Gasps broke out among the onlookers.

From a distance, Mr Halven, who had been watching, stiffened at the turn of events. Without another glance, he quietly slipped away, unwilling to be caught in what was to come.

Kyren, however, remained where he stood.

A faint smile ran on his lips.

"Go ahead."

In the meantime, Noah at the back tensed and moved instinctively, ready to step in—but Eric caught him by the shoulder.

"Don’t," he said quietly. "Our captain won’t be harmed. We’ve seen him in the Arena. That man is only inviting trouble upon himself."

Noah hesitated, concern still evident, but he held back, trusting Eric’s judgement.

The man with the fireball magic stepped forward, drawing in his breath as flames began to gather once more in his palm.

"You asked for it," he sneered. "You arrogant fo*l!"

The attack came.

A burst of fire surged forward. Those nearby started pulling back from the sight, but some in the distance chose to stay and watch. However, before it could hit its target, a golden barrier flashed into existence around Kyren.

’Pham!’

The flames struck it and were repelled instantly. Shouts were heard by some of those who remained.

The fireball ricocheted off the shield, hurtling sideways before plunging into a nearby horse trough. A sharp hiss followed as steam rose from the water. The flames extinguished in seconds.

The scene wasn’t over yet. Suddenly, a scream ripped through the air.

"Ah! My hand!"

The attacker staggered back, clutching his hand. His skin had turned a raw, angry red, as if burned by his own magic. He collapsed to the ground, writhing in pain.

Panic broke out among his companions as they rushed to his side.

The leader froze, shock flashing across his face.

This wasn’t expected at all. Slowly, his gaze lifted back to the captain.

The golden barrier had already faded, leaving him standing there as before—untouched.

Around them, the crowd stared in stunned silence.

Awe began to replace fear.

"Who are you?" the man demanded, his voice edged with disbelief. "What kind of magic was that?!"

"It’s none of your concern who I am," Kyren replied coolly.

The man’s eyes narrowed.

"No wonder you’re so arrogant—ignoring my warning," he sneered. "You must be a magic practitioner yourself. A sorcerer, perhaps."

Kyren gave a quiet scoff.

"You do enjoy drawing your own conclusions."

The leader’s jaw tightened, irritation flashing across his face as murmurs stirred among the onlookers.

"You think a little trick like that makes you untouchable?" he spat at the grand duke in anger. "I’ll show you how wrong you are."

His hand lifted, fingers curling as though gripping an invisible sphere. A white light began to gather within his palm, growing brighter and bigger.

Kyren remained where he stood, unmoved, his expression unchanged.

But before the attack could be unleashed—

"Enough!"

The voice cut through the scene, loud, raspy, and commanding. The crowd stirred at once, turning toward its source.

From within the gathering, an old man emerged.

He leaned on a wooden staff, his steps slow and uneven, with a slight limp noticeable in his gait. His frame appeared frail beneath a long cloak, the hood drawn low over his head—yet there was something about him that drew attention.

Not by force, but by presence. People parted instinctively, making way for him without being asked.

He moved forward, unhurried, until he stood before the gang’s leader.

Then he stopped.

"Whatever it is you think you’re doing," he said, "you would do well to stop."

"Just who do you think you are, interfering with us?" the leader hissed.

The old man did not turn at once. When he finally did, his voice came low and even.

"I said... back off, if you value your life."

For a fleeting moment, one of his eyes—faintly orange beneath the hood—flared into a deep, ominous red.

It was brief, but enough to freeze the leader.

His expression shifted at once, the arrogance draining from his face as unease crept in. His companions noticed it too. Whatever they saw in that single glance was enough to turn them pale.

Kyren and his men, standing behind the old man, did not catch it. The man’s back remained to them, his hood concealing everything.

A tense silence followed.

Then—

"...Move," the leader muttered, his voice no longer steady.

He stepped back, motioning sharply for his men to withdraw.

"Let’s get out of here."

The group began to retreat, their earlier bravado gone. But before turning away completely, the leader cast one last glare at Kyren.

"This isn’t over," he warned. "You’ll regret this. I’ll report everything to the authorities. When they come... they’ll drag you and your men away for sure."

Kyren met his gaze, grinning subtly.

"I’ll be waiting."

The men left in haste, disappearing into the crowd.

Gradually, the tension in the air eased.

Murmurs returned—quieter now, uncertain at first, then settling as the people regained their composure. Those who had stepped back slowly returned to their places.

Order began to restore itself.

Eric stepped forward at once, clapping his hands lightly.

"Back in line for those who want the treatment," he instructed. "No pushing. We’ll attend to everyone."

His steady tone helped anchor the crowd, guiding them back into formation.

Before long, the flow resumed as though the disruption had never occurred.

Kyren turned and approached the old man.

