Rhaegor opened his eyes.

"Father?" Kaelith's voice trembled with worry.

Marquis Darkwind, his body still frail and thin, slowly turned his head. His weak eyes locked onto Kaelith as he rasped, "Where is Valdrin?"

Kaelith sighed in his heart, his gaze darkening. "Father… unfortunately, my brother… he did not survive."

"Died?" Marquis Darkwind's eyes widened in shock.

Summoning what little strength he had, he struggled to sit up. After a few moments of effort, he managed it. His weary gaze fixed on Kaelith as he pressed, "What happened? What is going on here? Kaelith… why are you here? Weren’t you leading the rebel forces?"

"Father, you’ve been unconscious for months! A lot has happened since then," Kaelith said, his voice laced with frustration and sorrow.

A tired sigh broke the tense atmosphere.

"Alright, it seems Marquis Rhaegor is stable. I will take my leave," said Renata, her tone edged with exhaustion. She had been working tirelessly for hours. Even as a Silver Mage, with a stamina far surpassing ordinary people, the toll was evident in her weary posture.

Rhaegor's tired eyes flickered with recognition. "You… Are you Renata? You've finally arrived?"

His mind, though still sluggish, pulled forth an old memory—the young mage who had once purchased a few magic books from him at a generous price, many years ago.

Like most high-ranking nobles, the Darkwind family possessed a collection of magic books. They were far from an exception. Their lineage, shared with the Windwalker family, traced back to a powerful Silver Mage. Though the Windwalkers had inherited the majority of those tomes, many had remained in the hands of the Darkwind family.

Magic spellbooks were treasures beyond compare. Yet, in truth, they were seldom of any practical use. Mage talent was so rare that entire bloodlines could go centuries without producing a single spellcaster.

Selling such invaluable tomes was an act few would dare consider. After all, should the family ever birth a mage in the future, what shame it would be to have no knowledge left for them to inherit.

Furthermore, most magic books were not easily replicated—ordinary scribes lacked the means to copy their pages perfectly. Thus, selling mere copies was rarely an option.

But back then, Rhaegor had not parted with those books for mere wealth. No, he had done so to forge a connection with a promising mage.

Mages were a rarity on Silver Flower Island. Neither silver nor gold alone could guarantee their loyalty—one needed relationships, influence, and well-placed investments. Rhaegor had chosen to gamble on Renata.

"I apologize for my late arrival. I was… preoccupied."

Lifting his hands, Rhaegor gazed at his palms. A slow smile stretched across his lips. Though his body remained frail, the pain that had tormented him was gone.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he felt whole. He felt… alive.

"Thank you!" Marquis Rhaegor looked at Renata, his eyes filled with deep gratitude.

With the parasites, diseases, and internal injuries eradicated, his natural physique as a Silver Knight was already beginning its recovery. His weakness would soon fade the moment he resumed eating properly.

For the rest of his days, he would finally know peace. If fortune favored him, he might even live for decades more. Of course, he would never again step onto the battlefield as he had in his youth, but to live in good health was more than he could have ever asked for.

Renata smiled.

She had not originally set out to become a medical mage—her path had been decided the day she purchased those books from Marquis Darkwind. At the time, she had merely been an eager student, unaware of the path she was stepping onto. But over the years, healing had become more than just a profession.

It had become her passion.

And this—this very moment—was what she loved most.

The look of pure gratitude in the eyes of someone she had saved. The relief. The joy of having their suffering lifted.

"Marquis Darkwind, I should be the one thanking you," she said with a warm smile. "If it weren’t for those books, I never would have become who I am today."

Truthfully, with her legendary mage talent, she would have undoubtedly been taken in by one of the mage circles regardless. But without those books, she would have never walked the path of healing.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

She would have become a battle mage—like most others.

In the grand scheme of things, there was no real difference between a battle mage and a medical mage. Their bodies, their mana, their power—it was all the same. The true distinction lay in their focus.

Renata had dedicated all her time to the study of healing magic. She had little experience in combat, rarely—if ever—practicing offensive spells. If she were to face another mage of equal rank who specialized in battle magic, her chances of victory would be slim.

And yet, she had no regrets.

Even if one set aside matters of morality and looked at things purely from a pragmatic standpoint, being a medical mage was a far better path.

As a 'Great' Rank medical mage, she was already in high demand. Even the Bloodstone Family, the royal lineage of this kingdom, maintained a cordial relationship with her. After all, who wouldn’t want a talented healer as an ally?

But after breaking through to Silver Rank, her value had soared to an entirely new level.

Now, even the king himself treated her with kindness. The great noble houses vied for her favor, eager to earn her goodwill.

Because in the end, everyone ages.

And when their strength begins to fade, when time comes to claim its due, they all seek the same thing—someone like her to prolong their days.

