“Miss Pascal?”

Silence lingered behind the door.

Noah frowned, about to call again—when Monica, having just reinstalled the windowpane, stepped beside him.

The poised maid bowed apologetically. “Miss Pascal is currently staying at the church and won’t return for several days. She cannot answer the Guild Master’s summons.”

“Fine.”

Noah nodded, feeling a slight ease in his chest.

After enduring the “talent show” of the two ladies, he had little nerve left for another performance.

He was certain Miss Pascal must be extraordinary too—

Otherwise, her debt wouldn’t rank second only to Anna Carole, that exceptional anomaly.

“Miss Monica.”

“Yes, Guild Master?”

The maid in the black lace-trimmed dress gave a slight bow. “And please… just call me Monica.”

After the ordeal with Anna and Shirley, Noah found Monica increasingly agreeable.

“Monica,” he asked, “what’s the final deadline for these debts?”

“Two months.”

Time was tight.

Noah half-closed his eyes, seated in the Guild Master’s chair, staring at the mountain of bills.

“What happens if we default?”

A chilling glint flashed deep in Monica’s eyes—then vanished instantly.

Her voice turned calm, detached.

“The Azure Round Table will be sold to the prospective buyer. If their payment doesn’t cover our debts… we may be exiled to the duchy’s borderlands.”

“Prospective buyer?”

Though “exiled to the borderlands” sounded grim, Noah fixated on her first words.

“Someone wants to buy our guild?”

Monica kept smiling, though the smile grew increasingly hollow.

“Yes. Their offer was high. We didn’t agree immediately… but perhaps due to our crushing debt, the Equilibrium Guild decided on our behalf.”

The Equilibrium Guild existed in every city.

Where merchants thrived, they stood—witnesses to trade, devotees of the Goddess of Equilibrium, sworn to balance all transactions.

They’d existed twelve hundred years ago, when Noah still walked the earth.

In unresolvable trade disputes, they stepped in as impartial arbiters, proposing terms they deemed fair.

Centuries of integrity earned universal recognition—North and South alike.

“Per the Equilibrium Guild’s ruling,” Monica continued, “we must repay within the deadline. Fail, and the buyer claims our guild hall at a steep discount.”

“Also, to protect the buyer’s interests, we cannot sell any guild assets. Selling furniture is not an option.”

Her voice remained steady, betraying no panic.

Perhaps she always stayed composed. Or perhaps she already saw a flicker of hope.

Noah felt a twinge of disappointment.

Robbing Peter to pay Paul was off the table.

He studied the maid, marveling at her calm.

“Repaying this quickly seems impossible… unless we strike it rich overnight.”

“Indeed,” Monica admitted. “We lack capital for trade. Ventures are impossible. Manual labor? With our guild’s tarnished reputation… no one would hire us.”

*Tarnished reputation*—no need to guess who caused that.

Noah pressed a hand to his forehead, steadying himself. Monica remained perfectly unruffled.

She clearly had a plan.

“Any other way?” Noah asked.

A barely perceptible lift touched Monica’s lips—a fleeting hint of a smile.

After a breath’s pause, she spoke two words.

“The Spire.”

Dressed in black lace, she stepped closer, leaving a faint, pleasant scent.

“Respected Guild Master… only with you can we reach the Spire.”

“That is why I wished you to be our Guild Master—to lead us from this plight.”

…

…

Climbing the Spire.

The sole Spire within the duchy: the Aether Spire.

Per Monica, climbers reaching Floor 5 or higher received monthly welfare bonuses from the duchy—

Far exceeding Arvin Hamlet’s average wage, even considered high income across the realm.

Floor 10? Double.

Floor 15? Double again. Floor 20? Double once more.

And so on.

King William VI once declared to all citizens:

“Whoever reaches Floor 40 shall be received by me personally—and granted titles and honors.”

Those words alone ignited the Great Spire-Climbing Era.

Noah almost chuckled—wondering if some kid would someday shout, *“I’m gonna be the King of the Spire!”*

Historical records stated:

Six Spires existed across Ayn Continent.

One in the duchy.

Three in the empire.

One in the kingdom.

One vanished seven hundred years ago—still missing.

“Climb the Spire, get paid… such a blunt economic incentive,” Noah murmured, tracing the pitiful numbers on the bill. He turned to Monica. “Reaching Floor 5 earns above-average pay? So climbing the Spire carries serious risk?”

“The Spire has always been synonymous with danger.”

Even the ever-composed Monica grew solemn.

“We pray you’ll lead us upward… but please—prioritize safety above all.”

Noah’s expression darkened—not from her warning.

The word *Spire* clung stubbornly in his mind, humming with strange allure, stirring a deep longing.

Familiar.

He recalled the cemetery—Anna first mentioning the Spire, that flicker of unease he’d dismissed as illusion.

Now he knew.

The Spire was calling him.

He tamped down the thrill, voice calm. “What lies inside the Spire?”

Monica paused, then approached.

Her waterfall of black hair brushed his cheek, leaving a whisper of fragrance.

Noah nearly misread her intent—until she passed him, retrieving a thick ancient tome from the shelf.

She handed it to him, posture impeccably professional.

“Describing the Spire’s chaotic phenomena… is too complex. I apologize—I cannot condense it without losing meaning.”

Noah flipped to the last page. Footer: *984*.

*Plenty to read tonight.*

“Any other questions?” Monica asked softly, her clear eyes reflecting the new Guild Master’s face.

After a silence, Noah said, “No trouble. I’ll verify the rest myself.”

Monica smiled. “Your adaptability surprises me. I thought you’d leave after one day, like the others. I underestimated the father of the great Mediator.”

