The Fairy King watched Reeve closely after his silence stretched a little too long.
Then, with a light laugh, the king waved his hand.
"Relax. That earlier question?" he said casually. "A joke."
The tension in the hall eased—but Reeve's eyes remained sharp.
The Fairy King's smile faded as he leaned forward.
"The truth is… we need help."
The torches flickered.
"There are fairies within this kingdom who call themselves leaders," the king continued. "Politicians, advisers, figures of influence. They speak of balance and peace—but in secret, they poison the system. They twist laws, manipulate minds, and turn the weak against the strong."
Reeve listened quietly.
He didn't interrupt.
He didn't react.
When the king finished, Reeve smiled—just a little.
Not amused.
Not surprised.
"Figures…" he murmured under his breath.
"Power attracts the same kind of people in every world."
The Fairy King frowned.
"What was that?"
Reeve lifted his gaze calmly.
"Nothing important. Just an old habit of observing people."
Lunareth stepped forward before the king could press further.
"We'll help," she said firmly.
The Fairy King exhaled in relief.
"Then the kingdom owes you a great debt."
Reeve said nothing.
He already understood the real problem.
It wasn't magic.
It wasn't race.
It wasn't even ideology.
It was nature.
Human—or fairy—made no difference.
That night, Reeve lay awake in his chamber.
Moonlight washed over his face as he stared at the ceiling, his mind quietly working.
Power structures.
False loyalty.
Manufactured enemies.
He'd seen it all before.
Then—
"Don't overthink."
Reeve's eyes shifted slightly.
"…System."
"Confirmed."
"How many abilities do I currently possess?" he asked.
A pause.
"Elemental Manipulation: Fire, Water, Air, Earth."
"Advanced control enabled."
Reeve's lips curved faintly.
"Manipulation," he repeated. "Not usage."
That meant control, reshaping, domination—not simple casting.
"And the rest?" he asked.
"…Unavailable."
Reeve chuckled softly.
"So you are hiding them."
"Information restricted."
He closed his eyes.
It didn't matter.
Power was useless without understanding—and he understood people far better than magic.
Morning arrived quietly.
Reeve and Lunareth left the castle together, heading toward the outer districts under the excuse of preparation.
They hadn't walked long when Reeve stopped.
"We're being watched," he said calmly.
Lunareth frowned.
"I don't sense any fairy presence."
"That's because they don't want to be sensed," Reeve replied.
"And because they aren't thinking like fairies."
Her wings stiffened.
"…They're following us?"
"Yes," he said. "And they're impatient."
Reeve deliberately altered their path, guiding them deeper into the forest.
The air shifted.
Illusions peeled away like torn curtains.
Before them emerged a concealed structure—stone reinforced with artificial barriers, hidden beneath roots and magic seals.
A secret base.
Lunareth's voice dropped.
"This is where they've been hiding…"
Reeve studied the entrance, his eyes cold but calm.
"Of course it is," he said.
"People who fear the light always build underground."
Shadows moved inside.
The hunters had led themselves straight into the enemy's den.
Reeve smiled faintly.
"Good," he whispered.
"Now I don't have to look for them."
The forest held its breath.