Chapter 36 – Missed You!
The world returned in a flash of blinding white, then steadied beneath his feet. The ground was rough. Familiar. Real. Leon blinked slowly, eyes adjusting as the pressure in his chest eased just a bit.
He was out.
The scent of damp earth mixed with faint trails of mana in the air. Soldiers stood ahead in formation—uniformed guards and mages posted along the perimeter of the Class Awakening site, their expressions unreadable. But beyond them, past the cordon, one figure stood apart.
Commander Seraphine Vael.
Long strands of purple hair trailed behind her, caught in the soft wind. Her face, always sharp with discipline and grace, was locked in place—those amethyst eyes staring straight ahead, glowing beneath the overcast sky with chilling clarity.
Leon's shoulders sagged slightly. His jaw loosened.
'...I made it.'
He didn't smile. He didn't wave. But something tugged faintly at the edge of his heart. Relief—not just for surviving, but because she was there. Waiting. No lectures. No drills. Just presence her quiet presence waiting for him.
Then she vanished.
A blur. A flicker of motion beyond normal eyes.
Before his next breath, cold steel pressed against his neck. Her sword—bare and gleaming—hovered one twitch away from opening his throat. She hadn't hesitated. No words. No questions.
Leon didn't flinch.
This time, he could feel it—still couldn't see it. The way she moved, the shift in her weight, the mana drawn tight through her limbs. Her flash step wasn't a mystery to him anymore. It wasn't teleportation. It was skill, control, speed... and now, he understood only a little.
But she seemed much faster.
Before he could speak, her voice slid through the air, cold and even, but edged with something sharper.
"Where did you get that cloak?"
Leon's eyes narrowed, just a fraction.
The blade didn't shake. Her stance was perfect. But her aura boiled around her, rippling with grief, fury, and something deeply personal. Beneath the mask covering most of his face, Leon breathed in slowly.
'She thinks I'm wearing it because… I killed him.'
Because Leon—the silver-haired boy who trained beside her, who laughed through pain, who endured three years in her shadow—didn't walk out of the dungeon.
Instead, this masked figure appeared, silent, hidden, clad in the cloak of her disciple like a thief wearing stolen pride.
She had waited for him. Prayed for him.
Now, she was ready to kill to know the truth.
Leon stood still. He didn't reach for his weapons. He didn't plead. Around them, not a single guard stepped forward. The mages didn't blink. No one moved. To them, this was either a punishment… or an execution.
The dungeon had collapsed behind him.
And the boy they remembered had not returned.
In their eyes, this was Seraphine's burden—a consequence of letting a child enter a dungeon that never should've existed. Nobody voiced it aloud, but the blame was heavy in every glance.
Leon slowly looked up.
Even with his face concealed, his voice slipped through with calm weight. "...I missed you."
The sword didn't lower. But her fingers curled tight.
And for the first time, Seraphine's breath faltered.
Farther back, the watching soldiers tensed.
They couldn't hear the words exchanged, but the image before them was striking—Commander Vael, sword to a boy's throat, expression carved in stone. From what they could see, she hadn't even blinked.
They assumed he was a thief. Someone who'd stripped the cloak from a body inside. Someone who thought they could walk away with it like a trophy.
They had seen that cloak before—on the boy who followed the commander like a shadow. That boy was small, proud, sharp-eyed. And now this one—taller, older, silent—had taken his place?
They expected blood.
But then—Seraphine froze.
Not fully. Not outwardly. But inside, her mind was spiraling. That voice… the way he spoke. The rhythm, the spacing, the weight behind each syllable.
'That's him.'
She scanned him again. The posture. The shoulders. The silence behind the mask. His hair was bound, hidden. His aura masked. But she saw past it.
He hadn't wanted to be recognized. He had thought this through. Carefully.
'Smart,' she thought. 'But why does his body feel different and how is so tall now? What happened inside?'
Her thoughts swirled, but her hand didn't tremble. She kept the act alive, blade firm at his neck.
Then, with a practiced flick, she sheathed the sword.
Without warning, she hoisted Leon over her shoulder.
"You," she muttered, tone clipped and cold, "are coming with me."
Leon didn't resist. Not even a twitch. He had felt the flicker of recognition in her reaction. The softening in her eyes. That was all he needed.
He twisted slightly on her shoulder, throwing his arms out dramatically. "Save me!" he cried in mock terror. "I'm too young and beautiful to die like this!"
His feet kicked at the air. His voice carried just far enough.
The guards blinked. A few shifted uneasily. Not one of them laughed.
Seraphine didn't stop. She marched straight past the formation and stopped before the lead mages and command agents stationed nearby.
Her eyes narrowed. Her voice dropped.
"If a single word about what you saw here today leaves this place," she said, "I will personally come find you."
She let the sentence hang. Then scanned every face one by one.
"I don't care who you serve. I don't care where you run. I will remember."
The first mage swallowed hard. Another saluted.
"M-Ma'am! Understood!"
"Not a word, Commander!" a soldier barked, his uniform suddenly too tight around his throat.
As she turned sharply away, Leon continued his performance—arms floppy, voice exaggerated, eyes glinting beneath the shadow of his hood. He didn't look scared.
But to the others?
He was already dead.
The commander didn't walk. She stormed.
They reached the black carriage stationed just beyond the trees, its silver trim glinting faintly in the mist. Seraphine opened the door with one hand and dumped Leon inside with the same motion. Then she stepped in behind him and slammed it shut.
"Take us back to the estate," she said.
The driver's voice came immediately. "Yes, Commander."
The carriage jerked into motion, wheels crunching over packed dirt.
The woman driving was no ordinary attendant. She was Seraphine's shadow—her blade in courtrooms and battlefields alike. And she didn't look back. Didn't speak. Didn't ask.
To her, the boy inside wasn't a guest.
He was a corpse.
Whether he had murdered Seraphine's disciple or scavenged his body, it didn't matter. The sentence would be the same.
Inside, the carriage fell quiet.
The windows fogged faintly from breath and tension.
Seraphine sat opposite him, body still, expression unreadable. She hadn't spoken again. Her hands rested on her thighs, but the tightness in her fingers betrayed the storm inside.
Leon didn't wait.
He raised his arms and calmly undid the knot of the cloth mask.
The fabric slipped away and pooled in his lap.
Then he reached up and pulled down the hood.
His silver-white hair fell into view, catching the sunlight.
His face—older, sharper, but unmistakably his—turned toward her.
And for the first time since he had stepped out of the dungeon, his eyes met hers.
"No more hiding, behind a sarcatic facade" he wishpered quietly.