*If not for my own mysteries… and having nowhere else to go,* Noah thought, *I’d have quit after that “talent show.” Honestly—who wouldn’t be baffled?*

“I have reasons to stay. And you’ve shown me kindness.” He offered a vague smile. “But I do have one new question.”

Monica’s lashes fluttered. “Yes?”

Noah voiced his final curiosity:

“I’m merely the father of the great Mediator—not the Mediator himself. I don’t even fully grasp what the Spire or Mediator *are*. So why choose *me* as Guild Master?”

Everything needs a reason.

Even an illogical one.

Monica seemed certain from the start Noah could lead the Azure Round Table.

Unreasonable.

Most know Li Bai—but few know his father.

No one asks Li Bai’s father for poetry. He was just an ordinary man.

So was Noah Purwin.

A trace of sorrow flickered in Monica’s eyes. She sighed.

“It seems you don’t know… In your son Beriel’s autobiography, he describes you as an exceptionally great, nearly omnipotent father.”

Noah shook his head gently. “I wasn’t there for his whole childhood. But to a young, naive Beriel… fathers seem all-powerful. Mighty. Godlike.”

Every child sees it that way.

“Your words hold truth,” Monica said softly. “Yet even so—your staying as Guild Master benefits us greatly.”

Noah’s gaze sharpened. “Why?”

“Only the Guild Master can activate the Spire.”

A bombshell.

“You can’t enter alone?”

Monica shook her head. “Not at all.”

Guild roles were fixed by contract. They could never become Guild Master.

They needed one.

One who could endure them.

“Who set this rule?”

“The duchy. From hamlets to the capital—every Spire-climbing guild obeys it.”

Monica added, “Your Guild Certificate *is* the key. The local church empowers it.”

“To be honest… I wasn’t sure you’d stay. But everything is worth trying.”

Noah nodded.

With the Guild Certificate, he—the Guild Master—could lead them into the Spire.

This was his path forward.

“Any other questions?”

Monica was a diligent maid, always ready to assist Noah with anything.

Noah’s thoughts lingered on The Spire. Curious, he glanced at the ancient tome before him and replied, “Nothing for now. Thank you for your help.”

No sooner had the words left his lips—

Monica leaned forward slightly, hands braced on the desk and the back of his chair. She closed the distance with quiet intensity, her posture subtly imposing.

Her face—flawless from every angle—loomed closer. Noah felt her breath, a cool whisper brushing his skin.

A faint smile touched her lips as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “If you have any other questions,” she murmured meaningfully, “ask anytime. I’ll always be by your side.”

Noah caught the implication. “Any time?”

Her smile deepened with a hint of mystery as she drew even nearer. “Of course. Anytime, anywhere.”

*Boss and secretary tropes always seem to unfold this way.*

Her beauty was inches away.

The sweet scent of her breath hovered right beneath his nose.

Though Noah had once been a corpse, he now had a beating heart—and the instincts of an ordinary man. To feel *nothing* was impossible.

His pulse quickened. His heartbeat rose just a little.

Yet his mind stayed calm. His expression showed no fluster. Unsure if her enchanting gesture was deliberate, he said evenly, “Monica… is this how you usually speak to people?”

She lowered her lashes, eyes narrowing faintly, then returned to her serene composure.

“Of course not.” Her hand rose, brushed his forehead, and plucked away a few tiny grains of sand. Voice placid, she added, “Just some dust on your hair.”

Noah raised an eyebrow.

He said nothing.

Even though he knew those grains had been on *her* fingers all along.

…

…

Noah had to take back his earlier thought.

Miss Monica was reliable—but the vibe she gave off… deeply unsettling.

She left soon after.

Noah remained alone.

With a stack of troublesome bills.

And an ancient tome thick enough to double as a brick.

He flipped it open, scanning passages about The Spire, and let out a long sigh.

*Monica did that on purpose.*

*Reason unknown.*

He still recalled her flawless face. Her provocative move was clearly intentional. Yet Noah was certain it had nothing to do with love at first sight or shallow attraction.

The real trouble? Even knowing it might be a trick… he’d still felt a flicker of attraction.

Attraction and action were two different things.

*As the saying goes: judge a man by his deeds, not his thoughts. Everyone has fleeting impulses.*

What mattered was choice.

Maybe his wife’s face had faded from memory. Maybe reincarnation had dulled old bonds. Noah held little feeling for the woman who’d passed twelve centuries ago.

So feeling a spark toward others… felt oddly reasonable.

*Logically, yes.*

Yet something still felt off.

His masculine instinct urged closeness with Miss Monica. But a deeper, primal instinct screamed: *danger*.

Under the circumstances, minimizing contact with the stunning yet enigmatic maid was the wisest move.

“Forget it,” he murmured. “At least she hasn’t shown aggression.”

He settled into the chair facing the window. Sunlight streamed in, illuminating text both familiar and strangely new.

Tomorrow, the guild certification would be ready.

One evening remained to study the tome before departing for The Spire.

Yes—he’d decided.

He needed to uncover the source of that restless longing within him. And this journey could also help the Azure Round Table settle their debts.

Climbing The Spire was part of understanding the Ayn Continent itself.

Multiple benefits. No reason to refuse.

Thinking of The Spire, Noah realized—he’d forgotten to ask how many floors the Azure Round Table had cleared.

A detail for tomorrow. He just hoped the number wasn’t pitifully low.

“Come to think of it…”

Unease coiled in his chest as he recalled today’s three women.

Anna and Shirley? Mentally exhausting.

Even the “reliable” Monica hid layers.

“Why does it feel like not a single one of them is normal…?”

A premonition settled deep.

His days with the Azure Round Table would hardly be peaceful.