Warlock Apprentice

Under the night sky of the Old World, the Land of Repose remained as tranquil as ever.

Amidst the graves of chaos, a small shop glowing warmly with light carried the melody of a soothing tune.

Through the bottom edge of the shop’s curtain, one could vaguely make out a pair of long, slender, and fair legs casually draped over a chair, with delicate toes adorned in a soft, pinkish sheen.

As the nocturne reached its conclusion, a disturbance arose from the outside world.

Amid the scattered tombstones, the stone lid of a coffin was pushed open by a pair of hands. With a clattering sound, a knight clad in armor emerged from within the coffin.

Though resting in a coffin, the knight’s armor bore not a speck of dust. Though bearing some scars and patterns from battles past, it gleamed resplendently, reflecting the faint moonlight from countless ages ago.

The Cemetery Knight approached the door of the lone illuminated shop, knelt on one knee, and respectfully addressed, ”Shopkeeper.”

”Come in,” a woman’s voice lazily responded after a long silence. Her tone was elegant and nonchalant, imbued with a bewitching charm that transcended gender, carrying an air of mystery that pulled one irresistibly into its depths.

The Cemetery Knight lifted the curtain, revealing the face of the owner of those alluring legs.

She had cascading waves of hair, eyes slender and upwardly turned, slightly fuller lips, and a small crimson mole at the corner of her mouth. While not an extraordinary beauty, her appearance was deeply aligned with her aura—sensual and enigmatic.

”Shopkeeper, I sensed tremors from afar, heading directly toward the Land of Repose without hesitation. I believe we may have a guest coming,” the Cemetery Knight reported as he entered the narrow shop, kneeling once more. Before him were those petite, enchanting feet; though deceased for years, the sight left him momentarily enraptured.

The knight waited for a long time, yet received no reply. Puzzled, he raised his head.

The shopkeeper was idly toying with a ring on her little finger. The ring, crafted in the form of a serpent biting its tail, was known as Ouroboros. It was the shopkeeper’s most treasured possession. Once, a guest had taken a liking to it and sought to barter for it, only to be summarily refused. Over the years, she had rarely denied a trade so long as the price was suitable; that exception spoke volumes about her affection for the ring.

The knight recalled that this particular ring had been traded to the shopkeeper by a human.

He noticed that the shopkeeper’s silence stemmed from not only her preoccupation with the ring but also her gaze fixed somewhere in the distance, as though she were observing something.

Wary of interrupting her contemplation, the knight hesitated to speak further and held his breath in silence.

The stillness persisted until... the music shifted.

The gentle nocturne abruptly transitioned into a powerful symphony, its vigorous notes resonating like a sudden thunderstorm disrupting the serene night.

This symphony emanated from an ornately crafted crystal harp placed on the table. Like Ouroboros, this harp was another item traded to the shopkeeper by that human.

In the midst of this stirring orchestration, Baltica finally came back to her senses. She reached out to stroke the crystal harp, and the music ceased instantly.

Baltica closed the music box, casually taking up a pipe from a small rack nearby. She inhaled deeply, exhaling plumes of smoke with an air of effortless allure, and asked, ”What did you say earlier?”

The Cemetery Knight quickly repeated his earlier words.

”A guest is coming?” Baltica narrowed her eyes, glancing in a particular direction. As her gaze settled on the approaching figure, her expression grew shadowed. ”I see.”

”Shopkeeper, shall I go and greet them?” the knight inquired.

”No need. It’s an old acquaintance.” With that, Baltica rose, made space for her guest’s eventual seat, and moved to the other side of the counter. From a cabinet beneath, she retrieved two goblets and a bottle of crimson liquid.

Pouring the liquid into the glasses, she began humming a tune to herself.

The knight, having trailed Baltica for years, could readily discern her moods. At the moment, she was clearly in high spirits. He ventured a cautious question.

”Shopkeeper, did you see something just now?”

Baltica finished pouring the wine, casting a sidelong glance at the knight with her striking eyes. Smiling, she replied, ”I sensed a familiar aura. It made me a bit nostalgic.”

A familiar aura? The knight found himself unable to grasp her meaning.

”Was it a former guest?”

Baltica shook her head. ”No. It was once a lordly existence, but later, it seems to have become a human’s magic pet.”

A lordly existence? Something on par with a Demon God, reduced to a mere magic pet? Who could it be? The knight’s thoughts churned in confusion.

As he hesitated over whether to ask further, a clear male voice rang out from outside. ”If you’re calling Toby Angel’s magic pet, then I imagine Angel would be quite offended. In his view, Toby is his most trusted companion.”

Startled, the knight turned around abruptly to see a young man entering the shop.

Until that moment, the knight had been utterly unaware of anyone’s presence behind him. As he turned, he realized the man’s footsteps matched the rhythm he had earlier heard within the coffin. This must be the guest.

And yet, how had this young man approached the Land of Repose undetected? Such a feat defied logic, unless his abilities were so formidable that they eclipsed normal perception. The sound of his steps earlier seemed to have been a deliberate signal—an announcement of his arrival.

As the young man passed the knight, he nodded faintly before seating himself across from Baltica.

”The Resurrected Witch. Long time no see.”

Baltica smiled faintly, sliding one of the prepared glasses toward him before studying his face. ”Since you’ve already swapped bodies, why keep this face? Aren’t you worried the Lord of the Flameless will come after you?”

Pausing briefly, Baltica sipped her wine and gently uttered the guest’s name, ”Aoluxiya.”

Aoluxiya, once a descendant of the Lord of the Flameless.

”I’ve grown accustomed to this face in the mirror. Changing it back feels oddly comforting,” Aoluxiya replied with a casual smile. ”Besides, I’m not concerned about the Lord of the Flameless. After all, they... have their own troubles to contend with.”

Baltica considered his words and found them reasonable. The True Spirit of the Lord of the Flameless had fallen, their True Body in hiding, their True Name spoken freely with no fear of reprisal. In such a state, they indeed had no reason to pursue Aoluxiya, who had even discarded his former bloodline and flesh.

”You may have forsaken your former body, but your strength seems unaffected,” Baltica noted.

”I used to think my existence relied entirely on my bloodline,” Aoluxiya replied. ”But upon reflection, perhaps the bloodline was a cage stifling my potential. At the very least, I’m freer now—for that, I owe my thanks to Angel.”

The mention of the familiar name lifted Baltica’s already-cheerful mood further, prompting her to straightforwardly inquire about Aoluxiya’s purpose.

”What brings you here this time? Surely not just to reminisce?”

Aoluxiya nodded, his demeanor sobering. ”There’s something I’d like to ask you about.”

”What is it?”

”It concerns... Asgard.”