Volume 02, Chapter 83

  Verdant Haven Arcane Constabulary

  The meeting room exudes authority and tradition, its grand design steeped in elegance and history. The circular table dominating the center is carved from polished dark wood, its surface inlaid with intricate designs of mana crystals, runes, and flowing vines.

  Around the table, the walls are adorned with rich tapestries depicting key moments in Verdant Haven’s history.

  Large arched windows allow natural light streams to filter through delicate stained glass, casting multicolored patterns on the marble floor.

  Above, a grand chandelier of Aether-powered crystal spheres glows softly, illuminating the room with a golden hue.

  Seven figures sit around the circular table, each commanding attention through dignified postures and distinguished uniforms.

  All wear the standard VHAC uniform, the midnight blue fabric shimmering faintly with mana-infused threads, a subtle reminder of the magi-tech enhancements integrated into their attire.

  The VHAC insignia—a mana crystal encased in a circle of golden laurels, surrounded by a five-pointed star and an Aether gear motif—is prominently embroidered on their left chests, the mana thread glowing faintly in a rhythmic pulse.

  Their uniforms reflect both authority and practicality. The silver trims on their cuffs and collars glint faintly under the chandelier’s light, while their enchanted cloaks hang neatly over their chairs, providing ceremonial elegance and subtle magical protection.

  Each officer’s magi-tech utility belt and mana gauntlets, sleek and efficient, add a modern edge to their traditional attire.

  At the head of the table sits the Commissioner-General, a woman whose mere presence demands respect.

  Despite her youthful appearance, her reputation as an experienced and decisive leader precedes her. Her blonde hair is styled into a flawless bun, and her royal blue eyes carry an intensity that speaks of wisdom and authority.

  Her attire sets her apart—a pristine white uniform with gold trims and accents, the embodiment of justice and leadership.

  Her long royal blue cloak, intricately embroidered with the VHAC insignia in shimmering gold and silver threads, cascades behind her chair. The cloak’s edges are lined with glowing Aether filigree, catching the light with every subtle movement.

  Over her tunic, she wears a lightweight, enchanted chest plate etched with protective runes, symbolizing her dual role as a commander and a defender. A ceremonial gold circlet embedded with a softly glowing mana crystal rests on her head, signifying her leadership.

  “We are here to discuss the incident in the E?eforte Territory,” she begins, her gaze sweeping across the room, ensuring every officer is paying attention.

  The officers shift slightly, their expressions a mix of curiosity and unease. The room is charged with tension, the weight of the matter apparent in the Commissioner-General’s tone.

  One officer leans forward, his gloved hands clasped tightly on the polished table.

  “Commissioner-General Syren, the Forensics and Arcane Analysis Division has confirmed something… unexpected. Otherworldly creatures did not summon the Stargate in the E?eforte Territory.”

  Gasps and murmurs spread through the room.

  Officers exchange glances, their expressions a mix of shock and disbelief. Stargates have always been assumed to be created by otherworldly entities—beings from dimensions far removed from Sylvestria.

  This deviation from what they believed to be fundamental law sends uncertainty rippling through the meeting.

  “How can they tell?” Syren asks, her tone sharp but controlled, her piercing gaze locked on the officer.

  He straightens in his seat. “According to their reports, the magical energy detected originated entirely from Sylvestria, not beyond our world. This type of energy signature is unprecedented, meaning it could not have been predicted or detected with our current magi-tech.”

  The whispers grow louder, filling the room with tension.

  “That is impossible!” one officer exclaims, his hands trembling slightly. “Every known instance of a Stargate has been directly tied to external forces. Sylvestrian magic cannot produce such phenomena!”

  Syren’s composed exterior betrays a flicker of surprise. “How is that possible?” she presses, her fingers lightly stroking her chin in thought.

  “They do not know, ma’am,” the officer admits. “Even with assistance from the Sapphire Guild, no definitive answers have been found. The anomaly defies all established theories.”

  “What about the Society of Geniuses? Have they provided any insights?” Syren’s question cuts through the growing unease.

  The officer shakes his head, visibly uneasy. “No concrete answers from them either, Commissioner-General. However, they have put forth a disturbing theory.”

  The room seems to hold its breath as the officer continues.

  “They theorize that someone within Sylvestria has developed the knowledge and capability to open a Stargate—using Sylvestrian magic artificially.”

  A wave of shock sweeps through the officers. Whispers erupt like a storm, filled with alarm and confusion.

  “A Sylvestrian with the ability to open Stargates? That is unthinkable!” one officer hisses.

  “Such power would make them a walking catastrophe!” another mutters.

  “They must be captured immediately!” someone adds.

