Madam Kyra leaned back, her expression sharp.
"But I'm not happy about this… the ridiculous sacrifice you chose. It bothers me a lot."
Norax kept his calm.
"Madam Kyra… I don't want unnecessary bloodshed. That's why I chose a proxy war to settle this matter."
Her gaze didn't soften.
"It doesn't matter now. I was the one who believed in you first and made this alliance. Let's focus on our target—Garron."
Norax's face remained blank, his eyes unblinking.
"Madam Kyra… I think there's a misunderstanding here," he said slowly.
"Our… no—my target isn't Garron."
Her eyes narrowed.
"What do you mean by that?"
Norax's lips curved into a small, confident smile.
"When I learned that the Red Society was behind the attacks… and that Elwood was orchestrating everything… my target is the brain of the Second Powerhouse, not its leader."
Madam Kyra blinked, then exhaled sharply.
"I see… well, do as you wish. It's not like I can stop you now. Just don't die."
"Good. You've already done your part. Now I'll take my leave—it's not good to stay here any longer," Norax said, stepping toward the door with measured calm.
Madam Kyra watched him go, her eyes reflecting a mixture of curiosity and caution.
The quiet click of the door behind him echoed through the room.
What made it different from ordinary wars was simple—and terrifying.
It always began with a magic contract. Once signed, no one could refuse the conditions. No excuses. No betrayal.
Another rule made it even stricter: only a few people could participate. No more than ten on each side. At least four. Equal numbers. Equal standing.
The underworld had ignored this rule in the past. That mistake had led to bloodshed.
After the peace agreement, two proxy wars had already taken place between Garron and House Noctis. In most of them… Garron had lost.
This time was different.
This proxy war was against Norax himself. And it was the first—the most troublesome kind.
A game-like war. Half chess. Half hide-and-seek.
The battlefield was a sealed proxy zone. Participants hid, hunted, and fought within it.
Each fighter carried a role token—King, Queen, or Knight. When someone was defeated, their token was taken.
Victory could be achieved in two ways: collect more tokens than the enemy—or pull down the enemy King.
After the war ended, the winner would decide the conditions.
The loser had only one choice—fulfill them. Refusal was not an option.
Two days had passed since the meeting.
Norax sat alone, staring at the letter in his hands, muttering curses under his breath.
"Life is too short…" he groaned.
Celstia, standing nearby, glanced at him nervously.
"Master… at this rate, we might not even be able to participate in the proxy war," she said softly.
Norax frowned and tapped the letter. The situation was clear.
The letter had arrived from House Noctis—an official call for approval from all participants.
The Second Powerhouse had already filled their spot. The three society leaders, Elwood, and Garron were all confirmed participants. That made five.
Celstia counted quietly.
"We have four… we need one more person."
Norax sighed, rubbing his temple.
"Yeah… but do you think anyone other than a commander could even stand against a society leader?"
Celstia thought for a moment, eyes lighting up.
"How about Ark? If we use a communication stone, he could arrive immediately."
Norax shook his head.
"No. Snaya needs Ark nearby. We can't risk him being pulled away right now… I already don't want them both hurt."
They both sighed simultaneously.
Norax muttered,
"I bet this is Elwood's plan… Normally, he can't participate in the war himself, but now he tries to win by numbers."
Celstia tilted her head.
"How about asking someone else for help?"
Norax's gaze dropped.
"Who? Madam Kyra and House Noctis can't interfere… mercenaries are—wait a minute…"
He paused, thinking. Then his eyes brightened.
"Celstia… you're a genius!"
Celstia's face flushed crimson.
"Master! This isn't the time for compliments!"
she said, nearly short-circuiting from the unexpected praise.
Norax smirked faintly, already plotting.
"This… might just work."
He stood up so suddenly that the papers on the desk slid aside.
"We can use a mercenary. Edward is perfect for this kind of work."
Celstia's face twisted immediately.
"That drunken guy? I don't want to see him."
Norax glanced at her.
"Don't be picky. By the way, do we have any wine? Dessert grape wine?"
Celstia blinked.
"We have some… but are you serious? He refused to join us three times already. Do you really think he will agree now?"
Norax waved his hand calmly.
"That's why I need the wine—and I have a plan to find him now."
Celstia stared.
"…That already sounds like a bad plan."
