Isabell felt her pulse race, her heart threatening to leap out of her chest, as she realized how close she had come to death—a concept unimaginable to her until now; she now understood the cowering girl she had made fun of, recognizing that she would have surely fainted in the face of such danger.
Initially, a trace of curiosity lingered in the recesses of her mind, like a child's yearning to explore the unknown, especially when it came to the forest, but fortunately, fate never granted her the opportunity.
...
"Damn it, damn it, damn it! We've suffered too many losses, once again!"
Morend's mood grew darker, lamenting the loss of two invaluable treasures that day—the blue-haired boy, a potential gem whose future success was certain until a moment ago, evoking a twinge of sorrow within him; and the artificial bird also known as the "watchful eye," a meticulously crafted artifact fusing masterful workmanship and magic, crafted by the most skilled masters from the three kingdoms, a highly coveted item beyond the reach of mere currency, with its scarcity stemming from the rare forest relic utilized in its creation.
These artifacts were exceptional tools for long-range observation, assuming various forms and sizes, but for their operations, they masqueraded as birds to blend seamlessly with the darkness of the forest, confounding even the keenest eye—only the creatures, drawn to living beings like bees to flowers, possessed the ability to discern the truth.
Morend had leveraged his extensive connections, and the branches' constrained budget, and poured his heart and soul into acquiring these artificial birds, making their loss akin to losing a beloved child—a heart-wrenching blow.
"That cursed rat with wings! What have I done to deserve their relentless targeting of our department? Let them bother Perion's branch for a change."
"Chief..."
The leader sank back into his seat, massaging his throbbing temples, his appearance visibly aged by a few years. Today wasn't a complete loss for Morend, the firsthand observations, and data they collected undoubtedly held immense value.
"Aldir... that boy. Who is he?"
Isabell perked up, her interest piqued by the young fighter's encounter with a creature. Having finally regained her composure, she had to be careful to at least leave a neutral impression on her boss —today, that was the extent of what she could achieve.
The assistant, who had shut his eyes tight since the tragic incident, furrowed his brow slightly, recalling the contents of the notebook; when he opened his eyes, it signaled the completion of his recollection process.
"Silas, a 13 or 14-year-old boy, was found on the borders of the Kingdom of Sylphrena," Aldir informed, providing a brief summary.
"Is that all?" Morend inquired, seeking further details.
"Yes, he was discovered on the streets and brought to us. No special abilities, talents, or powers were observed," Aldir replied.
"What? Since when did we become a charity picking up random street urchins?" Isabell interjected, voicing her opinion.
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"Actually, it was the king himself who found him," Aldir clarified, adjusting his glasses while giving Isabell a sharp look.
"T-The king!?" Isabell's jaw nearly dropped as she processed Aldir's claim. It meant she had just questioned the orders of the king of Sylphrena, the kingdom they lived in. It seemed luck was not on her side today, as everything she did seemed to backfire.
Morend chose to overlook Isabell's ignorance and inappropriate behavior, deciding to address it later. There were many things that needed improvement within the department, and the increasing workload only added to his growing headache.
"Does the report mention how he was found?" Morend inquired, visibly perplexed. It was customary to record such information, even if the king himself discovered the individual.
When Morend was picked up by the same king decades ago, who had an eye for talent, every detail was meticulously documented. So why was there no information about this child? Although it seemed unrealistic, he wondered if there was something suspicious about this situation or if it was simply a result of the ruler's unpredictable whims.
Lately, the king had been engaging in random actions, attributing them to the wheels of fate. In noble circles, it was considered senility, but Morend didn't believe that. King Urtemis may be very old, and eccentric at times, but he was far from senile.
Normally, he wouldn't bother, but two factors caught his attention. Firstly, it was an affair the king himself had meddled in, and secondly, a young boy who managed to evade blows from a creature. It warranted further investigation. The second piece of information would astonish the headquarters.
Before making any hasty decisions, Morend would need to have an audience with the king and inquire directly. Fortunately, he maintained a good relationship with him, even though it worsened his relationship with the nobles.
Regardless, he would attend to those matters later. First, he needed to gather more information about the other two children and let his subordinates understand that, without his consent, they were not allowed to share what they witnessed. He had to speak with the king first.
"Which sector were these kids assigned to? Who is responsible for them?" Morend inquired, his disapproval evident. He was unaware that such talents were emerging within his branch and were on the verge of being wasted.
Sending those three children on a suicidal mission could only be the result of a deranged mind. He needed to identify the subordinate who made such a reckless decision. It was an enormous waste.
"It's Jack," Aldir sighed, reluctantly revealing the name.
"Jack?" Morend couldn't recall a face when he heard the name, but Aldir spoke as if it were obvious. Could it be...
"JACK! That bald lunatic?" Morend exclaimed in disbelief.
"Yes," Aldir confirmed with a nod.
... Morend fell silent, deep in thought about the situation at hand.
Jack was a familiar presence, someone he knew all too well, but he was in no position to train anyone. He himself needed help—mental help. Although this man had once been a celebrated hero, there was nothing left of him that resembled such a figure. The remnants of a celebrated hero had been replaced by a broken man scarred by countless battles.
While the organization had granted Jack's request to become an instructor, they were cautious in assigning him children with minimal talent to work with, almost as if allowing him to "play" with broken toys. Now he comprehended the reason behind assigning these peculiar kids to Jack; broken goods could be reused for such a task.
Still, the individual responsible for the assignment of the blue-haired boy had made a grave mistake by disregarding the potential of this remarkable individual and sending him to "Mad Jack", one of his infamous nicknames.
"Who in his right mind sent this boy to him?" Morend's frustration was evident, his mind fixated on personally confronting the responsible party and examining their undoubtedly flawed brain.
... A pained expression appeared on Aldir's face. He hesitated, as if struggling to speak, before quickly closing his lips.
"Tell me already. There's no need to protect your colleague," Morend urged, his tone firm.
Aldir, as was his habit, briefly closed his eyes.
"It was the king himself, sir."
"... "
Morend found himself speechless. At least he now understood that there was something going on behind the curtains.