Earlier that same day, Matilda paid a visit to Emma at her estate. Unlike her last visit, where Emma had greeted her with tea and a light-hearted conversation, this time Matilda found her in the midst of a bustling office.

Emma, who normally wore elegant dresses that highlighted her grace, was now dressed in practical work trousers and a tailored jacket, her hair was tied back as she shuffled through piles of papers. The once serene and inviting space was now overtaken by chaos—a mountain of disorganized documents scattered across her desk.

When Matilda entered the room, Emma barely noticed her presence, too absorbed in the papers before her. It wasn't until Matilda took a seat that Emma finally looked up, surprised to see her. "Oh, Matilda, I wasn't expecting you today. What brings you here?" she asked, her voice betraying her exhaustion. It was rare for either of them to find time for personal visits, with both of their schedules packed to the brim. Emma could sense, however, that Matilda's visit was driven by more than a casual check-in.

Matilda glanced at the disarray on the desk, realizing this wasn't the time for small talk. She decided to get straight to the point. "It's about your little experiment—the one you sent to my lab without much warning," Matilda began, her voice calm but firm.

Emma raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? Is that so?" she replied, settling back in her chair. She gestured for Matilda to continue, curious to hear what had unfolded.

Matilda detailed everything that had transpired in the last few days. She spoke of Mr. F's unexpected talent in alchemy, the chaos involving his new students, their dangerous escapade, and, finally, the large sack of gold coins he had casually presented.

Emma frowned as she listened, her focus shifting between the mountain of papers and Matilda's story. The events were troubling enough to cause her a headache. However, when Matilda mentioned the sack of gold, her headache dissipated, replaced by sharp interest. Gold had a way of grabbing attention, and Emma was no exception.

"Show me the gold," Emma demanded suddenly, her tone more authoritative than before. Matilda nodded and quickly retrieved the heavy sack from her spatial pouch, placing it before Emma.

Emma opened the sack and examined the glittering contents, carefully running the coins through her fingers. She could tell right away that the gold was real, the weight and sheen unmistakable.

She sat back in her chair, lost in thought. Matilda, recognizing the shift in Emma's demeanor, remained silent, knowing better than to interrupt Emma when she was deep in contemplation.

Emma's mind raced. Where had Mr. F acquired such a large sum of money? It didn't make sense. If he had this kind of wealth during the auction, he could have easily acquired life-extending elixirs. It seemed unlikely that he had the money then, so it must have come to him recently. But from where? Could someone have paid him to spy on the lab? That seemed illogical; if that were the case, why would he reveal the gold so openly?

She also recalled whispers she had heard recently—rumors of someone in the city trying to track down which noble factions had recruited new Rank 6 mages. An investigation had been quietly circulating, and there was speculation that a noble family, currently residing in the city, was involved. Could Mr. F's sudden wealth be tied to this? The connection was tenuous at best, but Emma couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this than met the eye.

After a long silence, Emma finally spoke. "Tell Mr. F that I'll arrange for a Rank 5 alchemy cauldron to be provided. The gold won't be enough, so the rest will be an investment on our part. Let him know we'll deduct three months of his pay as compensation. And, Matilda," Emma's voice took on a sterner edge, "I want to know where exactly he got that money. There could be a simple explanation, but I want to be sure."

Matilda had initially intended to mention her private bet with Mr. F regarding the cauldron, but when Emma mentioned deducting his salary for three months, she decided against it. This was a personal matter between herself and Mr. F, and she preferred to keep it that way.

The two women exchanged a few more words before Matilda excused herself, leaving the estate with a heavy heart but a clear plan. As she made her way out, she noticed Emma calling one of the family's guards over. "Go with Matilda to the lab and retrieve a report on where Mr. F claims this gold came from. Once you have the information, verify it," Emma ordered.

"Understood," the guard responded crisply before setting off to follow Matilda.

Emma, meanwhile, returned to her desk, her thoughts still tangled with questions about Mr. F. She tried to refocus on her paperwork, but the lingering uncertainty about the source of the gold gnawed at her. Today would be a long day, filled with more than just administrative tasks.

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Managing the family's affairs was demanding enough, but now she found herself entangled in something potentially much larger.

…

In a remote part of the deep forest, a man sprinted forward, his body drenched in sweat. His breath came in ragged gasps, and his arms clutched tightly around a small tree. The roots of the tree were still caked in bits of soil, which fell away as the man ran, leaving a trail behind him. His eyes darted nervously around, fully aware of the danger that lurked in the woods.

The trees around him grew denser as he neared a hidden camp nestled among the towering trunks. As he approached, figures suddenly leaped down from the trees above, landing silently on the forest floor. Their eyes, sharp with suspicion, quickly assessed the newcomer.

