LENNET STREET. NOLMES.

"Papa!"

A boy raced around the streets, his ginger locks bobbing with each step. After running around for a while, he curved back to his father's storefront.

"What 'cha doing?" The boy fluttered his eyes.

"Careful, Rudy! Don't run too fast or else you can't catch your breath." A woman chased behind him, pulling the boy into a hug. She looked toward her working husband. "Coon, dear. I thought all of the requests were already finished?"

Just over a month ago, they were still a family of three who barely got by living in the prosperous capital.

However, it all changed when her husband, Coon, signed up and participated in a small-scaled tournament.

Although he lost after the first round, he had returned with a whole gold yone. For a family like theirs, it was enough to last them weeks.

As if that was the stirring point, their weaponry business had flourished since then.

Thanks to the series of events, they earned enough money to take their five-year-old to the Healing Faction and support him with the necessary nutrition for him to grow healthily.

"Do you remember the man who I told you about? The one who gave me the gold yone?" Coon said as he heated a piece of iron, his muscles bulging with the movement. "He's a prophet, Lily. We were saved by a prophet."

"A prophet? Is he the one we've heard about all around the capital? Prophet Edris?" Lily gasped. "Oh Serenity! We must thank him thoroughly."

Coon nodded. "That's why I'm creating something for him right now. Even though it'll probably be much less than anything he owns, we should at least express our most sincere gratitude."

"Mama, it's your birthday soon. Can we eat at Grandma Wendy's then?" Tugging the woman's sleeves, Rudy looked up at her with a cheeky grin.

Wendy giggled softly. "Yes, yes. Since it's a special occasion, we'll do just that. You love their bread, don't you?"

The boy bobbed his head up and down, only to stop as something caught his attention. Cocking his head to the side, he lifted a finger towards the hill in the distance.

"Mama, what's that?"

At their son's question, both Coon and Wendy glanced in the direction of his finger, only to stiffen on the spot.

Other Nolmes citizens seemed to have also noticed the commotion as they cast their eyes towards the north, towards the most wealthy neighbourhood in the capital.

Although it was a sunny afternoon, a gradient of purple painted the northern sky, darkening as it got closer to the hillside. On the tip of that hill was Duke Orteon's mansion.

"What the…?" Coon unknowingly dropped his tools onto the ground.

The entire building was covered in a spiralling storm, engulfed in utter darkness.

***

FIVE MINUTES AGO — THE ORTEON HOUSEHOLD.

Under broad daylight, a large shadow cast upon the glass teahouse, and arguing nobles stiffened at the sudden change in atmosphere.

An oppressive aura seeped out from the prophet, surrounding him in an air of frigidity. His grey cloak, matching the colour of his eyes, fluttered from behind despite no wind in the teahouse.

Overwhelmed by the pressure exerted by the young man, Dominic Orteon subconsciously gulped.

Opposed to his gentle demeanour from earlier, Edris's complexion darkened as it bore a mixture of tension and pain.

"Edris, are you okay?" The duke's outstretched hand froze midair as he saw darkness seep out of the young man like he was a broken vessel. "W-what is this?"

Rather than answering his question, Edris inhaled carefully, as if suppressing something within. He then mustered a faint smile. "Actually, my powers have been a bit off-balance ever since I absorbed the dark magic that possessed Her Majesty."

As he said that, Edris made sure to surround himself with more of his purple Tempest to match the mood.

The nobles collectively paled at his ominous statement. Combining Edris's words with his current appearance, they thought the young prophet might be going insane.

In a matter of seconds, a thin veil of darkness shrouded Edris's entire body, attempting to devour him whole.

Within the veil, Edris was observing the nobles' horrified faces in satisfaction.

He was getting quite annoyed with their relentlessness in following him around the capital. Unless he did something about it, he had no doubt it would continue into the future, so Edris decided to alter his persona a bit.

Although amiability was the desirable trait in making connections, it was also the easiest to latch onto and be taken advantage of.

So, what if he became a spontaneous bomb?

At that moment, the streaks of raging purple around him intensified, and a sea of black poured into the room.

In the darkness, Edris glanced towards Celio as he made a discreet gesture, just as they agreed in the carriage.

It was the signal to commence the plan.

At his action, the beast tamer nodded and took a deep inhale.

"O-oh no! Master. Is. Losing. Control!"

— …

"..."

Edris had many questions about Celio's acting, but as it was thankfully overlooked by the frantic nobles, he disregarded them for now.

Amidst the uproar, he lowered his head and muttered at a volume only he could hear.

"Now."

Of course, Edris wasn't talking to himself, but to the ball of pink inside his cloak pocket.

Closing his eyes, he felt the teleportation circle appear under his feet.

Once. Twice. Three times.

In the room inundated with streaks of dark vines, nobles watched with terrified eyes as the prophet appeared in different parts of the room one second after another, igniting flashes of light in randomised intervals.

"What's happening to him?" Vincent Riselto stepped back, aghast at what he was witnessing. "Is that the aftermath of absorbing dark magic? Is the prophet being corrupted by dark magic?"

"T-this is dangerous, Your Grace, we must get out of here!" Earl Haphen said to Duke Orteon as he spun around anxiously, just in time to notice that a purple barrier had enclosed the entire teahouse.

Duke and Duchess Belton rushed towards the exit, only to realise it was sealed off. As the only Awakened noble in the room, the former cautiously pressed his palm towards the purple, only to jerk back at the strange texture of the barrier.

Exchanging a wary glance with his wife, he activated his mana channel and covered his hand in a faint, bluish glow. The moment he contacted the barrier again, an electrifying sensation overwhelmed his senses, thrusting him onto the floor.