  The very notion of a Sylvestrian with this knowledge is an existential threat. The ability to pierce dimensions holds the potential to destabilize not just Verdant Haven but the entire Sylvestria.

  Syren raises her hand, signaling for silence. The room immediately falls quiet, with all eyes on her.

  “There can only be one answer to this,” Syren says, calm but deadly serious. “Umbrascourge.”

  The room freezes, and for a heartbeat, no one speaks. Then, like a dam breaking, a torrent of reactions follows.

  “The Umbrascourge?” one officer whispers, his face pale. “That wretched organization again…”

  “Are we saying they have recruited someone capable of this level of magic?” another asks, his voice filled with dread.

  “If this theory is true, they have grown more dangerous than we ever imagined,” someone else mutters.

  Syren ignores the cacophony, her mind working quickly. “The question now is, who within Umbrascourge holds this knowledge? And why have they chosen now to act?”

  “I know the answer!” a voice suddenly calls out, cutting through the tension like a blade.

  All heads turn toward the source, their eyes landing on the figure seated at the opposite end of the table. Gasps fill the air as they see him—a man sitting casually, as though he has been there the entire time.

  It was Maurice.

  “Who are you?!”

  Several officers shout, springing to their feet and aiming their Aether-powered firearms at him. Their movements are swift and precise, their training evident in how they surround him.

  Maurice raises both hands in mock surrender, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Woah, woah! Calm down! I’m just here to help, you know.”

  The tension in the room crackled like a live wire. Officers gripped their weapons tightly, ready to fire at a moment’s notice.

  “Stand down. Drop your weapons!” Syren’s voice cuts through the chaos, her tone sharp and unyielding.

  The officers hesitate, their confused expressions betraying their uncertainty. “But, Commissioner-General, he—”

  “He is one of the [SS]-Ranked Magicians in Sylvestria,” Syren interrupts firmly. “Maurice Réel. He is an ally of Verdant Haven, not an enemy.”

  The officers freeze, their disbelief palpable. [SS]-Ranked Magicians are legends—figures of unmatched power and influence. Their identities are shrouded in secrecy, known only to a select few. For this man to casually reveal himself as one of them is both shocking and intimidating.

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  Maurice gives a lazy wave, his grin widening. “See? No need to freak out. I’m on your side.”

  Slowly, reluctantly, the officers lower their weapons, though their wary gazes never leave him. Chairs creak as they cautiously sit back down, their movements tense and uncertain.

  Syren sits back down, her piercing eyes locking onto Maurice. “You said you have the answer,” she prompts. “Speak.”

  Maurice’s grin softens into something more serious. “Oh, I do, Commissioner-General. And trust me… you are not going to like it.”

  Syren’s eyes narrow, her posture straightening as a palpable tension fills the room. The other officers exchange uneasy glances, waiting for Maurice to elaborate.

  “The one responsible for the Stargate incident is a former member of the Society of Geniuses,” Maurice begins. “Luo Minghao.”

  The name drops like a stone into the room, leaving an audible silence. Most officers furrow their brows in confusion, while a few gasp softly.

  “Luo Minghao…?” one officer mutters. “I have heard the name before, but was he not the only one to voluntarily leave the Society of Geniuses?”

  “I thought so too,” another officer adds, their voice laced with uncertainty. “But I do not know much about him beyond that.”

  Syren’s sharp gaze never leaves Maurice. “How do you know this?” she asks, her tone a perfect mix of skepticism and authority.

  Maurice meets her eyes without flinching. “Because he has something called the Lapis de Portail étoilé,” he replies.

  A ripple of murmurs spreads as officers exchange puzzled looks. Finally, one of them speaks up. “Lapis de Portail étoilé? What is that?”

  Maurice clasps his hands together, leaning slightly forward. “It is a rare and ancient artifact—a stone capable of summoning Stargates.”

  The murmurs grow louder, the room buzzing with incredulity. “How can a stone possibly summon Stargates?” one officer asks, disbelief evident in his tone.

  Maurice nods slightly, as if anticipating the skepticism. “I am unsure of the specifics, but here is what I know. The Lapis de Portail étoilé channels Mana in a way that defies conventional understanding. Luo Minghao poured his Mana into it and performed an ancient ritual. That was when the Stargates opened. Based on my observations, it is not just the stone—it is the combination of Mana flow, ritualistic sequences, and the artifact’s properties.”

  “Ancient rituals…” one officer mutters, frowning. “That is implausible. Geologists, historians, and magitists have never recorded anything about such rituals in our records.”

  Maurice’s eyes gleam with a hint of amusement. “True. But let me ask you this—do we know everything about this world? Even with our advancements in Magi-Tech, Sylvestria is still shrouded in mystery. Our history is fragmented and incomplete. The Lapis de Portail étoilé is proof of that. It is a relic from a time we barely understand.”

