Jean walked down the stone pathways, with wooden shelves lining both sides of the corridor.

Although often dismissed as merely a gathering of courtesans, the pavilion housed an extensive collection of history and various mystical arts.

It was from them that she had learned both Draconis and High Astra. While she only remembered a few words, such as "Hanek," the knowledge was available to her should she wish to delve deeper. Of course, that didn’t grant her access to all of them; her level of insight was controlled by the decree of a Colored Mistress.

She was guided by a hunched Lost, his body trembling with anticipation and delight. He was a wiry, spindly man dressed in a deep-red hooded robe, his skin stretched so taut over his bones that it was almost indistinguishable from his skeleton. He was one of the oldest surviving Losts in the pavilion.

At present, Jean was being led to a particular tome containing insights about the third millennium. Having heard much from the Mistress, Jean felt a pressing need to understand more—especially to discern any connection the boy might have to the being known as "Black." Though she did not entirely dismiss the idea that the boy’s vortex might have caused these events, she felt wary about that possibility. Based on the Mistress’s descriptions of Black, Jean suspected the entity might be a deity or something nearly as powerful.

If that were true, any shred of information could be priceless. She was not Antigonus, after all.

Not that she frequented the pavilion library often—she was never much inclined toward the scholarly arts, even though such pursuits were typically seen as the domain of women. Oddly enough, while women tended to become esteemed scholars in the empire, men pursued grander ambitions: amassing power and waging ceaseless crusades against other dominions.

Some were even tasked with locating the lost eastern continent. And yet, despite years of such wars, they had failed to secure control over a single Domination. Meanwhile, the influence of the Tau Dynasty in the east continued to grow.

She sighed, following the Lost as he guided her around a corner. She was never one to care about such things.

The pavilion’s library lay deep within the hill. Like the rest of the pavilion, it was carved into the earth.

It resembled a towering structure segmented into seven floors, each with unique balconies. The library rose impressively, with knowledge becoming increasingly complex on the upper levels. It was one of the most fortified places within the pavilion; only a Vixen or a specially permitted Lost could even locate it. There was no chance of anyone stumbling into it by accident, as it used High Astra to distort the senses.

They reached the third floor, which contained knowledge reserved for special classes. Since she was not of that status, she required the Mistress’s permission to gain access.

The Lost led her into the stairwell that spiraled upward to the topmost floor. Each floor was connected to the staircase by an iron platform, and many other Vixens were being escorted along those platforms by specially assigned red hooded Losts.

As Jean climbed the stone steps, she couldn’t help but marvel at the library’s grandeur. Eternal lamps cast a warm, reddish-orange glow over the stone walls and the red-haired Vixens. The air was thick, and there was an ever-present intoxicating aroma permeating everything and everywhere.

Pleasure and the Pleasure Pavilion… the two seemed inseparable.

It didn’t take long before she was led into a high-ceilinged hall, lined with wooden shelves on both sides, as countless special-class Vixens moved in and out of the space. She dismissed the Lost, proceeding alone into the library. She had never been fond of books, and even now, the idea of doing research made her cringe. Sighing, she passed by several occupied Vixens—their collective red hair making them look like reflections of each other.

There’s truly no individuality in the Pavilion, she mused with a shrug.

As she walked through one of the many shelved aisles, her eyes settled on rows of books in various sizes, colors, and bindings. She was currently in the history section, scanning volumes that covered the first millennium through the current fifth. Although she could have read these, it would have been pointless, as they likely held only information she already knew—like the Annihilation Era, when the demons vowed to exterminate humanity.

She shook her head, pushing away unnecessary thoughts. In truth, her reason for being here wasn’t purely academic; she needed a distraction from thoughts of… Klaus… and what she had done to him.

I'm not wrong… He's a venture. She exhaled.

Pausing, her gaze landed on a book nestled mid-row: The Secrets of the Mad King, by Rugel. Who’s that?

Jean was momentarily stunned; the name was masculine, not feminine. It was strange, as the presence of a man’s name in the Pavilion felt oddly out of place.

Opening the book, she frowned at the first line.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Damn, I didn’t think anyone would actually read this... Oh well, you’re a very lucky guy, or girl, or maybe neither? Anyway, enjoy.”

She stared at the lines of black ink for a moment. Is this real? Why is such a strange book here in the Pavilion library? There’s no way he’s a scholar. Jean shook her head, disappointed, and was about to return it to the shelf when a familiar voice startled her from behind.

“Jean?”

She turned, catching sight of the speaker. The woman was of an advanced age, her long red hair cascading down her back, with deep, glass-like black eyes. She wore a simple red dress with short, sheer sleeves. Despite her age, she had few wrinkles and still radiated a sensual energy. A vibrant, motherly warmth surrounded her, perhaps due to the Mother’s influence.

“Madam Solane.” Jean’s eyes lit up with excitement. How could she not? The woman before her was her savior—the one who had rescued her from the spider pits.

“Mother bless you,” Solane said with a warm smile. “When did you return?”

