Later, Magna pulled him into a lazy sparring match in the yard. No real fire, just practice.
They moved like clockwork now. No yelling. No wasted motion. Zura dodged without thinking, fired off a feint, twisted around, and held his palm near Magna's gut without even touching him.
Magna raised a brow.
"Well damn."
Zura blinked.
"…Did I win?"
Magna stepped back, cracked his neck, and grinned.
"Yeah. Guess ya did."
They bumped fists after. No flashy celebrations. Just mutual respect.
That night, Zura explored the deeper part of the base. The areas he hadn't bothered to go near yet.
He found old rooms. Dusty, unused training halls. A sealed-off library that smelled of ancient ink and mold. Most of the tomes were ruined, but a few pages glowed faintly with preserved runes. Notes about battle magic. Theories on mana condensation. Even one on soul layering — whatever that meant.
He took a few pages, tucked them into his grimoire.
Then he found it.
A small balcony on the far end of the base, hidden behind a cracked wall.
It overlooked a cliff.
He stepped out, the cold wind hitting his face.
Below, he could see the distant lights of the kingdom. Faint. Warm. Distant.
He didn't say anything. He just stood there.
Rain misted his hair. His cloak fluttered behind him.
And for the first time in a long time…
He wasn't chasing anything.
Not survival. Not revenge. Not approval.
He was living.
Even in his world, he had to survive, try hard, and do anything possible to make money so he and his sister could survive. But here, he didn't have to worry about that.
Gordon quietly appeared beside him, saying nothing as usual. Just stood with him.
Zura didn't flinch. Just nodded once.
Then they both stared out at the horizon, two shadows sharing a quiet, strange bond under the rain.
And Zura smiled.
He was ready for whatever came next.
A few days later, Captain Yami returned.
Cigarette between his lips, shoulders hunched like always, but there was a heaviness in his steps that made even the rowdiest Bulls shut up.
He called a few of them in for a private meeting.
Zura was one of them.
"Got a job," Yami muttered, eyes flicking between them. "Not a flashy one. No big boom-booms. This one's quiet."
Finral raised a brow. "Undercover?"
Yami nodded. "Kingdom officials caught wind of a syndicate building strength in the outskirts. Disguised as merchants. Slavers underneath. Real scum."
He blew out a puff of smoke.
"We don't know where their main base is. But we got a lead. A small town near the border. A quiet place. The perfect front."
Zura stayed quiet, absorbing the details.
He already knew where this was going.
"You'll pose as traveling mercs for hire," Yami continued. "Sell protection. Take odd jobs. Dig around. Blend in."
He glanced at Vanessa.
"She's your handler."
Vanessa smirked, sipping wine. "Awfully dangerous to leave the cute one alone out there."
Yami ignored her.
"Magna will join you on the last day of the raid. The fewer members are on the mission, the better. We can't risk it."
Finral stepped in. "I will teleport Magna. Just make sure the preparations over here are ready."
"Don't blow your cover. Don't play hero unless you're forced to. Just gather info, tag suspects, and keep your damn heads down. Got it?"
Everyone nodded.
A week later, they arrived in the border town.
Small streets. Clay houses. A market that smelled like fish and dust. People moved slow. Watched strangers longer than they should've.
Zura wore a plain traveler's cloak, his grimoire hidden beneath layers. A small dagger on his hip for show.
Vanessa played the role of a flirtatious rogue. Casual. Distant. People trusted her in five minutes flat.
They stayed in a cramped inn room with one window, two beds, and walls thin enough to hear snoring from the next door.
Each day, Zura explored.
He asked questions. Bought bread. Helped an old man fix his cart. Made small talk with drunk guards at night.
Bit by bit, the pieces fell into place.
A tavern that didn't allow women inside. A delivery route that made no sense. A smiling merchant whose name kept changing.
At night, he and Vanessa traded notes.
Sometimes over maps.
Sometimes over cheap wine and silence.
One night, the job was quiet. No missions. No errands. Just rain tapping against the glass.
Vanessa stood by the window, arms folded, watching the street below.
Zura sat on the edge of the bed, cloak unfastened, boots muddy from earlier.
He didn't speak. Just looked at her.
Her hair was a mess. She hadn't worn makeup in days. But something about her—her stillness, her sharpness—made the room feel small.
She turned.
Their eyes met.
No words.
No winks. No teasing.
Just her looking at him.
And him not looking away.
Venessa wasn't like her usual self who would joke around and tease and make fun of him.
There was a weight in the air. Like the pause before thunder.
She stepped forward.
Not close enough to touch.
But enough that he could smell her—wine and rain.
Her voice was low. "You are getting better."
Zura swallowed. "Trying my best."
A small smile played on her lips. Tired. Fond. Maybe something else.
She leaned in slightly, her face inches from his.
He didn't flinch.
But neither moved closer.
They just… stayed there.
Long enough to feel it.
Then she stepped back, eyes unreadable again.
"Get some sleep, rookie," she said, turning away.
Zura watched her for a second longer before pulling the blanket over himself.
The room fell quiet.
But that moment didn't fade.
It lingered. Electric and unspoken.
Like something waiting.
A day later, they finally found it. They were on the last stage of their mission.
They stood in front of it.
An abandoned mansion at the edge of the valley.
Dark clouds loomed over the abandoned mansion at the edge of the valley. Moss crept over cracked stones, and rusted lanterns swayed from broken beams.
Guards pretending to be homeless and beggars.
The stench of blood and rotting flesh lingered in the air, hidden under the perfume of expensive oils that failed to mask the truth.
"Are you ready?" Venessa asked Zura.
"Yeah. Let's get this over with. I am dying to eat Charmy's food!"
****
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