Bow Dolehr's temporary quarters within Selestata Castle were shrouded in silence.

  Faint moonlight seeped through the window, gently illuminating the room. The cold air of late night crept along the walls and into the room.

  The sound of wind brushing against the traditional paper-covered windows came like whispers. That sound felt strangely magical.

  "What kind of magic is supposed to be here anyway..."

  Bow's sigh dissipated in the cold air. Turning the bow in his hands, he tried to recapture the feeling he had lost.

  The wooden surface of the bow gleamed under the moonlight. The wood grain felt smooth to his fingertips, but lacked warmth.

  A faint scent of forest emanated from the wood. That bow his father had passed down to him—the heavy touch and the trembling sensation that had first wrapped around his fingertips now seemed to have vanished.

  Had the bow rejected him over time, or was it merely his imagination? Deep furrows etched across his brow.

  When he lightly plucked the bowstring with his finger, a low vibration echoed throughout the room.

  His fingertips glided smoothly along the wood grain of the bow. He examined each grain as if searching for hidden magical power.

  The smooth sensation against his fingers gave him comfort.

  The tiny imperfections on the surface, bearing traces of time, seemed to tell stories of their own.

  Even in the darkness, the deep brown wood grain faintly gleamed, catching the moonlight.

  That was when it happened.

  The sound of someone knocking on the door broke the silence. An unexpected knock disrupting the stillness.

  KNOCK KNOCK.

  Bow turned toward the door with a start. Tension showed on his face.

  Instinctively, his grip on the bow tightened.

  Breaking the silence, the door opened to reveal the Outlaw, leaning against the doorframe with one leg bent. The figure of the outlaw emerging from the shadows looked like part of the darkness itself.

  A mischievous smile appeared on his lips, shining unexpectedly bright in the darkness, contrasting with the quiet atmosphere of the night.

  His scar appeared as a strange pattern under the moonlight, seeming almost alive.

  "Hey, young man. Why are you staring at that bow so seriously?"

  Bow quickly rose from the bed. The wooden floorboards creaked as his feet touched the ground.

  Looking up at him, Bow saw the Outlaw waving in a friendly manner, smiling. His laughter was surprisingly light and cheerful.

  "Lord Serius!"

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  "Haha, Lord Serius? What's with calling a thief 'Lord'... Just call me the Outlaw like everyone else."

  Bow nodded, but still maintained his straight posture. It was a habit ingrained in him.

  Gripping the bow, he stepped forward and spoke gravely to the Outlaw. His voice carried a curious mix of respect and doubt.

  He moistened his dry lips with his tongue before continuing.

  "Actually, this bow was given to my grandfather by the elves twenty years ago. He said it was imbued with magic, but no matter how I look at it, it seems like an ordinary bow."

  Bow hesitated briefly as he handed over the bow. He felt the bow vibrate once as it left his hand, but dismissed it as his imagination.

  Upon receiving the bow, the Outlaw stood still for a moment, as if measuring its weight.

  He slowly ran his palm over the body of the bow. His touch was familiar and gentle, like handling a tool used for many years.

  His eyes gleamed in the darkness. It was as if he was trying to read the truth hidden in this bow.

  At that moment, the air in the room grew heavy.

  "A bow made from the Elder Tree."

  He murmured with wonder as he examined the bow closely.

  With each movement of his fingers along the curve of the bow, a faint blue trail of light momentarily flickered along the bow's curve, appearing and vanishing with his touch.

  Bow's eyes widened, and his lips trembled. Leaning forward, he asked:

  "How did you know that?"

  "To be precise, it's made from a branch obtained from a tree that elves consider sacred, the Elder Tree. This bow, crafted from a branch of a living tree, possesses magical power. However..."

  The Outlaw paused as he returned the bow. He looked directly into Bow's eyes.

  Those eyes held deep insight.

  His voice dropped, becoming low and profound. His voice, speaking as if revealing an ancient secret, resonated in Bow's heart.

  "This bow chooses its master. It's not just a simple weapon. Unless you share a communion with this bow, it will remain merely an ordinary bow."

  The Outlaw seemed lost in thought for a moment before speaking again.

