The candle finally burned down, plunging the room into darkness. Having just weathered an unprecedented storm and finally voiced her anxieties and dreams, Eileen now felt waves of fatigue wash over her. Her eyelids grew heavy as lead, finally closing irresistibly.

  Her sleep was restless, filled with dreams. Many were bizarre, even just strings of meaningless, grotesque images. But one dream made her heart pound involuntarily. She dreamt she owed Richard a vast amount of money, and Richard came to collect the debt every night, several times a night, yet the debt only grew larger.

  When Eileen opened her eyes, she saw the familiar ceiling. The curtains, pulled askew during last night's violent activity, weren't fully closed. Faint light streamed down from the upper part of the skylight, indicating it was already noon in the world outside Deepblue. Eileen was startled and sat up abruptly. To lessen even the slightest burden of debt, she had grown accustomed to a tense rhythm of life, never having slept in before. But as she sat up, she suddenly remembered—Richard?

  The bed was empty, and where Richard had lain, there was now a piece of paper, its style and format familiar.

  It was a payment voucher, face value thirty-one thousand six hundred gold coins, signed by Richard. After clearing all her debts, this amount was enough for Eileen to live non-extravagantly in the fringe district for three years.

  Because of the enormous number on it, the thin paper became incredibly heavy. But holding this slip of paper, capable of changing her destiny, Eileen's heart filled with emptiness and loss. Tears flowed uncontrollably, large drops rolling down her cheeks.

  At this time, a thin layer of cloud condensed over Floe Bay. Occasional beams of sunlight pierced through, illuminating the sea surface, painting the sparkling waves with fine, bright highlights. Though the sea had thawed, scattered icebergs still floated, dazzling brilliantly under the sun.

  The sky remained somewhat dark. Due to the lack of sunlight, the wind was exceptionally cold. Another strong gust swept in, lifting the hem of Richard's magic robe, pouring the chill inside, making the youth shiver.

  Richard stood by the sea, a few meters from the sheer cliff edge. Waves crashed against the rugged shore rocks one after another, occasionally throwing up huge splashes that even reached Richard's feet. The cliff was high and steep, Richard standing nearly twenty meters above the sea surface. Yet the seemingly calm sea held immense power, its occasional bursts of force enough to be thrillingly terrifying.

  Richard stood on dark reef rock, eroded by years of waves and sea wind, thus covered in deep grooves and crevices. Beside these fissures, small white flowers grew sporadically. Their name was Star Orchid, the most common plant in Floe Bay. Its tenacious vitality allowed it to grow in almost any environment. In this northern land where the temperature rarely exceeded ten degrees for most of the year, it could be seen year-round. It might be frozen in ground-level ice one night, but as soon as the ice melted slightly, it would perk up its thin stems and leaves, full of life.

  Richard strolled along the shore, occasionally bending down to pick a Star Orchid. After a moment, he held a small bouquet, the scattered white flowers gathered together, not garish, but beautiful in their purity and ordinariness. He climbed a small hill offering a wide view of the entire curve of Floe Bay, with the majestic and magnificent Deepblue in the other direction.

  The sea wind rushed towards him, carrying a thick damp coldness. The waves murmured below, their story unknown.

  Richard bent down, dug into the cold earth with his hands, creating a small pit. He placed the small bouquet of white flowers inside and gently covered it with soil.

  When Richard stood up again, he suddenly felt much lighter. Facing the sea wind, he took a deep breath of the cold air, feeling the rich, briny scent reveal the unique grandeur and magnificence of Floe Bay. He turned and walked away, his dark magic robe whipping in the wind.

  Buried atop that hill were the rawness and innocence of his youth, and a dream that was once beautiful.

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  Returning to Deepblue, Richard went back to his familiar places, once again beginning the suffocating schedule that stunned onlookers. Eileen, Minnie, Blood Parrot, and Stevenson—when all the clues were put together, the truth of the matter was clamoring to be revealed. Richard believed that what he could see, Helen Su and her Archmages could certainly see as well. As for how to handle it, Richard didn't intend to actively inquire. He was even prepared to forget everything that had happened and throw himself wholeheartedly into exploring the world of magic.

