or was there another plan?

Any doubt vanished the moment I saw his face. It carried the authority of a seasoned physician, impossible to ignore even knowing his true nature.

Hellstar seemed unaware of my presence. I leaned against the wall and watched him attend to each student with careful attention. He treated every one of them with genuine care.

I couldn't tell what had brought about this change in him.

I glanced down the line. There were many students, so it would take time. There was no urgency. I didn't want to interfere with Hellstar's work, so I turned away. I could eat at the shopping area and return at dusk.