  "In fact, all true magical implements are like that. The staff that young mage from Luminarian holds is probably the same. Strong magical power doesn't mean anyone can wield it. There needs to be a special connection between the tool and its user."

  Bow took the bow back in his hands, but still felt nothing.

  Disappointment clouded his eyes. His expression showed a mixture of expectation and frustration.

  The Outlaw grinned and suddenly reached out to grasp Bow's hand. His hand was rough but warm.

  "Get to know this bow. Keep it by your side even when you sleep, talk to it sometimes. Perhaps one day, it might answer you."

  At his words, Bow stood dazed for a moment.

  The Outlaw gave him a serene smile and left the room. His footsteps made no sound.

  After watching the Outlaw depart, Bow sat down quietly, still holding the bow.

  Left alone in the room, his expression was complex. He stared at the bow with eyes full of questions and hope.

  'Why won't you accept me? Am I lacking something?'

  A sense of anxiety rising from deep within his heart weighed on him.

  Bow muttered with a mixture of hope and frustration:

  "Get to know the bow?"

  His voice contained a mixture of questioning and inexplicable irritation, but his hands did not let go of the bow.

  ##########

  The departure ceremony was held in the grand hall of Selestata Castle.

  The ceremony venue was filled with tension, anticipation, and solemnity.

  A vast ceiling covered the high space, and beneath it, expedition members were lined up along the central corridor covered with a long red carpet.

  Along both sides of the corridor, light from hundreds of candles and lamps wrapped the venue in a mysterious atmosphere.

  The scent of candle wax and magical energy filled the hall.

  Beyond the windows, the sun was just rising. Cool morning air entered through the window gaps.

  The gravity of this moment settled in everyone's heart as a sense of mission.

  Hearts beat faster than usual, and the sound seemed to echo in their ears.

  On the platform, the Emperor's golden chair sat empty, with Regent Minister Padris, the captain of the Imperial Guard, the Guardian Commander, and the Training Commander standing beside it with solemn expressions.

  Deep wrinkles were etched into their faces. Decades of loyalty and anguish could be felt in their eyes.

  Below the platform, in the center, 100 knights of the Guardian Corps in silver armor were lined up, led by Expedition Commander Lord Petriert.

  Their disciplined appearance reflected their spirit.

  The magnificent sight of silver armor and a hundred swords simultaneously reflecting sunlight was majestic.

  The sound of armor clashing together could be heard rhythmically.

  Beside them were Mage Patricia, Elina, Hallis, the Outlaw, and Bow Dolehr, lined up in formation.

  Their diverse attire revealed their unique personalities. Only the sound of tense breathing could be faintly heard from each of their positions.

  Elina was gripping her staff tightly, never letting it go.

  She felt Professor Patricia's gaze fixed on her staff from beside her.

  Remembering the accident during last night's practice, her palms began to sweat.

  Tristan, standing in formation among the knights, was staring forward with an expressionless face.

  However, Elina did not miss the slight trembling of the scar on his cheek.

  Professor Patricia's reaction to that scar glowing with golden light still remained a question in her mind.

  All their gazes were focused on the platform.

  A heavy silence hung in the air, and time passed slowly in the wordless waiting.

  Regent Minister Padris stepped forward. His footsteps were heavy, signaling the beginning of the ceremony.

  His expression was stern, but his voice was weighty and solemn.

  That low tone, imbued with the weight of many years, echoed throughout the grand hall.

  The scroll in his hand unfurled. The scroll with golden decorations fluttered in the air.

  "Emperor Arthur William of Litria extends his gratitude for your courage in heading to Hell Fortress to subjugate the Dominator. We pray for the safe return of all of you."

  As he recited, tension flowed through the venue without a single breath being heard.

  Everyone's hearts beat rapidly in the heavy silence.

  But suddenly.

  "Emperor Arthur William of Litria enters!"

  This announcement echoed throughout.

  As the declaration resonated, the grand hall became as quiet as if breath had stopped.

  Everyone's gaze fixed simultaneously toward the platform.

  The sound of some expedition members' armor clashing grew louder, then the entire hall erupted with shocked whispers and gasps as the unexpected royal presence disrupted the ceremony.