Trafalgar closed the second suitcase with a quiet snap. One held a clean rotation of dark clothes, the other—basic necessities: a comb, soap, razor, and a few spare mana crystals. Everything else—equipment, weapons—was safely stored in his inventory through the system.
He looked around the room, satisfied. Nothing was left out of place. Two bags. That was all he'd take into this next chapter of his life.
'Kind of funny,' he thought, 'for someone who's killed nobles, escaped death twice, and survived his way through a council of monsters… I travel pretty light.'
Trafalgar's head turned.
The door opened smoothly, and a tall figure stepped inside—long platinum-blond hair, sharp grey eyes, and a black robe that seemed to drain the light around him.
Valttair du Morgain.
Trafalgar blinked, startled for just a moment.
'He actually came himself? Is he… here to say goodbye?'
Valttair's gaze scanned the room with surgical precision. "I see you're already prepared for tomorrow."