  The room falls silent again, the weight of Maurice’s words settling over the officers.

  Finally, one officer breaks the silence, his voice sharp with suspicion. “How do you know all this? Are you perhaps… one of them? Are you with Umbrascourge?”

  Several officers tense, their hands instinctively hovering near their weapons.

  Maurice raises his hands again, his grin returning faintly. “Relax,” he says, his tone light but firm. “I am not with Umbrascourge. I was teaching at the Académie d’E?eforte when the Stargate incident occurred. I encountered Luo Minghao during the chaos and fought him.”

  Syren’s brow arches slightly, her tone cautious. “You fought him?”

  Maurice nods. “I did. Unfortunately, I did not manage to capture him. He was using a puppet—a magically enhanced construct that looked exactly like him. When I realized it, the real Luo Minghao was already gone.”

  “A puppet…” Syren mutters, processing the information. “To think he would go to such lengths.”

  Maurice leans back slightly, his expression darkening. “You have to understand, Luo Minghao is no ordinary magician. He is brilliant—his mind is unparalleled. But brilliance unchecked can turn dangerous. And in his case, it has.”

  “Why would someone like him do something so outrageous?” another officer asks, his voice a mix of curiosity and disgust.

  Maurice’s gaze hardens. “Because he was expelled from the Society of Geniuses.”

  The room erupts in gasps and whispers of disbelief. “Expelled?!” one officer exclaims. “I thought he left of his own volition.”

  Maurice shakes his head. “That is the official story. But the truth is, Luo Minghao’s research was deemed unethical. He delved into experiments that crossed every line—ritualistic magic, dimensional manipulation, human experimentation. The Society had no choice but to expel him.”

  “And Umbrascourge?” Syren presses.

  “They saw potential in his twisted genius and gave him the freedom to continue his work,” Maurice says, his tone grim. “They gave him resources, protection, and the tools he needed to push the boundaries of magic. The Lapis de Portail étoilé is likely something he unearthed during his time with them.”

  Syren’s jaw tightens. “So, we are dealing with a disgraced genius allied with the most dangerous organization in Sylvestria, wielding a relic we barely understand.”

  “Exactly,” Maurice says. “And if we do not act soon, the Stargate incident in E?eforte will just be the beginning.”

  Syren sighs and rises from her chair, her movements deliberate and composed. “Thank you, Monsieur Maurice, for barging into an official meeting to provide critical information.”

  Maurice flashes a grin, raising his hands as if to shrug off her words. “No problem, I am just doing my duty as a proud Verdant Haven citi—”

  “However,” Syren interrupts, her lips curling into a faint smirk, “barging into a classified Verdant Haven Arcane Constabulary meeting room is a crime. By protocol, you should be imprisoned for twenty days.”

  Maurice freezes mid-sentence, his grin faltering. “Oh—”

  “However,” she continues, “given the value of the information you have provided, you are excused.”

  Maurice exhales in relief, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “Oh, uhh, thanks. I appreciate that.”

  Syren turns her attention to the other officers. “Let us adjourn the meeting for now. Tomorrow, we will reconvene to discuss tracking down Umbrascourge and addressing the potential threat Luo Minghao and Umbrascourge pose.”

  The officers nod and begin filing out of the room, their expressions a mix of unease and determination. As the last of them exits, Syren’s gaze shifts back to Maurice.

  “Maurice,” she says, her voice taking on a softer tone, “it has… been a while.”

  Maurice raises an eyebrow but nods. “It sure has, Syrie.”

  Once the room is cleared, leaving just the two of them, Maurice stretches lazily before leaning against the table. “Gotta say, Syrie, for a second there, I thought you were serious about throwing me in prison.”

  Syren chuckles, the corner of her lips twitching upward. “Well, it is not entirely my fault you decided to barge in without notice.”

  Maurice shrugs, his grin returning. “Fair point.”

  He pushes off the table and walks toward her, his presence commanding yet oddly casual. Syren’s heart races, though she keeps her expression neutral. Her years of discipline mask the sudden flutter of nerves in her chest.

  “You know,” Maurice begins, his tone playful, “I never expected you to end up as Commissioner-General. Back in Verdant Arcanum, you were so shy. You had that… ‘cutie patootsie’ vibe going on.” He smirks. “And now look at you—stoic, commanding, and downright terrifying to some of those officers.”

  “Y-Yeah,” Syren stammers, scratching her cheek, a rare crack in her polished exterior. “I never expected it either. Honestly, I wanted to be a Stargate Raider like you and André… but then my father died.”

  Maurice’s smile fades, replaced by quiet understanding. He does not interrupt, giving her the space to continue.

