Magic crystal concentration complete. Container extraction unit and limiter connected properly. Gun body durability meets specs—it can pierce fourth-tier defensive magic with standard rounds...

Cartridge casing withstands up to fifth-tier magic formulas. Magic crystals successfully blended into ammo; activation smooth. Theoretically combat-ready...

“It’s done...”

Rean sat at the alchemy workshop table, murmuring to himself as he gazed at the two pistols resting quietly before him—one black, one white.

Dusk was falling. He’d locked himself in the workshop nearly seven hours since noon. Thanks to the prototype’s theoretical foundation, after countless trials and meticulous adjustments, he’d finally completed his first mechanical design as an alchemy scholar.

The white pistol was a near-identical replica of Gloria’s handgun, upgraded only in material durability. But the ammunition underwent a revolution: bullets engraved with intricate magic runes, gunpowder infused with magic crystals to activate spells. Now the pistol could unleash dazzling magical attacks—from offense to hindrance—in an instant.

The black pistol was even more intriguing. Magic crystals condensed into a finger-sized container, sealed by an alchemically forged limiter to prevent instability. Magic drawn directly from the core for firing. Crucially, its rate of fire multiplied several times over—yet unlike the white pistol’s physical bullets, no muzzle rise from gunpowder recoil. True point-and-shoot precision.

And its hidden trump card? One Rean hadn’t even tested himself.

Genius?

No. This wasn’t the endgame. The real game-changer hadn’t even begun.

These dual pistols were peerless treasures anywhere. Yet Rean wasn’t arrogant enough to think even hundreds of pairs could face hundreds of thousands of soldiers. Their true value wasn’t battlefield dominance—it was the spark of new inspiration.

Time was short. Better start preparing...

Wait—this late already?

Rean glanced out the window. Night had fully draped the sky. He tucked the pistols away and headed downstairs to fetch Olga for dinner.

“Oof... Back’s a little stiff from sitting too long...”

“Olga, let’s go out.”

He followed her faint aura to her room and knocked.

“Sure. Where to?”

Olga opened the door, a trace of blush dusting her cheeks.

“Don’t ask so many questions. A little mystery’s nice, isn’t it?” Rean smiled slightly. “You’ve barely explored this city. Just follow my lead.”

“Mmm... You’re right...” Olga nodded reluctantly. “I’ll trust your plan.”

“Get ready. I’ll wait downstairs.”

“Mm.”

Olga slipped back inside. Rean whistled down the steps, washing gunpowder stains from his hands with water magic.

He was used to their words carrying gunpowder—but after their noon talk, he’d decided to soften his tone. They’d be working together awhile. Better ease the tension than bicker endlessly.

*Sigh...* He’d been just as impatient with *her* once. How did things grow so close...?

Moments later, Olga descended the stairs in her cloak, eyes bright with childlike excitement. She tried to hide it, but her twitching eyebrows betrayed her.

“You really don’t need the cloak. Didn’t I make you potions?”

The invisibility potion from yesterday’s banquet was just one of many—crafted so she could move freely without hiding. Keeping her cooped up wasn’t practical. And rumors like “secluding a beauty”? *She* might not care, but *he* sure would.

“Don’t remind me of the side effects,” Olga’s voice turned icy, tinged with regret. “Besides... I have no other clothes to change into.”

*Hmm...*

Rean had no reply. The blame was his. Her resistance was understandable.

His gaze flickered downward—awkwardness flashing across his face. She still wore the Celestial Realm’s standard battle-dress skirt. The large open back, meant for wing movement, was purely functional... yet surprisingly alluring.

*Good thing* last night’s backless gown existed. Otherwise, he’d have had to alter it.

“I’ll refine the potion when I can... But tonight, after dinner—let’s buy you clothes. How about it?” Rean stroked his chin.

“If you have time... sure.” Olga nodded hesitantly.

*Yeah... Still feels forced...*

Rean watched her uncertain expression. Changing his attitude overnight was awkward.

“Then it’s settled. Let’s go—shops close late.” He ruffled his hair, pushing past the discomfort, and opened the door.

They stepped outside. Evening streets buzzed—taverns just opening, nightlife awakening. Yet they walked like a silent tour guide and a hesitant tourist. No commentary. No chatter.

Finally, Olga broke the silence.

“Um... Rean, did you visit Yethania often before?”

“Only two or three times. Nearly ten years since my last trip... but I still feel nostalgic.” He slowed his pace, voice low.

This place held meaning. He hadn’t returned alone since *she* was gone.

“Ten years... Why do you love it so much?”

Olga lowered her head slightly. A blink in their long lives. A lifetime for humans.

The city had changed. Like that little girl at the restaurant—different now, different again in ten more years. Would Yethania remain the city he cherished?

“It was my first true journey’s starting point,” Rean murmured, gazing at the starry sky. “I left memories here. That’s why it matters.”

And now, having protected this peace, he stood beneath this tranquil night—adding a new memory to the stars.

“So... the memories are what matter?”

“In a way. Cities carry memories...”

“Memories... with *who*?”

Her hesitant whisper halted his steps.

“Why ask that?” He didn’t turn.

“Mia... That’s her name, right?”

Olga froze beside him, voice barely a whisper.

She couldn’t pretend indifference—not after promising space. Her need to understand him only grew.

Rean said nothing. Eyes dropped to the gray pavement.

*So I did make a sound back then...*

A silent, bitter smile.

*Mia... Mia...*

The nickname he cherished—and dreaded. To speak it would tear open unhealed wounds.

But... secrecy bred suspicion. If she’d join his plan, truth was kinder. The past wouldn’t vanish anyway.

“She...”

“No need to force it. No one blames you for silence.”

Her casual tone left him speechless. *Then why ask?*

“I know she matters deeply to you—maybe even clashes with my goal. But I don’t want to replace her.” Olga stepped behind him, voice soft as breath. “Just... if I can, I hope some of your memories here include me.”

...

*What is she saying...?*

A faint twitch at Rean’s eye. Lips quirking in a smile meant only for himself.

He never expected *this* from her.

Memories with *her*? Nonsense. She’d already left plenty—good and bad.

But...

“Alright,” Rean turned, meeting her hesitant gaze with a gentle smile. “Then give me some unforgettable memories. I’m actually looking forward to dinner—Ah! Cough, cough... Good evening, Cang Lin.”

“Wha—Cang Lin, you saw nothing, right?!”

Olga flustered, glancing between Rean and the street. Her eyes widened.

“Cang Lin... There are *two*?”

Rean spun around. Two identical figures approached from opposite ends—closing in.

Except the one behind him...

Hair, robes, the sword on her back—all blood-red.