Norax gave a small, dry smile.
"You may leave now."
She hesitated, then bowed and left the room. The door clicked shut. Silence returned.
Norax picked up the letter again and leaned back.
"Mercenaries are easy to find, but strong ones… are difficult."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
His finger tapped the paper slowly.
"There are four knight orders in the capital right now—Guardian Order, Holy Order, Royal Order, and Emerald Order…"
He paused, then smirked faintly.
Before possessing this body, Norax had tried to recruit Edward. Three times. Three clean rejections.
One thrown bottle. One broken chair. One bill he still remembered paying.
"He refused every time… well, because he wants to survive, not anything else,"
Norax muttered. "But this time is different. If I give him what he wants… maybe it'll work."
Because this time, he knew Edward's real weakness.
Not gold. Not honor. Not revenge. Something much simpler.
"It depends on his mood," Norax said quietly.
"If it fails… we take the risk."
Norax's eyes lingered on the wine cabinet across the carriage.
"…And maybe bring two bottles instead of one. I need to give him good wine."
He nodded to himself seriously. A true war required proper preparation—even against a drunk knight.
The carriage rolled steadily toward a dimly lit bar.
"Finding him isn't difficult," Celstia said, leaning over the side.
"He's always drunk—one bar to the next. We already have his location."
Celstia tilted her head. "I know he's strong… but are you really going to offer him expensive wine?"
Norax's lips curved slightly. "Why are you complaining so much?"
Celstia pouted. "Master, that's one of my favorite wines!"
Norax raised an eyebrow. "Did you secretly drink it already? I told you—don't drink too much. You get tipsy easily."
"I didn't!" Celstia huffed, crossing her arms.
The carriage stopped. Norax stepped out, evening lights flickering over the cobblestone street.
He paused at the bar gate for a second, then entered. Celstia stayed behind, leaning slightly out of the carriage to watch.
Inside, the bar smelled of smoke and spilled ale. Patrons laughed and cursed, the clinking of mugs filling the room.
Norax's gaze scanned immediately. In a corner, a man slumped under a cloak, drool glistening at the edge of his lips, eyes half-closed.
The man mumbled something incoherent.
Norax approached and sat beside him. Edward barely moved, instinctively holding out a hand as if to ward him off.
"Edward… always active… even drunk," Norax muttered softly.
Edward's gray hair fell over his face. His eyes were glassy, his breath faintly smelling of wine.
"My wife… fighting me again…" he hiccuped, swaying slightly.
Norax exhaled quietly.
Edward blinked slowly, hiccuping again, muttering incomprehensible words.
Norax leaned closer, his voice calm and measured.
"Hi, hi. I heard your complaints already. Sit comfortably."
Edward suddenly burst into tears.
"I don't have money for more alcohol!" he cried loudly.
"I failed my last job. Failed! Do you understand? Even the client ran off without paying!"
Several patrons glanced over, then went back to their own business. It was a normal sight here.
Norax quietly ordered orange juice and took a slow sip.
Edward continued, ranting about life, luck, weather, broken boots, and imaginary enemies. Forty minutes passed.
Finally, Norax put down his glass.
"Are you done acting?" he asked flatly. "Can we talk now?"
Edward's crying stopped instantly. His back straightened, eyes clearing. He clicked his tongue.
"You're no fun. Why are you even here?" Edward said coldly.
"I refused you many times already. Why are you here again?"
He leaned back, arms crossed.
"Don't you need to prepare for Garron? You're quite popular these days."
Norax met his gaze without emotion.
"That's exactly why I'm here. I want you to work with me."
Edward snorted.
"No." He reached for an empty mug and pretended to drink.
"I don't want to die early. Let me act drunk in peace."
His voice turned colder.
"You're on the losing side. Everyone knows it. Why should I work for you? I'm here to survive, not be buried with fools."
Norax didn't react to the insult. Instead, he gently rolled the expensive wine bottle across the table. It stopped right in front of Edward.
Edward's eyes flicked down for a split second—recognition. Brand. Year. Price. His eyelid twitched.
Norax spoke calmly.
"Then survive properly. I'm asking you to work as a mercenary, not join me directly. "
"Win with me, and I pay. Or if you like, I can send the money to the capital directly."
Edward stared at the bottle… then at Norax. Silence stretched between them.