  “He wanted me to follow in his footsteps, to become Commissioner-General like him,” she admits, her voice dropping. “I hated the idea. We argued about it constantly. Our relationship… was not great. And yet…” She trails off, looking down at her hands. “Here I am. I do not even know why I chose this path. Maybe to honor him, or maybe… maybe just to prove something to myself.”

  Maurice sighs softly, stepping closer. He places a comforting hand on her shoulder, and Syren flinches slightly at the unexpected contact. Her cheeks flush a faint pink, but she does not pull away.

  “Syrie,” Maurice says, his voice warm and reassuring, “your dedication made you who you are today. Back in Verdant Arcanum, everyone saw it—even if you did not. You always had that fire in you that made you stand out. Honestly, a lot of us envied it. And for what it is worth? That is the same fire that had every guy at Verdant Arcanum wanting to win you over.”

  Syren’s blush deepens, her stoic composure wavering under his words. “T-Thanks, Maurice,” she mumbles, looking away.

  Maurice smiles and removes his hand, much to her subtle disappointment. “Speaking of guys,” he teases, “has anyone been bold enough to try courting you? It would be a real tragedy if a beauty like you did not have a line of suitors waiting.”

  “W-Well…” Syren stammers, her hands fidgeting slightly. “There is someone… a childhood friend. But…” She hesitates, casting him a glance. “He is a bit… oblivious. He does not get my advances.”

  Maurice tilts his head, confusion flickering across his face. “A childhood friend? Really? Why have I never heard about this guy? Back in school, it was always just you and me—unless…”

  Syren’s eyes widen slightly, her heart skipping a beat. ‘Did he finally realize…?’ she thinks, her breath catching.

  “Oh!” Maurice snaps his fingers. “I get it now! You must have met him after you moved away when we started middle school. Makes sense I would not know him then.”

  Syren’s expression falls flat, her eyebrow twitching in frustration. ‘Oblivious as ever,’ she thinks, sighing quietly.

  “Yeah… something like that.”

  Maurice grins, entirely unaware of the storm of emotions swirling within her. “Well, whoever he is, he is a lucky guy. Hope he figures it out soon, or he will regret it.”

  Syren offers a small, bittersweet smile, her gaze lingering on Maurice for a moment longer than necessary. “Yeah… me too.”

  “Anyway, how about we grab dinner and catch up? My treat!” Maurice says, his voice casual, his signature grin lighting up his face.

  Syren blinks, slightly taken aback by the suggestion. “Dinner?” she repeats.

  “Yeah,” Maurice says, shrugging nonchalantly, his hands slipping into his pockets. “You, me, some good food, maybe a bottle of wine or two. You know, like old times. It has been years, has it not?”

  “O-Oh…” Syren stammers, caught off guard.

  Her heart skips a beat, and she feels a faint warmth creeping up her neck. Dinner with Maurice? Just the two of them? It is not the first time they have shared a meal, but this feels… different.

  Her thoughts begin to race, her calm and stoic demeanor momentarily wavering.

  ‘Could this be my chance?’ she thinks.

  After all these years, could this dinner be the moment she has been waiting for—the chance to bridge the distance that has grown between them, to reignite the bond they once shared? To make him see her as more than just "Syrie," the childhood friend he used to tease?

  It is perfect, she thinks, her mind already spinning with possibilities.

  A quiet dinner would allow her to talk to him openly, to remind him of the connection they had in the past. Maybe she could finally drop a few hints—clearer ones this time—about how she truly feels.

  Maurice has always been oblivious, she reminds herself, biting her cheek.

  If she does not take this opportunity now, who knows when the next one will come? He is always off somewhere, chasing danger and excitement, while her role as Commissioner-General keeps her tethered to Verdant Haven. This could be her one chance to show him how much he means to her—how much he always has.

  She straightens her posture, willing her heart to slow its frantic rhythm. “That sounds… nice,” she finally says, keeping her tone calm despite the butterflies dancing in her stomach.

  Maurice’s grin widens. “Great! I know this little place in the city center—amazing food, relaxed atmosphere. You’ll love it.”

  Syren nods, her mind already racing with plans. Relaxed atmosphere? Perfect. This will be casual. No pressure. I just have to be myself… but maybe I should wear something more… subtle yet striking? Something to make him notice me.

  “Sounds like a plan,” she says, offering him a small smile. “But do not think I will let you drink more wine than me.”

  Maurice laughs, his warm, carefree tone making her heart flutter. “You have got a deal, Syrie. I will even let you pick the bottle.”

  As Maurice leads the way out of the room, Syren follows, her thoughts consumed with anticipation. She has waited years for this moment—to reconnect with the boy she once knew and the man he has become. Tonight, she will make sure he sees her, truly sees her, in a way he never has before.