"Thank you for stepping in," he said. "I didn’t expect men like them to be so easily frightened."

The old man gave a small, knowing smile.

"I’m merely a f*olish old man," he said lightly. "I’ve lived long enough to know a few guards here and there. So, I gave them a quiet warning. That was all. It seems that was enough."

"Even so, you managed to drive them off," the grand duke replied. "That is no small thing."

He could have dealt with the men himself, but the place and the situation weren’t a good fit. A fight would have put the people at risk. The earlier fireball had been a close call.

In that regard, the old man’s intervention had been timely.

"Nothing worth boasting about," the old man said with a faint smile. Then his gaze lingered on Kyren. "But you, Captain Ky... now you are interesting. An outsider... offering free treatment to those in need," he continued. "How benevolent."

Kyren’s eyes narrowed slightly.

"You know my name."

The old man chuckled softly.

"Word travels quickly when something disrupts the usual order," he said. "The Blue Mantle Company has become quite the topic of discussion. I came for the celebration tonight... and thought I might see this place for myself."

His orange eyes moved slowly, taking Kyren in from head to toe, until they paused at the ring on his finger.

Recognition dawned on him. His gaze sharpened, the faintest widening revealed a brief surprise before he quickly masked it.

For a brief moment, it seemed as though a flood of questions rose to his lips—his mouth parting slightly, the words almost spilling forth, but they did not come.

He held them back as his composure returned.

"Indeed..." he said at last, his tone measured, "it is as interesting as they say."

"We’re here to help," Kyren said calmly. "Nothing more."

His gaze then dropped to the old man’s figure. Something about his posture caught his attention.

"Your leg... it seems to require treatment."

"Ah, this?" The old man gave a light chuckle, tapping his leg gently with his staff. "This is an old injury. It’s beyond fixing now. Not even magic could mend it. I’ve grown used to living like this."

"Magic has its limits," Kyren replied calmly. "That doesn’t make it any less valuable. But, there are other good alternatives, too."

He paused, then added, "If you’re willing, I can have my men attend to you."

The old man shook his head, his smile gentle.

"I appreciate the offer," he said, "but I’ll have to decline. I’ve made peace with it."

"Very well," Kyren said with a nod. "I won’t press the matter. If you ever change your mind, you’re welcome to return."

"Of course. My thanks."

The old man inclined his head politely. "I shall take my leave, then."

He turned, but just before stepping away, he cast Kyren one last glance, his eyes carrying a hint of curiosity.

"I hope we’ll meet again... properly, next time."

Kyren’s gaze lingered on him, faintly puzzled by the choice of words.

Properly? What did that even mean, anyway?

Before he could respond, the old man had already turned, his figure slowly disappearing into the crowd.

Near the entrance, Eric and Noah had resumed their seats at the registration table, while Luke continued assigning patients into their respective categories.

Then, suddenly, Luke paused. His nose twitched slightly.

"...Do you smell that?"

The others instinctively drew in a breath.

A rich, savoury aroma drifted through the air—warm, fragrant, and undeniably enticing.

Noah’s eyes lit up at once.

"D*mn... who’s cooking?" he groaned. "That smells incredible. My stomach’s already protesting."

Eric let out a quiet breath, clearly affected as well, while Noah closed his eyes briefly, savouring the scent.

But Luke’s expression shifted. His brows drew together.

"...I know this smell," he muttered. "But... how—?"

Before the thought could settle, the red-haired knight suddenly bolted forward, leaving the others blinking in confusion.

"Hey! Did the smell of food knock your head or something? Are you just going to leave us here?" Eric called after him, but Luke had already vanished into the crowd.

"That idi*t," the second-in-command knight muttered, clicking his tongue. "The moment food’s involved, he forgets everything. If he comes back empty-handed, I’ll beat some sense into him."

Noah scoffed, casting a dark glance towards the now-empty path Luke had taken, still baffled by his sudden departure.

***

Luke’s sprint came to an abrupt halt before a small tavern, tucked just behind the Healer’s House.

It sat quietly at the edge of a narrow lane, shaded by a large tree that spread its branches over the front yard.

One could easily miss it as the place lay removed from the bustle of the port city, almost deliberately so.

But the scent—it was unmistakable here.

Rich, warm, and deeply familiar, the fragrance drifted from within, stronger than before.

Luke drew in a breath, steadying himself as he fixed his gaze on the wooden door.

There was no doubt.

"Fish chowder... the same recipe Lady Raychard used," he murmured under his breath. "There’s no mistake."

His heart began to pound.

Then, with a firm stride, he stepped forward and knocked.

’Bang! Bang! Bang!’

He waited, breath held, pulse racing.

A moment passed, then the door creaked open. 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

A woman stood at the threshold.

"Yes?"