The silver mage settled into a chair, ordering a modest meal.

Meanwhile, Edric sat nearby, his gaze subtly following her every move. As he observed, the restaurant staff began delivering the dishes he had ordered. And what a sight it was—eighty different dishes, two of each! It was an absurd amount, impossible to go unnoticed.

As more and more plates arrived, the sheer quantity overwhelmed his table. Soon, the staff had to bring another table to accommodate the feast… then another… and another; half the restaurant had turned their heads, murmuring among themselves in shock.

Edric himself hardly looked the part of a glutton. His frame was neither bulky like a knight’s nor bloated with excess weight. He had deliberately kept himself lean, appearing no more than a fit young man. And yet, here he was, consuming food like a beast. It was a sight both bizarre and unsettling.

The silver mage woman, who had just received her single plate of food, cast him a puzzled glance. However, her curiosity was fleeting—she had seen all manner of peculiar people in her travels. Someone who ate an ungodly amount of food? Hardly the strangest thing she had encountered.

But as Edric continued devouring dish after dish, a suspicion took root in her mind.

A silver knight. He must be one.

No ordinary man could eat that much without bursting apart. Only silver knights, with their enhanced physiques and monstrous digestive systems, were capable of such a feat.

Still, she had no reason to involve herself. Whatever his reasons—whether he was a silver knight or just a man with an insatiable appetite—were none of her concern.

With that thought, she finished her meal, paid her bill, and left without another glance.

…

"She's leaving?"

Edric rose from his seat, his gaze following the silver mage as she exited the settlement.

By now, he had sampled every dish before him, though nearly half of the feast remained untouched. It didn’t matter if he left before devouring everything—his curiosity had been satisfied.

Perhaps he would become a regular here.

Even if he one day ascended to the legendary realm, where food was no longer a necessity, he would likely still return. After all, eating was more than just sustenance—it was a pleasure, one he had no intention of giving up.

With that thought, he stepped away from the towering tables of food and followed after the silver mage.

…

The woman moved swiftly through the streets, heading toward the heart of the city—toward Kaelith’s office.

Does she know Kaelith? Edric wondered, keeping his distance as he followed her through the bustling avenues.

She walked with purpose, not hesitating even once, until she arrived at the marquis’s office where Kaelith resided. She was granted entry after a brief exchange with one of the guards.

Interesting.

Edric smirked. "Let’s see what they’re talking about."

His hearing was far beyond that of an ordinary man, sharpened by his golden knight body and skills. Without ever stepping foot inside, he could hear everything spoken within those walls as clearly as if he were standing in the room himself.

…

Kaelith rose from his seat as the guard delivered the news.

“The mage finally arrived?”

It had been so long that he had nearly forgotten about her.

Months ago, his father—whose health had been steadily deteriorating—had reached out to a secretive mage organization, offering them a great sum of silver in exchange for a healer. Yet the mage never came, leading them to believe they had been deceived.

As a dutiful son, of course, I want my father to recover… Kaelith clenched his fists. But if he does, I’ll lose my power.

He was caught in a dilemma. His father had always favored Valdrin, his late brother, over him. Perhaps now, with Valdrin gone, the old man would finally acknowledge him? Maybe, just maybe, this was his chance.

Still, the thought of denying the mage’s treatment never even crossed his mind. Letting his own father die for the sake of power was an act too vile. No matter how much his father had overlooked him, he didn’t deserve death.

As he wrestled with his thoughts, the door creaked open, and the mage stepped inside, her steps light but deliberate.

"Greetings, Lord Kaelith. You must be Rhaegor’s second surviving son," she said, her tone calm and measured.

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Surviving son. The choice of words was deliberate. Most of Rhaegor’s sons had perished after failing to ascend to the rank of Silver Knight.

"Yes, and may I ask your honored name?" Kaelith replied, carefully choosing his words.

"Call me Renata," she answered simply.

"Master Renata, please, have a seat." Kaelith gestured toward one of the chairs.

From what he knew, Renata was a 'great' rank mage, equal to great knights. As a Silver Knight, his rank was higher than hers, and while mages commanded respect, there was no reason for him to fear her.

But Renata merely shook her head. "I must politely decline. According to my schedule, I will be departing the day after tomorrow. If possible, I would like to see Lord Rhaegor immediately and assess whether I can help."

Kaelith’s smile stiffened. He had hoped to establish a long-term relationship with her and her organization, yet she seemed uninterested in lingering.

“…Of course. Please, follow me," he said, masking his disappointment as he led the way.

…

Outside the office, Edric pieced together the situation.

So, does Marquis Rhaegor have ties to a mage organization?

A grin tugged at his lips.

...

Kaelith and Renata emerged from the office, their pace unhurried as they made their way toward Darkwind Mansion, where the ailing marquis was being cared for.

Edric trailed behind them, his steps silent.

