"Looks like you still remember me, Miss Samantha," Klaus smiled as if they were old acquaintances meeting over tea instead of standing in the middle of a ruined battlefield that still smelled faintly of scorched mana.
Broken stone littered the ground around them, and the air carried a lingering warmth, like the earth itself had not yet decided to cool down.
Samantha's expression didn't soften. If anything, it sharpened. Her gaze dragged over him from head to toe, slow and merciless, as though she were inspecting a defective weapon rather than a man.
"So an insect like you actually survived," she said flatly. "I suppose I should've guessed. Cockroaches always crawl out of the ruins."
Klaus shrugged, hands loose at his sides, posture relaxed to the point of arrogance. "I don't mind being a cockroach," he replied lightly. "As long as I survive."
"Honestly," Samantha added, unimpressed, "I'm surprised you did."
Klaus tilted his head, silver eyes narrowing just a little. "That's because I needed to."
The words were simple, spoken without bravado. Yet there was something beneath them. Samantha caught it. Her eyes lingered on him for a fraction longer than before, but she didn't comment.
Klaus's gaze slid past her shoulder.
To empty air.
A few meters behind Shane.
"And since we're being honest," Klaus said, tone casual but eyes alert, "do you mind introducing your friend?"
Samantha frowned.
Shane flinched.
He still hadn't lowered Delle from his face. One arm cradled the rabbit protectively, fingers buried in soft fur, while the other half-covered his mouth and nose. Only one eye peeked out, watchful and calculating. His posture was controlled—but the tension in his shoulders gave him away.
He followed Klaus's line of sight.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then space itself screamed.
A thin slash tore through the air, sharp and violent, like fabric ripped by an unseen blade. The tear widened, its edges shimmering with warped light. A low, resonant hum followed, vibrating through the ground and making Shane's teeth ache.
A hand emerged first.
Wrinkled. Steady.
It gripped the edge of reality as though it were a doorframe.
An elderly man stepped through.
He moved slowly and deliberately, leaning on a cane as the rift sealed behind him with a soft hiss. He looked well into his seventies, yet the battlefield seemed to bend subtly around his presence—as if the world itself acknowledged him.
He wore luxurious clothing: a white silk tunic beneath a black velvet cloak, tailored breeches, polished boots untouched by dust. A short white beard traced his jaw, partially concealing an old battle scar carved deep into the left side of his face.
His eyes—tired, sharp, and very much alive—sparkled with quiet amusement as he surveyed the devastation, from the broken terrain to the massive artillery beside Klaus.
"You're quite the killjoy, Samantha," he said pleasantly. "You should've let the young man copy Illumi a little longer."
Shane's body stiffened.
The color drained from his face.
Klaus frowned—not in fear, but calculation. His fingers twitched once, then stilled.
Samantha clicked her tongue. "Old man, you knew it was just a copy, didn't you?"
The elder chuckled and tapped his cane lightly against the ground.
Tap. Tap.
"A copy, indeed," he said. "But far too perfect to ignore. He even copied the mole on Illumi's neck."
Klaus instinctively raised a hand to his neck—then paused.
Right.
He wasn't Illumi anymore.
Samantha snorted. "Pervert."
The old man ignored her entirely. His gaze shifted—gentle, unyielding—to Shane.
"Stop hiding there, Shaney boy," he said warmly. "Even if you hugged a massive bear, I'd still recognize you."
Shane exhaled slowly. The breath felt heavy as it left his chest. He finally lowered Delle, revealing his face. His expression was calm, carefully composed, but the tightness in his jaw betrayed him.
Samantha frowned when she got a clear look at him, eyes narrowing as recognition settled in.
"Why you?" she muttered.
"Good day, Old Duke Eason Leonhart," Shane said, inclining his head respectfully. "It's really hard to fool you."
Klaus's brow furrowed. So this is him, he thought. The Legendary Duke of Brakensow.
He watched Eason carefully—the way he stood, the way his weight rested on the cane without truly relying on it.
Eason smiled at Shane. "I watched you grow up," he replied. "I'd know who you are even if I were blinded."
Shane sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose briefly. "So you know I'm grown now, yet you still treat me like a boy."
Eason began walking—straight toward Klaus.
Each step was measured. Unhurried. The cane struck the ground in a steady rhythm.
"I treat a man, a man," he said calmly, "and a child, a child."
Shane lowered his head slightly. "Time to go inside, buddy."
Delle looked up at him, ears twitching. The rabbit hesitated for a moment, then tapped the ring with his paw and vanished in a soft flash of light.
The battlefield grew quieter.
Shane moved forward, positioning himself subtly behind Eason—not hiding, but ready. His eyes never left Samantha or the old duke, and his hands rested near his pocket, relaxed but prepared.
Eason scanned the surroundings with clear interest. His gaze lingered on the second crater, where distorted mana still clung to the air like heat haze, then shifted to the massive howitzer beside Klaus.
"So," Eason said, tapping his cane once, "you defeated the demon with that unusually oversized weapon of yours, young man?"
Klaus replied plainly, "Yes. And it kills demons. Maybe even a Keeper, if luck's feeling generous."
Samantha scoffed. "You're delusional."
Klaus rebutted, "Am I?" His words came with meaning, yet the old man only caught a glimpse of it.
Eason studied the howitzer more closely, walking a slow circle around it. "A projectile weapon," he mused. "Like a bow, but far more complicated." His eyes narrowed. "What intrigues me is that I don't sense any mana in it."
Eason stopped and looked back at him. "Unfortunately," he said mildly, "this cannot kill a Keeper. No matter how hard you try."
Klaus smiled, unfazed. "Who knows?"
Then he added, skipping pleasantries entirely, "By the way, let's get to the point, old man. What's your business here? Are you chasing someone? If so, maybe we can help."
Samantha shot him a sharp look. "Watch your tongue, cockroach. He's not just an ordinary elder."
Eason lifted a hand slightly, signaling Samantha to ease up. "It's fine," he said, amused. "I find his honesty refreshing."
He turned his gaze back to Klaus and Shane. "We were on our way to Pe'cha when we felt the disturbance," he explained. "A high demon doesn't die quietly, after all."
Shane nodded. "That explains the timing."
Eason's lips curved into a subtle smile. "Indeed. And since fate has seen fit to place us together…" He paused, eyes gleaming with something sharp and calculating.
"We have a proposition for the two of you."
The wind stirred, carrying ash and dust across the ruined field.
"If you're willing," Eason finished calmly, "we can discuss it here."
Klaus exchanged a brief glance with Shane.
Shane's expression remained serious, composed—but his eyes burned with curiosity.
Klaus chuckled softly. "Well," he said, "the boss will decide."