## CHAPTER 55: The Spatial Grandmaster
"Welcome, Spatial Grandmaster," Alastor said, his voice smooth as silk but laced with the jagged edges of a threat. He greeted his uninvited guest with a wide, unsettling smile, though the bloodthirsty aura in the room remained thick enough to choke a lesser man.
It was a rare thing—the ability to maintain a killing, suffocating intent while projecting an expression of cordiality. It was a hallmark of the Valerius patriarch: a predator that smiled while it disemboweled you.
His visitor remained silent, the white mask reflecting the ghostly green flicker of the torches.
"Well, I must say, it is rare to find someone in their right state of mind who would dare to break into my home," Alastor continued, his voice vibrating with a strange, static-like resonance. He leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. "Didn't you wonder why I don't keep guards inside the castle walls?"
The intruder didn't move. The silence in the room stretched, punctuated only by the distant howl of the wind outside the tower.
"Hmm," Alastor hummed, seemingly amused by the lack of a reply. "Have a seat"
From a dark corner of the study, a heavy mahogany chair moved itself, sliding across the stone floor as if pushed by an invisible hand. It came to a sudden, jarring halt right behind the masked figure. Without a word of protest or thanks, the intruder sat.
"From the look of your frame, I can only assume the title of Spatial Grandmaster has been passed on to a new generation," Alastor noted, his crimson eyes tracing the lines of the cloak. Finally, the intruder spoke.
"Do you know anything about the missing students case? Specifically, those occurring in the vicinity of your daughter?" The voice was modulated, disguised by magic, but the urgency beneath it was palpable.
"Hhhmmmmm." Alastor tilted his head. With a soft *poof* of displaced air, a bottle of vintage red wine and a single crystalline glass appeared on his desk. He reached for the bottle with a slow, deliberate grace.
The visitor didn't let up. "Are you in any way involved in the disappearance of students from the academy?"
"Hmm. I do believe I am aware of the situation," Alastor replied, his tone conversational. He pulled the cork, the sound echoing like a muffled gunshot. "But tell me, why would you think I am responsible? Or in any way involved with such... tedious affairs?"
He poured the wine, the liquid a deep, bruising crimson that matched his eyes. He took a slow sip, savoring the vintage before looking back at the mask.
"You were absent from the public eye for four years," the visitor said, leaning forward. "No papers, no sightings. Even your own estate staff claimed you were unreachable. Witnesses never saw you at your properties."
Alastor dropped the glass onto the table with a sharp *clack*. His brow arched, and his smile took on a sharper, more frighteningly happy edge. "My biggest fan, it seems."
The visitor ignored the jab. "Your four-year absence is quite mysterious, don't you think? How can a figure as prominent as Alastor Valerius simply vanish into thin air without a trace, only to reappear weeks before the academy term resumed?"
Alastor's lips curved even wider, showing the sharp points of his canines. To those who knew the Crimson Devil, this was the ultimate warning sign. When Alastor got annoyed, he didn't scowl; he smiled. The wider the grin, the closer he was to snapping the neck of the person in front of him.
"I simply took a well-deserved sabbatical from the world," Alastor said, clenching his fist atop the desk, though his voice remained light. "The media can be so... suffocating. I grew tired of being the punchline of every political rag in the kingdom. I wanted to see if the world would keep spinning without my hand on the wheel."
"You even took a sabbatical from your daughter," the intruder countered.
Alastor's smile reached its limit. His eyes glowed with a feral, red intensity. He let out a short, sharp laugh that held no humor. "It's fun to keep everyone on their toes once in a while. Uncertainty is such a wonderful motivator."
"So you know nothing?" the intruder asked, frustration finally bleeding through the magical distortion of his voice.
"I wouldn't say that," Alastor replied, taking another sip of wine. He was enjoying the dance. He could sense the visitor's agitation; the man couldn't read Alastor's mind, blocked by layers of mental fortification that had broken the sanities of lesser psychics.
"Wine?" Alastor offered, gesturing to the bottle.
The intruder ignored the offer. The thought of returning to his circle empty-handed, having taken such a monumental risk, was clearly starting to gall him. "I'll ask one last time. Do you know who is taking them?"
Alastor remained silent, staring into the swirling red depths of his glass. "About what?"
*Grrrrgggghhhh.*
A low groan of pure frustration escaped the visitor. He felt like he was talking to a wall that occasionally threw rocks at him. Alastor was playing with him, feigning forgetfulness to draw out more information. The visitor was tempted to unleash a spatial vortex right there in the study, but he knew the gap in power. To attack Alastor Valerius in his own sanctum was a death sentence.
The intruder stood up to take his leave, convinced he would get nothing more. But as he turned toward the door, Alastor's voice cut through the shadows, cold and precise.
"You haven't made yourself clear."
The intruder stopped in his tracks.
"You come here asking what *I* know, but you haven't defined the terms of your inquiry," Alastor said, his grin turning predatory. "I know many things. For instance, I know you took a massive risk coming here tonight. An exceptionally brave—and exceptionally foolish—decision. I can tell by the way you're rushing to leave that you told no one. Not your friends, not your family, not even your fellow masters. You came here alone, didn't you?"
The visitor's shoulders stiffened.
"And now you're going to return empty-handed," Alastor whispered. "After risking your life to break into the Valerius stronghold, you're leaving without a single lead. How... inconvenient for you."
The intruder was shocked. Every word was a bullseye. He began to wonder if his desperation was radiating off him like a scent. Alastor was toying with him, relishing the power dynamic. He knew that whoever this "Grandmaster" was, they were a child compared to the old powers—likely a young prodigy who had inherited the title and felt the weight of the world on their shoulders.
The masked sorcerer turned back. He couldn't leave like this. He sat down again, the weight of Alastor's grin pressing against him like a physical force.
"The G—" He cut himself off, pausing to steady his voice. He realized there was no point in dancing around it anymore.
"What do you know about the **Genix**?"