…

To say that Rhaegor was gravely ill would be an understatement.

As a Silver Knight, he should have had several decades left to live. However, very few have ever reached their full theoretical lifespan. Rhaegor, in particular, had spent his youth on countless battlefields, fighting both for his own ambitions and in service of others. Though he had survived, he had accumulated numerous hidden injuries over the years—wounds that had festered deep within him.

For a time, his formidable physique masked the damage, but as he neared the twilight of his life, those old wounds finally began to resurface, tearing through him like vengeful specters of the past.

There was only one true solution to his predicament—advancing to the Golden Rank. Breaking through would not only extend his lifespan but also purge his body of its ailments. However, that was nothing more than a dream. Few ever reached such heights, and for Rhaegor, it was practically impossible.

The alternative was a temporary solution: alleviating his pain and healing his internal injuries so that he could at least live out his remaining years in peace. But no mortal doctor possessed the ability to mend such wounds. Only supernatural means could accomplish this—whether through healing spells, alchemical elixirs, enchanted herbs, or magical fruits.

Yet here, on Silverflower Island—a place with the magic aura so thin it barely existed—such remedies were all but extinct.

But nearly extinct did not mean entirely gone.

Years ago, in his later years, Rhaegor had encountered a woman—a mage. At the time, he had sold her a collection of rare spellbooks. It was a transaction, not a favor, but she was grateful and had left him with something invaluable: her organisation's contact information. She had told him that if he ever came across more magical tomes, she would be willing to buy them.

When the doctors finally admitted there was nothing they could do for him, Rhaegor had used that contact, sending letters—and a significant sum of money—pleading for her aid.

That woman was Renata.

Unfortunately for him, Renata had been in the middle of a critical experiment, one that, if successful, could push her to the Silver Rank. Preoccupied with her own ambitions, she had not answered his summons.

Months passed. Rhaegor’s condition deteriorated to the point where he was barely conscious. Those around him had already begun to prepare for his inevitable passing.

But fate had not abandoned him just yet.

After all this time—Renata had finally come.

…

In recent months, Darkwind Mansion had become less of a noble estate and more of a care facility for Marquis Rhaegor. Over fifty nurses and ten doctors worked tirelessly, doing everything possible to ease his suffering.

Yet, despite their best efforts, nothing truly helped. The most they could do was administer medicine to dull his pain and sustain his failing body—clinging to the faint hope that a miracle might arrive.

But no one truly believed such a miracle would come.

And yet… against all expectations, it did.

…

Renata studied the frail figure lying on the bed.

After months of consuming countless drugs, the once-mighty marquis had become little more than skin and bones.

"He’s worse than I expected," Renata sighed, her thoughts drifting to the man who had once sold her the books. The one before her now was hardly a shadow of the man he had been.

Back then, Rhaegor had been a powerful Silver Knight, while she had been little more than a fledgling mage. She had to tread carefully when dealing with him, but now the roles had completely reversed. She had ascended to Silver Mage, while the man who had once been so formidable was now weak and dying.

"Time—the ultimate eraser of reality." The words from one of the old spellbooks echoed in her mind. Looking at Rhaegor, she understood their meaning with painful clarity.

She realized, with a pang of truth, that if she didn’t continue advancing through the ranks, she too would one day find herself in the same state—frail, broken, and fading into obscurity.

"Let’s begin," Renata murmured, casting a spell. "Disease Detection."

A green light swept over Rhaegor’s body, and as Renata closed her eyes, she carefully interpreted the data that flooded her mind.

"Cancer... and... parasites?" She frowned deeply. "No wonder he’s so thin. These vile creatures are literally feeding on him."

Kaelith, who had been watching from the side, furrowed his brow. "What is cancer?"

Renata shook her head, not pausing her examination. "Don’t worry about it." She didn’t have the time to explain complex medical knowledge to him.

Most mortal doctors had no understanding of cancer, and those who contracted it often had no hope of survival. That said, Silver Knights rarely got cancer— their bodies were so strong that they could eradicate any malignant tumors before they became a problem. But for Rhaegor, though his body had once been that of a strong Silver Knight, age and his accumulated injuries had left him too weak. Now, his body was failing him in every way possible.

"Cancer is difficult to treat," Renata said, her voice steady despite the gravity of the situation. "But I believe I can at least help him live out the rest of his days in peace."

When she had been a Great Mage, Renata would have had little hope of helping a Silver Knight afflicted with such a condition. But now, as a Silver Mage herself, she had the strength to make a difference. It wouldn’t be easy, but she was determined to try.

Kaelith dropped to his knees, bowing his head in gratitude. "Please, Master Renata, heal my father!" His voice was filled with sincerity—he truly saw himself as a son who cared for his father, not as a man seeking to use his father’s illness for personal gain.

Renata looked at him with a glimmer of hidden admiration.

Without a word, she got to work.