Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. The life of the small family of four settled into a familiar rhythm. Gray and Grace spent their peaceful days immersed in training, lessons, and long-awaited weekends of carefree freedom.
Katarina, although constantly worried about her son's condition, never neglected her own form. Power, after all, was the foundation of any goal. That truth had been etched into her very bones. If she had possessed the strength of a god, would the God of Light have dared touch her reverse scale? Her thoughts had changed almost as much as Gray's ever since that casual conversation with a boatswain talking about his ants.
If only the sailor knew just how deeply his words had affected the beautiful lady's worldview. Of course, Katarina had only taken his musings as a reference, not gospel. But she had since become driven—willing to endure any hardship if it meant never allowing history to repeat itself.
Compared to the twins, her own training regimen was downright Spartan. At least once a week, she challenged the village elders to combat, much to their dismay. Despite losing time and time again, Katarina never despaired. She knew that age and experience would always give them the upper hand—for now.
Her only real frustration lay in the excessive caution of the villagers. None of them ever dared to hurt her, no matter how intense the sparring grew. Their blows were too gentle for her taste. Only Morgana, the demoness, fought her without holding back.
Morgana. A succubus from the Demon Continent. Her appearance and age were shrouded in mystery, thanks to the mask she always wore and the flowing black cloak that covered her body. The only telltale sign of her race was a slim, twitching tail tipped with a heart-shaped barb. The villagers respected her privacy and trusted her character. So long as she didn't cause trouble, she was free to live however she pleased.
She didn't reside in the village full-time and only visited occasionally. Throughout Katarina's youth, Morgana had appeared just three times—staying for a few years each time before vanishing again without a trace. To Katarina, she was more a friend than a mentor, and thus her preferred sparring partner.
Cassia, meanwhile, trained under Elder Jack. She had yet to reach the Celestial stage (Stage 7), so she couldn't formally challenge anyone. The loyal maid continued honing her basics, desperately seeking a breakthrough past her bottleneck.
One bright, snowy day—just as the world outside was dusted with the season's first snow—Old Joseph finally returned. He had vanished the day after Katarina and the children arrived, and now he was back.
Slung over his broad shoulder was a tiny elven girl, hanging like a sack of potatoes rather than a dignified magical being. Her eyes were swollen from crying, her long ears drooping, and her pale face wore a thoroughly exhausted expression.
His arrival, especially with such a strange guest, stunned the villagers. But the moment they caught sight of her green hair and pointed ears, they began to understand.
"Old man, seriously? Do you have any idea what etiquette means? Or how you're supposed to treat a lady? Do I look like a sack of vegetables to you? You sent me a letter asking for my help with a child, and I agreed—but you kidnapped me and dragged me to some remote nowhere?!" the elf exploded the moment her feet touched the ground.
At her shrill outburst, the villagers quickly pieced together what had happened. Joseph, the stern-looking man in his sixties, was mute. A man of few expressions and fewer explanations. He was pure action—a description that suited him better than any other.
He had glanced at Gray once, understood everything, and left without a word. Joseph had journeyed to the continent of Yggdrasil in search of a healer. On the way, he had dropped by Alaz and obliterated several temples in the Province of Light—flawlessly and without fanfare, like someone born for sabotage and chaos.
He'd spent years combing through Yggdrasil, searching for someone skilled in life magic. And once he found the right candidate? He acted immediately. The fact that he had even sent her a letter explaining his reasons was already a miraculous act of civility for someone like him.
Of course, no one in the village was heartless—or crazy—enough to believe a kidnapped healer would willingly help her abductor. They quickly gathered around the fuming elf to soothe the situation.
"Please, miss, don't take old Joseph's actions as an insult," Grandma Cornelia stepped in, her voice soft but hoarse with age. "He's just... forgotten his manners in his twilight years. He's deeply worried about his grandson, that's all."
Despite her kind tone, Cornelia's appearance—bent with age and cloaked in black—resembled Death itself. Her presence did more to frighten the poor elf than reassure her. But her words still struck a chord. Seeing that, the blind elder and Katarina quickly joined in to de-escalate things.
