Celia arrived at the Heroes Guild and found Guildmaster Sharin.

Sharin’s mature makeup complemented her noble gown. Gold-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, delicate chains trailing to her petite ears. An air of ladylike grace washed over her.

“You’re certain about leaving your team?” Sharin adjusted her glasses after hearing Celia’s request.

“Mhm.”

“Have you discussed this with your teammates?”

“Not yet. But Guildmaster, you know as well as I do—no senior Hero will train us while I’m on the team.”

Sharin’s brow furrowed. Her fingers tapped lightly on the desk.

Celia’s family was one of Roshi Empire’s three tycoon nobles. In the small city of Vedona, no Hero dared mentor her without their approval. If they were displeased, even she—the Guildmaster—could be easily replaced, let alone ordinary Heroes.

“I truly don’t understand why they resist you becoming a Hero. Your talent is exceptional. With proper training, you’d shine brighter than any Hero I’ve seen.” Frustration edged Sharin’s voice.

Those with magic were ranked across ten tiers. In her decade as Guildmaster, she’d never seen potential like Celia’s. With dedication, the girl might even reach the Eighth Rank—the current human limit. Even the Hero Council’s legislators held only that rank.

“I could reason with ordinary nobles, but you… *sigh*… If only a senior Hero existed who could withstand your family’s pressure.”

“Unfortunately, this is just a small town…” Sharin’s shoulders slumped.

Vedona lacked even Fifth Rank Heroes, let alone ones bold enough to defy tycoon nobles. She herself stayed only because she was born here.

Resting her cheek on one hand, Sharin’s gaze drifted.

“If only the Silver Blossom Sword Maiden were here. She’d adore a prodigy like you… just as she once mentored me…”

Lost in memory, she murmured to herself. Celia’s eyes glimmered slightly at the name.

“You’ve met Elder Silverbloom?”

“Twenty years ago. I was just an obscure Hero when I crossed paths with the legendary Sword Maiden.” Sharin twirled a strand of hair near her ear, voice tinged with wistful bitterness. “She gave me a few pointers, called me ‘gifted’—said I’d become a great Hero someday. Now I wonder… was she sparing my feelings?”

“What ‘gift’ is there in failing to break through Sixth Rank?”

If she ever saw the Sword Maiden again, she’d demand the truth: had the elder misjudged her, or was it mere comfort?

The bitterness faded, leaving only deep regret. She’d likely never know.

“Elder Silverflower truly is kind,” Celia breathed, hand pressed to her chest, eyes shining with reverence. She cherished every story about the Sword Maiden—especially firsthand accounts.

Shaking off her melancholy, Sharin pulled a contract from her desk drawer. “Sign this, and you’re officially out of the team.”

Celia hesitated briefly before signing. Sharin watched, sorrowful. A talent like this might never cross her path again during her tenure.

After signing, Celia left the guild.

Dusk painted the land in amber hues. She climbed the clock tower, imprinting Vedona’s skyline into her memory before walking slowly toward her rented room. She’d spend one last night at Miss Lena’s villa. By dawn, the family butler would escort her away.

As if sensing it was Celia’s final evening, Lena had prepared a feast. The aroma still haunted Celia’s dreams since her first taste. To enjoy it again before leaving felt like a gift.

Lena blinked in surprise when Celia entered alone. “Where are Isa and the others?”

“Training at the guild. They won’t return tonight.”

“Shouldn’t we call them back?”

Celia’s fingers tightened on her skirt. “No… I dislike farewells.”

Lena said nothing. She understood the noble girl’s heart—those two teammates were among her few friends. Celia didn’t want her departure to burden them.

With the others absent, Lena invited Celia to dine. The girl accepted gracefully, eating with precise, aristocratic movements. After the last bite, she sighed contentedly. “Your cooking is always divine, Miss Lena.”

Lena chuckled softly. Later, as she washed dishes, Celia helped dry them. Watching the girl’s back, Lena’s thoughts drifted to her own daughter.

Sixteen years… What had her grown child become? Gentle and caring? Brash and bold? Or perhaps arrogant, flaunting her status as Demon Race princess?

*Can Sophy even raise her properly?*

“Miss Lena?” Celia tilted her head, water droplets glistening on her cheeks. “Is something wrong?”

“…Nothing. Finish up and get some rest early tonight.” Lena turned away, fleeing the kitchen.

Fragments of her five years with Sophy haunted her—memories frayed yet persistent. At her weakest, she’d even yearned to return to the Demon Race lands.

*Celia. My daughter. She’s thriving there. Thriving…*

The mantra calmed her as she retreated to her bedroom.

After bathing, Celia towel-dried her golden hair, twisting it into a high bun that bared her slender neck. Wrapped only in a towel, she stepped out—just as Lena passed by on her way to the study.

“Finished bathing?” Lena’s casual greeting died as her gaze froze on Celia’s nape.

“That mark on your neck…”

“Ah, the butterfly mark? It’s a birthmark. I’ve had it since I was born.”