"Do you have it?" one of them asked, his voice low and skeptical.

The man, panting heavily, forced a grin and held up the small tree for all to see. The moment the others laid eyes on it, their faces lit up with joy, and a ripple of excitement spread through the group. Cheers erupted from all sides, the tension in the air momentarily forgotten.

But the man with the tree quickly silenced them. "Now's not the time to celebrate," he warned, his voice urgent. "We're still in the Fire Horses' territory. We need to get out of here while we still can."

The jubilant shouts died away at once. The danger they faced was far from over. Without another word, they began dismantling their camp with practiced efficiency, erasing any trace of their presence. Every footprint, every piece of gear was hidden or wiped away, leaving the forest as it had been before they arrived.

Within minutes, they were airborne, mounted on a large, swift flying beast that soared above the trees, heading toward the nearest village. From this height, they were confident that no one would be able to track them. In the sky, they believed they were safe from pursuit.

But they were mistaken.

Deep within the forest, a majestic stallion with a mane of flames prowled through the trees, its eyes burning with fury. Behind it followed a group of smaller horses, each one blazing with the same fiery intensity. They moved with lethal grace, their hooves barely touching the ground as they pursued an invisible trail.

The stallion came to a halt at the exact spot where the group had camped. Its nostrils flared as it sniffed the ground, pausing at the pieces of earth that had fallen from the roots of the stolen tree. It lowered its head, inhaling deeply, its fiery mane crackling with intensity.

Suddenly, the stallion's gaze shot upward, locking onto the distant horizon where the men had fled. A low, thunderous growl rumbled through the air as magic rippled across its back. With a powerful leap, its body shimmered, and wings of fire burst from its sides, spreading wide into the night sky. The horses that followed mimicked their leader, each one sprouting flaming wings and taking to the air with a fierce, unyielding determination.

As the horses ascended higher, their flames illuminated the sky, casting a fiery glow that could be seen for miles. The night itself seemed to bend under their power, the air thick with heat and the promise of impending retribution. The men had no idea that their time was running out.

…

Mr. F sat in a well-known tavern, the Paulaner Garden. The dimly lit room was filled with the warm murmur of chatter, and the clinking of mugs against wooden tables gave the place a lively, welcoming atmosphere. Mr. F, however, sat in a quiet corner, content to end his free day with a large mug of beer. Though it lacked the magical potency of enchanted wines or the refined taste of elven spirits, there was something satisfying about the simplicity of the brew. It had its own charm, a sort of rustic appeal that occasionally made him long for simpler pleasures.

He brought the mug to his lips, feeling the cold liquid run down his throat. The taste was bitter but refreshing. For a moment, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax.

The stresses of the day seemed to fade away, but a small part of him couldn't help but feel that the peace wouldn't last. There was always something waiting on the horizon, something that required his attention. Tomorrow would bring a new set of challenges, but for now, he could afford this moment of calm.

Magicians like him, especially those of his rank, didn't experience drunkenness the way ordinary people did. Their bodies were naturally resistant to the effects of alcohol. To some, that was a disadvantage—missing out on the oblivion that intoxication could bring—but Mr. F didn't mind. He preferred to keep his wits about him, even in moments of leisure.

Just as he was settling into the comfortable quiet of his own thoughts, his attention was drawn to a loud conversation at the neighboring table. Two men, clearly deep into their cups, were speaking in raised voices, their words slurred by drink.

"I'm telling you, the surrounding villages have been completely wiped out," one of the men said, his voice thick with conviction. "All that's left is a trail of fire and ash."

The other man scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. "I won't believe it until I see it with my own eyes. Sounds like one of those conspiracy theories to drive up food prices, get the common folk all panicked."

The first man leaned in closer, lowering his voice as if to share a great secret. "No, I swear. This time it's real. My brother-in-law's friend—his sister works for the city—and they're already investigating what could've caused the destruction. It wasn't just a wildfire or a raid. Something... different happened."

The second man laughed, slapping the table with exaggerated disbelief. "If that's true, may lightning strike me dead while I'm tacking a shit!"

The two erupted into drunken laughter, their voices echoing throughout the tavern. Mr. F glanced over at them, shaking his head slightly. It wasn't unusual to hear such wild rumors in places like this. Taverns were always a breeding ground for exaggerated stories and far-fetched tales. Still, the mention of a burning path through villages piqued his curiosity, even if just for a moment.

Finishing his drink, Mr. F decided it was time to leave. He dropped a few silver coins onto the table and stood up. The conversation at the next table continued, but he tuned it out as he made his way to the door. The cool night air greeted him as he stepped outside, a welcome change from the stuffy warmth of the tavern.