  Richard now understood that against certain opponents, like Stevenson and Minnie, every step forward he took was a heavy blow to them, because the path to becoming a Construct Master was a narrow bridge allowing only one to pass. This was a war from which neither could retreat.

  In many situations, strength is relative; the stronger one becomes, the relatively weaker their opponents appear. And Richard now understood that his current pace of progress in various fields of magic would only make those with intentions feel suffocated and desperate.

  A blood-stained conspiracy thus quietly vanished into the dust of history, as if nothing had ever happened. Not even a whisper of rumor about that night surfaced in Deepblue. The Legendary Mage's disciple had not been assassinated; the Enforcement Mage corps had not been dispatched to maintain order. No one noticed the magic scorch marks deep in the alley; perhaps they were just another piece of graffiti by bored wanderers.

  Of course, the conspiracy couldn't truly have no consequences. The consequences were severe, just confined to a small group of involved individuals. As for the usually well-informed information brokers, they knew very well which news could be sold for money and which was a death talisman. Regarding certain matters, if the great figures of Deepblue hadn't reached a definitive conclusion, then those matters simply didn't exist, and naturally wouldn't appear on their intelligence lists.

  From the night Blood Parrot disappeared, Stevenson became extremely anxious. Richard's schedule was as precise as an alchemical machine. All details of the trap were perfectly arranged. If the fish didn't bite the hook, several backup plans would be immediately activated.

  And initially, everything proceeded smoothly. All people and events followed the script, until the predetermined time when Blood Parrot sent back the signal that the target had entered the assassination zone.

  What followed was the part of Stevenson's plan he was most proud of. Blood Parrot's side had initially objected. The assassination plan they received was indeed meticulous, fully utilizing the terrain and completely eliminating the possibility of anyone accidentally entering the area and interfering. However, it required 7 people to execute. The target was just a level three rookie mage; they were all assassins above level ten, capable of taking him down even one-on-one. Besides the high cost of deploying too many people, sneaking so many assassins into Deepblue unnoticed in a very short time was also troublesome. But in the end, Blood Parrot's side accepted; after all, the one paying the money calls the shots.

  According to Blood Parrot's style of striking decisively, combined with this assassination plan deemed overly meticulous, even with extreme caution, three minutes should have been sufficient.

  Three minutes—barely enough time to casually sip a glass of red wine. So Stevenson poured himself a shallow glass of aged, strong malt liquor, sat by the window, admiring Floe Bay under the night sky while sipping slowly. He had to admit, despite their numerous sins and notorious reputation, the Polar Gray Dwarves brewed exceptional liquor. And Stevenson was currently very patient, very confident. Against an opponent like Richard, no amount of caution was excessive. Blood Parrot was just an assassin; how could she understand the principle of using full strength even when a lion hunts a rabbit?

  The glass of malt liquor was quickly emptied, but no follow-up news arrived.

  Stevenson frowned slightly but remained seated steadily. Minnie poured him a second glass, this time nearly half full.

  The potency of Gray Dwarf strong malt liquor surpassed even human brandy; half a glass could knock out an ordinary person with average tolerance. So Stevenson drank slowly. Blood Parrot was a cautious person; she must be meticulously cleaning the scene, leaving not a single trace. This was no small matter. If things were exposed, even Stevenson couldn't imagine how to resolve it.

  Rely on family and father? Clearly impossible. The Legendary Mage had already proven through action that she didn't fear covert magical warfare, and Duke Solam's subsequent unexpectedly large donation indirectly revealed the outcome of that legendary battle.

  However, if successful, and without leaving any evidence, the situation would be completely different. No one would question a genius with talent for Construct Mastery over a dead person. As for the Akmond family, his own family would naturally handle them. Eliminating one of their rising stars should earn him significant merit in the family council, right?

  Blood Parrot had brought 6 people in total. Killing a rookie mage, with 6 people handling the aftermath—no matter how meticulous and careful, ten minutes should be enough. Ten minutes—precisely the time to savor half a glass of strong liquor.