Chapter 115: Beneath the Petals
The morning air was sweet, filled with the faint aroma of blooming flowers wafting through the streets of Reinhart. It was the Day of the Flower Dance, a cherished holiday steeped in the town’s history. From young to old, everyone who resided in Reinhart knew of the legend of the Flower Princess, and believed they were were under her protection to this day. To them Reinhart was a blessed land bound to prosper, and to Abel they werent wrong.
From his villa, Abel could see the citizens already bustling about. Each carried a basket overflowing with vibrant petals, joyfully sprinkling them along the cobblestone streets. Their chatter and laughter created a symphony of celebration. For the townsfolk, this was a day of unity, color, and tradition—but for Abel, the undercurrent of magic he felt turned the celebration into something far more intriguing.
Abel descended the steps of his Starry Villa, his expression thoughtful as his housekeeper approached with a small, hand-woven basket of fresh blossoms.
“Would you like to join the tradition, sir?” the housekeeper asked with a warm smile, holding the basket out.
Abel hesitated. “No need,” he said at first, but then, reconsidering the attention his lack of participation might draw, he added, “On second thought, I’ll take it. Thank you.”
The housekeeper nodded, pleased. “Enjoy the festivities, sir.”
Abel left his villa, blending into the cheerful streets of Fifth Street. Around him, colorful petals fluttered through the air, caught in a gentle breeze. People greeted one another warmly, exchanging flowers and stories. Children ran ahead of their families, laughing as they threw fistfuls of petals into the air. The lively atmosphere contrasted with the faint but noticeable pulse of mana that Abel had sensed since waking.
His eyes narrowed. There was a peculiar energy threading its way through the streets, faint but deliberate. He allowed his senses to guide him as he walked, weaving inconspicuously through the crowd. His ability to sense mana has been a huge help when dealing with mundane activities as they lacked such skill.
The pull grew stronger, drawing him toward the northeast. As he moved away from the main festivities, the lively sounds of the celebration began to fade, replaced by the rustling of leaves and the soft chirping of birds. He arrived at a flower field, its vibrant blooms stretching endlessly before him. Some people rushed here and there picking their last-minute batch of flower petals before rushing back into town to rejoin the celebration. Here, the mana seemed to dissipate, fading into the stillness of the field.
Abel crouched, running his fingers over the petals. There was no sign of any magical source, but the sensation that something was hidden lingered. Was this field somehow tied to the town’s history—or the rumored Flower Princess? The mystery deepened and Abel walked around the fields for a moment before shaking his head with a sigh, for now, Abel filed the information away. He turned and began the trek back to town, his thoughts heavy with unanswered questions.
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Back in the heart of the festivities, Abel encountered Jet and Elliot near the town square. Elliot, ever the charismatic mayor, was shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with the citizens. He himself held a basket filled with different petals.
“Abel!” Jet greeted warmly, motioning him over. “Enjoying the Flower Dance?”
“It’s… eventful,” Abel replied with a faint smile. “I can see why it’s so important to the town.”
Abel stood near the duo as they exchanged formalities. The morning air was crisp but tense, and they watched townsfolk scattered around enjoying the Flower Dance celebration.
Suddenly, heavy footsteps echoed through the cobbled street. A tall, imposing man with striking blonde hair and piercing green eyes strode toward them, his fine coat trailing behind him like a king surveying his domain. His presence radiated entitlement, flanked by two guards with matching, sharp attire.
“Murman,” Elliot greeted stiffly, his voice polite but tight. "A pleasure."
Ike barely spared Elliot a glance, his piercing gaze locking onto Abel like a hawk spotting prey. His lips twisted into a thin, calculating smile.
“You must be the... new visitor," he drawled, letting the last word hang with condescension. "Ike Murman, head of the Murman family.” His voice dripped with arrogance, each syllable weighed down with superiority.
“Abel,” came the curt reply. His tone was cold, unreadable.
Ike’s smirk widened as if unimpressed by Abel’s lack of formality. Turning back to Elliot, his expression soured instantly. “My son Hanz is missing,” he snapped, venom lacing his words. “I warned you about keeping this town in order, yet here we are—again.”
Elliot’s jaw clenched, struggling to maintain his composure. “I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Murman. I suggest you report his disappearance to Law Enforcement, as there isn’t much I can do personally.”
Ike sneered, stepping dangerously close. “Don’t think I haven’t. The fact that you’re still standing here playing town mayor instead of ensuring this doesn’t happen speaks volumes about your... competence.” His voice lowered to a threatening hiss. “You’re fortunate today is a sacred day, or I’d have more to say about your inability to keep our precious little town from falling apart.”
With a dismissive wave, he turned sharply, his coat swirling dramatically behind him as his guards followed in perfect step.
Abel watched Ike leave, keeping in mind the encounter. There was far more to the Murman family than met the eye. After exchanging brief farewells with Jet and Elliot, he quietly slipped away
As he approached the Starry Villa, the quiet atmosphere provided a stark contrast to the lively streets he had left behind. His staff was preparing to depart for the day, eager to join the festivities.
“Enjoy the Flower Dance,” Abel said, nodding at them as they left.
“Thank you, sir!” one of the cooks replied cheerfully. “We’ll make sure to celebrate enough for all of us.”
With the villa empty, Abel retreated to his study. He reached for his Stone Tower badge, his fingers brushing over its cool surface. Channeling a sliver of mana into it, the badge glowed faintly, its intricate dragon design seeming to come alive. Abel’s mind sharpened as he began to map out his next moves.
The Bazaar was fast approaching, and the threads of intrigue surrounding the Flower Dance and the Murman family were beginning to weave into a larger, darker tapestry. For now, he would wait and watch.