The barrier had nullified his mana, sending a painful backlash along with it.

"Dear! Are you alright?!" Duchess Belton cried as she kneeled onto the floor, supporting him by the arm.

Still in a daze, Duke Belton moved his head up and down as he cast his gaze towards the origin of the barrier.

"Edris, snap out of it! You can't lose control here!" Across the room, Duke Orteon called out towards the dark-haired man who was engulfed by the torrent.

Little did he know, the current franticness was exactly what Edris wanted.

Naturally, the dark-haired man wasn't actually affected by dark magic, nor was he losing control.

As the chaos continued, Edris suddenly heard a strange comment coming from one of the nobles, Viscount Eathe, who remained seated at the clattering table.

"Hm… That's not dark magic."

Edris blinked.

Indeed, the viscount was correct. The phenomenon happening in the teahouse space was a mixture of Ace's teleportation portals and the Tempest, but it wasn't something an ordinary person would be able to decipher.

— There's something peculiar about him. He seems to be familiar with dark magic?

"...Now you're telling me?" Edris sighed under his breath.

However, whether the viscount was familiar or not with dark magic didn't matter to him. Even though Viscount Eathe could tell Edris wasn't using dark magic, he, along with the others, was still under the assumption that the prophet’s powers were out of control.

As his plan reached its climax, Edris broadened the degree of his Tempest for the last time, stirring up an even crazier torrent within the centre of the room.

The purple Tempest was a neutraliser, which meant it could not actually cause physical damage to its surroundings.

In other words, it was for show.

After all, the key to the plan's success didn't lie within Edris's Tempest.

Amidst the chaos, a spark of light ignited in the darkened space. Celio's eyes blazed gold as a powerful surge of mana sprung from his body. Light gathered around his hand, forming a long sword in his grip as he aimed it towards the ceiling.

The tip of the weapon lit up the entire room, gathering all the attention onto the attributed beast tamer.

"Master!" Celio whipped his head towards Edris, who was shrouded in a raging storm. "I. Will. Save. YOU!"

He sprung forth with the sword, creating a line of explosion behind his stride. Light expanded rapidly through the entire room, vanquishing all traces of darkness.

In a matter of seconds, the teahouse space regained its original brilliance as the purple barriers receded into the shadows.

The dusted air dispersed, and nobles' finally regained their vision, only to see the teahouse in a disastrous state. Furniture was scattered all over the space, and the ceiling above them was entirely obliterated, revealing the afternoon sun that hung brightly above their heads.

But despite the damage to the teahouse, the nobles found themselves somehow unscathed. It was then they noticed that each body in the room was shrouded in a purple shield, gleaming softly in the tattered space.

As the realisation hit them all, the nobles collectively cast their gaze toward the centre of the room.

His hair a mess and face deathly pale, the prophet stood shakily as ribbon-like streaks of black descended around him, slowly fading in lustre.

Even though his entire teahouse was shattered, Dominic Orteon couldn't retract his gaze from the young man who, even on the brink of losing control, still tried to use his powers to protect them.

Vincent Riselto had a different thought in mind as he witnessed the prophet's internal struggles.

If the prophet had not retained part of his rationality and protected them with his Tempest, they would have all been dead by now.

...We were going to get involved with someone like him?

Earl Haphen felt a shiver down his spine as he thought about what could have happened to them just now. He glimpsed at Marquis Riselto, who seemed to share the same thoughts by the appaled look on his face.

Forget about having the prophet on their side—they were lucky if the man didn't blow up on the spot!

While the nobles drowned in lingering fear, the dark-haired man gleefully harvested the fruits of his plan.

With Ace's help, Edris had neutralised Celio's ability using his Tempest, shaping it into mini shields that surrounded the nobles.

Celio had focused his attack on the ceiling so it wouldn't affect the rest of the teahouse. The reason behind this was to cut back on the repair fee, just in case the duke asked Edris to compensate for the damage.

In that aspect, Edris considered himself to be quite generous.

In the still room, the prophet let out a soft cough, and the nobles instinctively flinched at his action.

Remaining stock-still, they watched as Edris slowly pulled himself onto his feet and held onto the young beast tamer for support.

After a few steady breaths, Edris looked toward Duke Orteon with an apologetic smile, one that's even gentler than what he bore upon his arrival.

However, that gentle smile only sent chills down their spines.

Skimming his surroundings, Edris sighed softly and turned to the duke. "I apologise on behalf of Celio for your ceiling. As you can tell, he was only doing the necessary in consideration of… my current condition."

A look of melancholy filled his grey eyes as the prophet coughed again.

"If it helps, I would like to offer compensation—"

"No, no need. Edris, uh, Sir Prophet Edris," Duke Orteon interrupted him promptly, almost stuttering as he did so. "I wish you the best in your speedy recovery."

At the duke, who managed to cling on to his manners even after witnessing everything, Edris responded with a polite nod.

"Thank you, Your Grace," he replied. "It's unfortunate that Celio's unable to make friends with your daughter this time, either. Hopefully, next time. I'll even have him model your clothing line for free."

After a short pause, he let out a chuckle.

"Next time."

The two words echoed in Dominic Orteon's ears like a foreboding bell of death.

Without waiting for him to speak again, Edris bowed half-heartedly to the people in the room and turned towards the exit.

As he was leaving, he heard a mumble from one of the nobles.

"A fallen prophet…"

Fallen Prophet.

With a smile, Edris strode out the door.

They were getting better with the nicknames.