Rodney spat out two mouthfuls of crimson blood as he tumbled away, struggling to his feet with visible effort.

The Blazing Gold Knight’s physique truly surpassed ordinary humans. Few could withstand Eunice’s earlier strike unscathed—this young master of House Morse clearly had some skill.

Rodney swayed unsteadily, one hand clutching his chest, the other trembling as it pointed accusingly at Eunice inside the shop.

"You—bastard! How dare you ambush me!"

His shrill, distorted voice scraped like nails dragged across a chalkboard.

"This hurts... I’ll make you pay! Just wait!"

Unbearable pain twisted Rodney’s face into a stormy expression. Teeth gritted, he limped away from the street.

Most bystanders recognized the Morse heir and hastily parted ways, though their curious stares and hushed whispers quickened his steps.

Once Rodney vanished and the commotion settled, Ada finally tucked away her glass bottle. Her face tightened with conflicted emotions. "Th-thank you... but I’m deeply sorry for dragging you into this."

"No need to apologize, Miss Ada," I waved dismissively. "Your grandmother spared us a night in the rain-soaked forest. This is nothing—consider it repayment. Besides, we came seeking your help. We couldn’t possibly ignore such a situation."

"Help?"

"Yes. Regarding a companion. Granny Zela’s letter should’ve mentioned it."

Ada nodded, closed the shop door, and hung a "Temporarily Closed" sign. Returning behind the counter, she retrieved the unfinished letter and reread it carefully.

She looked up soon after. "Understood. I can assist—but where is the injured girl who hasn’t awakened? I must examine her to formulate the correct potion."

"She’s at a friend’s house. Still unconscious."

Confirming Ada had no other obligations, we left the flower shop immediately for Violet’s residence.

Walking beside her, I noticed Ada carried no alchemical tools. Then I recalled: the moon-white gown she wore had Alchemical Pouches woven into its seams. She’d drawn the Magic Storm from one such pocket earlier—and during Walker’s forced entry, that magically sealed letter had vanished just as mysteriously into her hem.

After spatial enchantments, a Mage’s pockets were never ordinary. They became dimensional storage.

No wonder Ada showed irritation, anger, even weariness when those nobles barged in—but never fear. Her pockets likely held more than one potent Magic Storm.

Dusk neared as we reached Violet’s estate. The guards, recognizing Eunice and me as guests, waved us through without hesitation.

Passing through towering gates and down hushed, shadowed corridors, we stopped before Rosalynd’s room. Inside lay a modest chamber with sparse furnishings. On the soft bed rested a silver-haired girl, breathing faintly, eyes sealed shut as if never to open again.

Ada approached the bedside, studying Rosalynd intently. "How long has she been unconscious?"

"About five or six days," I calculated silently.

"What caused it?"

"Severe injuries... and profound psychological trauma."

Ada nodded. "Her body has healed. With an Azure Bloom Elixir to rouse her mind, she should awaken—barring complications."

Relief washed over me. Rosalynd would soon wake. Yet dread coiled in my chest: how would I face this young Knight who saved my life, only to endanger the Princess Royal she swore to protect?

*Let fate decide. May she find strength.*

After assessing Rosalynd, Ada reached into her pocket and withdrew a thumb-sized glass vial. Releasing it, she let the bottle hover midair before silently shattering into a cluster of blue flames that dissolved into nothingness.

The Magic Storm spell was complete.

No chants. No elemental guidance. That was its power—swift, relentless. With enough Magic Storms, a Mage could cast spells like a human artillery turret, thought and action fused.

"What magic was that?" I asked, curious. My inherited magical knowledge remained fragmented; I couldn’t identify the blue flames.

"A one-way sound barrier," Ada explained. "For ten hours, no sound escapes this room—though we’ll hear normally inside." She turned to Eunice. "Your name, sir?"

A slender youth’s voice replied: "Call me Aranthien."

"Sir Aranthien, while I brew the elixir, would you guard the door? Admit no one. My identity—and this girl’s recovery—depend on it."

"Understood. No one enters," Eunice agreed. "If trouble arises, call me immediately. Remember that, Myra."

Meeting Eunice’s gaze, a mischievous impulse struck me. I answered in an obedient tone: "Yes, brother dear."

Her still-pool eyes rippled with bewilderment—a flicker of utter confusion. She scanned my face oddly twice.

"Myra, are you unwell? Feverish?" Eunice stepped forward to feel my forehead.

"N-no," I retreated awkwardly. She hadn’t caught the jest. My teasing earned only brotherly concern...

"Good," Eunice murmured, satisfied I’d "recovered." She exited, closing the door firmly.

Alone with Ada, I watched her move to the room’s central table. As expected, her Alchemical Pouch held everything. The enchantment negated weight; it wasn’t a pocket but a gateway to a pocket dimension.

Her hand dipped inside, withdrawing a hazy gray silhouette. As it distanced from the pouch, the blur expanded and sharpened—materializing into a bizarre alchemical apparatus far larger than the original shadow.

Spatial magic severed an object’s ties to reality. Inside the pouch, all things became formless silhouettes. If the silhouette remained tethered to the pouch, it would dart back the moment Ada released it. Only by consciously severing that tether could an item fully manifest—but forcing it prematurely risked shattering the object or triggering a spatial rupture that could destroy the pouch itself. Larger items resisted separation more fiercely.

Tiny vials like the Magic Storms materialized instantly. Yet even the finest Alchemical Pouch had limits. As one anonymous Mage’s notes warned: *Not even my masterwork pouch could hold a chair—not for lack of space, but because the chair simply wouldn’t fit.*

Ada placed silhouette after silhouette on the table until it brimmed with alchemical tools. Then came materials—only four types for the Azure Bloom Elixir, a Tier-2 potion to jolt consciousness awake. Drunkards sobered instantly; it also countered low-grade illusions.

"Myra, I begin now. Watch over the girl. No disturbances."

I moved to Rosalynd’s bedside. I knew: one misstep could ruin the entire brew.

Watching Ada work amid bubbling flasks and glowing reagents, I held my breath, tension coiling tighter with every precise movement of her hands.