"Thank you, Master Renata!" Kaelith bowed deeply in gratitude.

Renata gave a small nod before turning to leave the room.

As the door shut behind her, Rhaegor exhaled heavily and turned to his son. "Kaelith, tell me everything. What happened while I was unconscious?"

Kaelith took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Very well, Father. I’ll start from the beginning."

He spared no details.

Not even the matter of the mysterious Golden Knight.

Now that his father had regained consciousness, as the Marquis of House Darkwind, he had to know the truth.

Even though Kaelith now held all the power, and even though it would have been easy to suppress his father and keep his position, he had no intention of doing so.

He was a son before he was a ruler.

The title of Marquis of Darkwind rightfully belonged to his father, and Kaelith would not usurp it for personal gain.

In truth, the only reason he had joined the rebel forces in the first place had been because of Valdrin. But now that Valdrin was dead, there was no one else who could inherit the marquis title besides himself.

From a purely rational perspective, he was already the rightful heir—the undisputed successor. There were no rivals.

There was no reason to taint his own legitimacy by seizing power through force.

...

For the next half-hour, Kaelith spoke, recounting everything that had transpired.

Rhaegor listened intently, his expression shifting from shock to sorrow, from rage to deep contemplation.

Then, at last, he spoke.

"That mysterious Golden Knight… he was the one who killed my Valdrin?"

His voice trembled with barely contained fury. Though he had always loved all his children, Valdrin had been his favorite—the son he had cherished most.

Kaelith nodded solemnly. "That is the truth, Father."

Rhaegor’s fingers clenched into fists. His jaw tightened, his breath heavy with anger.

"I have lived my life without ever once laying eyes upon a single Golden Knight—yet, in the span of just a few short months, not only has Oscar broken through, but another unknown Golden Knight has appeared from nowhere?"

His mind swirled with questions.

He had his suspicions. His own theories.

One in particular stood out—what if the mysterious Golden Knight and Marquis Stonefist were one and the same?

It was too great a coincidence.

And Rhaegor Darkwind did not believe in coincidences.

After all, it was unbelievable that two Golden Knights would willingly remain in this desolate part of Silver Flower Island—a land long dismissed as the most barren and insignificant region.

For centuries, it had been overlooked. Neither the Golden Knights nor the Ducal families had ever paid it any attention.

And yet, now—two had emerged.

"It is indeed strange, Father," Kaelith admitted, his expression grave. "But it's the truth. I can confirm without a doubt—the mysterious Golden Knight is far stronger than me! He is definitely beyond Silver Rank!"

Rhaegor fell silent, deep in thought. There were too many unanswered questions, too many shifting pieces. But now was not the time to dwell on them.

Setting aside his worries and suspicions, he exhaled and forced a small smile.

"My son, Kaelith—bring me food. A lot of it. I’ll think on all of this once my stomach is full!"

Kaelith looked at his father’s frail body, his once-mighty frame reduced by illness and starvation. Without hesitation, he nodded.

"I’ll bring you a proper meal," he promised.

Not trusting anyone else with the task, he left to personally prepare his father’s first true feast in a long, long time.

...

"Interesting."

Edric’s lips curled into a slight smirk as he leaned against the shadowed wall, his extraordinary senses having caught every word spoken inside the room.

He had listened. And now, he was certain of one thing—

He needed to be very, very careful around Renata.

Silver Mages were rare enough on Silver Flower Island, but a Silver Mage specializing in healing? That was virtually unheard of. In fact, she might very well be the only one of her kind in the entire region.

Even as a Golden Rank mage, Edric wasn’t entirely confident he could have treated Rhaegor’s wounds as skillfully as she had.

Her work had been… flawless.

Delicate. Precise. Far beyond anything someone with "average" talent—someone like himself—could hope to replicate.

Of course, with his Golden-level mana, he could have brute-forced the healing process. A single high-rank spell, unleashed with raw power, could have forcefully repaired Rhaegor’s body in an instant.

But that was the difference.

Renata’s method was controlled. Refined. Masterful.

"She’s connected to something bigger," Edric thought, his sharp mind racing.

A mage of her caliber couldn’t possibly exist in isolation.

She had to be tied to a mage organization—perhaps even the Bloodstone Family itself. The royal family would never let someone of her talent roam free without keeping a close watch.

Which meant…

Touching her was too risky.

Edric let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head.

It wasn’t worth it.

His original plan had been simple—capture her, steal her books, and pry whatever information he could about the mage organizations.

But after everything he had seen and heard…

He abandoned the idea.

He didn’t need the risk.

In three years at most, he would break through to Legendary Rank. That was already set in stone.

There was no reason to jeopardize his future by provoking the royal family.

Edric turned on his heel and vanished into the night.