Jean flushed. She had been back for some time yet had completely forgotten to visit her savior. Yes, the faction had saved her, but it was this woman who had made it possible. Without her, Jean would likely have perished once the ventures lost interest.

Klaus.

“I returned quite some time ago,” Jean said.

Solane tilted her head. “Really?” she asked. “Have I become so irrelevant that you didn’t even think to visit me?”

“No, no, no!” Jean raised her hands defensively. “It wasn’t that. I’ve just… been busy, that’s all.”

“Busy?”

“Yes.” Jean lowered her arms, clutching the sides of her dress. “I’m busy with something… something the Mother needs me to do.”

“Something the Mother requires?” Solane smiled knowingly. “Does it have anything to do with that boy?”

Jean was taken aback. “How… how did you know?”

Solane’s smile widened. “I may be old, but many of the Colored Ones still trust me enough to share these things in passing.”

As expected from someone who declined the role of a Colored, Jean thought admiringly. “So, what do you think?”

Solane fell silent for a moment, then turned to the shelves. “That boy is trouble, that’s for certain,” she said. “I often wonder why the Ministries haven’t eliminated him yet. With their Paragon Engines, they should have detected him by now.”

“Paragon Engines?” Jean raised an eyebrow. She had never heard of such things before. Was this knowledge restricted to those beyond the special class?

There was a pause as Solane studied her. Jean felt a touch uncomfortable under her gaze. It wasn’t fear; it was more like the feeling a child experiences when their mother watches them intently.

Was I wrong to ask that?

“It’s not something you should concern yourself with,” Solane finally said. “But if your curiosity gets the better of you, the entire Ministry would be all too eager to hunt you down.”

“With bounty hunters?” Jean blurted out.

“You’d be lucky if that’s all they sent.” Solane’s gaze drifted back to the books.

Too dangerous even to speak of to others. A shiver ran down Jean’s spine. She realized that the knowledge she possessed was but a fraction of the secrets the world truly held. For someone like her, who had little interest in knowledge, the appeal was limited, unlike for those who reveled in such mysteries. Maybe I should read more.

“Anyway, what are you doing here?” Solane asked. “I never took you for a reader.”

I’m not. Jean thought. “I need to learn more about the Solitude Epoch and the Third Millennium—specifically the events of the Mad King.”

Solane smiled. “Then there’s no need for you to try reading. It’s best you listen while I explain… and in return, you share something about that boy.”

Should I tell her? Jean herself had no qualms about revealing details about the boy. However, she feared that doing so might jeopardize her mission, which was meant to remain secret. But then again, this was Madam Solane. Who could be more trustworthy?

Taking a deep breath, Jean nodded.

“Then follow me,” Solane said with a smile.

Dunn took a deep breath, steadying himself with the new chain sword. He had to balance his weight with it—feel it, lest it fail him in battle. Though, a failure might be favorable in its own way.

Red dust swirled around him, further staining his already reddened armor. He glanced at it momentarily before dismissing it. His armor fizzled into a reddish-black smoke, leaving him clad only in a black coat buttoned to the left, adorned with golden buttons, and matching black trousers. Clenching his fist to familiarize himself with the shift in weight, he took a breath and swung his blade.

Sweat splattered from his body, sizzling as it landed on the rough stone. He was close to the waning forest, training in an area where the golden trees were sparse. Even here, though, their presence cast a considerable heat onto his body.

The trees around him stood tall and resilient, with branches capable of bearing a man’s full weight in shard-armor. Oddly enough, he often thought the size of these trees was unnatural. Most of the trees in the southern dominions were smaller, except for those significantly affected by the red dust. But even those didn’t grow as large or robust as the ones in the west. It was as if the West held an otherworldly extension of Ulshur.

The Blood of the Prideful Son has its effects. He clenched his fists before gripping his sword and swinging it once more.

Each swing released a gust of wind, toppling some less deeply rooted trees and scattering a few of the nearby teachers.

He continued for a while but soon grew tired of the repetitive motion. He took an icestone from his pouch, placing it on his tongue and savoring its sweetness—a treat, perhaps, due to the syrup coating it, crafted from various ingredients...

What was it again?

The scribes had explained it to him, but he’d found himself distracted as they went on. Still, he made a mental note to thank them for the refreshment.

After a few moments of sucking on the stone, he took a deeper breath and lifted his blade, prepared to continue.

In just a few hours, the Golden Knight would lead them on the “Mission.” After the battle, they needed time to recuperate and tend to the wounded. Leaving while so many had perished—and while grief lingered—would have been unwise. Under the Chaplain’s guidance, they had stayed. Perhaps the Golden Knight’s presence had discouraged soldiers from drinking or expressing overt sorrow.

No one wanted to disgrace themselves before the personal guard of the sovereign ruler. Well, except for Adolla, who continued to seek a match against the Golden Knight.

He must have lost his mind entirely. Dunn recalled the ease with which the Knight had decimated an entire squad of giants. It was an overwhelming power—likely beyond even the special class. Maybe Desolation, or perhaps something even greater.

With such strength, they might conquer the Hazard-Class Nightmare... That is, after their mission, which, Dunn had no idea how long would take.