"Your Grace, don't be afraid," said Katarina gently. "We won't harm you. Please, come rest in my home over a cup of tea. I'm sure you must be exhausted after such a rough journey."
"Yes, miss, please don't worry about your safety," added the blind elder, his posture graceful, voice confident. "We'll make sure you're returned safely to Yggdrasil after your work is done—and generously compensated for your time and trouble."
His words radiated nobility and generosity, delivered with a tact that only decades of refined cunning could teach. His manners were impeccable. Katarina moved quickly, but the blind elder—once a conman—knew the importance of pacing. He leaned into every nuance, every inflection, like a master performer returning to a beloved stage.
The elf visibly relaxed.
Now that's how you talk to a high-born healer.
Her emerald eyes scanned the people before her, all of whom radiated immense power. That had alarmed her at first, pushing her nerves to the brink. But the elder's grace and Katarina's calm hospitality soothed her frayed emotions.
She realized these villagers might not just be dangerous warriors—but wealthy clients. And she would make absolutely sure she was properly compensated. What she didn't realize was just how dangerous that blind old man's honeyed words could be... especially to her purse.
"Madmen are exempt from etiquette," she muttered, folding her arms. "I don't mean to sound petty, but I do expect a substantial payment for my services. My name is Selina Velesta de'Lirël Celebrimbor. I am the third disciple of Saint Lilyen Dariel al'Tariël. My work does not come cheap."
"Of course, of course," the blind elder said, beaming. "Who hasn't heard of Saint Dariel al'Tariël? It's an honor to host her disciple. Miss de'Lirël Celebrimbor, please allow me to welcome you properly with a cup of our finest tea. Cornelia just harvested fresh moon dandelions—we hope the taste is to your liking."
"Just call me Selina Velesta," the elf replied, visibly pleased with the elegant pronunciation.
Elves had always held high standards for etiquette. They valued education and culture above all. Rarely would they even speak to those who didn't meet their aesthetic standards. But this blind old man? He was among the most refined people Selina had ever met.
She especially admired how effortlessly he had pronounced her full name and that of her mentor—something most outsiders butchered without fail. His manners only deepened her respect.
As the elder guided her to his cabin, he whispered to Katarina on the side:
"Don't worry, little Katya. I'll take care of our guest. Go get the best moon-dandelion tea from Cornelia, and three bottles of Nightglow Wine. That miserly old bat hasn't fallen for one of my tricks in a hundred years, but today she'll have no choice."
"And once you've got everything, let the girl rest. She'll need all her strength if she's going to heal our Gray. Don't rush her."
"Oh, and learn her name and her mentor's—exactly. I wrote them down. Make sure the kids pronounce them right, too. Elves forgive children more easily, but she'll be more motivated if we get it right."
"You got all that?" he asked, waving as he led the elf inside.
"Yes, I'll handle everything," Katarina replied with gratitude, rushing off.
When she returned five minutes later with the requested supplies, she heard peals of laughter from behind the cabin door.
"And that's when I realized she'd been my cousin the whole time—ha-ha-ha!"
"Mr. Blind Man, you're hilarious! Hee-hee-hee!" Selina giggled, seated at the very desk where the elder usually taught the twins.
"Ah-ha-ha, little Selin, you know your grandmother and I also go way back. Let me tell you what she used to do when—"
"Ah, there you are, little Katya," the elder called as he noticed her approach. "Come in, come in. Allow me to reintroduce you to little Selin. I do hope you two become fast sisters..."
In just ten minutes, he had already shifted how he addressed the elven healer at least three times.
If the elders of her clan heard how casually he spoke to her, they would faint from sheer indignation. This man—an infamous old rogue—had used their services many times in the past without paying a single copper. A secret shame they had never dared reveal. Naturally, poor, inexperienced Selina had no idea she was now tangled in one of his well-rehearsed schemes.
Katarina breathed a long sigh of relief as she stepped inside. The friendly atmosphere, the warmth of the laughter—it all washed away her lingering anxiety.
Seeing it all with her own eyes, she finally understood the blind elder's brilliance.
With someone this talented on their side, there was no doubt: the elf would take her job seriously.