First Legendary Dragon: Starting With The Limitless System-Chapter 269: Forget?

As each member of Orion’s club visited, Edgar entertained some of them courteously in the lavish main hall, its high ceiling and elaborate decorations adding to the weight of their conversations.

He repeated the same gentle explanation to each, marveling inwardly at how much Orion had inspired these talented youths.

When the last of them departed, Edgar stood alone in the expansive hall, contemplating thoughtfully. Each had responded not with disappointment, but rather with renewed resolve, inspired by Orion’s supposed intensive training.

Edgar felt quite amused and also proud. Orion had unknowingly set off a ripple of motivation through his peers, fostering growth even in his absence without moving a muscle.

Returning to his duties, Edgar mentally noted each visitor’s name and words, determined to inform Orion of their heartfelt intentions once he wakes up.

For now, he could only hope the young master would wake up soon after his evolution.

As the sun set outside, casting a warm golden hue through the mansion’s grand windows, Edgar walked quietly down the hallway.

His footsteps echoed softly upon polished marble floors. Despite the recent turmoil, the estate remained steadfast, held together by Eldric’s firm decisions.

Inside his room, Edgar carefully recorded each visitor’s words in neat, concise notes. Finishing, he gently closed the journal, contemplating the weight of responsibility Orion now carried, and quietly admired how even his brief absence could motivate others to strive harder.

He sighed softly, feeling a gentle sense of satisfaction and pride. "Truly, Young Master Orion, your presence—or even your absence—ignites something remarkable in those around you," Edgar murmured quietly, smiling faintly. "I look forward to seeing how far they all will go when you finally return."

"And now, about time I give House Duskvale a visit," he said with a determined expression before exiting the mansion and heading toward the quiet corner of the second ring where no one visits.

***

Back inside the estate, at another corner of the mansion, tucked away from the bustle and grandeur of its main halls, a small room basked quietly in warm sunlight.

It was modestly furnished but carefully arranged, reflecting the delicate care that the mansion’s staff had taken in looking after its single occupant—Seraph.

Sitting quietly beside her favorite spot near the window, Seraph’s gaze often lingered hopefully on the room’s door.

Her eyes, which once held a timid spark of warmth, gradually dimmed as the days passed slowly and without event. Each morning, she would awaken with the quiet hope that today would be the day Orion finally visited her.

The days blended into each other seamlessly, becoming indistinguishable: soft sunlight filtering through sheer curtains, warm baths, carefully prepared meals eaten in silence, and long, quiet hours spent patiently tracing letters upon parchment, whispering hesitant words to an empty room.

Her existence grew more subdued with each passing sunset that brought no news of Orion’s return.

One day passed, two days, three days, then a week. Still, no familiar footsteps echoed down the corridor to her chamber. frёewebnoѵēl.com

Each evening, Seraph’s quiet sighs grew heavier, filled with uncertainty and self-doubt. Her hesitant whispers gradually faded, her diligent attempts at speech growing softer as worry consumed her determination.

Two weeks passed in much the same quiet melancholy. Her emerald eyes, once filled with gentle anticipation, now revealed a deeply hidden sadness, veiled behind layers of quiet acceptance.

Seraph began to question herself quietly, ’Did he... truly forget me?’ Her heart grew heavier with the painful doubt she dared not voice aloud.

At the end of the third week, driven by desperation and quiet anxiety, Seraph finally summoned every ounce of courage within her.

She waited nervously, her gaze anxiously fixed upon the door, awaiting the familiar knock that signaled the maid’s arrival with her evening meal.

Her slender fingers clenched the edge of her simple gown, knuckles white with the effort to steady her trembling heart.

A gentle knock finally resonated through the room, startling her slightly despite her anticipation.

The door creaked open, revealing the same kind-faced maid who had looked after her these past weeks, holding a tray laden with fruits, vegetables, and steaming soup.

The maid offered her a gentle smile, placing the tray carefully on the table. "Your dinner, Miss Seraph."

Before the maid could quietly go back, Seraph opened her mouth, her voice trembling, barely above a whisper but audible in the silent room. "Orion... is... he... ba..ck?"

The maid turned, mildly surprised by Seraph’s sudden voice. Her gentle features softened sympathetically, shaking her head slowly. "I’m sorry, Miss Seraph. Young Master Orion is still away, training outside the capital—that’s all I’ve heard."

Seraph’s heart sank heavily, her slender shoulders visibly deflating. She lowered her gaze quietly, nodding softly, whispering with difficulty, "Thank... you."

The maid hesitated, clearly wishing to offer comfort, yet knowing not how. She quietly excused herself, leaving Seraph alone again, the quiet click of the closing door echoing softly in the stillness.

Left alone, Seraph gazed numbly at the untouched meal before her. Her appetite had vanished entirely, replaced by a lingering, empty ache deep within her chest.

Orion had truly forgotten her, she thought sorrowfully, the painful doubt settling heavily into her fragile heart.

Time passed slowly yet relentlessly after that painful day. Her daily routine persisted, mechanical and joyless, each passing moment deepening her melancholy.

Quietly, her speech practice gradually dwindled, words becoming fewer, softer, and eventually silent altogether. The parchments remained untouched, neatly stacked and gathering dust.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. Seraph’s world gradually shrank smaller, confined to her chamber, the window, and the unchanging view of gardens she no longer truly saw.

Her gaze, once filled with hopeful longing, became distant, resigned to Orion’s continued absence.

Months passed by in a quiet haze. Occasionally, she would still find herself staring blankly at the gates, faintly hoping against all reason to glimpse Orion’s familiar figure walking toward the mansion.

Yet each time, the familiar ache deepened, the pain of disappointment becoming numbingly familiar.

Her gentle thoughts often turned inward, wondering silently to herself, ’Perhaps Orion no longer needs me. Perhaps he truly forgot me.’

Her chest tightened painfully at the thought, tears she rarely allowed herself slowly tracing silent trails down her pale cheeks.

Eventually, Seraph quietly retreated further inward, her presence becoming a ghostly shadow within the mansion’s gentle halls.

She spoke less frequently, even her fragile whispers fading to silence, her voice locked away once more by a sadness she couldn’t voice.

Her gentle green eyes, now clouded with quiet resignation, rarely left the confines of her modest room.

Yet despite the loneliness, beneath the crushing weight of her sorrow and doubt, a tiny, fragile ember of hope stubbornly endured, buried deeply within her heart.

A part of her, no matter how small, refused entirely to abandon Orion’s memory. She clung desperately to that fragile thread, a quiet promise whispered silently within her soul, ’One day... one day, he’ll return.’

And so, Seraph continued to wait, quietly enduring, existing silently within her quiet room, a delicate ghost whose presence barely stirred the gentle mansion’s peace.

A few months passed quietly, her hope fading slowly but never completely extinguished. Deep inside, Seraph held onto the quiet belief that perhaps—just perhaps—Orion had not truly forgotten her after all.

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