"Unique Talents"—abilities that only a small number of creatures can awaken.
Their defining trait is innate awakening. Each one is different—some strong, some weak—and none can ever be learned by another.
"I call my Unique Talent a Decree. When I activate it, the world itself bends to my words."
Gelka spoke with pride. Yet to those around him, it appeared as though his lips moved in silence—no sound reached their ears.
His single command, "Shut up," under the power of Decree, had erased all sound.
"In the Corps, most captains possess a Unique Talent. It's our mark of authority."
Gelka lifted his chin high, continuing a speech only he could hear.
To the onlookers, he seemed every bit the arrogant powerhouse—just a glimpse of his ability was enough to leave them in awe.
But in truth—
"Good thing no one can hear me right now, otherwise…"
He coughed, muttering under his breath, "They'd realize how weak I actually am. Damn it… controlling this many people at once nearly knocked me out. Never doing this crap again."
He quickly waved his hand, ending the Decree. In reality, the silence had lasted barely three seconds.
But the crowd remained oblivious to his inner struggle, convinced they'd just witnessed an overwhelming display of strength.
Even after the sound returned, silence still filled the air.
As expected of the Light Eagle Corps—so powerful! everyone thought.
The guard captain was just as impressed, showering Gelka with praise for his supposed might.
Gelka didn't respond—he simply nodded and fixed the man with an intimidating stare. The guard captain's knees buckled, his body trembling as he bowed deeper and deeper.
Why is Lord Gelka staring at me like that? Did I forget something? The guard captain's thoughts spiraled into panic—until, after a minute, realization struck him.
"That's right! I need to report to Lord Philip immediately!"
He hurriedly summoned a swift-footed guard, issued his orders, and sent him running to the lord's manor.
The truth was, the entire city already knew. Count Philip likely did as well—but at least the captain could look diligent by sending the report.
He shot Gelka a discreet thumbs-up, inwardly admiring him: As expected of a great man! So kind, even reminding me with his eyes.
Gelka gave a faint, knowing nod, maintaining his aloof facade.
Every time he used Decree, it left him drained. His weakened voice would've given him away—and that was something he couldn't afford.
So, he'd developed a trick: just stare intensely at someone until they filled in the blanks themselves.
And surprisingly, it worked perfectly.
Bedford City — Lord's Manor
The reporting guard stumbled out of the chamber, trembling. Count Philip was in no mood to be trifled with—his very presence radiated menace.
"Why must a mutation happen at a time like this?!"
Once a shrewd merchant noble, Philip now slammed his fist into the table. The thick oak cracked under the blow, deep fissures spreading across its surface.
His eyes were sunken and bloodshot, his hair a tangled mess. He looked less like a noble and more like a beast ready to tear someone apart.
Worse, his body had grown gaunt, his knuckles bulging like a demon's claws.
A noble never turned thin—unless they were ill.
No wonder everyone whispered that Count Philip had become frightening. Looking like this, he could make children cry just by walking past.
His secretary remembered clearly: ever since Philip had returned from the royal capital, he had been… different.
Before that audience with the king, he'd been perfectly fine.
"It's as if this was all targeted at me!"
Philip swept everything off his desk in a fit of rage—earning, once again, the unspoken title of Table-Clearing Master.
Hundreds of workers had died in waves, and not a single mineral had been recovered. "Loss" wasn't enough to describe it—it was utter ruin.
A day of zero income meant little to him. What truly terrified Philip were the new monsters—rumors spoke of a dragon that caused explosions!
If it truly was a dragon, then his ore veins might as well be abandoned forever.
"Why now, of all times… why now?"
He clawed at his own hair, yanking out clumps streaked with blood at the roots. The sight was grotesque.
"What troubles Lord Philip so deeply?" a voice asked suddenly. "Is it fear of failing the king's promise?"
The speaker was another Light Eagle captain—armor-clad, shorter and younger than Gelka, with a sly gleam in his eyes.
"What else would I be worried about?" Philip snarled. "I already promised His Majesty a multiplied supply of concentrated Bloodcrystal Elixirs. Without new ore—"
"Oh, please." The captain sneered. "Your warehouses already hold more than enough Bloodcrystal stockpiled—quite the surplus, in fact."
He smirked, voice dripping with contempt. "You're just using the king's order as an excuse to fatten your own purse. His Majesty merely loaned you the Sein Dungeon for this project, yet you parade it around as your own property. Tsk, tsk."
Philip's face darkened. "And what business is that of yours? I'll return the dungeon when the deadline arrives."
This bastard has no tact. Even if everyone knew the truth, some things were better left unsaid. Philip's fists clenched, veins pulsing.
He regretted ever inviting the Light Eagle Corps to help stabilize the situation. Both captains sent were utterly insufferable.
The Corps had three ranks: mercenaries, captains, and commanders. Securing two captains and their squads was already a generous favor from the king.
"I'm not blaming you," the captain said with a shrug. "Profit or loss is your problem, not mine. My job's just to bring back the elixirs. Still, I'll give you some advice—step back while you can. Post a notice. Apologize to the adventurers. Restore the old order."
"Enough! Don't say another word!"
"Don't indulge your greed the way His Majesty did… or you'll end up the same way. Becoming a beas—"
He chuckled, letting the final word hang in the air—its sting sharper for being unfinished.
Then he turned and left, clearly intending to give Philip time to think.
He seemed to know something about the king's mysterious illness. But what did that have to do with Count Philip?
Could it be… the Count was afflicted too?
The thought must have struck him, because Philip's murderous glare faltered. Slowly, reason began to creep back into his expression. Doubt flickered in his eyes.
Have I truly been making a mistake?
Something felt wrong.
Memories of the past few days replayed in his mind—each one more unnatural than the last.
This isn't how I'd ever run my business… it's absurd! What's been influencing me?
His mind cleared further, rationality flooding back.
And then—
Knock, knock!
A servant burst in, clutching a chunk of purple-red ore, shouting in excitement:
"Lord Count! An adventurer claims to have found a vein of Purple Bloodcrystal! A massive deposit!"
Philip's eyes flared with madness once more.
"Where?!"
Meanwhile—
"Achoo!"
Far away in the Resurrection House, Roger sneezed.
"Strange… why do I feel like someone's stealing my business?"
Then it hit him—he hadn't yet sold the Purple Bloodcrystal intel to Count Philip.
"Eh, no rush." He hefted another corpse onto a bed, muttering to himself,
"After all, I'm the only one who knows the true location of the Purple Bloodcrystal."