Belezak Qu Edensworn.

Ten years older than Burn, Belezak was a man with the ability to control people's perspectives. If Burn was manipulative in a negative sense, Belezak was manipulative in a positive sense.

He was born with the perfect tool for influence—a talent in politics. He excelled at controlling mass opinion, knowing whom to side with and how to bring others to his side, and consistently viewing every situation objectively.

He lived by the philosophy that every loss brought potential gain and every tragedy an opportunity for improvement. This understanding was at the core of his actions and decisions.

His only weakness was…

Love.

He loved his people. He loved his family. He loved the world.

If he had been just a tad colder, with a more pragmatic view like Burn, he would have succeeded much earlier, become much stronger, and addressed his fatal problem much more effectively.

He might not need to die.

Burn first crossed paths with Belezak when they were both summoned to impart their wisdom as guest instructors at the continent’s greatest magic academy—an event that boasted more intrigue than a wizards' convention.

Among the four guest lecturers, two were masters of Vision art, dabbling in the ethereal and the elusive, while the other pair, including Burn and Belezak, were masters of Force art.

This wasn't your average academic lineup; it was more like drafting superheroes for a week-long boot camp.

Burn, known for his cold but fiery tactics, and Belezak, with his warm but strategic mind, made quite the duo, turning what could have been a standard teaching gig into a spectacle of power and persuasion.

Even back then, Burn's was too strong, casting him naturally into the role of the 'strict teacher,' while Belezak played the 'cool teacher,' effortlessly charming and approachable.

Beyond their good cop-bad cop dynamic, they weren't particularly close, primarily because their schedules never overlapped.

They couldn’t even introduce themselves officially and privately.

Not to mention, Burn was invited as the celebrated "genius of the century," while Belezak was simply doing a favor for a friend. Their age difference further widened the gap, making their paths even less likely to cross beyond the classroom.

But even though Belezak’s teaching style and strength seemed unflashy and subdued, Burn’s perceptive eyes could see the truth.

Belezak was stable, meticulous, and—unmistakably—loving in his approach.

It was a weird description, especially for someone like Burn.

“When was it… fifteen years ago?” Burn muttered as he answered Yvain’s question. “I saw him having a mock battle with the graduating students of Saint Lucia Academy.”

“HUH?!” Yvain rose to his knees in shock. “You went to Saint Lucia?!”

"I didn’t. Your father did," Burn looked down at Yvain with a dismissive glance.

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"Who do you think I am? Do I look like someone who would need to enroll in a magic academy? I am a self-taught mage. There is no one in this world qualified enough to teach me."

Yvain narrowed his eyes.

"So, you’re telling me you hold my father in such high esteem? The same person who never quite managed a headline-worthy magical achievement, unlike a certain someone?" Yvain asked.

“Your father hid his power well,” Burn said.

Yvain widened his eyes.

His father hid his power? Ah.

Yvain remembered a far away memory from his childhood. When he first showed his talent in Vision, his father said one thing witnessing it.

He said, “Child, when you are good at something, show the world. But when you’re very, very good at it, keep it to yourself."

A threat.

That was what Burn thought about Belezak.

Yvain felt a shiver run down his spine as he looked up at Burn. Narrowing his eyes, he questioned silently, "Am I sure you're not the one who killed my father?"

“Even though you knew it was supposed to be Benjamin Velaryon?” Burn asked back.

“My uncle… did, right?” Yvain asked again, increasingly vigilant.

“Why, are you regretting not asking him to make sure of it before killing him?” Burn sneered.

Yvain clenched his fist and snapped, "Why are you like this?! If you say you didn't kill him, I would believe you!"

Burn raised his eyebrows, seemingly amused.

He chuckled, patting the top of Yvain’s head. “How naive.”

Yvain’s eyebrows furrowed.

"Just give it to me straight—did you, or did you not?" Yvain demanded, his voice heavy. "Even if you did, I have no choice but to ally with you now."

"I didn’t," Burn replied simply.

At those words, a wave of relief swept through Yvain, loosening the tight knot of tension that had bound his chest. Relief mingled with the complexity of his feelings—relief that Burn was not his father's killer.

“If I did, I’d kill you along with him, and your mother. Also, I’d take over your kingdom long ago, but now I know it’s not a wise move.”

Yvain’s relief was interrupted.

He saw Burn’s ugly expression as the man imagined having to face the Infinite Witch’s wrath much early on.

“T-then… isn’t it actually easier to just kill me and take my kingdom now?” Yvain asked. The boy whispered softly after, “Just because you want to woo my master…”

“Exactly,” Burn sighed before processing what the boy said under his breaths. “What?”

“Woo my master?”

“This brat—”

***

The vast hall stretched out in an expanse of sleek, shadowy elegance, illuminated by the soft glow of ambient lights that traced geometric patterns along the walls.

At the far end, a colossal glass window framed a mesmerizing view of a blue planet, its surface swirling with white clouds and vast oceans, suspended in the velvet darkness of space.

In the center of the hall, a futuristic chair faced this grand vista. Its design was minimalist yet undeniably opulent, a perfect fusion of form and function, cradling its occupant in a state of luxurious inertia.

Seated in this throne of modernity was a man clad in avant-garde attire, his face obscured by a veil that hinted at both status and mystery. His presence was commanding, even in repose.

"Duke Velaryon is dead?"

His voice was a deep baritone, resonating through the quiet of the hall.

"Yes, sir," replied a woman standing beside him. Her posture was rigid, the respect in her stance unmistakable.

A moment of silence enveloped the space.

"Too bad. He was one of our VIP customers... and one of the best pawns we had." The regret in his tone was faint, almost indiscernible, but it lingered in the air like a subtle perfume.

The man’s thoughts turned to the disruptor of their plans. "It was that human... Apex Two, sir."

At the mention of Apex Two, a grunt escaped him. "Caliburn Pendragon again, huh?"

The woman shifted slightly, her voice tentative as she broached the next course of action.

"Maybe it's time we ask for more support from the Alliance?"

The man slowly closed his eyes behind the veil.

“What about Apex One?”